Page 35 of Taken By the Ripper
The heady smell of the beans was enough to make her mouth salivate with the desire to consume it.
It was hardly fair that she needed to return it. Some gifts didn’t come without strings, and she was sure this was one of them.
What a terrible shame. She liked Claude. She liked Jack as well. But she’d already made her choice. There was nothing more to be done.
Still, she held the canister tightly to her chest, not wanting to give it up yet as she made her way to the corridor leading to the drawing room. But she didn’t take even five steps before a voice stopped her in her tracks. The deep timber of his French accent sent delightful shivers down her spine.
“Knowing you, the canister will be gone within the week.”
Unable to help herself, Clara laughed, shaking her head as she turned toward Claude. “I can make it last longer than a week. For you on the other hand, this is only a day’s worth…”
Her words trailed off when she found Claude leaning against the wall with one foot propped up behind him and his arms crossed over his chest. But it was the dark, tired shadows beneath his eyes that gave her pause. It was almost as if he hadn’t slept the entire week of his absence, and not even coffee could fix it this time around.
“Claude!” she gasped as she took his hand and led him across the room, pushing him into a chair. He started to protest, but she shushed him with a finger to his lips.
She slipped a thermometer into his mouth, checked his pupil dilation using the light from a candle, and felt either side of his neck to check for abnormalities. Nothing seemed amiss. Even his temperature came back normal.
Perhaps only one thing could cause this.
“Go home and sleep,” she said in the sternest tone she could manage. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I thought you needed a doctorate to be considered a doctor.”
She glared at him and leaned closer, but her warning stare only caused him to chuckle and return her glare with amusement in his eyes.
“I cannot sleep on the job,” he explained.
“Clearly, you are not sleeping at night, either, due to your obsession with this case. Your superiors can spare you for a few hours during the day.”
“Obsession?” he scoffed. “This killer took two new victims only last night. I cannot afford to lose a single minute to unnecessary frivolities when people are dying.”
He attempted to stand up, but she forcefully shoved him back into the chair and grabbed his stubbled chin to compel him to look into her eyes. “This is not your fault, Claude. You are not to blame for this.”
“Aren’t I? The way the officers look at me… I can feel their judgment through their stares. If I had only been quicker… I could have prevented this.”
She shook her head, still holding onto his chin. “Those same officers were far more incompetent than you. Their judgment holds little flame when they had failed long before you.”
Guilt pressed on her shoulders when she realized she knew far more than he did about his own case. Well, only as much as Jack had told her. But Jack had explicitly instructed her to discourage Claude’s involvement, as he would only get himself killed.
However, she abhorred seeing him so downtrodden and hopeless.
“What have you been doing all this week?” she asked, slowly dropping her hand to her side. “I have not seen you in a while.”
Claude scrubbed his hands over his face and hair, giving the strands a wild look to match his bloodshot eyes. “I misplaced the files for my case. I don’t know what happened. They weren’t where I last put them. Either I’m going insane, or there is a leakwithin the police force.” He groaned into his hands. “I feel like my progress is only leading me backward.”
She turned her back to him to hide the guilt filling every recess of her expression. She had done this to him. All she had wanted was to protect him. But how was this protecting him? Her trickery had caused hurt instead.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a quavering tone, the apology having multiple meanings beyond his immediate comprehension.
“It’s not your fault,” he sighed.
Oh, if only he knew.
She wanted to confess everything, if only to take away the pain in his eyes and the weariness bogging down his shoulders. She cared about him.
And she knew she shouldn’t. Especially after her night with Jack.
Which wasn’t even his real name. He had not bothered to tell her. What in heaven’s glory was she doing? She’d tangled herself up in far more than she knew what to make sense of. It wasn’t like her to be so careless.
