Downtime

by James Allen

  "Your mother? Any chance I could meet her? It could be helpful."

  "Chat her up as you like." He turned to Ezra. "You'll find her in a warmer clime than what you're accustomed to, I daresay." With a laugh, he was out of his chair and putting on his hat. I noticed the small package tucked under his arm and wondered who it was meant for. Sid winked at me. "So sorry, chaps, but I must bid you adieu, as I'm unforgivably late for another engagement." He waved a gloved hand before darting away into the crowd.

  "There's a mercy," Ezra murmured and turned my case file around to give it a closer look. "How the devil did you deduce all of that?"

  "It's behavioral profiling. Nothing magical. Just how we delude ourselves into believing we've got a good shot of catching him," I added, borrowing from one of Sully's favorite rants. "The progression of violence in this case is textbook. He--"

  "Textbook?"

  "Common for serial killers."

  He stared at me and shook his head. "Serial killers," he repeated as if it were beyond comprehension. "You don't suspect Sid, of all creatures?"

  "God, no. Someone like Sid, if he were driven to kill, he'd target a male victim, not a woman."

  "Someone like Sid?"

  "Uh...yeah. A guy who fancies the blokes." I grinned.

  Ezra relaxed into a smile. "Then you don't really consider Jem, either?"

  "It's unlikely." Never mind that Jem seemed pretty damned ambivalent about which team he was playing for. "The thing is, Jack won't necessarily fit a profile. There are always exceptions and at this point, the field's wide open because we know so little. Some investigators even suspect jolly old Prince Eddy."

  Ezra's eyes widened. "Surely not."

  I shrugged. "Could be a prince or some poor slob holed up in a dark corner of Whitechapel. Could be a constable or a doctor or even an angry midwife. Hell, it could be you."

  Fascination overtook his anxiety. "Me? Ah, but I don't fit your pattern."

  "Guess I won't have to handcuff you, then. What a pity."

  He arched an eyebrow. "You seem possessed of some dark corners yourself."

  "It's never crossed your mind?"

  "Giving you free rein? I don't think I would survive the experience."

  "Probably not." He was fun to tease. I took back my file to expand on the profile I'd drawn up, until Ezra twisting about in his chair caught my attention. "What are you doing?"

  Like a rookie agent ready to save the world his first day on the job, Ezra regarded me with earnest determination. "I'm looking for him."

  I swallowed a laugh. "Good. Let me know if you see him."

  I'd barely returned my attention to the file when a hand clamped around my wrist. "Morgan," he whispered, nodding toward a dark-haired man drowning his sorrows at another table. "That poor fellow sitting alone. The one with the graveyard cough."

  I shivered at his choice of words, though it was probably just the reason the guy was drinking alone. "The one in the black coat and gloves?"

  Ezra nodded. "He's a match for the descriptions in the Times."

  "A whole lot of people match the witness descriptions..." But not a whole lot of people sat in a pub with a black bag on their laps, looking furtively around as if waiting for someone, a willing prostitute maybe, to wander past.

  I gently extricated my wrist from Ezra's grasp and tucked my file away into a pocket. "Stay calm. We're just going to keep an eye on him for a few minutes, okay? Don't stare at him," I added as Ezra did just that. "He'll know he's under surveillance and that's the last thing we want."

  Ezra obligingly stared at me instead. "Shouldn't we--"

  "No constables. Not yet. No need to cause a panic or get the guy lynched if he's innocent. We're just going to watch him for a bit, so relax. Eat your potato."

  "I couldn't possibly." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you suppose he's armed?"

  "I've got my gun. There's nothing to worry about. I've done this a thousand times. The guy's restless and he's going to take off in a minute. When he does, we'll tail him. If he tries anything, at least he'll be away from the crowd. No one'll get hurt."

  Ezra did not seem particularly reassured and I couldn't blame him. I'd turned this into his first stake-out, but he wasn't a cocky young agent with a wealth of training behind him. He was here because he felt responsible for my safety. "Take a deep breath," I whispered with a wicked grin. "Stick with me. I know exactly what I'm doing."

  Any faith Ezra may have had in that statement was gone a short hour later when we found ourselves behind bars in a holding cell in the Bishopsgate police station.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was beginning to seriously doubt my ability to make any headway in this case. No one could have faulted me on my initial suspicion nor my decision to follow the suspect after he'd left the Ten Bells with a frowsy older woman at his side. Even Sully would have agreed that I waited long enough--almost too long--in drawing my gun when the suspect stopped at the entrance of a shadowy side street to, I assumed, settle any monetary issues to keep his potential victim interested. With Ezra trailing nervously after me, I watched until the suspect grabbed the woman roughly by one arm and pulled her out of my line of sight. I'd felt a little unexpected anxiety myself as I ran through the rain to catch up with them. I heard the woman's voice, raised and angry, and I grabbed the suspect and his little black bag just as he clamped a hand on the side of her neck.

  That move sent his victim into the hysterics which had the cops surrounding us in a matter of moments. I'd barely had time to conceal my gun behind a flower pot before we were marched down to Bishopsgate and summarily locked up. My own questions had all been answered along the way to the station, as the woman went on in indignant rage about my assault on her husband and the damage done to the assortment of medicine bottles in the black bag a constable had upended on the sidewalk. It was apparent from the smell that the medicine's main ingredient was gin, but that didn't dissuade my suspect from demanding reimbursement.

  Three tired and harried policemen escorted us off the streets before we drew a crowd and, to my relief, stuck us into a cell by ourselves. Having come to my rescue once already today, Ezra was altogether quiet from the moment the constables took charge of us until we were left alone in the cold bare room. It was far from the grimmest cell I'd ever spent a night in, but that hardly mattered. It was the first for Ezra, I felt sure. I wondered just how pissed he was. I'd seen him angry once or twice, but it had blown over so swiftly, I hadn't thought he had it in him to be really steamed.

  "I'm sorry I got you into this." I snuck a glance at him. He had unbuttoned his coat and was leaning against the whitewashed wall. Eyes a dark unreadable blue in the dim light lifted to meet mine and I felt compelled to expand on the apology. "I guess chasing down criminals in a time when you have no authority isn't the brightest idea. I just thought we had him, you know? I really thought we had him."

  I sighed and shifted on the thin pallet that covered the bench. Sully would have defended my actions; even Faulkner would have. But then, Ezra probably didn't give a fuck about my reputation. He was rightfully a little more concerned over the fact that he was spending the night in lock-up, waiting to be questioned as a potential suspect for the Ripper murders, when he should have been safe at home. "I'm sorry, Ez. I'll be more careful in the future, I promise." Leaning on my elbows, I pushed my fingers through my hair and sat with my head in my hands. "For God's sake, yell at me, take a swing, do something."

  Then I realized he was doing something--laughing. It was soft, a little frazzled around the edges, but he was laughing. "Is life always such an adventure with you?" He put an arm around my shoulders and drew me near enough to plant a kiss on my neck. "Dear old Morgan. When you pushed Mr. Leeke up against the gate, I thought his wife would do you an injury with that umbrella of hers." He gave in again to low, heartfelt laughter. "I think the constables rescued us at a most opportune moment."

  "You son of a--"

  He turned my face toward his an
d kissed me before I could finish. Whatever I'd been about to say slipped my mind at the inviting pressure and the agreeable feel of his arm snaking under my coat to wrap around me and pull me closer. When the kiss finally broke, we were breathing harder and the chill I'd felt in the air was gone. "They catch us, they'll never let us out," I whispered. It was a warning even I wasn't taking to heart and Ezra knew it.

  "We shall hear them come in before they hear us," he whispered back, laughing.

  "We're not the only criminals in the cell block," I reminded him, making an exploratory foray to a tender spot just under his jaw. "How quiet can you be?"

  I heard him catch his breath. "Far more quiet than you," he countered and covered my mouth with another kiss, pushing me flat on my back with his momentum. I couldn't resist a challenge and even more daunting than the need for quiet were the layers of clothing separating us. Then again, I didn't need him naked to find him delicious enough to devour whole. Shifting so that I could bring pressure to bear in a sensitive area, I was rewarded with my name gasped close to my ear.

  "You'll have the entire station down on us." I increased the pressure and he buried his face in my shoulder and clung to me, shuddering. Pleased as hell that he could so unabashedly seduce me anywhere, I wasn't about to discourage him as fingers fumbled with the buttons on my trousers. The friction of his hand on my skin had me groaning and I pressed my lips together to keep it quiet. I was dangerously close to losing any ability to focus beyond his touch. The world narrowed further when he replaced the firm caress with something even better. I hoped devoutly he was listening for a key in the lock outside. The only thing I knew was the silk of his hair under my hands and the weight of our clothes making me damn near swelter. But it didn't come close to the liquid heat of his mouth on me. Near agonizing pleasure swamped me and I closed my eyes and gave myself up to it.

  "You cannot keep quiet to save your life," he whispered as he rose over me and, brushing back perspiration-dampened hair from my forehead, kissed me. "I'd have made a small fortune if we'd wagered on it."

  "Not a chance," I whispered breathlessly. "No one could've heard me except the drunks a few cells down."

  I pulled him on top of me and he shook his head. "The constable will be in, after that."

  "No he won't." I kissed him again and kept kissing him until every bit of resistance had melted away and he was all but pleading as I pushed him under me and captured him in my mouth. In seconds, he was gasping for breath--due in part, I was sure, to the imminent danger of being caught. I eased up, teasing him with my tongue while he struggled in vain to hold his. He mumbled something incoherent, but clear enough in context, and as enjoyable as it was to feel him writhe in not exactly silent desperation under me, I notched up my tender ministrations, aiming for quick but intense.

  To my surprise--and I sensed his too--he let loose a hoarse cry that had to be audible all down the corridor. Ezra wasn't exactly inhibited, but he did have a natural reserve that I hadn't come across in anyone I'd dated in my own time. Whether it was the Brit or Victorian in him, I couldn't say for sure. But to get past that reserve and take a peek at the wanton soul underneath tickled me inordinately. His repressive era hadn't buried him alive, not yet--and wouldn't, if I had anything to say about it.

  As I buttoned his pants, the corners of his mouth curled with tired good humor. "You needn't look so cheekily pleased with yourself. You have the most diabolic effect on me and it seems to amuse you beyond all that is decent."

  I found it touching he'd even confess I had him all hot and bothered. How could a guy not be cheekily pleased with that sort of admission? I gave him a buss on the cheek before turning a curious eye to the cell door. No one had shown up to see who was being murdered. Apparently they didn't particularly care what we were up to, as long as we couldn't go anywhere.

  "You know, I was thinking that we'd better get our stories in synch before we're questioned. I'll tell them I'm a detective rather than a newspaper reporter. It won't make them love me, but it'll more or less explain why I was carrying handcuffs. You, on the other hand, are my innocent, trusting host who thought he could take me sight-seeing without getting into trouble." I grinned. "Always stick as close to the truth as possible."

  I covered the basics of our story, to make sure we had our details straight. Ezra nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. He pushed his fingers through hair that couldn't get much more tousled, an anxious gesture I was familiar with now, and I saw the lines of tension in his face. "We have company?" I kept my voice low, then wondered why I bothered.

  "Yes. It seems one of the constables was rather rough on the poor fellow. 'Nicked' him, so he says, for stealing bread, then struck him in the head when he tried to escape. He was nearly starved to begin with and he died here." Ezra's voice dropped to a whisper, "He wasn't here a few minutes ago." A hand slipped into mine, fingers intertwining, and offered a reassuring squeeze.

  "You're not just telling me that to make me feel better?"

  He made a wry face. "I would hardly have initiated what I did, otherwise."

  "I don't know. I'm pretty damned irresistible. You said so, yourself."

  His eyebrows lifted. "I do hope I alone am not responsible for such vanity." Despite his words, his hand stayed in mine, tightening as we heard the outer door swing open. "Morgan--"

  "Don't worry. Just stick to our story, keep your answers simple and on the subject, and we'll get out of here."

  A florid, black-mustached face topping over six feet of uniformed bulk appeared in the doorway and grinned at us like a cat in the mood for a little batting practice with his cornered mice. Constable Finch, one of the cops who'd brought us in. I tapped my elbow against Ezra's and whispered, "This is the one that beat up your friend."

  "The very one," Ezra murmured.

  Shit, just what we didn't need--a cop on a power trip. I hadn't run into very many of that type during the course of my job, but I'd never failed to get into it with them when I did. "Okay, Ez, you're first," I whispered as the constable came into our cell. The likelihood that I'd piss this guy off was considerable and I didn't want Ezra to face the fallout.

  The blue gaze stayed on me until he was through the door was sheened with worry, none of it for himself. I leaned back against the wall and listened, in the slim hope they were interrogating Ez within earshot, but all I could hear was the rattle of traffic from the street. The cell was darker and chillier since Ezra'd left. In this surreal world, Ezra's stable presence helped me keep my bearings. I took comfort from the connection we'd developed, but I knew I was getting attached in a way that would make our eventual good-bye a painful one. At the thought, I wondered what exactly was going on back at home. Were they searching for me? Did they assume Nosik's boys had taken me out and my body would eventually turn up on some isolated shore? I wondered if Reese or any of my friends knew yet that I was gone and that I might never be coming back. And my mom--Jesus, she was going to be devastated when Faulkner told her I was missing.

  "Sully, what the hell am I doing here?" God, I was ready to get out, not just out of the cell, but this whole dark miserable world. I shouldn't have pushed Ezra into going ahead of me. I probably could have handed the police a story convincing enough to get us released. While Ez was smart enough to not say anything that might provoke further suspicion, he had never been through this sort of shit before and they might just bully him into saying more than he meant to.

  "Sully?" I looked around at the cold white brick and the iron bars. "Can you hear me? Look, go tell Ez to keep his mouth shut. Help him get through the interrogation without making it any worse for us, will you?"

  Silence from all and sundry ghosts came in response. But suddenly the outer door creaked and I heard the heavy tread of the constable followed by a second lighter step. I rose as the cell door swung open and Ezra stepped in. Before I could ask him how it went, he ducked his head with a quick warning shake. I caught his wrist, giving him a pull in my direction. Then I saw the bruis
e forming over his cheekbone and my promise that I'd be more careful went right out the window. I turned on Finch with the intention of teaching him a few modern self-defense moves the hard way. The grip Ezra got on my arm stopped me. Low and fierce, he whispered, "Don't. It's my fault."

  "Bullshit. I don't care what you said to him, he's got no justification--"

  "I mentioned Alfred. Our ghost," he clarified before I could ask. "I should have known that would set him off."

  I looked around at Finch and saw a sly smile on the butt-ugly face. "Not information you want getting around, huh? Bet you anything that Alfred wasn't the first to die on this asshole's watch."

  Finch stepped back from the doorway. "Come on out, then," he said as if he were inviting us to join him for tea. "If you gentlemen have a problem with me, I know where we can settle it."

  Ezra's grip tightened. "Morgan, you will be shut up in Newgate for months. Or worse."

  "Don't spoil my fun," Finch protested. "I ain't done down a Yank right and proper in ever so long. You let him out and I'll discharge him for fair, after." He showed off a row of dingy gray teeth. "That is, if I ain't broke his neck first."

  Ezra planted himself in front of me. "I will have a word with Inspector Pimblett straight away, if you please."

  I knew there had to be something besides my fist that could wipe that grin off Finch's smug face. It figured Ezra would be the one to come up with it. Finch looked like he regretted doing no more than bruising Ezra's cheek and further, that he planned to make up for it. He started toward us, only to be brought to a halt by an impatient voice at the outer door.

  "Finch, what's holding you up? I've already missed my supper. Let's have the other one."

  Finch darkened in annoyance. "Right away, sir," he called out with a deference that was startling in contrast to the attitude he'd taken with us. He reached out a meaty hand and grabbed my coat, yanking me past Ezra. Jesus, the bastard was even stronger than he looked. "I ain't done with you," he muttered and pushed me ahead of him. I looked around at Ezra, who tried to smile encouragingly.