by Jill Jones
Sometime during their interlude, her feelings for the handsome stranger had crept across the boundary from intimate exploration for its own sake to a deeper level that she could not quite describe, but Keely did not deny that she cared for him deeply. Mayhap she even loved him. But he did not care for her in the same way, or he would not have left.
Keely wrapped her arms around her knees and frowned. What a stupid girl I am, she thought. Seducing this man, taking him into her bed, and expecting him to…what? Make some kind of commitment to her? She barely knew him! He had come to her rescue, had been a good friend. Was she so needy that she had thrown herself at him, hoping for more than that? She might as well have bedded the stranger Alyn had brought for her mate. At least she would not feel the shame she felt at the moment.
Shame. And yet, she shivered at the memory of Jack’s caresses and knew if he walked through the door, she would do it all again. Her body tingled, her skin felt feverish, and that mysterious need deep within called out to her again.
Dragging herself from the bed, she pulled the top covering along with her and draped it around her body. She opened the door between the bedroom and the other part of the suite, expecting to find the rooms empty, when the rich smell of coffee assailed her nose. Keely frowned, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop beating.
“Good morning.” Jack’s voice was deep, as rich as the scent of the brew. He stepped out of the small kitchen and stood in front of her, his hair wet again and combed away from his face. The clothing he wore was dressier than any she’d seen him in, the dark blue trousers outlining his magnificent legs and the crisp white shirt spanning the width of his chest possessively. He was more handsome than ever. Devastatingly handsome. But it wasn’t his beauty that caused her heart to leap as it started to beat again.
He had not left her after all.
“Want some coffee?” he asked.
Keely looked down at her non-attire, feeling those troubling sensations growing more intense as she gazed at him. “I…I thought you had gone,” she stammered. “I had better put on something.”
Jack grinned. “Yes. Unless you want a repeat of last night.”
Saints in Heaven, did she want that! Craved it. But she would never admit it to him. For although she suspected she had fallen in love with him, she had no reason to believe he felt the same toward her. She had acted irresponsibly in virtually demanding that he satisfy her curiosity and physical longings last night, and she could blame no one but herself for the outcome. He had reacted like her mother had described any man would. Rise to the opportunity.
Keely bit her lip. She could not, would not allow her wanton notions to put her in another such shameful situation. Today was a new day. She must try to forget what she had done and not let it happen again.
“I’ll only be a moment,” she muttered, turning back to the bedroom.
“Take your time. We have an appointment later this morning, but not until eleven-thirty.”
Keely glanced over her shoulder. “Appointment?”
Jack’s face grew somber. “I thought you would want to take care of Genevieve’s…arrangements.”
Cold hard reality slammed into place. Genevieve’s arrangements. Her purification ceremony. How could she have forgotten? Her cheeks burned with another kind of shame. In the past two days, she had scarcely thought of Genny’s spiritual needs.
“Of course,” she murmured, guilt washing through her. It was one of the things that had caused her to flee Keinadraig in the first place. Forcing thoughts of Jack and the intimacy they’d shared to be back of her mind, Keely hurried to get ready.
Jack had told her he would meet her in the lobby, and she was thankful that he was giving her time alone to prepare herself for the sad mission of the morning. As she bathed, she attempted to convince herself that her feelings toward him were merely due to her physical inexperience, and that with an effort, she could control them.
Both the melon colored dress and her own clothing from Keinadraig were soiled from the journey, leaving Keely no choice but the yellow dress whose tiny pearl buttons had created such havoc the night before. She wished she had some other option, because as she buttoned it, she couldn’t avoid thinking about the way Jack’s fingers had felt as they toyed with the buttons. Her nipples grew tight at the memory and to her distress, pressed visibly against the thin fabric. Oh, Saints, what made them do that?
She worked at clearing away any arousing thoughts and managed to appear unperturbed when she joined Jack in the hotel lobby. She strained to keep her distance, both physically and emotionally, from him…until they entered the building where she was to identify the body of her best friend. The place called the morgue was cold, and the man called a coroner was polite but distant. A chill crept over her, and without thinking, Keely slipped her hand into Jack’s, taking instant comfort from its warmth and strength.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” he whispered while they waited to be called into the next room. “They can let you see her on the video screen if you would rather.”
The idea of seeing Genny lying dead on the small television screen mounted in one corner was revolting to Keely. Genny had been her kinswoman, her dear friend. She wanted to go to her, to touch her face and to tell her she would be cared for.
No. This was one time the conveniences of the modern world would not suffice.
Keely had seen death many times. She had helped Ninian prepare bodies, including those of her own parents, for the purification ceremony. But never had she seen the body of someone who had been dead for more than a short time, who had been packed away like a fish on ice. When she saw Genevieve’s face, she could not prevent the small whimper that escaped her throat. She clung more tightly to Jack’s hand.
The corpse was that of Genevieve Sloan, she heard herself tell the coroner, but her voice sounded far away, as if someone else spoke the words. She recognized the profusion of red hair, the shape of the face. But Genny had been vivacious, full of life. It seemed impossible that this could be her, lying so still, her skin white and cold as marble.
“Can you describe any particular identifying marks?” the coroner asked.
Holding back the tears that threatened to spill at any moment, Keely reached out and swept the hair away from her friend’s neck. “‘Tis a mark made by our people.” She searched for a way to explain the kiss of the Dragon without going into detail, but when she looked at that mark, all words deserted her and her blood turn to ice.
Jack recalled seeing a red mark on Genevieve’s neck the night of the murder, and after learning about the kiss of the Dragon from Keely, thought that must have been what he’d seen.
But the mark revealed beneath Genny’s bright hair was nothing like the one Keely wore or that he’d seen on Alyn Runyon.
This red mark was a scrape about the size of a quarter but rectangular in shape.
“What on earth?” Keely exclaimed.
“Looks like someone cut her around the time of death,” the coroner told her, “but we can’t tell exactly if it happened before or after she was shot.”
Jack stared at it, revolted at the idea that someone had deliberately removed the Dragon’s kiss from Genevieve’s neck.
Keely turned away from the sickening sight and buried herself in Jack’s embrace. “Oh, by the Saints, Jack,” she sobbed. “It was the Dragon.”
Before or after she was shot. Jack’s mind raced, trying to come up with an explanation for this small cruelty. Unless in wanting so desperately to get away from the cult Genevieve had done it to herself, a possibility that made Jack’s own flesh crawl, it must be the work of someone who wanted to punish Genevieve for running away.
Someone from the island of Keinadraig.
Someone who might at this very moment be stalking Keely.
He did not verbalize his suspicions to the coroner. He wanted to take them straight to the top. “Let’s go,” he said, guiding her away from the macabre atmosphere of the frigid morgue. “We can make
her arrangements in Sandringham’s office.”
Inspector Richard Sandringham’s office was typical of law enforcement agencies, utilitarian, cluttered, and efficient only to the man who worked there. “Come in,” he said genially, standing to greet Jack and Keely. He indicated for them to take the two seats across the desk from his own. “So, Mr. Knight, what have you found that might interest Scotland Yard?”
Jack felt Keely slip her hand into his again, and he closed his over hers to quell her trembling. She had not said a word since viewing the body of her friend, but he knew she was horrified. He turned to the inspector. “We have an ID on the murder victim,” he told him. “This is Keely Cochrane, a cousin of the woman who was killed. Her name was Genevieve Sloan.”
Sandringham’s bushy eyebrows rose like two pads of steel wool over his wrinkled brow. “I say. Good work. Mind telling me how you pulled off this miracle? I’ve had her face on every television set in the country and had my men on it since the murder, and have come up empty-handed.”
Jack squirmed slightly in his chair, then produced the scrap of paper bearing the phone number of the Council office on Keinadraig. “I found this under the telephone in Brad’s hotel room the night of the murder.” He handed it to the inspector. “I didn’t relate it to the crime at the time I found it. In fact, I was so shocked by the shootings, I stuffed it in my pocket without thinking and forgot about it.”
Now Sandringham’s brows furrowed. “Go on.”
“At the time, I had no reason to think it was evidence,” Jack said defensively, knowing it was a lame excuse for not having told the police about the find. “That why I forgot all about it until I came across it later, quite by accident, just after our last visit. You had told me the victim had a train ticket from Penzance to London in her possession. Penzance is in Cornwall. When I learned that this number reached a phone in Cornwall, in a village not far from Penzance, I decided to make a quick trip there to check it out.”
The inspector steepled his fingers and gave Jack a wry look. “You do know the consequences of withholding evidence, Mr. Knight?”
Jack grimaced and gave him his best apologetic look. “Like I said, I’d forgotten all about it. But to continue.” He quickly related the story of his visit to Keinadraig, hoping the end justified the means. When he had finished, Sandringham was silent for a long moment.
“You’re telling me there is a cult on that island?” he asked. “I thought we had a handle on all cult activity in the U.K. I’ve never heard of this one.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a cult,” Jack said. “It’s more like a remnant of a medieval culture. But they are ruled by some pretty strict laws that forbid strangers from coming to the island and, more cogent to this case, forbid islanders to leave. Genevieve Sloan ran away, Inspector. We don’t know exactly why, but she broke the laws of the, uh, society, and…”
“Are you suggesting that someone from the island killed her?” Sandringham frowned his skepticism.
Jack started to deny it, for it was such a remote possibility, and he did not want Keely to fear retribution any more than she already did. But Keely jerked her hand away.
“‘Twas the Dragon killed her,” she said sharply, her eyes wide, her face white.
“I beg your pardon?” The policeman leaned toward her.
Jack’s heart bled for Keely as she tried to explain to the staid inspector her rustic belief that somehow, the dragon that reigned in the hearts of her people was responsible for Genevieve’s murder. “‘Twas the Dragon who took this from Genny’s neck.” Keely pulled her hair back and exposed the kiss of the Dragon, which she then had to explain to Sandringham. “Na one but the Dragon would do such a thing.” Her fear and horror seemingly eased somewhat by her outburst, she collapsed against the chair in tears. Jack went to her and put his arms around her, wishing he’d never brought her here. He should have handled this himself, at least until she had had time to recover from the shock of seeing Genevieve’s body. “I think we’d better go, Inspector. She’s just come from the morgue…”
“I understand her distress,” the man replied, “but I’m afraid I must pursue this with her. If the killer was someone from her island, her own life could be in danger. Here.” He handed her a tissue. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He stepped outside, and Jack bent to one knee at Keely’s side.
“It couldn’t have been someone from the island,” he tried to reassure her, wishing he could believe it. “You know as well as I no one leaves Keinadraig. You told me that no one, not even your uncle, has ever been farther than the local villages. And besides, how could anyone have found her in all of London?”
Keely blew into the tissue. “You heard Alyn. The Dragon works in mysterious ways.”
Jack started to protest, but Inspector Sandringham returned, carrying a small object encased in plastic. He leaned against his desk in front of Keely. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. “Miss Cochrane, I do not wish to upset you further, but I must assure you that your friend was not killed by some kind of mythical dragon. She was killed by someone who shot her with this.” He handed the parcel to her, and Jack saw that it was the murder weapon, the strange little gun he’d last seen held in Brad’s hand.
He started to object, thinking Keely had seen enough evidence of that violence for one day, but the inspector spoke first.
“This is what killed your friend, Miss Cochrane,” he said gently. “A person, not a dragon, used it to murder your friend. Now, tell me, do you recognize this gun?”
Chapter Twenty
Keely took the parcel in her hand, confused at first, not fully understanding what it was or why he was showing it to her. But when she gazed at the tiny pistol, saw the unique design and the engravings on the handle, her blood began to thunder in her ears and her skin felt like it was on fire. She thought she might be sick.
She’d seen this gun before, in Alyn’s desk in the Council office.
Her instinct was to recoil from it as if it was a snake, but somehow she managed to retain it in her grasp.
Her breath came in short gasps as her new world crashed down around her. Alyn, or someone using his gun, had murdered Genevieve in the name of the Dragon. If it happened to Genny, it would happen to her. And possibly Jack.
Her mind reeled. This could not be. There must be some explanation. Hadn’t Jack just told her it was impossible that someone from the island…
With shaking hands, she gave the gun back to the inspector. She must not let them know, not until she could discover the truth for herself. What suggested itself was too horrible to imagine. If it were true, then everything she’d believed in her whole life had been a lie. If it wasn’t, and the police invaded Keinadraig with false suspicions, it might do irreparable harm to the ways of her people. Even though she wanted a new life in the outside world, she did not wish to destroy the lives of those for whom the ways of the Dragon were still sacred.
But most of all, she must move quickly to protect Jack. If she had been followed, and if the killer was poised to strike again, he very well could end up like his friend, Brad. Or worse.
“No,” she managed to lie over the tightness in her throat. “No, I do na recognize it.”
Jack stood up again, and she felt the reassuring pressure of his hand on her shoulder. “Are you finished, Inspector?” he asked. “Can’t you see she’s very upset?”
“Yes, yes, I can,” the British officer replied, sounding thoughtful. “Very well, that’s enough for today, I suppose. But I will be wanting to talk with you both again soon, so don’t get any notions of leaving town again. You’re still on the list, Mr. Knight. Don’t forget that.”
Jack growled something in reply, but Keely wasn’t listening to the men. She was frantically searching her mind, trying to remember what Alyn’s gun actually looked like. She rose and murmured a polite goodbye to the officer, but before she turned to go, she paused to gaze at the malignant little pistol that now lay on his desk. She studied it, memorizing t
he features, so that when she saw the other gun, the one that did not kill Genevieve, the one that surely was still hidden away in Alyn’s care, she would see the dissimilarities and know she had been mistaken in thinking this gun and that were the same.
It took every ounce of will Keely could muster not to fall apart as Jack escorted her down the austere gray hallway and out the front door of the government building. So intent was she on controlling her emotions, she didn’t realize Jack had spoken to her until he tugged on her arm.
“Are you okay?” he wanted to know. They were stopped on a busy street corner, waiting for the traffic light to change.
Keely looked up at him, but she could find no words to answer him. She tried to nod her head, wanting to make him think she was fine, but it worked no better than her mouth. All she could do was stare at him with eyes that were not focused on the moment, but rather were seeing something terrible she did not want to think about.
“I shouldn’t have taken you there…” Jack said.
At last she found her voice. “Jack, I do na feel well. Could ye please take me back to the hotel?”
The light changed, and they crossed the street. Keely felt Jack’s arm around her, but she no longer believed he could protect her. She believed, in fact, that he was in great danger.
Because of her.
If that was Alyn’s gun, then someone from her own island had killed Genevieve and shot Brad. That someone would kill again. But it was her the killer wanted. She must not put Jack’s life at risk as well.
She must protect him. And to protect him, she must leave.
“I…I need to be alone for a while,” she told him when at last they reached the refuge of their hotel room. “I’ll na be afraid. My head feels like someone is beating a drum in there.”
When he took her in his arms, she did not resist or deny her body’s physical need for him. Instead, she allowed him to hold her close against him and kiss her deeply. She slid her arms around his back, wanting to impress this moment, this memory, into her mind, her body, and her heart forever. For in truth, she believed this would be the last time she would ever hold this compassionate stranger who had tried so hard to set her free from dragons he could not comprehend.