His home smelled like bread and vanilla.
“How do you know why I’ve come?” And was he, of all people, doing his utmost to talk me out of confessing?
In a strangely solicitous and almost careful gesture, he nudged me into a room done in dark blues and masculine leathers. Bookshelves lined every wall and were not so much orderly as well-used. A fire crackled almost diffidently in the hearth, and on a side table next to a high-backed leather chair, his half-smoked pipe rested next to an open book.
I’d been mistaken…about being mistaken…
This was Grayson Croft’s lair.
“Amelia is just about as likely as you are to heed an edict. I told her not to bother you, not so soon after the death of your priest.” He didn’t so much as look at me as he said this. Instead, he bustled around the room in a decidedly un-Croft-like manner, tidying up.
“He wasn’t my priest,” I whispered around a knot of emotion as he pushed another chair close to the warmth of the fire.
“He was something to you.” He gestured for me to take a seat, and I did everything but collapse into the comfortable furniture.
Yes. Aiden had been everything to me once. I didn’t know what he was to me now. A mistake? Both my sweetest memory and my most terrible one. The keeper of my heart and the breaker of it.
My reason for being here.
“Inspector,” I started.
He held up a hand, and I noted the ink stains on his fingers. “I’ve come to accept that if a prostitute is murdered in Whitechapel, there’s nothing I can do to keep you from the investigation, short of locking you up and losing the key.”
Had he allowed me to speak first, that’s exactly what he’d be able to do. Except now, I had a reason to be silent. A prostitute. Dead. In Whitechapel.
“I’ve not read of anything new in the paper,” I said breathlessly.
“I’m unsure how long we’ll be able to keep it from the press.” His lip lifted in a semblance of a snarl.
“What does your sister have to do with this?” I asked, a flare of panic chilling my skin at the same time my palms bloomed with sweat.
“Did she not mention?”
I made a negative gesture. I’d never received a letter, but I’d be damned if I allowed Croft that information before I gleaned what I could from him.
“She knew the victim.” His gaze shifted to the floorboards, then he studied the hemmed cuffs of his trousers as his hard jaw worked over something that looked very much like shame. “From earlier days, when the only law we knew was the law of the streets.”
I leaned forward so I could hear him properly over the thundering of my heart. Had another woman lost a dear friend to Jack? And why would Croft’s sister call for my help?
Grief had blanketed my fate with doubt and self-recrimination, but there was no time for that anymore. All thoughts of confession dissipated into the London fog as I leaned forward and captured that flinty green glare with mine.
“Tell me everything.”
* * *
Coming in 2020:
A Treacherous Trade – The Business of Blood Book 2
Coming in 2021:
A Vocation of Violence –The Business of Blood Book 3
Also by Kerrigan Byrne
UNLEASHED
RECLAIMED
INVOKED
A RIGHTEOUS KILL
THE HIGHWAYMAN
THE HUNTER
THE HIGHLANDER
THE DUKE
THE SCOT BEDS HIS WIFE
THE DUKE WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO
HOW TO LOVE A DUKE IN TEN DAYS
ALL SCOT AND BOTHERED
Coming in March of 2020
About the Author
Kerrigan lives in a little Victorian coast town on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State with her wonderful, dreamboat husband and her beloved Rottweiler mix, Willow. When she’s not writing or traveling you can find her beach combing, kayaking, visiting wineries, breweries, and restaurants with friends, shopping and hiking…okay…wandering aimlessly clenching bear spray in the mountains.
Also, to be honest, she’s probably in her slippers and fuzzy robe power-watching her new favorite show, playing video games, and online shopping.
But sometimes she does that other interesting stuff, too.
Contact Kerrigan Anytime!
www.kerriganbyrne.com
[email protected]
The Business of Blood Page 27