Laura Lee Guhrke (24 page)

He straightened away from the column and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “He saved my life. Damn it all to hell, I wish I could have saved his.”

“I wish I could have seen this sooner, but I can never predict—”

He looked at her. “Don’t,” he ordered, his voice harsh. “Don’t.”

“I have to say this. Mick, if I knew who had done this terrible thing, I would have told you. There is no one among my acquaintance that I would protect from a brutal crime such as this, even if I knew who that person was. Even if that person were someone I loved, I would not save them, from, the punishment they rightly deserved had they committed this crime. And I would never be able to live with myself if I kept silent, knowing I caused someone’s death.”

“I know that. I realized it today, when I saw you looking down at Jack’s body. But Sophie, if you’re not protecting someone, then—” He stopped, not saying what he’d intended to say.

“There are some things, Mick, that can’t be proven. Some things just don’t have facts and evidence to back them up. Some things have to be taken on faith.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, slowly, he shook his head. “Sophie, I can’t,” he murmured, sounding almost as if he wished he could. “You’re asking me to believe in something that is unbelievable. I can’t.”

Desolation came over her, dark and cold like a thick winter fog. She wanted Mick to believe in her, to accept her the way she truly was. “I understand,” she said in a tiny voice, and lowered her gaze to her hands. She was holding the trowel so tightly that her knuckles were white. She forced herself to relax her grip and told herself it didn’t matter what he thought, but that was a lie. It did matter.

She felt his gaze on her as she resumed her task, but
she didn’t look at him. She tamped down the dirt she had placed in the pot, then picked up her watering can and gave the palm a good soaking. She moved to lift it off the table, but Mick’s voice stopped her. “Don’t do that. It’s too heavy. Let me do it.”

“I’ve done it before,” she said as he moved to her side.

“I don’t care.” Mick lifted the huge pot easily from the table. “Where do you want it?”

“I’ll show you,” she said, and led him to the front of the conservatory. She pointed to a spot just behind one of the wicker chairs where they’d had tea only a week ago, and he placed it there.

“Thank you,” she said as he straightened and brushed the dirt from his hands. “I think I’ll make myself a cup of tea.” She hesitated, then asked, “Would you like one?”

“I would.”

She crossed the room, weaving her way amid the greenery, and Mick followed. “Where are you taking me?” he asked when she did not head toward the door. “The forests of the Argentine?”

“It does seem like that, doesn’t it?” she said, laughing as she ducked beneath one of the huge leaves of a fiddle-leaf fig and entered a clearing, where a gas ring, kettle, and other tea things stood on a papier-mâché tea table.

“We keep a gas ring and tea things in here,” she told him. “I often work in here, and I usually like a cup of tea while I’m working.”

There was an old-fashioned water pump set into the terrazzo floor nearby, and after washing the dirt
from her hands, she used the pump to fill the teakettle.

“This conservatory is a beautiful place.”

She lit the gas ring and put the kettle on to boil. “You should have seen it before.”

“Before?”

“Before I came to live with Auntie. The first time I walked in here, I thought I
was
in the Argentine, it was such a jungle. Auntie had hired a young boy to come every day and water the plants, but she couldn’t afford a gardener, and she knows nothing of plants herself. Everything was overgrown, the vines were running wild. All it needed then was a monkey.”

Mick grinned at that. “I’m sure your mother would love to have a monkey climb all over her when she comes to visit.”

“What a wonderful idea,” she said as she began placing cups, spoons, and other tea things on a tray. Looking up, she paused in her task and asked him, “Where does one get a monkey?”

A warning glint came into his deep blue eyes. “I was only joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

That made him smile. “Yes, you were. Besides, you wouldn’t want a monkey. I’ve known a few organ grinders. Monkeys make quite a mess.”

“You’re saying that because you’re obsessed with neatness.”

“I’m not obsessed. I just don’t like things in disarray.”

She shrugged. “Define it any way you want to.”

When the kettle whistled, she finished making their tea, but when she picked up the tray, Mick stepped forward.
“Let me carry it,” he said, taking the tray from her hands. “You lead the way.”

This time she did not argue. They walked back to the furniture near the front of the room, where Mick set the tray on the wicker tea table. Sophie sank down on the cushioned settee. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized how exhausted she was. She leaned forward, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

Mick sat down on the settee beside her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she answered and straightened in her chair. She poured out their tea, “I’m just tired.”

“If you’re fine and you’re tired, then why don’t you go to bed?”

“For the same reason as you. I couldn’t possibly sleep just now. I don’t sleep well, even at the best of times.” She stirred sugar into his tea and handed the cup to him.

“Because you have dreams about murder?”

There was no hint of skepticism or disbelief in his voice, and Sophie didn’t know what to think. He had just told her moments ago that he couldn’t believe she was psychic, and yet, he no longer seemed absolutely sure she wasn’t.

“I don’t usually dream about murder,” she answered, “though I do dream about death. And sometimes other tragedies.”

“And you keep quill and paper by your bed to take notes of what you dream. I remember when I found them in your room, I couldn’t understand what they meant.”

“Yes, I often write down my dreams. It helps. I also have a tendency to speak my predictions aloud at the moment I have them,” She gave him a rueful smile. “That gets me in real trouble sometimes, especially with my mother.”

“What are you going to tell your family about tonight?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll have to think of something. I imagine they will take the first train they can get, which is about six hours from now, and the moment they arrive, my mother will be demanding explanations.”

“True, but you did leave a note.”

“My mother will still think it quite the scandal.” She looked at him with sympathy. “Be prepared for some harsh words.”

He didn’t seem to mind. “I was just doing my duty. I consider you to be a material witness to a crime, and as such, I brought you back to London.”

Horrified, Sophie stared at him. “We can’t tell them that!”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“You don’t understand.”

“On the contrary, I understand perfectly. People like your mother and your sister consider themselves above the law. They feel that their place in society, in and of itself, proves their innocence. They feel that it is an appalling presumption on my part to even question them about a crime. Though some at Scotland Yard might agree with that, I don’t. Your family’s position doesn’t impress me in the slightest.”

“You make them sound like such snobs.”

“So they are.”

“I am gratified to note that you did not put my aunt or myself in that category.”

“Your aunt is adorable. A very charming lady.”

“And what am I?”

He met her gaze straight on. “I haven’t figured you out yet. I’m working on it.”

“I see.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

Sophie kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t confess that she was a coward. It was his life that was in danger, yet he didn’t seem afraid. She was the one who was afraid. It was pure fear that prevented her from going back to bed. She didn’t want to sleep because she didn’t want to dream. She didn’t want to see blood and death, she didn’t want to feel the black evil of someone’s twisted mind. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I just want to sit here quietly.”

“Do you want me to leave?” He stood up.

“No!” she cried, gripped by a sudden panic as powerful as any vision she’d ever had. Turning toward him, she reached for his hand. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to go. Please, don’t leave. Don’t leave me alone. I—” She broke off, realizing how hysterical she sounded. Taking a deep breath, she let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That was rude. I don’t want to keep you from your rest. You’re exhausted. I mean, after everything you’ve been through, losing your friend, your own life at risk—”

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll stay.” He sat back down beside her. He slid his hand beneath her jaw, turning her face toward him. “You’ve had a rough day,” he said, his voice gentler than she’d ever heard it before. He rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth across her cheek. “You’re still in shock.”

Sophie looked at him and shook her head. “I’m not in shock. I’m scared.”

“This madman isn’t after you.”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s after you.”

“Well, I’m a tough bloke. He won’t get me. He’s not intelligent enough.”

She tried to smile at that, but she couldn’t. She felt so cold. She hugged herself tighter. “But he’s evil, and he’s obsessed with one idea. Killing.”

“You’re trembling.” He slid one arm down behind her back, and the other beneath her knees. Before she could even realize his intention, she found herself sitting on his lap.

“You have no excuses now.” He settled back against the settee and pulled her close. Against her hair, he murmured, “You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

Sleep? She stared at him, wondering how she could possibly sleep like this. She was sitting on his lap, for heaven’s sake.

Sophie pushed at his chest, but she might just as well have pushed at a brick wall. His arms were wrapped tight around her, and she was forced to remain where she was.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder with an
exasperated sigh. After everything that had happened, after the horrifying events of the evening, he expected her to fall asleep. Here? On his lap? There was no way, she thought, yawning, that she was going to fall asleep now.

No way at all.

Thirteen
 

“Where is she? I demand to be taken to her at once!”

The loud voice penetrated Sophie’s consciousness as if it were a cannon going off far in the distance. With the vague, hazy logic of a person still half asleep, she assumed she was dreaming. Ignoring the sound, she snuggled deeper against the pillow beneath her cheek.

“What do you mean she’s not in her room?”

The voice was louder now. Sophie frowned and opened her eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight pouring in from all the windows of the conservatory. She lifted her head and realized she was still sitting on Mick’s lap. She had fallen asleep in his arms, with her head resting not on a pillow but in the comfortable dent of his shoulder.

“Where is she?”

The voice was getting closer, louder. It was her mother. God in heaven. Mick’s body stirred beneath her, and she was off his lap in an instant.

Another voice was heard. “Ma’am, she’s about the house, I’m sure,” Hannah said. “Her bed’s been slept in. Maybe she’s in the conservatory.”

Sophie pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then turned toward the door and tried to brace herself for the corning confrontation.

She heard Mick stand up behind her and felt his hands on her waist. Startled by the intimate contact, she jumped. “What do we do?” she whispered. “We left in such a rush yesterday, and now we’re here alone together. Oh, God, I’m still in my nightgown. You and I both know that she’ll think the worst.”

Mick’s hands left her waist, and he moved away. She glanced over her shoulder to see him grab his empty teacup and saucer.

“Let’s get out of here.” He tucked one piece in each pocket of his jacket and grabbed Sophie’s hand. She had no choice but to follow him out the French doors that led into the garden. Mick closed the doors, and they raced around the corner of the house and out of sight. When the others entered the conservatory, they would find no one there.

Mick and Sophie halted by the side of the house, breathing hard. “What do we do now?” she asked in a low voice. “We can’t hide out here all day.”

Mick glanced around and pointed to a door nearby that led back into the house. “You go back in, sneak upstairs, get dressed, then come back down, acting as if you’ve just gotten up,” he said, pulling the cup and
saucer from, his pockets and handing them to her. “Hide these somewhere until you can put them back. I’ll wait a few minutes, then come in as if I’ve just arrived after being out all night. Take your time getting back downstairs. I don’t want you facing your mother all alone.”

That sounded like a very good plan, but Sophie had one other question. “What are we going to tell them about yesterday?”

“The truth.” She started to protest, but Mick interrupted her. “We have no choice. This case is going to be in all the newspapers.”