Romance: Wanted by the Alpha Lion (A BBW Paranormal Suspense Romance) (Heroes of Shifter Creek Book 2) (155 page)

“And to you, Inspector Tummond,” she bade him.

Quickly, Logan made his way back down the stairs.  He snagged his coat and hat from Ginny, glaring at the girl when she gave him a sly smile. 
Little minx knew where her mistress was,
he thought. 
Let me walk right into the tigress’ den, completely unarmed and unprepared. 
“Next time,” he growled at Ginny, “warn me.” 

He clapped his hat on his head and marched out the front door.  He could feel his blood pumping, body filled with longing.  For the first time since he realized he had begun to have feelings for Ruby, Logan considered paying a visit to a brothel.  He could find someone who looked enough like her – a redheaded lass with nice, big breasts to fill up each hand, a plump arse to smack and grab as he bounced her on his lap…  He grimaced and shook that thought right out of his head. 
No,
he told himself. 
That would only be torture, because you will always know it isn’t really her.  It’s more than looks, it’s everything else. 
He could see her in his mind’s eye, smiling, laughing…and then he pictured her reflection in the mirror, her beautiful hourglass figure, soap rolling down the curve of her hip…

He kept going and did not stop until his boots had carried him to the street.  He thought about hailing a cab but decided the brisk walk would do him better.  There was only one way he was going to get those images out of his head.

He soon found himself at a noisy pub.  Pushing his way through the early evening crowd, he called to the barkeep.  “Whiskey,” he said, slapping down coin.  “A whole bottle, if you’ve got it.”

“You be wanting a glass, as well, Inspector?” the barkeep asked, with a hearty chuckle, setting the bottle in front of Logan.

“I’ll let you know.”  Using his teeth, Logan pulled the cork from the bottle and spat it out.  That first tip against his lips, the sweet liquor burning a path over his tongue and down his throat to his belly, had been a long time in coming.  The barkeep placed a glass on the counter.  Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and splashed some whiskey into the glass.  He began knocking them back, one after the other, four in a row. 
One for every child killed since April,
he thought.  He took another shot. 
And one to kill this longing inside me for that woman.

“Oi, look who it is!” 

A hand landed on Logan’s back, causing him to spill his drink.  He stiffened and turned around to see Joshua Porter, a constable who had once served under Logan before being transferred to another division after Logan caught him conspiring to write a letter as Jack the Ripper and send it to the newspapers when a prostitute had been found strangled in a local brothel in a case completely unrelated to the Whitechapel murders.  Logan had threatened him with prison time but instead let him off with the transfer, a demotion, and a warning.  “You would be wise to remove your hand from my person, Constable Porter,” Logan said in a low growl.  He shook his head.  “You are no longer under my command and therefore we have nothing to say to one another.” 

“Aw, come now, Inspector Tummond!” Porter grinned and glanced to his two mates standing off to his right.  “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?  It’s been at least a year since we last saw one another.”  He kept up the light patter, but Logan – even in his intoxicated state – could hear the sharp edge under the honeyed tone.  “So, what brings you around here?  Bit far from your usual watering hole, innit?  And a whole bottle of whiskey to yourself!”  He clucked his tongue.  “My goodness.  Your missus pays you well, it would seem.”

The inspector snorted.  “You confuse me with someone else, Constable,” he said, “as I remain a bachelor.”

“But not for much longer, eh?”  Porter winked.  “We’ve all seen you about town with her, dining in fancy establishments, riding about in open carriages.  The ladies at the brothels must be quite sad, since you stopped
coming
around.” 

That made Logan’s scowl deepen.  “And what, precisely, are you implying?” he demanded frostily.

“Listen to you, playing coy!  Come off it, Tummond – everyone knows you’ve been courting that Ruby Waterbrook.Bet she’s quite a handful, too; she’s one of those
Lydia Becker
types, going on about
suffrage
and
women’s rights
and what-not.But she’s also got more
money
than she knows what to do with – more money than every constable in all of Scotland Yard makes in a year, yourself included!”

“My interest in Miss Waterbrook, while no business of yours, does not include her financial holdings.  She is more than the sum of her bank account,” Logan said, lifting his glass to his lips.  “Not that I would expect the likes of you to understand that sort of thing.”

“Oh, sure…sure.”  Porter leered.  “You’ll be changing your tune, once you marry her.  By rights all what’s
hers
becomes
yours
.”  He leaned up against the bar and thumbed his nose with a dry sniff.  “I’ve got to hand it to you, though, Inspector.  It’s about time a man taught her how to behave like a
proper
woman: lyin’ on her back with her legs in the air!” He let out a braying laugh and looked over to his friends again, who chuckled and nodded in agreement.

Logan’s fist caught Porter right in his open mouth, bringing an abrupt end to the laughter spilling out of it.  Porter staggered back, stunned, his upper lip bloodied. Logan uncurled his fist and flexed his hand.  He spared a glance at the cut on his knuckle he received upon impact with the constable’s front teeth. 

Shock gave way to anger and Porter pushed away from the bar.  “Hit a tender spot, did I, Inspector?” he hissed.  “Well, I suppose it stands to reason.  After all,
you’re
nothing more than
her
whore.   Ain’t that right?Probably the only way she could get a man – instead of
you
paying her,
she’s
paying you!”

“Bastard!” Logan snarled.  He drew his arm back in preparation to land another blow.  Porter rushed at him, already swinging, trying to get a few licks in.  One fist grazed Logan’s chin.  A roar went up from the crowd in their immediate vicinity, men clearing space and cheering them as they squared off.

“All right!  That’ll be enough!”  From out of nowhere, Victor MacCulloch appeared, barking loudly to be heard over the heated exchange.  He shoved his way through the throng and got between the two men.  Catching Porter, Victor shoved him backwards, making him stumble into the bar.The sergeant glared at him.  “You know what’s worse than provoking a drunken Irishman, Constable?”Victor asked, stalking toward him slowly.  He snatched at the front of Porter’s jacket; clutching his lapels in both fists,MacCulloch leaned up into the other man’s face and murmured, “Letting his drunken Scots friend catch you at it.”  He gave Porter a long, warning stare before releasing him abruptly.  “Now, go on with ya – get out of here, before I beat you down myself in front of all these respectful people who are just trying to enjoy their pints.”

Porter’s friends gathered him up and hastened to usher him outside.  Victor dug a pound note out of the pocket of his waistcoat and held it aloft.  “Another round for everyone!” he announced, before slamming the money down on the bar. 

The crowd cheered.  As people began clamoring to make their orders, Victor turned to face Logan, both of them swaying like sailors aboard a ship on rough seas.  “You,” Victor pointed at the inspector, his brogue more pronounced due to his own excessive drinking that evening, “need to go home, before you get into more trouble than you can handle.  You’re drunk.”

Logan snorted in amusement.  “So are you,” he retorted. 

“Yes, I am,” MacCulloch admitted with a nod.  “But if word gets back to the Chief Inspector that you’ve been seen brawling in pubs with a fellow policeman – even the likes of that bastard, Porter – he’ll take away your credentials.  We both know you don’t want that, now, do ya?”

Stuffing his hands down in his trouser pockets, Logan huffed a sigh.  “No,” he muttered.

“Right.”  Grabbing the two shots the barkeep had poured for them, Victor handed one to Logan and kept one for himself.  “One more for the road.”  He knocked their glasses together, whiskey sloshing, before gulping down the contents of his own glass.  Logan followed suit.  “Now,” Victor said, licking his lips.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

They staggered out of the tavern, Logan leaning heavily on his shorter friend.  “It’s this bloody case,” he grumbled.  “Another child is going to die in August.  I need to find the bastard who’s killing them, Victor.”

“We’ll find him,” Victor promised.  “We always do.”

“We have yet to find Jack,” Logan reminded him bitterly.  “Four years.  Almost four years, and we are no closer to finding out who he really is.  Dozens of suspects but not one we can point to and say ‘there he is –
that’s
the one: that’s Jack the bloody Ripper!’”  He raised his hand and pointed ahead of them into the darkness for emphasis before letting his arm fall back down around MacCulloch’s shoulders.  “I want to do that with this bloody monster who’s killing these boys.  Aries…Taurus…Gemini…Cancer…month after month…death after death.  They drink the tea and go to sleep, and never wake up again.” 

“You’re talking nonsense,” Victor said.

“He
buggers
them,” Logan said, lip curled in revulsion.  “He brands their foreheads and shoves a yew branch up their arses, taking their innocence before he takes their lives.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure that when we catch him, we have a nice big tree branch to ram up his arse hole,” Victor said with conviction.  “Preferably one with lots of nice, sharp thorns.”

Somehow, they managed to end up back at the station house.  Victor dragged Logan into his office.  He walked over to a cabinet and opened the bottom drawer, finding an old wool blanket and a dingy pillow.  On long nights, Logan would often kip on the floor behind his desk, catch a nap, and then be back to work.  This was no secret to Victor, who had often stumbled – quite literally – upon him while he slept.  Now, Victor finished spreading out the blanket and dropped the pillow onto it.  He pointed to Logan and then to the makeshift bed.  “You.  Sleep.  Now.”

“I have feelings for her,” Logan said abruptly.

Victor stared at him a moment, sloe-eyed, and then frowned.  “Who?”

“Ruby.”

“Ah!”

“She means a great deal to me,” Logan went on. “You have no idea, Victor.  I admire her…her strong will, her vast intelligence…it has nothing to do with her wealth.  She’s beautiful, and I respect her.”  He looked down at his hand, at the knuckle he had split open on Porter’s teeth, and scowled.  “I shall not suffer fools who speak ill of her in any way.” 

“Right,” Victor said, nodding.  He beckoned again.  “Come on.  To bed with you.”

Reluctantly, Logan dropped down onto his knees and crawled over onto the blanket.  A moment later, he shot back up again, blue-grey eyes wide.  “Taking their innocence!” he gasped.  “It’s part of the ritual – a virgin sacrifice!”

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling about.  “I have to tell her,” he muttered.  He lurched for the chair over which he had dropped his coat and fought to get his arms through the sleeves as he staggered from the office. 

Victor blinked.  Seeing the derby on the desk, he picked it up and swayed after Tummond.  “Och, Logan!” he called out.  “You forgot your hat!”  But Logan was already bursting out onto the street, bellowing for a cab like a sick cow.  Victor sighed and shook his head.  “Daft man.”  He looked down at the makeshift bed, one eyebrow raised.  “Well.  Since he’ll not be using it tonight…”  A moment later, the sergeant was sprawled upon the blanket, his face half-buried in the pillow, as the London fog filled his brain and weighted it down.

Big Ben had begun to strike a half-hour past midnight when Logan found himself on Ruby’s front steps.  He used the brass knocker and then resorted to pounding on the wood with his palm.  “Ruby!” he called.  “I know what he’s doing!”

Ruby appeared in a window two floors above, her long waves of hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned out over the sill.  “Inspector Tummond!” she hissed.  “Do stop beating on my door, you’ll rouse the neighbors!”

He stepped back and nearly tripped over the hedges lining the walkway.   Craning his neck, he saw her.  A smile spread across his face.  “I know what he’s doing,” he said again.  “It’s a ritual, just as Professor Chetham had said.”

“The hour is late,” Ruby reminded him with a brief laugh.  “And you appear to be in a state of extreme inebriation.  Perhaps you should go home.  Come back in the morning and we’ll discuss the matter at length, then.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head fiercely.  “There’s not a moment to lose.  He’s already choosing his next victim, I know it.”

Lights began to come on in the windows of surrounding houses.  Ruby glanced their way, grimacing.  “All right,” she sighed.  “A moment, please.”  She started to duck back inside only to emerge again, pointing at him.  “Stay right where you are.”

Dutifully, Logan did not move, other than to sway a bit.  A few minutes later, the front door opened and Ruby stood there, a dressing gown wrapped around her body, open just enough below the knee to give a glimpse at her bloomers.  Logan blinked at her in owlish fashion.  “I’ve never seen your hair down before,” he remarked.