“No. Nothing like that.”
He studied her face and abruptly regretted his flippancy. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hands shook across her lap. She quickly folded them.
“Does your father know you’re here?”
She looked up and her face went cold. “No. And it must stay that way.”
Interesting.
Stephen walked across the room and shut the door. “Don’t worry, I keep all my private cases confidential.” He went back to his desk and sat down in a wooden chair near the window. He placed the newspaper beside a stack of paperwork awaiting his review and signature. At least Miss Bloodmayne was keeping him from that odious job.
He folded his hands and laid them across the desk. “My work generally involves finding criminals. I’m guessing the person you seek is no felon, so who am I finding for you? A relative? A tenant delinquent on his rent?
“No. A doctor.”
Stephen sat back, forcing down a laugh. “A doctor? I’m sorry, Miss Bloodmayne, but I’m not a private investigator. You would be better off taking your case to one of them. In fact, I can recommend a good one.”
“Your aunt said I could trust you.”
That shut him down. Stephen carefully refolded his fingers. “My aunt?”
“Millicent Stuart. She is our housekeeper.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes and tugged at the bit of hair beneath his lips. There was more. His aunt would not send her charge to him just to find a doctor. Unless . . .
Miss Bloodmayne fidgeted on the couch. “So will you help me?”
He sat rigid in his chair. “Like I said, I catch criminals. So unless your doctor is a wanted man, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong office.”
Miss Bloodmayne opened her handbag. “If it’s an issue of money, I can pay. In fact, I’ll pay up front.”
“It’s not about money.”
She looked up, her eyes wide. “Please, Inspector Grey—”
“Mr. Grey.”
“Mr. Grey.” She took a deep breath. “I have no one else I can turn to, no one else I can trust.”
“Why can’t you go to your father?”
Her gaze darted toward the other side of the room. “Let’s just say I don’t think my father would want me to find this doctor.”
Stephen gritted his teeth. “Is this doctor some secret lover?”
Her head swung back and color blossomed across her cheeks. “What? No! I—that is—I need help. And only he can help me.”
“And you don’t know where he is?”
“No, I only have a name.”
Stephen tugged at the bit of hair again. “What is so special about this doctor?”
She dropped her gaze. “I have a . . . condition. One that he might be able to help me with.”
“And your scientist father can’t help you?”
“No.” The word came out firm and hard, leaving no room for questions, although it raised many in his mind.
“But my aunt knows about this condition?” Wait, was Miss Bloodmayne with child? Stephen went cold.
“Yes, she knows. That is why she sent me to you. She said if anyone could help me, you could.”
Stephen shook his head and stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the business of helping young women with ‘conditions.’” Why would Aunt Milly send Miss Bloodmayne to him if that were her problem? Aunt Milly would have sent her to the country.
“What?” Then Miss Bloodmayne’s mouth dropped open as realization dawned across her face. “Wait, Mr. Grey. It’s . . . it’s not that.” Her face turned so red he could see it in the shadows.
“Then what is it? I don’t have time for games, Miss Bloodmayne.”
“Fine.” She stood. “It seems Ms. Stuart—your aunt—was wrong. I don’t think you can help me.” She grabbed her carpetbag and headed for the door.
“Wait!”
“No. I can see myself out.”
Stephen raced across the room and reached the door the same moment Miss Bloodmayne did. Their hands touched as they both reached for the doorknob. She looked up and his heart stopped. This young woman wasn’t anything like Vanessa. Petite, young, innocent. And scared. He could see it in her eyes.
She didn’t deserve his rancor.
“I’ll do it.” The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll do what?”
“I’ll help you.”
“I don’t thin—”
He pulled her hand back from the doorknob. He was between jobs at the moment. The payment from Victor’s capture would see him through for a month. “I owe my aunt a lot. I can do this one thing for her. As long as . . .”
“As long as what?”
Stephen swallowed. Was he being a fool? Where was the hard, cold bounty hunter he hid behind? “As long as you’re not with child.”
“It is highly improper to talk to a man about—”
“I left propriety behind when I became a bounty hunter. If we’re going to work together, I need you to be honest with me.”
She swallowed. “No, I’m not with child. But I need to find this doctor soon.”
“I will get onto it today. His name?”
Miss Bloodmayne drew her hand back. “Dr. Joshua Latimer. He was part of the Tower ten years ago, but has since disappeared.”
Stephen shook his head. “Never heard of him. Do you have a rough idea where he might be?”
“I don’t. I’ve read some of his articles. That’s how I found out about him.”
“I have some contacts I can start with. How do I reach you when I know more?”
Miss Bloodmayne turned back toward the door. “You don’t. I will contact you in three days. Will that be enough?”
“I should have something by then.”
Her face softened and she let out a long sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Grey.”
“Stephen.”
She gave him a quizzical look.
“Call me by my first name.”
“That is highly improper.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Very well, Mr. . . . er . . . Stephen. And if this is how we are going to work, then call me Kat.”
Before he could say anything, Kat pulled the door open and strode across the reception area, leaving a hint of lavender in her wake.
Jerod held the office door open for her, smiling like an idiot.
Stephen went back to his desk. This is business, strictly business. But Kat had woken something inside him, something he had closed off for a very long time.
And it scared him.
16
Stephen pulled the collar of his duster up against his throat and barreled into the rain outside. The water whipped across his face and knuckles, seeking ways inside his coat and hat. Between the rain and the biting wind, it felt more like March than May.
He hurried down the block and turned left. No one was out this morning, not even the street peddlers. He rarely saw the streets this empty, like a ghost town he once read about in a penny novel. With the wisps of fog drifting from the river nearby and the rain, he could almost imagine a ghost floating around the corner.
He shuddered and pushed those morbid thoughts aside.
Jimmy had been a dead end. And Miss Bloodmayne—Kat—would be here in two days. There were a couple more men he could contact, but Harvey was way down south, almost near the coast. And Captain Grim might be in port here, or in Covenshire, which was a half-day’s train ride away. Harvey specialized in the comings and goings across the Narrow Strait, especially those who didn’t want to be followed. Grim knew everything else.
However, Dr. Latimer did not strike him as a shady kind of man. Then again, if his line of work had taught him anything, it was that everyone had a core of darkness inside him
. Perhaps Dr. Latimer was a felon after all.
Stephen reached his office twenty minutes later, soaked through. He sloshed across the hallway and up the stairs. Jerod frowned when he walked in dripping wet, but Stephen ignored him and crossed the reception area to his own office in the back.
He tossed his duster up on a hook and his hat on top. Water pooled beneath the sodden garments. On his desk sat a copy of the Herald, still folded. He grabbed the paper and sat down.
Time for a breather. He opened the paper—
Murder in World City
Dr. Alexander Bloodmayne’s housekeeper was found murdered inside the Bloodmayne residence. No clues yet as to who the perpetrator is or why the famous Tower scientist’s home was targeted. More on Page 3.
He turned to page 3 and gripped the paper tight, hardly able to read the words as he scanned the article.
It couldn’t be. Not Aunt Milly.
He read the article twice, then sat back. The paper slipped from his fingers to his desk. Why hadn’t he been informed?
There was a knock at his door.
Stephen tilted his head and stared at the door. He couldn’t think. Everything inside his mind was a blur.
“Stephen?” Jerod’s voice came muffled through the wood.
He opened his mouth, but couldn’t form the words.
“Stephen?”
The door opened and Jerod stood in the doorway. Behind him stood two more men, police officers from the look of their olive uniforms.
“Stephen? There are some officers here for you.”
He nodded and finally found his voice. “Thank you, Jerod. Come in, gentlemen.”
Both men removed their hats and came to stand before his desk.
“I know why you’re here.” Stephen refolded the newspaper and tossed it into the rubbish bin beside his desk.
“Stephen.”
“Patrick.”
Patrick stood beside his desk inside the precinct and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “You know I can’t give you any details about the investigation of your aunt’s death.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Stephen stuffed his hands into the pockets of his duster. “I wanted to look you in the eye and have you tell me you are doing everything you can.”
Patrick looked up. “You know I am. But we are overflowing with cases right now. In fact, I wanted to run one by you . . .”
“Not interested. I will be checking my own sources regarding my aunt’s death. Until I find out who killed her, I’m not taking any other cases.” Except Miss Bloodmayne’s. But, then, perhaps the two were connected.
Patrick closed his mouth and seemed to struggle with himself. “But this one makes no sense,” he burst out after a moment. “And the accusations . . . A fire was lit inside the building where the gala was held last week. It looks like arson. One of the Sterling family’s sons was badly burned—he’ll probably be disfigured for the rest of his life.”
Stephen held up a hand. “Sorry to hear that, but I’m not interested. If you find out anything about my aunt, you know where to find me.”
“But—”
“My aunt is dead, Patrick. The only family I had. Do you really think I care that some spoiled little aristocrat lost his looks?”
Patrick drew back, shock and disappointment furrowing his forehead. “Very well. I’ll be in touch when we know something about Ms. Stuart.”
Stephen nodded then shoved his hat onto his head.
He’d only gone a couple of steps when Patrick called, “Hey, Stephen?”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“I’m sorry about your aunt.”
“I am too.” Now I’m alone.
Stephen stood beside the grave, his hat in hand. The last two days had been a blur of sound and detached movement. Aunt Milly’s minister came and spoke over her body, and the undertaker took care of everything until—at last—she was buried beside his parents, grandparents, and extended family in the local graveyard.
Dr. Bloodmayne had insisted on paying for everything, but Stephen had refused. Aunt Milly had been his only family. It was his duty to take care of her now in death.
A soft drizzle fell across his head and shoulders and the smell of fresh turned soil filled his nostrils. A lump filled his throat. He hadn’t seen Aunt Milly in over two years, but she always wrote each month. It was his fault. He should have made time for her. Instead, he had buried himself in work.
Stephen gripped his hat and turned away. He should have done more, spent more time with her. After all, where would he be now if she hadn’t taken him in after his parents died? She had done everything for him. And how had he repaid her?
He looked down at the fresh mound, darkened by the rain. A tombstone had been placed at the head, etched with her name and a short epitaph.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Milly.” There was only one thing he could do: find her killer.
The World City police were already on the case, but he had what they did not: connections to the underworld. He still couldn’t piece together why someone would kill his aunt. The only thing he could think of was that the murderer was after someone else and his aunt had simply gotten in the way. It had to be. Aunt Milly wouldn’t have been involved in anything sinister.
However, he could well imagine Dr. Bloodmayne had enemies. No one in power stayed that long without acquiring enemies. And the Tower especially had enemies.
Or maybe—Stephen tugged at his mustache—maybe Kat was the one in danger. He had seen many innocent family members get caught up in street wars in his line of work. Did his aunt die to protect her from some enemy of the Bloodmaynes? It would explain why her father had looked so concerned at the funeral and why Kat hadn’t made an appearance.
However, it had seemed like Kat and her father were not on good terms. Or at least she didn’t want him to know about her search for Dr. Latimer. What was that about? And was there a connection between their strained relationship and Aunt Milly’s murder?
Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been on this merry-go-round of thoughts for two days and come up with nothing concrete. And now his head hurt.
He let out a long breath and readjusted his hold on his hat. The minister had already prayed over the grave, but it didn’t seem like enough.
It was time he prayed as well.
He tightened his hold on the brim. God. He mentally recoiled. He hadn’t talked to God ever since that day he found out about Vanessa’s indiscretion. Before then, he had faithfully gone to church, prayed, even read the small black Bible his parents left for him.
But his heart had died that day, and he had left faith behind.
Just . . . just watch over Aunt Milly for me.
Stephen crushed his hat onto his head. That was it. That was all he could muster for now.
Something moved among the oak trees near the edge of the cemetery.
Stephen paused, his hand still near his face. There. Next to one of the oaks. The figure was dressed in a dark blue skirt and coat, her hood pulled over her head.
Stephen dropped his hand and made it appear as if he were leaving the graveyard. He followed the path between the graves and green grass toward the iron gate near the church. From the corner of his eye, he watched the trees.
The figure moved again.
He reached the gate and exited, followed the side of the church where he couldn’t be seen from the cemetery, and made his way to the tree line where the figure had been moments before.
She was no longer among the trees. Rather, she was now making her way to the gravesite he had just left.
Kathryn Bloodmayne.
Kat looked around, then pulled her hood back. She stood for a moment beside the mound, then fell to her knees in the grass and bowed her hea
d.
A white hot ball formed inside Stephen’s middle. Why was Kat here now? If she were still in danger, she would be hiding. To come here meant she was free to come and go. And if that was the case, why didn’t she come this morning when everyone else was here?
Was she responsible for his aunt’s death?
Stephen emerged silently from the trees and headed for the grave. Kat didn’t notice him. A sob escaped her and she bent down to the ground and grabbed a handful of dirt. That only intensified the white ball inside him.
He reached the mound just as she looked up.
Her eyes were puffy and red, and wet trails glistened across her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet and wiped her face, leaving dirt streaks behind. “Mr. Grey?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I . . .” She trailed off, looking dazed.
He pointed at the mound “Who did this?”
“I don’t know!”
“You know more than you’re letting on!”
Her gaze darted to the mound, then back to Stephen. Her lip quivered. “I don’t know who k—k—” She looked away.
“Killed Millicent Stuart?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was tight and pale.
“What are you not telling me, Kat?”
Kat shook her head and took a step back. “I don’t know anything. But Ms. Stuart, she suspected something that night. . .”
“What night?”
Kat didn’t seem to hear him. “I never should have left her.” She pressed her hands to her face. “It’s all my fault.” A long moan escaped between her fingers.
The ball inside his middle dissipated. Either Kat was a good liar, or she’d had nothing to do with his aunt’s death. Stephen rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, Kat. I want to help you, but you need to tell me what you know. You have to be honest with me.”
She drew her hands away from her face. Mud smudged her forehead as well as her cheeks now, and the rain had saturated her hair. “I don’t know who”—she swallowed—“who killed Ms. Stuart.” Her voice went quiet. “The night before I came to you, there were people at my home. I don’t know who, but Ms. Stuart told me to run.”
Tainted (The Soul Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
