by Elsa Holland
Was she really that cool? His gaze darted over her, looking for signs she was feigning her calm indifference. Then lips, his attention snagged on her lips and didn’t move. He knew exactly what those lips looked like after a kiss, all swollen, red and wet.
A second too long passed before their eyes met again. Her face showed nothing, yet it was a lie—he was sure of it—she was simply better at this masking business than he was.
“Tell me you have the order of ops list?” The growl couldn’t cover his lapse in attention, but dared her to draw attention to it. The request put her on the spot; he had never asked his staff for the list before, so she would not have known to prepare one.
“Of course,” she replied, her voice steady. She seemed her usual pre-kissed, pre-proposal self. That irked.
And, of course, she was prepared.
Vaughn watched with reluctant admiration as the very same hand which had clasped him to her, had threaded through his hair, the destroyer of his top buttons, slid into the front pocket of her smock as she walked towards him.
He watched that hand travel the path of his a few nights earlier, over the flat of her stomach, the top of her pelvis. Hers stopped short but his mind recalled the soft hairs at the tips of his fingers, the soft cushion of her intimate lips, the satin heat as he pressed inside.
A sudden and very unwanted stirring began but if she noticed anything, there was no sign of it. In contrast, there she walked, her shoulders pulled back stiff and straight. She presented him with the day’s list, looking as cool and crisp as fresh white linen. He would need to try harder if he was going to step back and leave her alone.
“The order is ready, Doctor, unless you’d like to rearrange any of it.” She spoke in a low voice as she ran through the list, the logic behind it impeccable.
As she spoke, he watched her face, the movement of her eyes. There was nothing but professionalism. No look at his chest to recall how she had clung to it, no look at his lips that she had nipped and suckled.
The tension in his shoulders should have lifted with her reserve but did not. Instead he felt her presence like a furnace.
‘That is unimaginable, impossible.’
“Have Frazer and Lam prepped?” He tolerated the two hopeless surgical candidates to please Dr Cox and the hospital board, and to allow him access to a higher allowance of cadavers. Though the Hospital believed his interests were purely scientific, the bodies were Cox’s patients who died yet had rudimentary afflictions; deaths for which Felix wanted answers.
“Waiting in the theater, Doctor.”
“Doctor? So respectful, Nurse Appleby.”
Vaughn strode into the theater as his Miss Apple instructed the nurses. Frazer was taking notes in his small notebook while Lam looked aimlessly about the room. Useless idiots, but today he had need of them.
“We have five patients today. I’ll take the two exploratories. Frazer, I want you to take the two growths; Lam, the carriage accident. We follow Appleby’s order.”
He noted a small stiffening of Miss Apple. She didn’t like giving up her position to assist him, it seemed. She could walk in without the slightest response to the man she had blown so senseless with desire he’d been prompted to propose, yet was unable to hide her irritation at being demoted. Well, that confirmed his decision to maintain his distance from her. Vaughn strode to the sink and started scrubbing up, relieved and agitated at the same time.
The procedures progressed as expected, with neither Frazer nor Lam providing quality assistance. Despite their tutelage thus far and the limited number of instruments he would require, they were unable to anticipate his needs. Miss Appleby assisted each of them as they undertook their respective procedures. She watched their every move, yet she was always aware of the other nurses in the room. He was keeping them on until Apple found her feet. A small nod, a raised eyebrow, a motion with her hand and they responded. On occasion, she missed something, and another nurse was required to make a call, but she noted everything they did, and he was sure she would not make the same errors again.
Throughout the procedures, their eyes met only once. The contact flashed hard and hot through him while she went back to her task without so much as a flicker of recognition.
The day’s surgery done, his shoulders tight as a tourniquet, he headed back to his office to find Felix browsing his books. The very last thing he needed.
CHAPTER 31
“Felix. I’d forgotten what you looked like. You get tired of FaFa?”
At thirty-three, Felix was of a similar age as himself but had the youthful flush of a boy, a long lanky body with artistic hands and a long narrow nose to match.
Felix laughed. “Her name is Zarzar and, no, it seems she got tired of me. I came to drag you off to the theater for some fun. I’m lonely.”
“I have work to do.” Vaughn walked over to the sideboard and poured them both a scotch.
“That’s never stopped you. You were still prolific when you saw Henrietta.”
Vaughn scowled at the blighter for bringing up his ex-fiancé, the woman who had played him like a damn puppet.
Felix held up his hand. “Alright, best not to bring her up, but it proves a point: you’ve always been able to balance work and pleasure.”
Vaughn handed Felix his glass then sat in the armchair opposite him. “Did you get my report?”
Felix nodded. “I owe you for the fast turnaround.”
“You do. What happened with the suspect?”
“There was nothing to indicate he administered the glass.”
That had been the dilemma.
“Did you check his hands for small lesions, check under his nails?”
“Yes, of course. There was nothing that couldn’t be attributed to daily life.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“I had thought so but maybe I simply wanted to find someone to blame. Someone guilty, at the very least of neglect if he was unable to stop what happened to the boy.” Felix sipped his drink. “Come on, just have a small taste of the blonde. I can’t fend off the fellows much longer. It’s been weeks since I told you about her.”
Vaughn knew he should go, it would be exactly what he needed to blow Miss Apple out of his system.
“Heard you were called down to Scotland Yard? The Little Princess case?”
Vaughn nodded.
Felix swore under his breath. “How did you land that? Every forensic medico worth his salt lined up for that one.”
“Cox.”
“Was that wise?”
“I didn’t ask for it. I think he wants access to the case.”
“To what end?”
“I’m not sure. When I came in last night, there was a dinner invite waiting.”
“Will you go?”
“Can’t see how I can get out of it. Besides, I need to get closer to him.”
“Watch yourself.”
There was no need for Felix’s warning, anyone with a sense of self-preservation stayed out of Cox’s circle of interest if at all possible. His career left many others derailed in his wake. His family had left him obscenely rich making the man virtually untouchable.
“Have you found any further evidence of your suspicions about the missing patients?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Not yet.” The other reason for taking on Lam and Fraser was to ingratiate himself with Cox and gain access to more information about him. The patients that had gone missing from the charity hospital had all been treated by Cox.
There was a firm knock on the door.
“Enter.”
The door swung open and there she was, Miss Apple, impervious expression still in place. The afternoon’s irritation resurfaced.
“Miss Appleby, surely a man deserves a modicum of peace?” She stiffened fractionally. If she wanted to play it cool he would test her mettle. Yet seeing her all tight and prim, didn’t ease his agitation, instead fueled it. He wanted to whisper outrageously sexual and intimate thoughts in that perfect she
ll of an ear and make her pale cheeks redden, her frame harden to the point of shattering. Make her regret her words from that night.
‘I’ll marry you.’ And the knife of humiliation turned again in his chest.
Felix stepped past him and shook her hand. Of course, Felix would play the gentleman. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr Felix Forester, Assistant Coroner and part-time editor for the Journal of Anatomy, among others.”
Her eyes widened in interest.
“Miss Edith Appleby. I assist Dr Vaughn in the surgery.”
“I have heard, my condolences.”
For the first time that day, Miss Apple chose to show some expression, a smile to bring down nations. Bestowed on Felix, no less.
“The Journal of Anatomy is one of my favorites.” She spoke breathlessly, and Vaughan’s jaw tightened.
“Get on with it, Appleby,” he growled into the space between them, causing Felix to raise an eyebrow at him. Bloody observant interloper.
As intended, her attention moved back to him. Vaughn thought he saw a flash of something—irritation or hurt—but it was too swift to tell.
Naturally, Felix ignored him. “See, that’s exactly what I mean.” Felix looked back at Apple. “Help me encourage him to accompany me to the theater tonight. It’s the only thing that calms the beast. I’ll send over the next Journal of Anatomy before its release date if you succeed.”
Felix winked at her. A small crease formed between her brows, then was gone.
Vaughn sat up straighter. “Yes, Appleby, what do you think? Should I go to the theater?” That cool indifferent look was there again. Damn her. He pushed harder. “Felix tells me he has a blonde just my taste; voluptuous, giggly and obedient.”
Vaughn watched her intently. Felix was saying something, but all his attention was on Edith’s stony face. Then it came. Her mouth pursed, and at the edge of her high-necked blouse the faintest bit of color, a soft, budding pink. The sight was like a shot of cocaine through his system. She may have been bound by buttons but that delightful flush must have traveled up over her torso to the top of her neck. Her breasts, her belly and the round cheeks of her ass would all glow with color.
His heart hammered in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to tug her onto his lap and see if his image was correct.
There was a tinge of blue under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping as well as she should, was it because of him? Was she struggling with her choice? The agitation of the day lifted.
He held her gaze while he spoke. “It’s decided then. Felix, we go tonight.”
CHAPTER 32
Inspector Morrison opened the back door of his East End townhouse and ushered the pup in.
“This is where I live and work when not out investigating. You will use it as your base as well, might be best if you prepared to camp out when needed. This guy’s just getting started and we may need to head out at short notice. Did you bring the notebook I gave you?”
“I have lodgings and a telephone.”
How did the kid live in a place with a telephone?
“What if I don’t?”
“There is one in the front hall.” The kid had sharp eyes to notice that in the few moments it took to walk down to his study.
Morrison glanced back. The pup was pulling the notebook from his coat. Morrison stopped and lifted the kid’s coat back to reveal pockets of all sizes sewn onto the inside, one of which had housed the note pad.
“What the hell is this?”
The kid went red. “I had it made, it seemed a practical way to store everything I need.”
It was impressive, if a little over prepared.
“Remove half the pockets and you have something of value.” Morrison let the coat go and started back down the corridor to the front room he used as an office. All along the hall were books and stacks of paper. His case files and a good smattering of case notes he’d ‘bought’, it was surprising how regularly he got critical information from something everyone else thought closed.
“And for your ongoing edification,” Morrison shot a look at the kid, “the correct response would have been to tell me to ‘sod off’.” Morrison looked back again and saw a distasteful expression on the kids face so stopped and turned.
“Say it?”
“I beg your pardon?” The kid was blushing.
“Or, better yet,‘sod off, you prick’. Best to practice with me because—I tell you, son—you’re going to need to learn to tell people to keep their distance if you are going to survive in this business.”
The kid’s mouth screwed up like an old man’s. Morrison grabbed the kid by his custom-made coat. “Fucking say it.”
“Sod off, you prick.” The kid was scarlet.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, kid, you’ll have to do better than that or you’ll be mincemeat in a matter of months.”
The kid’s eyes were glassy, and Morrison felt like an ass. “Listen, I know I sound like a bastard, but I want to help. You sound like a Nancy.”
“Many men are well spoken.” The kid’s voice was tight.
“And you will romp that in, but you have to be versatile; men are versatile, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in front of toffs and ladies, and ‘sod off, you fucking prick’ for the louts and lads. You need to start getting some brawn, that’s all kid.” Morrison patted the kid’s coat and he jumped back like Morrison had cholera.
Morrison raised his hands, palms outward, in a gesture of compliance, and stepped back, then began walking toward the front parlor-cum-office.
“Alright, talk how you like when we’re together, but not when we head out into the street.”
The kid followed but didn’t say anything, sulky little beast.
“Sit down.” He motioned the boy to a chair next to his desk. “Did you bring Miss Wood’s report?”
The kid reached into his satchel and handed it to him.
“Typed . . .” Morrison mused.
“Do we have a copy of the coroner’s report?” The pup asked.
Without looking up, Morrison picked it up and held it in the kid’s general direction. “Don’t write in it.”
They sat in comfortable silence as they read. Without a word, the kid dragged his chair to the table to begin taking notes, just as Morrison did. The kid wasn’t too bad.
There were a lot of salient points in Miss Agatha Wood’s report. It was well written and detailed, yet succinct.
“What does your girl—Miss Agatha—look like?”
“Look like?” The kid was back to being daft again.
“Slim, fat, tall, short, eyes, hair—what does she look like?”
The pup scowled. “Like normal.”
“Like normal? Describe the girl that was killed.”
“Long flaxen hair, naturally curly, green eyes, pale skin even features, five-foot-four, optimistic.”
“Optimistic?”
“There were no signs of frown marks across the forehead and between the eyebrows, nor were there any lines to suggest a downward turn of her mouth. There were however small creases at the corners of her eyes suggesting she smiled a lot.”
“Or looked into the sun.”
“Her skin was too pale and supple.”
Morrison barked a laugh. “You’re bloody good, kid. Now why can’t I have a description of Miss Agatha with that level of detail?”
The kid scowled again. Maybe he was genuinely soft on her.
Morrison lifted his hand up. “I’m a hands-off kind of mate. If she’s yours, she’s yours.”
“She’s not mine,” the kid snapped. Well, maybe that was the problem.
“Then what’s the harm in telling me what she looks like?”
“She’s plain, maybe even ugly. Men are not interested in her and she’s not interested in them, alright?”
“And her height would be . . .?”
“She will never be interested in you—you don’t wash enough, you don’t shave, you are inconsiderate, rude and foul-mouthed. Ungracious, threateni
ng and very, very big. Too big.” The kid fell silent.
“Well, feel free to speak your mind. So, she’s not married then?”
“Sod off, you prick!” The kid threw down the report and marched out.
A warm wash of what might be called pride washed over his chest. “I want you back here first thing, kid.” Morrison called after him.
The back door slammed.
CHAPTER 33
The sound of cutlery clinked through the large, blood red dining room. Seventeenth century gold-framed paintings filled whole walls, depicting battle scenes of impaled men and beasts, of warriors in silver armor on muscular horses with eyes wild with bloodlust. Dr Cox sat at the head of the polished mahogany table that reflected the three ostentatious chandeliers glistening above. Vaughn was seated halfway down the table and had to raise his voice to speak. The positioning said they were not friends nor was he an honored guest.
Vaughn and Cox were the only diners, yet a team of wait staff stood by the sideboard decked with silver platters and tureens, waiting to provide condiments, fill glasses, and clear plates.
“The meal is excellent.” Vaughn was genuine in the compliment. Cox waved an indifferent hand.
“Lam tells me you have hired a new assistant in the surgery, your seventh for the year?” The fact seemed to please Cox.
“Yes, seems my manner leaves something to be desired.” Lam needed to still his tongue. Cox nodded his approval.
For men like Cox, power was paramount. Vaughn suspected if his staff turnover had been due to some nefarious misdeed, he would be sitting higher up the table. Cox trusted motivations he understood, and he could not comprehend the reasons for Vaughn’s charitable work.
“From London, he said, has an interest in anatomy. That would be handy. A Miss Edith Appleby?” Cox’s face got a look Vaughn recognized from the hospital, a look he had when he spoke about the patients of other doctors who were then transferred to him and quietly slipped into death or disappeared.
“Working out, is she?”
“Yes.” The ripple of unease increased. Cox was not the kind of man to enter into small talk, one of the few things Vaughn appreciated about an otherwise unlikable man. “Lam seems to be quite the social reporter.”
