“That conniving bastard.” James dropped my wrists and leaned back in his chair. “Bloody hell. He’s been manipulating you. Manipulating us.”
“I’ve been going over and over it,” I said. “Why would he contact me, hire me, if he’s already two steps ahead of me?”
“Don’t you know why?”
He waited for me to answer. I wished I could swear like a man, like a sailor, but my mother’s training was too ingrained. “It’s one thing to know who the murderer is,” I said, “but it’s another thing to know where he is, isn’t it? I was bait.” I rubbed my hands roughly over my temples. “James, the killer knows who I am. He knows. He wasn’t in a hurry, didn’t need to rush. How does he know everything?”
“Ellie,” James said, “the Dubbses have left England.”
I dropped my hands. “What?”
“I tried to set up an interview today. I couldn’t reach anyone, and I finally found their occasional housekeeper. They packed up and left for the continent. They’ve gone.”
“So they were in on it,” I said.
“Or they’ve been threatened, and they’re afraid.”
“How easy for them,” I said. I grabbed my coat and stood. “I have to go.”
As I crossed the lobby, my heels ringing hollowly on the marble tile, I knew he was following me. I felt his presence like a solid mass behind me, watching me, not letting me go. The hotel doormen were assisting well-dressed couples into taxis waiting on the street outside, men in evening coats and tails, women in silk gowns and jewels. Through the glass doors to my right I could see the hotel bar, could hear laughter and the clink of glasses and the soft tinkle of a piano. A Friday evening in London. The man who killed Gloria was out there somewhere. I pushed past a doorman and out into the rain.
The water was icy on my neck. Water splashed through my shoes and up the backs of my stockings. I pushed through the crowds of people headed for Charing Cross. Behind me, Waterloo Bridge loomed low over the Thames, the river hurling angrily at the base of its arches.
An arm came around my shoulders and I was pulled against a hard, familiar body. An umbrella snapped open overhead. “This way,” he said, his voice rough.
He steered me down a side street, his arm heavy around me. I smelled wet pavement and damp wool and James. My skin sang, even through the layers of clothing, and there was water on my cheeks. He swung me into the notch of a church doorway, out of the rain, my back against the brick. He closed and dropped the umbrella and his face was stark in the light from a far-off streetlamp.
“Come here,” he said, and kissed me.
It was harsh and gentle at the same time. He was warm against my cold lips, and his big hands came up and cradled my head, his thumbs against my cheeks. He tasted like salt and gin and rain. There was a rushing in my ears, darkness before my eyes, and in a prickling explosion of sensation nothing existed but James. He pressed my shoulders hard into the cold brick and his stubble scraped my skin.
My reaction was instantaneous. I grasped the lapels of his coat and pulled him closer, kissing him harder. He pushed back, gripping my shoulders, and I moaned, biting his lip. He used the opportunity to open my mouth and slide his tongue along the inside of my upper lip, tasting me, raw with anger and emotion and his own bottomless need, and as lights seemed to go off in my brain I fell harder in that moment than I had ever thought possible for any man.
My hands hurt from my desperate grip on his coat. Part of me knew that I was cold and damp and that the bricks behind me were rough, but none of it mattered. He lowered his hands and I slid my arms around his neck, feeling the strength of his shoulders under the coat. He put his hands on my hips and kissed his way down my neck, behind my ear, his skin prickling mine. He bit my earlobe, and when I gasped at the sensation, he kissed me again. I couldn’t breathe; I didn’t want to breathe. I only wanted it never, ever to stop.
When he finally broke the kiss, his hands still on my hips, I let my head tilt back against the wall, the rainy air vivid against my flushed skin. “Why did you wait so long?” I asked, catching my breath.
He leaned in and I felt his breath against my ear. “You hated me until three days ago,” he said. “I was biding my time.”
“I’ve forgiven you for that,” I said.
“Good.” He took his hands from my hips and placed them against the wall on either side of me, blocking me in, his unbuttoned coat falling open. His gaze held mine, dark and possessive. He seemed to be searching for something in my face, his breath coming hard. I felt his heat. I dropped my hands.
“I want to go to your flat,” I told him. “I have something to show you.”
He smiled a little, raw need overlaid with humor. “Interesting,” he replied. “I think that’s my line.”
“What— Oh!” My cheeks flushed. It was ridiculous that I would feel embarrassed in front of a man I’d just kissed like that, but there it was. I wished fiercely that I was more sophisticated with men, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “I don’t mean that. I mean—”
“I know.” He slid a finger just under the collar of my dress, traced it along the skin of my neck and my collarbone almost wistfully before dropping his hand. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. I’ll get us a taxi.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“No, no, no,” James said. “None of this works. Let’s try again.”
He put his elbows on his knees and thrust his hands through his hair. We were at his flat, where we’d been for hours, going over the codes in Gloria’s handwritten schedule. He was in his shirtsleeves, the button at the throat of his shirt undone. Outside the rain had not abated; it had only grown heavier, and rolls of thunder weighed heavily over the rooftops.