Page 115 of From Hell

Despite his edible appearance, he has dark circles, and his face is thinner. Weeks-old stubble carves over his jaw enough to cut me open if he kissed me.

I stare at him, convinced if I blink too many times, he’ll dissipate into thin air. Jaxon Clémont was a person of interest in Addison’s murder, but somehow, the organization, much bigger than the seventeen people who died in the fire, has squashed the investigation. “I thought you’d be halfway around the world by now.”

“That’s a little hard to do when you made a promise not to fly anywhere.”

My lips curve, but the amusement doesn’t reach my eyes. “Bullshit.”

“Slow travel is the best way to go.”

I shake my head. “You really shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you talking to me, the police—”

“I’m not afraid of getting caught.”

“Then what are you afraid of?” I ask after the server places my waffles before us, gives Jaxon an empty mug, and tops up the coffee pot on the table.

When she leaves, he sighs, pouring a coffee and running a hand through his head. “This.”

I raise a brow. “Waffles?”

His lips twitch. “No, the distance between us.”

I don’t know if he means physically or metaphorically, but I’m not about to close the gap. Well, at least not all the way. I chew my lip and stare at my waffle, spearing a cream-topped strawberry onto my fork. But it doesn’t go near my mouth. Suddenly, I’m not hungry.

“Ask me, you know you want to.”

I lift my gaze to his and scoff. “Why are you here, Jaxon?” It’s not the question I want to ask, but it’s a start.

He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, he sounds resigned. “You still haven’t given the evidence to the police. Why?”

“Because you’ll be incriminated along with the rest of the organization.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No, I wanted to kill you.”

He nods. “Good. You should hate me.”

“You didn’t kill those girls.” Jaxon’s name wasn’t on any documents relating to the murders of those women. From what I could tell, certain members liked to take things too far. The organization protected its members from being exposed or arrested or, in some cases, provided for those needs in return for additional dedication toward their Divine cause.

But Jaxon’s name was all over the illegal organ transport paperwork.

“No, I ran the operations for the blood market.”

“The organs came from those girls.”

“Their bodies would be left to me to utilize and dispose of.”

I sit back in my chair, eyebrows raised, shocked at the callous way he explains it. Forgotten grief pricks the backs of my eyes. “Utilize and dispose of. How very efficient of you. Is that all Molly was? Someone to dispose of?”

Jaxon’s eyes narrow, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t…” He runs a hand through his hair, looking flustered. I’ve always seen Jaon cool and calm. Angry, yes, but never out of his depth. This is the first time he looks lost. “I couldn’t save your friend. Sometimes, the women survived. I tried with Molly. I’m a brilliant surgeon, but she didn’t make it. The best I could do was make sure her death meant something, and her organs helped those live who would otherwise die.”

“The women survived?”

He nods. “There’s an old converted school, a refuge for abused women near Spitalfields Hill, called Sacred Heart. Those that could be saved I patched up and took them there to an old contact of mine who could get them new lives, new identities.”

“And me?”

“There wasn’t meant to be any witnesses.”