Page 14 of Taken by the Ripper (Time for Monsters #9)

V

ery little could make Clara’s heart pound harder than walking toward the police station with a large secret on her shoulder and the weight of guilt on her mind.

For all she knew, vampires could be watching somewhere from the shadows, unable to leap out at her because of the sunlight.

She made sure to always keep one foot in the sunlight, going the long way around a building or two if only to keep out of the shadows.

Jack’s life might depend on her success today.

It was only a shame Claude had to be caught in the crossfire.

As she neared the large square building, she hesitated when a young boy waved a newspaper in his hand on the opposite side of the street, calling out to passersby to buy a copy of…

The Star.

It was as if her feet reacted on their own as she closed the remaining distance between them, shoved a penny into the boy’s hand, and made off with the newspaper.

Sure enough, front and center lay an image of a figure cloaked in shadows, the artist making the man large and bulky with a knife held in each hand. The headline read: The Ripper Strikes Again!

Her eyes flew over the article, but then she dropped it to her side in disgust. It depicted the murder from the infirmary, the very one the Ripper had not committed. Thankfully, they hadn’t publicly disclosed the location of the murder, otherwise, people might be glancing her way.

They didn’t.

“What a waste of an article,” she muttered under her breath before tucking the newspaper beneath her arm. “I want my money returned.”

Unfortunately, even if she tried, the boy would never agree to it. They carried their money tighter than a woman’s corset when trying to catch a husband.

Deciding not to stare at the police building any longer, she tightened her grip on the handle of her basket and marched inside as if she belonged there when in reality, her heart pounded hard in her chest, and a part of her felt as if she might vomit.

She was nervous. Why? She wasn’t entirely sure. But what she did know was she had never done something like this before—actively pursue a man even if it were under false pretenses like her own. Surely, Detective La Cour would figure out her game long before she managed to destroy those documents.

The police office was a hubbub of male voices, flipping papers, and whining civilians, giving an orderly chaos sort of atmosphere the moment she stepped inside the building.

Several office doors were closed on the opposite side of the large room, though she managed to catch a glimpse of civilians and officers through the windows.

Several rows of long desks lay in the center of the room with stacks of papers and folders, each filled with young men working hard to impress their boss, no doubt.

But what she didn’t find? The detective himself. Was he out researching the case? Had she missed him entirely? During lunch hour, she thought she would find him here of all places.

“Clara!” someone gasped behind her, and she spun around to find the detective in question staring at her with an open mouth as if she’d just flashed him an ankle.

He held a mug in his hand filled with brown liquid she highly suspected was coffee, and it took all her restraint not to steal it from him and down the entire thing in a few gulps.

He’d probably let her, too.

The corner of her lips lifted in amusement. “Detective.”

“W-w-what are you doing here?” He hurried to fix his hair and pulled down his white sleeves until they covered his forearms. “And please, call me Claude.”

Her grin only grew wider. “Am I not allowed to visit you at work? Claude.” She tasted his given name in her mouth, though it felt foreign on her tongue as if she’d sampled a piece of chocolate she had not had the chance of enjoying in a long while.

She glanced toward the desks lined up in the room to find men staring at her as if she’d just flashed an ankle toward them, too. Each snapped their attention back to their work, though she acutely felt their focus on her, nonetheless.

When he still fussed with his clothing, she asked, “Is there a time when you are not drinking coffee? It’s the afternoon. Do you get any sleep at all?”

“It certainly feels like I don’t.” He chuckled, and she didn’t resist in the slightest as he handed over his mug, and she took it eagerly from his fingers.

Because…she hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. What with the murder in her home, Mazie’s accusations and acts of revenge, and Jack’s earth-rattling kiss. Not to mention the patients who still relied on her for their health.

What a mess , she thought to herself. How had she managed to find herself in this situation?

Again, her gaze passed over the police officers pretending to work. One even scribbled over one of his papers, but no ink touched the surface. “Is this what you do all day?” She turned a teasing grin toward the detective. “Aside from staring at corpses and bothering young nurses, of course.”

His mouth twitched at her jest before he nodded his head toward the hallway.

He turned on his heel and led her down the corridor, and she followed, overly aware of a half-dozen pairs of eyes following her every movement.

It was almost as if they’d never seen a woman before.

However, judging by how much Claude worked, she could rightfully assume some, if not many, of the other officers worked hours enough to keep them from the opposite sex as well.

He led her into a dark room at the end of the hallway and pulled open the shutters. She blinked in surprise at the sudden sunlight entering through the window. But then she froze when she noticed the walls .

Nearly every little piece of space on the walls was tacked with articles, pictures, strings, and everything in between, including a swath of gray fabric. It was as if everything was interconnected in the most bizarre fashion if the room was any indication.

“That does it,” she murmured, eyes wide as she turned in a full circle. “I suspected you were insane before, but this makes it official. I’m leaving. And I’m taking your coffee with me.”

She turned toward the door, but Claude quickly caught her by the elbow, laughing as he pulled her back into the room. “It’s not as bad as it appears,” he defended himself with a grin spread across his face. “I swear.”

Lifting an eyebrow, she surveyed the mess of strings appearing to lead nowhere and everywhere at once. “I beg to differ.”

She ducked her head beneath a particularly low-hanging string and surveyed the pin-cushion board littered with images and articles. Surprisingly, Claude didn’t stop her from rubbing the gray cloth between her fingers.

And then her veins froze over with ice when she recognized it as belonging to one of those vampires who had attacked her in the alleyway. It was the same material as the neckcloth he’d worn.

Coincidence? Or not?

“What is this?” she breathed, turning her head away to avoid revealing her thoughts.

Claude glanced toward the open door before lowering his voice. “We found blood in an alleyway. Only this was left behind.”

Her fingers shook around the mug of coffee, and she brought the warm liquid to her lips to try to hide it. “You think it belongs to the Ripper?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his chin and glanced from the door to his board. “The blood belonged to a vampire, but the Ripper’s attacks don’t coincide with that of a vampire. I’m not yet sure how this connects—if it does at all.”

“Did you—” She cleared her throat. “Did you find anything else?”

Such as something that might implicate her as well. Or even Jack.

“Fragments of wood. Chipped brick. Vampire blood. This swath of fabric. Not enough evidence to connect this to the Ripper, but every bit is worth investigating.”

For a moment, she studied his tall, slender profile as he stared at the board with crossed arms, a puzzled frown on his face. He was insistent and dedicated to this case. Jack was right. If she couldn’t convince Claude to step away, she must destroy the documents to hinder his progress.

But where were they?

The mess of folders, parchment, and paperweights on the desk discouraged her, as she’d never find the files she needed within the chaos. Claude La Cour was a disorderly man. Who would have known? Especially judging by his often-neat appearance alone.

“What are you telling the other officers?” she murmured, now her turn to glance toward the door.

He crossed to the desk, dug through a pile, and picked up a folder before opening it. Her heart leaped to her throat as she approached slowly, hope blossoming within her. Was this the folder with the documents? Had he just shown her what she must inevitably destroy?

“Everything is written in code,” he answered, flipping through several documents.

“Should another officer look through my findings, it will appear normal. But there may be a monster and a few vampires involved. Probably.” He winked at her, which did strange things to her stomach as it flipped and flopped and fluttered.

It’s only because he’s handsome , she tried to convince herself. He likely flirts with any woman he comes across.

“Do you often deal with vampires?” she ventured.

“Why?” he asked, and she watched a little too closely as he set the folder back on the table and crossed his arms to look her way. “Are you worried about me?”

She detected the flirty hint of amusement in his tone. This was her chance to do what needed to be done or to flee entirely and abandon her original quest.

But as she thought of Jack, a desire to protect him surfaced. She wanted to keep him safe, even if that meant deceiving a detective.

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, which seemed to take him entirely off guard.

He dropped his hands to his sides, and his lips parted as he stared at her with an unreadable expression. The longer he stared, the more her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t stand it. Because what she was about to do was sure to hurt him if—or perhaps when —he found out.