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"I have chased Dunleavy a long time. I know him well, and there is no brother." "You don't know him as well as you thought. Not then, not now."
"Woman, you speak in riddles."
"I have a good teacher."
"That comment makes as much sense as your previous comment." She grinned up at him as they strode toward the front of the whorehouse. “You'll understand it sooner or later, believe me."
"I doubt it.” His dark gaze met hers. “I'm here to catch the bastard who killed my lover, nothing more, nothing less. Whatever it is you are truly up to, I cannot, and will not, get involved any more than I am." Energy rippled across the night again, and he rolled his shoulders, as if to ease an ache. It definitely had to be the spell on him she was sensing. And if what she'd just witnessed was any indication, that spell was going to play into her hands. Dunleavy obviously believed Seline and Michael had been lovers in Hartwell long ago, and he was trying to force that to happen again. Michael was fighting the spell because deep down he knew the wrongness of what the spell was trying to enforce. Which meant that she would have to be the aggressor when it came to making love.
Though in the end, would it make any difference? Kinnard had suggested there were only two events of any real importance, and she doubted whether she and Michael becoming lovers was one of them. Especially since it actually hadn't happened the first time.
The crowd was gone from the doorway, and even though the entrance hall was lit with nothing more than candlelight, it was obvious someone had cleaned the stairs, because the blood no longer stained the wood. But no amount of cleaning could take the smell of death from the air. Her gaze went to the small room to the left of the door. The sobbing woman had gone, but a big, black haired man was sitting at the desk, his large frame squeezed into a wooden chair. Since he was wearing the same sort of khaki outfit that the red-haired man had been earlier, it was likely he was another ranger. He looked up from his notes as they entered, his gaze sweeping the two of them before he pushed to his feet.
"I'm afraid we've had to close this place down until we sort out what's happened,” he said. “The Hollis Hotel is offering you ladies free accommodation in the meantime." Nikki opened her mouth to state yet again that she wasn't a whore, but Michael put a hand on her arm, squeezing lightly. Power spun through the air, a familiar energy that caressed her senses like a summer breeze. Michael trying to enforce his will on the big man. But there was no reaction from the ranger, confirming Kinnard's earlier threat that Michael's psychic abilities would work no better than her supposed magic.
Michael frowned, but all he said was, “We're here to investigate the murder, ranger." The ranger didn't object, which again suggested Dunleavy wanted them to investigate. Though why wouldn't he? The more time they spent on this, the less time they had to find and stop him.
"I'd advise the lady stays down here, though,” the ranger said. “It's not very pleasant up there." Michael glanced at her. “You'll wait here?"
Knowing it was said more for the ranger's benefit, she nodded. He slipped his hand down her arm, and lightly squeezed her fingers before he moved away. She knew it was more a warning to behave than a gesture meant to comfort. Smiling slightly, she glanced back at the ranger. “You have any suspects?" The big man shrugged and sat back down. “The client she had booked in was late arriving, and the last man she saw left her alive and well. Ain't no telling what really happened." She frowned. “So it was the late client that found her?"
He nodded. “And Maggie, the owner, who was taking him up to the victim's room." That must have been the woman she'd heard sobbing. She wondered if the two women had known each other. Wondered if Dunleavy had chosen his victim simply because of the woman's resemblance to her .
"So no one was seen going in, or coming out, of her rooms after her previous client left her?"
"No one. Maggie saw her go to the bathroom to clean up, but she returned to her room a few minutes later.” He shrugged. “Maggie runs a fairly tight ship here. No one would have gotten in or out without her noticing."
Obviously, this man also believed that they were in the past, because whorehouses weren't legal. “But someone obviously did.” Or maybe that should be something.
"Yeah.” The big man frowned. “I checked the window. Nothing came in that way—it's stuck half open, but a kid wouldn't have fit through that gap, let alone someone strong enough to—” He cut the rest off, glancing at her apologetically. “Sorry."
She shrugged. She'd already seen the gore, and there was nothing this man could say that could be worse than the images still haunting her subconscious. “So, no one went in or out or even near the room until Maggie took the client up there?"
"No."
"And no one heard anything?"
"No."
"Don't you find that a bit odd?"
He frowned. “Why would I?"
Because there should have been noise. Should have been screaming. Should have been thumps as the various body parts were flung about ... Her stomach twisted threateningly, and she thrust the thought away.
Why would anyone in this town find the lack of all those things odd when they were all under the spell of the man who'd probably committed the crime?
Goose bumps ran up her arms, and she rubbed them. Who was next on Dunleavy's list? And did they even have a hope of stopping him?
"You should go home, Miss, and light a fire. The night is going to be a cold one."
"Right now, I don't feel particularly safe in my house.” She met the big man's gray eyes. “So, where are you staying right now?"
He raised an eyebrow. “That an offer, Miss? Because if it is, I'm on duty—" What was this fixation Dunleavy seemed to have about whores? Was there some weird reason he'd made all the women here hookers, or did it simply appeal to some sick sense of humor? “It's just curiosity, nothing more."
"Ah. Well, I'm staying at the Wheaten Hotel."
"Don't you have a house here in Hartwell?"
