A Rip Through Time(107)

But if he is planning to take a victim tonight, I’ll already be too late to stop him. True, but what if it’s tomorrow night? I have no idea how long it’ll take to convince McCreadie that his constable is a murderer.

In the end, there’s no reasoning with myself. All that is drowned out by the ticking of the clock. I must try to get answers tonight, so that whether I’m right or wrong, I can plow forward to the next step first thing tomorrow.

I don’t wait for late night. I move my coat behind a bush outside the rear door. Then I read in my room until darkness fully falls before I slip downstairs.

I’m on the steps, passing the second level, when a door opens.

“Catriona?”

It’s Gray.

“Apologies if I disturbed you, sir. I know it is late. I was peckish and thought I might see if Mrs. Wallace left anything in the kitchen.”

“Excellent idea,” he says, stepping into the stairwell. “I quite forgot to ask for a biscuit before she went up to bed. We shall raid the pantry together.”

I hesitate, but before I can think up an excuse, he’s passing me. I follow him down into the kitchen. Once there, he heads straight for a small wooden box. He opens it and deflates.

“Sir?” I say. “There is a bit of leftover cake here.”

He turns so sharply you’d think I’d discovered a book on sixteenth-century fingerprinting techniques, and I have to bite back a smile as I hold out the plate. He takes it and then pauses, looks down at it, and opens a drawer.

“We’ll divide it,” he says.

“That isn’t necessary, sir.”

He finds a knife and then hesitates again over the slice of cake, as if trapped between the desire to be fair and the desire to eat the whole thing.

I take the knife from him, murmuring, “If I may.”

I cut off less than a quarter for myself. “That is all I require. I will leave you to your evening—”

“Not yet. Eat your cake, Catriona. I wish to speak to you.”

When I pause, his brows knit. Then a look of horror passes through his dark eyes. “If you think I am attempting anything untoward, I assure you—”

“No, no. You give me no concern on that front, Dr. Gray.”

And that’s a damn shame.

The thought comes unbidden, and I shove it back with as much horror as he just felt. Still, I can’t deny just a prickle of regret that Gray looks at me and sees only his teenage housemaid, while I look at him, leaning against the countertop, nibbling his cake, hair tumbling over his forehead, collar unbuttoned, ink spotting one cheek …

I sigh to myself and then I straighten.

Before I can speak, he says, “Good. I know it is awkward to have me seek your company, when you are a young lady in my employ, but you need never worry on that count. What I wish to discuss is the case.”

I have to stop myself from blinking at him.

Really, Gray? Really? For the past week, every time I hear your damn footsteps, my heart skips, hoping you’re finally coming to discuss the case. And you want to do it now? When I need to leave—quickly—before I lose my chance to search Findlay’s apartment?

“I would like to apologize,” he continues. “Not for my mistrust. That you have earned, even if it is a past version of you who earned it, but I am attempting to move past my prejudice.”

“Thank you, sir. But—”

“I am apologizing for not properly recognizing your contributions to the case. Earlier, Hugh and I excised you from the conversation, and it is not the first time we have done so. That is inexcusable. You have proven yourself, again and again, and I continue to treat you like a housemaid rather than an assistant. That ends now. I will speak to Hugh about it. You are an integral part of this investigation.”

Once again, he’s saying exactly the words I’ve longed to hear … right when I can least afford to hear them.

“I apprec—” I begin.

“If we are to work this case as a team,” he continues, missing my interjection, “then we must behave as a team. I wish to be more open with you, Catriona. To include you, and not leave you feeling as if you must sneak off and investigate on your own. I understand why you did that. I want you to know it isn’t necessary. If you have theories you wish to pursue, tell me, and I will not brush you off as I did this morning. We shall investigate them together.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. He is apologizing for excluding me. For withholding information. For not sharing theories with me.

And what am I doing? Excluding him. Withholding information. Not sharing a theory with him—a vital theory that changes the entire investigation.

I have something to tell you, Dr. Gray.

Isla is wrong. I understand that she doesn’t want to distract Gray from his paper. She fears my truth will be too much for him right now. I disagree. He needs to hear it. He needs to hear all of it. He has opened a door for me, and I cannot slam it shut on him.

My mouth opens again. And again, I shut it, because here I face that ugliest of quandaries. Isla trusts me. She has reached out in friendship. I am about to throw over a new female friend for a guy.

It’s not like that.

No? Am I sure? Didn’t I just admit that I find Gray attractive? How much of me wanting to tell him the truth this very moment is because it’s important for the case … and how much is so he won’t be angry with me when he finds out?