A Rip Through Time(123)

I sigh. That’s not leaving Isla out of it. But I push through with, “I told her because she was going to kick me out. It was a Hail Mary.”

“A…?” He shakes his head. “Fine. Contrary to what Isla may have told you, I believe your story, first because I trust that she tested you on it and second, because I heard that conversation. You were not trying to convince the killer of some far-fetched story. He already knew it because, if I am interpreting correctly, he is from your own time. Now, I asked the year.”

“Twenty nineteen. He attacked me in the same spot Catriona was being attacked by Findlay, one hundred and fifty years before. All I know is I was strangled and ended up in Catriona’s body, and he ended up in her would-be killer’s, which I didn’t realize until he attacked me the other night.”

“So you knew then it was Constable Findlay?”

“No, I knew my attacker was whoever tried to kill Catriona the first time. He knew I wasn’t Catriona.”

“When?”

“When he attacked me the second time. He expected Catriona. My speech and my fighting techniques told him I was the woman he attacked in our time. That gave him the advantage. I had to figure out who strangled Catriona, and that would let me stop the person who killed Archie Evans and Rose Wright.”

“You knew all this last night when we spoke. Isla knew your secret as well—she must have, which explains why she let you stay. I tried to talk to you in the kitchen. I stressed my openness to considering any theory you offered. And you…” His jaw works. “You decided otherwise.”

You rebuffed me.

That’s what he means. It’s how he feels. I rejected his advances, not romantic but personal and professional, and he is hurt.

Of course he’s hurt. I would be, too.

“I made a choice,” I say. “I wish I could have made another one but…” There’s no way to weasel out without throwing Isla under the bus, which I will not do. “This is the one I made. To make sure Findlay was the right guy and then tell you everything. My priority was stopping him.”

“Because you are a police officer.”

“Detective. Vancouver Police Department.”

His gaze shutters as his voice chills a few more degrees. “You must have thought it very amusing, all my comments about what a good detective you’d make, praising you as if you were a child showing aptitude.”

“No, I only thought that you were very kind to me, and I appreciated it.”

“But not enough to trust me with the truth.”

“I … It wasn’t about trust, Dr. Gray. I couldn’t risk telling you or Detective McCreadie the truth unless absolutely necessary because I couldn’t stop the killer from inside an asylum.”

“I would not have done that to you.”

“What would you have done?”

His mouth tightens, as if he doesn’t like the answer, and he says, “I do not know.”

“I agonized over telling you. I did plan to, first thing in the morning. If I made a mistake, then I made a mistake, and I am sorry for that.”

He nods curtly, and I know I’ve lost ground here. So much ground.

Would I make another choice if I could?

Would I have told Gray in the kitchen if I had a second chance?

No. This hurts—hurts more than it should—but I had to choose between losing Gray’s trust and losing Isla’s, and I wouldn’t throw away hers to gain his.

“I’m hoping you’ll keep me on,” I say. “At least as Catriona the housemaid. Preferably as your assistant, but that’s up to you. I’m stuck here until I can get home, which I will do as soon as I can figure out how.”

“Yes, I am sure we seem very backwards and provincial to you,” he says coolly.

“Not at all. But I have a life there.”

“How old are you?”

“Roughly your age, I think. Thirty.”

“A year younger. You must have family then. A husband. Children.”

“No, and no, and if that seems odd, I’d say to look in a mirror. I’ve got my career, and it takes up a lot of my time. Too much, maybe. But I still have a life in the twenty-first century. My parents, my grandmother, my friends, my job. This is temporary.”

“Of course.”

That silence drops again, and I feel the lead weight of it. I want to keep apologizing, but I know it won’t help. The damage is done, and it won’t be repaired in the next hour. That makes it all the more awkward to have this conversation, where I’m asking to keep living in his house after I’ve done something that feels, to him, like a betrayal of his trust.

No, it feels like a rejection. Duncan Gray does not make friends easily, I’m sure. He’s learned to fortify himself against insult and injury, and he took a chance reaching out and he feels rebuffed. He tentatively opened a door. I didn’t shut it. I did something worse—I ignored it. I walked away as if I hadn’t even seen it open. That’s not what happened, but it’s what it feels like to him.

“While I’m here, though, I’d like to help,” I say. “If I can. Like I said, I’ll play at being a housemaid for a roof over my head and food on the table. If you really do need an assistant, though…”

“And what am I supposed to say to that, Cat—” He stops. “What even is your name?”