A Rip Through Time(125)

I glance at Gray, whose gaze has turned half toward the window.

“Duncan?” McCreadie says. “Do you have something more to tell me? Something that will better explain what happened tonight? Something that will also tell me who actually killed Colin, because I know it wasn’t you. Not unless you stabbed him while on your knees. You must think me a very poor student of your studies if you expected me to believe your story after seeing the wound.”

“I killed Colin,” I say. “I had no idea Dr. Gray intended to take the blame for that.” I pass Gray a hard look, but he’s not glancing my way.

I continue, “I stabbed Colin in the back because he was holding a gun on Dr. Gray.”

“That does not make this story any more comprehensible.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Which, again, does not make it any more comprehensible.” He looks at Gray. “If there is more, I should very much like to hear it.”

McCreadie’s tone is pleasant, his words a mere request. He doesn’t ask whether Gray trusts him. Doesn’t remind him of their friendship. Yet Gray flinches as if McCreadie had threatened to storm out the door and never return.

Gray is not a man who makes friends easily. No, strike that. He is not a man others befriend easily. Earlier tonight, he invited me into his circle and, to him, I rejected that overture by deeming him “unworthy” of my secret. Is he now going to do the same to McCreadie?

I can hope, in this moment, that Gray understands I truly did keep quiet out of fear and to protect him. That if he keeps my secret from McCreadie, it will be for the same reason. Either way, his gaze shoots to me, and I know keeping my secret is not an option. This is his oldest and most trusted friend. If we are all to work together, I cannot ask Gray to lie to McCreadie for me.

“We have something to tell you,” I say.

McCreadie visibly relaxes, as if despite his demeanor, he had feared he might not be worthy of our secret, and seeing that reaction, I understand why Gray felt the same way. We may keep secrets to protect others, but they will only ever feel we didn’t trust them enough to share.

McCreadie slaps his thighs. “All right then. I have a feeling this evening is about to get even more interesting.”

“You might say that,” Gray murmurs.

“Yep,” I say. “And while you told me not to fetch tea, I think I’m going to grab that bottle of whisky from your desk, Dr. Gray. I have a feeling Detective McCreadie is going to need it.”

“What bottle of whisky in my desk?” Gray says, his eyes narrowing. “You have not been cleaning my office, have you?”

“Perish the thought. Isla and I have just been tippling from your bottle.”

McCreadie snorts a surprised laugh, and I head out to get the scotch. As I leave the room, I let out a breath, feeling some of the tension seep from my shoulders.

I haven’t fixed things with Gray. Not by a long shot. But I will. I’ll mend the damage with Gray, and I’ll find a way home. Until then, I have found a place here, one I think I’m going to enjoy very much.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



So many people to thank for this one. Let’s start with my editor at Minotaur, Kelley Ragland, who asked about new series ideas as I began winding down Rockton. This was my dream project but, yes, it’s a bit of an oddball, and I hesitated to suggest it, so I came up with a second idea and presented both and, to my incredible relief, she picked this one and shepherded it through the editorial process with her usual enthusiasm and skill.

Thanks to my agent, Lucienne Diver, who encouraged me to pursue—and sell!—this dream project and offered excellent early editorial suggestions.

Thanks to the copyeditor, Terry McGarry, for going above and beyond with her wonderfully keen eye for detail … and for helping me straighten out a timeline that ahem got a wee bit muddled during my revisions.

And now for the research portion of the acknowledgments. If you’re looking for more details on my research, check the author’s note. This is just my thank-you section, with the usual caveat that any mistakes in the history or geography are my fault alone.

Thanks to my critique partner, Melissa Marr, for lending me both her editorial eye and Victorian-studies background, both helpful in pointing out overlooked opportunities. Mallory’s open-crotch underwear commentary is entirely her fault.

Thanks to Karen Viars. I won a few hours of her research time in a charity auction and used it to have her track down resources on two subjects proving elusive. She found exactly what I wanted and more.

Thanks to Elizabeth Williamson, Allison MacGregor, Heather Campbell-Crayton, and Layla Mathieson, who stepped in when COVID-19 upended my plans for on-site research in Edinburgh. They read the manuscript and flagged a few things I got wrong about their city, along with some always-appreciated typo catches.