The Unknown Beloved(61)

He was no longer the sleeping beauty of the fairy tale but an eager participant. He kissed her with almost dreamlike ferocity, the hand in her hair keeping her face where he liked it, her chin tipped up to him. For an endless moment, he nibbled and bit and suckled like he dreamed of tropical beaches and ripe fruit dripping over his fingers.

Her clothes grew too tight and her skin too sensitive, and she could not have lifted her eyelids or withdrawn her mouth from his had the room been on fire. She was not convinced it wasn’t. The flames licked at the pit of her belly, tickled the arches of her feet, and curled her fingers into her palms.

It was late and the house was dark, and the darkness made each act easier to perform. They didn’t say a word. They simply kissed, mouths moving and silent, until his hand shifted from her hair and began to mold her hips and trace the curve of her spine, his thumb stroking the underside of her breast. Dani began to tug at his clothes, wanting relief from the flames, and that’s when Malone rolled away, sprang to his feet, and walked down the stairs without so much as a good night.

She lay in stunned silence, panting. She heard him below, the snick of the bathroom door, the sound of water in the pipes, the house shifting around him.

She waited until her heart settled and the flames cooled. If he was going to leave her behind, there was nothing she could do about it now. She rose from the floor, began her own toilette, and crawled into her bed to the sound of Malone pacing below her. Charlie leapt up and settled himself on her feet, anchoring her to the present. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.



She was sure he would avoid her again and fretted over her impulsive act for half the night. She wanted his kisses, but she wanted his company even more. If he made himself scarce again, she would not be able to endure it.

But he was ready to go to the morgue after breakfast, just as he’d said he would, and other than a reluctance to meet her gaze, he was his helpful, if grumpy, self.

“Remember the woman wrapped in the quilt her grandmother made?” she asked him as they walked, needing something to talk about that had nothing to do with stolen kisses or regret.

“Nettie?” he replied.

“Yes, Nettie.” It pleased her that he would remember the woman’s name.

“How could I forget?”

“Well . . . something strange happened.”

He finally looked at her directly, intently, and heat suffused her cheeks from the welcome weight of his stare, but she made herself continue with her story.

“When the gravediggers came to retrieve her, she wasn’t there.”

He frowned, his eyes still holding hers. “Nettie . . . The woman who was wrapped in the quilt and nothing else . . . and dead from unknown causes?”

“Yes.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“Yes. We prepared her Thursday morning. They came to retrieve her Saturday evening.”

“And she wasn’t there?” He had stopped walking.

“That’s what I was told. They saw my record, and it matched their order, but the morgue was empty. They assumed it was a mistake, though Mr. Raus called me. I came down, and sure enough, Nettie was gone. Her quilt was gone too. If you had not been with me, I might have thought I was going mad.”

“Maybe someone claimed her after all.”

“How? When? I’m not exactly sure how it all works. That’s never been my responsibility. But there’s a process for identification, I’m sure, at the city morgue. We don’t see the bodies at the indigent facility until that process is over.”

“That is bizarre. I’m surprised you’re just telling me about it now.” There was a distinct note of censure in his tone. He began walking again. She hurried to catch up and stumbled, partly from affront, partly from haste. His hand shot out to steady her, wrapping around her arm. He immediately let go.

“You were not here, Michael. And when you returned . . . I was distracted.” She tripped again when she thought about why she’d been so distracted, and he gripped her elbow.

“If you keep tripping, I’m going to insist on pulling you in the wagon.”

“I can walk fine. You just keep . . . infuriating me.”

“Yeah. Well,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

For a moment she stewed, and it wasn’t until she was unlocking the door to the facility that she shared her other question, one that had persisted since the body had gone missing. She knew she might sound like a fool, but her naivete was becoming a common theme. She might as well ask.

“That’s the first time something like that has happened here,” she began, pushing into the dark warehouse. “A body disappearing, I mean. It made me wonder. Is the Butcher killing people, or is he working his experiments on people who are already dead?”

“You think he might be chopping people up after they’re already dead?” Michael asked, incredulous, following her inside.

She flipped on the lights and waited for her eyes to adjust. “Has that been ruled out?”

He nodded. “It’s been ruled out. I wish that were the case, gruesome as it still is. But he’s killing people.”

“How do you know?” she challenged, curious.

“Because the victims of the Butcher are drained of blood.”

She stared at him, not understanding.