The Unknown Beloved(72)

“I don’t imagine that Rose Wallace, Flo Polillo, or the other women were riding the rails,” she said, doubtful, and he almost smiled at her agile mind. His Dani was nothing if not sensible. He grimaced instead, not liking the way he thought about her as his.

“I don’t imagine that either,” he said. “My guess is he’s killing them where death is common, and the refuse of death easily disposed of. A morgue. A hospital. A mortuary. You live conveniently close to all three,” Malone said. “Every single doctor at St. Alexis would have access—at least some access—to all three as well.”

Dani flopped back against his pillows, her eyes troubled. Her hands were folded over her heart and her hair made a golden circle around her pale face, like one of the saints in the stained glass at Our Lady of Lourdes.

“If I admit that I’m scared, will you hold it against me?” she asked after a quiet moment.

“No,” he said, sitting down beside her. She scooted over, making room for him, but he didn’t lie down. He was scared too. The skittering beneath his skin had not ebbed. “I tried to warn you, Dani.”

“I won’t be scared when it’s morning. But I don’t want to be alone right now. And I don’t want you going out again without me. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?”

That was exactly what he’d planned on doing.

“We will go back together,” Dani pleaded. “Tomorrow night. And I will tell you who he is. His scent on the couch will be new, and I will be able to give you answers.”

He hadn’t even thought of that, and the idea made his pulse quicken. “We’ll go back tomorrow,” he agreed. “Besides, there isn’t anywhere to wait unobtrusively with a clear view of the stairway.”

She exhaled in relief and closed her eyes.

“But you should go back to your room,” he added. “What if your aunts check your bed?”

Dani lifted her head and stared at him, her brow furrowed like he was being ridiculous. “You act as though I am a child who needs tucking in. I am twenty-five years old, Mr. Malone. The aunts don’t check on me. I check on them.”

“I am forty years old, Miss Flanagan,” he reminded her, addressing her as she addressed him. “And Zuzana is a terrifying woman. Lenka too, but for different reasons.”

“My aunts are old enough to be your grandmothers. And they are harmless.”

“I disagree. And you are young enough to be my daughter.”

“For goodness’ sake, I am not. You can be so stuffy, Michael. We talk about death and murder and beheading, and we have just escaped a harrowing situation, yet you are too nervous to be near me.”

“I’m not stuffy,” he argued, sounding very stodgy indeed. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed, arms folded over his chest, but he left the lamp burning.

“You don’t have to worry. I will not throw myself at you again. I promise. I am embarrassed too, you know,” she said, her voice small.

That surprised him.

“I kissed you,” he grunted. “You didn’t throw yourself at me.”

“You kissed me because you were angry . . . and then because you were half asleep. I kissed you because I wanted to. Both times.” She looked away as she confessed the last bit, thank God. He hadn’t had time to school his expression. “But I won’t kiss you again. I promise. We will just be . . . friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Michael?”

He couldn’t think of a single woman that he’d ever been friends with, beyond his sister, Molly. The way he felt about Dani was hardly sisterly . . . or even . . . friendly.

“Have you had many male friends?” he asked, stiff. “Suitors?”

“There have been a few,” she replied.

“A few?”

“Karl Raus grew up next door. He pursued me for a while. We went to the local dances together, and we both liked the pictures. I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t, though.”

She sounded weary, and he knew it wasn’t any of his business. But he couldn’t help himself from pressing. “You said there had been a few.”

“There was another gentleman last year. He was a widower with a passel of children. I didn’t mind the idea on its face. Having children from the get-go, I mean. But it was more a business arrangement for him. I think he found me pretty. But if it’s just a transaction, I’m not interested in making it. I have my aunts. I have my home. I have my work.”

“You have your dead.”

“You aren’t a man who says much.”

“Not usually. No.”

“Yet . . . you are very opinionated where I am concerned.”

He was. He couldn’t help himself, and he still wasn’t ready to let the conversation rest. “How old was this . . . gentleman?”

“About your age. He was surprised when I turned him down. He told me I wouldn’t get a better offer.”

The thought made him instantly angry, and he fought the urge to get up from the bed and pace the room. “Shame on him,” he growled.

“Why shame?” she gasped.

“Asking a beautiful girl to come take care of his children and warm his bed and then being angry when she declines? I ought to find him in a dark alley one of these nights and take him down a few pegs.”