“Of course.” Neely clasped her hands together. “He made himself invisible. That’s why I couldn’t see him. I could only sense him.”
Max stared at her. “What do you mean you could sense him?”
“The night before last when I visited Mitre Square, I knew he was chasing me. It’s difficult to explain, but I could feel him getting closer.”
“Did you see him?”
She shook her head. “It was very dark, and the mist was so thick. I couldn’t see anything. When I called out Catherine Eddowes’s name, he started following me. I heard his footsteps, and at one point I felt a sort of connection with him. Not anywhere near as strong as the one I feel with you. But I sensed him.” She tapped a finger against her temple. “Up here. And the same thing happened in Buck’s Row last night.”
Max stared at her. “He was in Buck’s Row? When I got there, I wasn’t far from the stable gate and the only person I saw was the woman.”
“I didn’t actually see him, either. But when I first got there, I was on the corner of Buck’s Row, and I heard someone coming toward me. I pressed myself into the hedge. The fog was thick, but even when it thinned, I couldn’t see him. It makes sense if he was invisible.”
Max’s mind was racing. If the Ripper had been somewhere on the scene in that alley, he certainly hadn’t seen him.
“You don’t believe me.”
“If you’re going to butt in on my thoughts, at least give me time to finish them. I can accept the theory that you might have some sort of connection with the Ripper. You certainly have one with me. On the other hand, it’s also possible that because you’ve become so focused on him and you have a very highly developed imagination, the presence that you sense at these scenes may be some kind of—”
“Wishful thinking,” she finished, then shook her head. “He was there. I could feel him standing beneath the street lamp.”
“Are you saying that you can not only sense him, but you can pinpoint a location?”
“I think so. Like I said, he was standing under the street lamp.” She shivered. “I felt his eyes moving over me. Then he came closer and he touched me.” She pressed a finger to her chin. “I felt something cold and sharp against my skin.”
“A knife?”
“That’s what I thought. So I shot him with pepper spray.”
Pepper spray. That would have given the bastard a shock. Ruthlessly, Max clamped down on the fear that threatened to roil through him. When he thought about the Ripper being close enough to lay a knife on her…
“I heard him cry out, and then he was gone.”
Shoving his emotions aside, Max focused his mind on the implications of what she’d told him. Not only might she have the power to pinpoint the Ripper’s exact location, but she also seemed to have a knack for timing her travels so that she ran into him. That was more than Max had been able to do in the two months since Suzanna’s death. It was possible that Neely could be an invaluable asset.
“I want to help you catch him. Why don’t we become partners. We could give it a dry run. We should pick one of the London crime scenes and research it. Then we could go there together, you can make yourself invisible, and if I’m able to tell you just where he is, you can take him with your weapon. Or not, if you’re really hung up on the Prime Directive.”
Max regarded her steadily for a moment, wishing that it were that simple. Her offer was very tempting and something that he shouldn’t even be considering. To involve a civilian in his work was against several of the many guidelines he’d always followed. But then, making love—even mentally—to someone from a different time period broke a few rules, too.
“Of course, it would have to be after we go to Dr. Rhoades’s lecture,” she continued.
Her mention of Rhoades’s name had him glancing down at the book again. When he’d been reading the back cover, he’d gotten that little tingle he always got when he thought he might be onto something. “What do you know about this Rhoades guy?”
“Nothing except for his theory and that he’s doing a tremendous job of promoting his book. During the past two months he’s been on all the local morning talk shows. He even got a spot on The Today Show. He’s attracted quite a following here in Manhattan. He must have hired himself a top-notch publicist.”
Max picked up the book again. This time he felt that clench in the gut that he’d learned never to ignore. He studied the author’s photo. The guy was handsome, and he’d gotten his pretty face on TV. Would that make him familiar enough for single, lonely women to invite him into their homes? “Is there anything to his theory?”
“It’s just something he thinks is going to happen, but my business partner urged me to read the book, and it got me thinking. I decided to try and sort of guide my dreams—decide where and when I wanted to go instead of just letting it happen. I’m getting pretty good at it.”
Max met her eyes. “Yes, you are.” The feeling in his gut grew stronger. And later today, Neely was going to meet Dr. Julian Rhoades in person. This could be the contact that he’d come here to discover.
“But I’ve never tried to travel through time during the day before. So it might be a bit of a challenge.” She rose, ran a hand through her hair and began to pace. “Travel through time—I can’t even believe I’m saying that. Believing that. But it’s true.” She turned to face him. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s true.”
“We should try it. It’s worth a chance, isn’t it?”
“Try what?” He realized he’d gotten sidetracked thinking about Rhoades.
“Becoming partners. Let me help you catch the Ripper in London.”
The offer was tempting—although it didn’t even remotely resemble the proposal he’d outlined for Deirdre. And it would break pretty much every rule TGS stood for.
Max leaned forward. “This could be very dangerous for you if he realizes you’re tracking him.”
“You’ll be with me.”
“True.” Why was he even considering the idea? He should just go to the Rhoades lecture and stick to the plan he’d outlined to Deirdre. What in hell was the matter with him? He might have bent rules in the past, but he’d never broken the Prime Directive. Not even for his sister. But he hadn’t followed one damn rule since he’d come to 2008. What was Neely Rafferty doing to his brain? Rising, he strode to the window and stared out at the street. I could use a drink.
“I have some scotch.”
Max turned to face her. “Can you read everything I’m thinking?”
“No. Mostly, I get something when your feelings are very strong. Can you read everything I’m thinking?”
He shook his head. “It’s patchy, and so far, you have to initiate the link. That’s when I get the flashes.”
She’d moved to a hand-carved cabinet next to what he figured was the counter where people paid. They still used cash and plastic in 2008. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle. “My grandmother loved single-malt scotch.”
“I’ve heard of it, but it’s very rare in my time.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s an acquired taste.” As she poured it into a crystal glass, she asked, “Ice?”
“No.” If he was going to actually taste single-malt scotch, he wasn’t going to dilute it.
When she handed it to him, he sipped carefully, felt the flavor and warmth steal through him. “Your grandmother had excellent taste. This costs a small fortune in my time.”
“My time, too, although I suppose it’s relative.” She smiled as she poured a tiny bit into a second glass. “My grandmother got behind on the taxes, but she never ran out of her favorite scotch.”
He smiled back, lifting his glass. “Then I’ll toast her priorities.”
She touched her glass to his, and then they both drank. “Well? How about it? Are you going to let me help you catch the Ripper?”
He sipped more scotch. “If I don’t, you’re going to continue to travel back there on your own, right?”
“Right.”
He set down the glass and extended his hand. “I want your promise that you’ll follow orders.”
Without a second’s hesitation, she set her own glass down and grasped his hand. The same shock of heat moved through both of them. Neely knew she should pull back her hand. If she had, everything might have been different. But she didn’t.
“Now that we’ve settled that,” Max said, “we’ll have to decide what we’re going to do about the fact that I can’t stop thinking about making love with you.”
Lust coursed through her, so hot that she was certain her bones were melting. “You can’t?”
“No. I’m surprised that you didn’t pick up on it.”
“I thought it was what I was feeling. Because I can’t stop thinking about making love with you, either.”
He laid his hand on her cheek. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s against the rules.”
She rose on her toes and brushed her mouth against his. “If we’re going to break some, we should make it count.”