The Ripper had to be stopped, and she could help. But she’d have to convince Max. She considered how to go about it while she wiped off the counter. She didn’t have to get into his mind to figure out that right now he was looking at her as a problem, an encumbrance who might interfere with his job.
Well, she felt somewhat the same about him. He was determined to go with her when she went back to 1888, and he was going to bring all that Prime Directive baggage with him. The way he’d explained it, he couldn’t change anything the Ripper had done in the past. Which was nonsense as far as she was concerned. But with Max tagging along, how could she possibly try to save the Ripper’s victims or even capture the killer, himself?
She bent down to pour dishwashing gel into the container. There had to be a way to convince Max that she could be an asset instead of an encumbrance. And if they kept their minds on the very important task of catching the Ripper, maybe the attraction between them would fade.
Right. Fat chance of that happening when she didn’t really want it to fade. She wanted to know where it would lead. As far as Max Gale was concerned, she wanted to grab everything she could. Time was going to run out on them.
But first she had to convince him that they’d make a great team.
MAX PROWLED the main room of the bookstore, trying to figure out what he was going to do about Neely Rafferty. He still wanted her. What they’d done in her bed hadn’t sated his appetite; if anything, it had thrown fuel on the flames. A lot of fuel.
He’d never before been so physically aware of a woman. Even now, he could detect her scent lingering in the air. And if he let his concentration slip, even for an instant, he could relive every moment, every sensation that they’d shared earlier in her bed.
Though he hadn’t been aware of it, he’d found his way back to the French doors that separated the bookstore from the kitchen. She was standing with her back to him, loading the dishwasher. As she bent, her T-shirt and jeans shifted and he caught a glimpse of creamy smooth skin just above her waist. He also spotted the tattoo on the small of her back. A rose.
His heartbeat quickened. His mouth went dry. It was all he could do to stop himself from opening the door and going to her. When he finally remembered to breathe, his lungs were burning. Then she dropped a cloth. This time there was more of that silky skin that he had yet to actually touch. And he could have sworn that he felt his blood drain completely out of his brain.
Leave. That’s what he should do. Max raked his hands through his hair. Already, his ability to do his job was compromised. That’s what he should be thinking of instead of drooling over a tattoo and picturing what her eyes had looked like when he was moving inside of her. Correction. He’d only been imagining moving inside of her. The hell of it was that what he’d experienced in his mind had been more pleasurable than anything he’d felt making love to a woman before.
But if he left, she’d go right back to 1888 and try to save some of the Ripper’s victims. The possibility sent a sliver of ice down his spine.
The part of him that was the security agent still voted for leaving. But the part of him that was the man couldn’t go. There was one thing he hadn’t told her yet. He just hadn’t been able to tell her she was going to be one of the Ripper’s victims in 2008, that he wasn’t allowed to stop her murder.
How could he tell her? How could he even hope to do so now that he’d gotten involved with her? Oh, he’d backed himself into a very tight corner. If he didn’t leave right now, he wasn’t going to be able to fulfill the mission he’d outlined to Deirdre. But against all the rules, he didn’t want to leave her alone—not even for a minute. He didn’t want to leave her, period. He wanted to make love to her for real. If he continued to look at her…
When he caught himself reaching for the doorknob, he turned and strode down the length of the room. Sinking onto the couch, he drew in a careful breath and let it out. The strength of his desire for her baffled him. The cop in him had always been able to control the man. That was what Suzanna hadn’t been able to understand. Or forgive. And maybe she was right not to forgive him.
The pain that tightened around his heart every time he thought of his sister was so intense that he rubbed his fist against his chest. He’d never believed in regrets. He’d always figured that all you could do was your best, and reflecting back on how you might have handled things differently was a colossal waste of time. But he wished with all his heart that he hadn’t been the cause of the breach between Suzanna and himself. Even more than that, he wished he could figure out a way to bring her back.
Max shifted his gaze to the French doors. Regrets were something he’d lived with every day since Suzanna’s death. He had a feeling there were going to be even more with Neely. He picked up one of the books on the coffee table and opened it.
WHEN NEELY WALKED to the French doors she saw him seated on one of the leather couches, his feet propped on a coffee table and his nose in a book. It was easier to study him when he wasn’t looking at her. He appeared to be relaxed, but there was an intensity about him, a charged energy beneath the surface. And every time he touched her, she felt the jolt.
He wasn’t the type of man she’d ever been attracted to before. Charlie Winslow, the very nice man she’d dated during her semester in grad school, had been medium height, slight of build and very laid-back. In many ways Max was Charlie’s complete opposite. Everything about him was bigger, bolder. He reminded her of a sleek panther who could move into action in a nanosecond. Lust curled through her, and she could almost hear her brain cells start to shut down. Perhaps this would be the perfect time to satisfy her curiosity about how it would feel to make love to Max for real.
She’d started toward him when he began to sniff the book like a puppy dog. And she stopped short when she sensed the wonder he was feeling.
He glanced up immediately as if he, too, felt the mental connection. She could tell in that instant that he knew exactly what she’d just been thinking. For a moment, neither of them moved. The air seemed to grow thick, and the only sound in the room was the ticktock, ticktock of the grandfather clock.
It was Max who broke the silence. “Books smell.” He waved a hand at the stack next to his feet. “They all do.”
Neely drew in a deep breath and let it out. She had a plan, she reminded herself. First convince Max she’d make the perfect partner. After that she could jump him. “The paper ages and so does the leather on the old ones. But new books have their own aroma.” She picked up a copy of Dr. Julian Rhoades’s book, which just happened to be sitting on a table, and was pleased her hand didn’t tremble. After opening it, she handed it to him. “Try this one. It’s hot off the presses, as we say.”
He sniffed it, then considered. “I like the old ones better.”
“Me, too.”
“We don’t have paper books anymore. Paper itself is very rare. We’re rebuilding the forests that disappeared in the two hundred years before us, but I’m not sure we’ll ever go back to printing books on paper. We do all our reading on palm units.” He closed the book and was about to set it on the pile, when his eyes narrowed on the cover. Frowning, he turned it over and read the back. “Where did you get this?”
“The author sent it to Bookends and thousands of other bookstores. He self-published it and he’s promoting sales.”
“Someone in this century is writing about the possibility of psychic abilities being linked to time travel?”
“So it would seem. You can imagine why I was interested. I’m going to hear him speak at the Psychic Institute in Brooklyn this afternoon. He’ll be doing a book signing, and I’m hoping to convince him to do another one in my store.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. Not that she would have made one. If he was going to the lecture with her, maybe that meant he would stick around for a while. Neely crossed to the couch opposite him and sat down. “I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve told me, and I have a few questions.”
Max nodded. “Ask them.”
“First, if your theory that the Ripper is a time traveler is correct, why can’t you just travel to one of the murder scenes in 1888 and arrest him?”
“Not all the experts agree on Jack the Ripper’s victims. And timing my arrival is tricky. In 1888, forensic science wasn’t advanced enough to determine an accurate time of death. So arriving at a time when the Ripper is actually killing someone is difficult.”
Neely nodded in silent agreement. She’d been too late both times she’d tried it.
“As for arresting him—well, the moment he knows I’m there, he can psychically transport himself somewhere else.”
“That sure complicates things. What do you plan to do—sneak up on him?”
“I’ll make myself invisible and if I can get close enough, my weapon has the ability to stun him. That will allow me to ID him and capture him when he returns to 2128. Of course, if he’s from my time, he may be able to make himself invisible, too.”