Angel in My Arms (32 page)

"It's not worth someone getting killed over."

He nodded. "I knew you would feel the same way."

Celeste walked up beside him and slipped her arm around his waist.
"I was proud of you today. I don't know any other owner who would have
stayed down there with that man." He didn't say anything.

She gave him a squeeze. "I say we've had quite enough excitement for
today. Why don't we go home, eat, and try out that bathtub again?"

He glanced at her sideways, that boyish smile she loved turning up
the corners of his mouth. "I've been waiting all day for a proposition
like that, ma'am."

She lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Race you home."

Filth. Nothing but filth and stench. You can smell it. Hear it.
Taste it in the air in Carrington these days. Sin is what brings it.
Gambling. Swearing. Drinking. Whoring. The filth is everywhere, seeping
into every crack of man's existence.

It has to be stopped. Silenced. Here. Now.

There is only one way. Only the blade can wipe the sin clean. Only blood can wash it from the sinner's hands and face.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

The metallic smell of it. The stickiness of it on my hands. The warmth that flows with it… It is an elixir.

Celeste's hands shook as she lit the gas lamp and sat down on the
corner of her bed. She'd left the door open for Fox, hoping he would
join her. Most nights he did. Since his confession to her about Amber,
he had been sleeping much better. He rarely wandered the streets at
night with the dog. He said it was because he slept with Celeste in his
arms, but she knew that he was finally beginning to forgive himself for
Amber's death.

Celeste stared at her hands in her lap. She'd bathed alone tonight
and changed into a flannel sleeping gown and robe. A cold wind tore at
the window shutters outside, and a branch scraped eerily against the
window.

Another murder.

The killer had struck again. This time it was one of Sal's new
girls. Her name had been Emma. Fox had just been to Sal's. He hadn't
told her what happened. He'd just passed her in the hallway. He said
he'd be up, after he bathed the day's sweat and dirt from the mine from
his body.

She threaded her fingers together and waited, trying not to think. Not to feel.

Four women. Dead. Butchered. In less than five months. The idea
terrified her. Rosy had been smart to get out while she could. She
wished Sally would do the same, but the girl was still trying to save
money. She intended to leave by Christmas; that was her plan.

Celeste felt guilty for feeling so relieved that she hadn't been the
victim. After all, she'd not lain with a customer in almost a year.
When John had fallen sick, she'd left Kate's to care for him. She
wasn't a whore any longer. True, she slept with a man who wasn't her
husband, but that wasn't the same thing. The killer only murdered women
who slept with many men. That excluded Celeste—it made her safe. She
told herself that at least once a day.

A sound in the doorway startled Celeste. She jumped up. "Oh—it's you. You scared me."

"I'm sorry." Fox walked into her bedroom, a white cotton towel tied
around his middle. He'd just bathed, and his hair was wet and slicked
back over his head. He'd shaved and smelled of fresh soap and clean
skin. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She sat back down on the bed. "It's all right. I was just daydreaming."

Silver wandered into the bedroom and stretched out in front of the coal stove that burned warmly in the far corner of the room.

Fox sat on the edge of the bed beside her and ran an extra towel
over his wet hair. "Long day. It's hard with it being so cold above
ground and so hot below."

She rested her hand on his bare knee."We could hire another foreman so you wouldn't have to work so many hours."

"No." He laid back on the bed. "I need to be there. It's only right."

She stretched out beside him and propped her head on one elbow. "I
wish I could say that I didn't understand." She smoothed his wet hair
with her hand. "But I do."

She adored this time of evening, when they were close and talked
about the day. She wondered if this was what it felt like to have a
husband who loved you. Was this what husbands and wives did in the
evenings?

He turned his head to stare into her eyes. They were so close that
their noses nearly touched. Apparently, by silent agreement, they
weren't going to discuss the murder tonight. They were both too
physically tired, too mentally exhausted. Here, safe in the cocoon of
John's house, they could find a moment's respite and just be together.

"I miss you when I'm down there," Fox said thoughtfully. "I think about you. I wonder what you're doing."

She smiled as a lump rose in her throat. He was so kind to her. So caring. If only he could accept her past…

"Ready for bed?" she asked, turning away so that he didn't see the tears that gathered in her eye.

"Yes, I'm ready for bed." He tossed the towels onto the floor and crawled beneath her down quilt. "Just not to sleep."

She blew out the gaslight and padded barefoot across the floor, her laughter mingling with his.

Running, running, running. Celeste was running, but she wasn't
going anywhere. She could hear the footsteps behind her. She could feel
the murderer pressing closer. Yet, when she turned around, she couldn't
see him. When she turned around she saw nothing but the streets of
Carrington. She heard nothing but the wind.

Celeste was out of breath, near exhaustion, and yet she couldn't
stop running. If she stopped he would kill her. Her precious Adam would
be an orphan. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't.

Peach Street seemed to go on forever. She kept on the same street, and yet she never reached the end.

She had to get to the train station. Celeste lifted her skirt to her knees and ran faster.

She could feel the killer growing closer. Her terrified
heartbeat pounded to the rhythm of the killer's footsteps. She had
almost reached the end of the street!

Then she felt the cold hard steel of the blade. She screamed as
her knees buckled and she fell, white hot pain radiating from her back.
She heard the killer's voice and she knew she knew him.

Fox shook Celeste harder. "Celeste, wake up. Celeste."

She sat upright, panting. The quilt fell away, uncovering her bare
breasts. Her heart was beating so hard that she felt as if it was going
to explode from her chest. "Oh," she sighed. "Oh."

"You awake?" came Fox's voice out of the darkness. He rubbed her arm.

"Yes."

"Good. Now why don't you tell me who Gerald is?"

Celeste's mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her
mouth. "Gerald?" she whispered. It was as if he had spoken the name of
a ghost or goblin.

"
Gerald."

She could feel Fox's piercing gaze through the shadowed darkness of
the bedroom. He was so close to her that she could touch him, yet he
seemed as distant as the stars in the night.

"Yeah, Gerald," he repeated. "You called his name."

"Gerald…" she murmured numbly.

"He the man you see in Denver?" Fox's tone was cool.

She shook her head, feeling numb from her toes to her hair. It had
been a long time since she thought about Gerald. Handsome, blue-eyed
Gerald.

"Then who is he? You can't expect me not to ask. To not need to know."

Celeste lifted the quilt to cover her breasts. She was suddenly cold
to the bone. "He…" Her voice sounded strange in her ears. "He… um… he
was my fiance."

"Fiance?"

She felt as if she was floating half in the present, half in the
past. Images flashed in her head. She heard her own girlish laughter
and Gerald's deep, charming voice.

"Was? You were engaged to be married?" he asked sharply.

She clutched the quilt to her breasts as if she could protect herself from those events long past. "A long time ago."

She heard him sigh and then felt his hand on her shoulder. "You want to tell me about it?"

"No." Her lower lip trembled. "Yes."

He was silent.

Celeste had never told anyone about Gerald, not even Sally. Sally
knew about Adam, but not Gerald. Celeste had never intended telling
anyone again, but somehow it seemed right that Fox should know.

"He was my father's business partner," she said so quietly that he
leaned closer to hear her."I was seventeen." She smiled bittersweetly
at the memory. She remembered her mother's rose garden, and Gerald
kissing her beneath a trellis. "He was older. So charming. So handsome.
So well mannered. Everyone liked him. I loved him."

She thought she heard Fox inhale sharply. "He asked you to marry him, and your parents wouldn't allow it?"

"Oh, no." She turned to him. In the darkness she could only see the
outline of his face. "My parents adored him as well. They gave me
permission to wed. There was a great engagement party at our home.
Everyone in Denver came."

"What happened?"

"We danced and drank champagne. Gerald took me into my father's dark
office and kissed me and told me he loved me more than the moon loves
the stars." She brushed her lips with her fingertips, remembering how
much she had enjoyed that kiss. "Then he tried to touch me. He said he
loved me too much to wait."

"Oh, Celeste," Fox said softly, as if he knew what she would say next.

"I said no. We could wait. We were marrying in six months. Surely a
man and woman who loved each other as much as we did could show some
restraint and wait six months."

A tear trickled down her cheek. "But he got angry. He said I'd
gotten what I wanted, and now he was getting what he wanted." She cried
silently, too ashamed even now to cry aloud. "He… he did it anyway. He
raped me."

"Celeste." Fox tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but she
shrugged him off. Just talking about it made her feel the shame. The
anger. She should have fought harder. She should have hollered and
brought the guests into the office. She should never have let him take
what was only hers to give.

"What happened?" Fox asked.

She lifted one shoulder. "I told my father. He called me a liar. He
brought Gerald into the office where the bastard raped me. The two of
them stood there and smoked a cigar and drank brandy. Gerald said he
didn't do it. He said it was someone else, but that he'd take me soiled
just the same."

"Son of a bitch," Fox said quietly. "So what did you do?"

"I refused. I wouldn't marry a rapist. My father put me out of the
house. It was raining. I had no place to go. Kate took me in. First I
cleaned, but I couldn't make enough money to keep myself."

"So you took to the profession."

She nodded; hot tears ran down her cheeks. "I vowed the night my
father put me on the street that no man would force me like that again.
I would make the decision. It would be on my terms. I became the whore
my father accused me of being."