Chapter Eighteen

Professor Merrick hung suspended by a thick rope around his neck from the banister high above. His head tilted at an odd angle; his neck must have snapped as he fell.

Luke took a step closer. Merrick’s bowels had voided, and this close, the stench hung in the air.

“Are you okay?” he asked Jenna.

She forced her gaze from the swinging body and nodded, but her movements were jerky. “Is he dead?”

“I think so.”

“Sorry. Stupid question. I just—”

He reached across and pulled her into his arms, holding her trembling body close and stroking his hand down her hair. They stood for a minute, and he could sense her gathering her strength, pulling the pieces of herself together. Finally, she raised her head from his chest.

“I’m okay.”

He steered her back toward the sitting room, his hand groping for the switch, and the room flooded with light. He pushed her down on the sofa.

“Stay there,” he murmured.

After searching the room, he found the liquor cabinet and poured her a large brandy. She stared at the glass for a moment before taking it from him.

“I don’t drink.”

“Tonight might be a good time to start. I can’t deal with a hysterical female right now.”

The deliberate harshness of his tone got through to her. Though she cast him a hurt glance, she sipped the brandy and pulled a face. She took a deep breath and swallowed the rest in one gulp before placing the glass carefully on the small table beside her and visibly squaring her shoulders.

“I’m fine, really. It was just the shock. I looked up, and he was hanging there. Did he kill himself?”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh. I thought maybe it was my fault. That something we said this morning triggered him to…”

“It’s been set up to look like a suicide, but I think it’s likely he was pushed rather than jumped.” He studied her face; a little color was creeping back. “Are you okay here for a few minutes? I want to go have a look. See if I can find something that might tell us what happened.”

She glanced at the broken French window but nodded.

Maybe he should take her away from here. He could leave the men to keep an eye on the place until Callum turned up. But Callum would say he was going soft. And he’d be right.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt protective about anybody. Actually that was a lie—it had been Leah, and look how well that had turned out. Besides, Jenna was somehow involved with Descartes, and the last thing he needed was feelings for her clouding any decisions he might have to make. He’d spent ten years building up to this. He wouldn’t be distracted by inconvenient emotion now he was close.

He stood gazing down at her a moment longer, then turned away. He headed back to the study first. The note was on the center of the desk.

I can’t live with myself any longer.

Short and to the point.

The writing was shaky, but that could have been a man about to commit suicide or a man with a gun held to his head. As far as Luke was concerned, the latter scenario was far more likely.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Callum. “Merrick’s dead. Get a team over to my location. I want a full search of this place with no sign we’ve been here.”

When he ended the call, he headed back into the hall and studied Merrick’s body. It appeared a clear case of suicide. There was no sign of a fight, no sign he had resisted at all. Maybe they’d drugged him before they’d tied the noose around his neck and tossed him over the balcony. Luke would get the team to check for that.

The staircase was broad and curved around the hallway. Wide landings wrapped around the first and second floor with doors leading off. The rope holding Merrick had been tied to one of the upright banisters on the second floor landing.

Luke ran up the stairs. Crouching down, he studied the knots, but there was nothing to give away whether Merrick had tied them himself.

He rubbed his forehead, pressing his fingers hard against his skull.

There was a terrorist attack going down any day now, and he was no nearer finding anything that would help him stop it. All he knew was the who. Not where, or what, or even why. And that bothered him the most. What did they hope to gain? A terrorist attack made no sense—overt aggressive actions didn’t tie in with the Conclave’s normal pattern of behavior.

What had changed, and how could Jenna be involved?

Could it really be due to her father and a twenty-five-year-old secret between two men? Both now dead.

He returned to the study and started a systematic search. There were no locked drawers or cabinets, and he found nothing of any interest.

It was over an hour before Callum turned up. “Another lead dead?” he asked, staring up at the professor’s body. “It’s getting contagious.”

“Yeah. I want you to keep looking here. Tear the place apart if you have to.”

“And where will you be?”

“I’m taking Jenna back to London.”

“One of the others could do that,” Callum said.

“I don’t think she needs to be with a stranger right now.”

“Really? And does she need to be with you?”

Luke sighed. Callum had never known when to stop pushing. “Say what you’re thinking.”

“Just that I’ve never seen you like this. It’s not like you to be taken in by a pretty face.”

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not taken in, and I know what I’m doing. We need her on our side and this is the best way.”

“You think?” Callum raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I have a feeling you’re about to rejoin the human race, and I’ve got to tell you—your timing stinks.”

Luke didn’t bother with an answer, and he and Jenna left shortly afterward. His cell phone rang when they were half an hour out. Callum.

“There’s been an explosion.”

“At Merrick’s? What happened?”

“We’d just started searching the place when some sort of incendiary device was detonated.”

Luke swore under his breath. He should have checked the house before he left, but he’d been so concerned about getting Jenna out of there and to safety that his mind had been clouded. Shit. He’d thought Merrick wasn’t going anywhere.

Nowhere, but up in smoke.

Callum was right. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus.