Rachel Moriarty? Had Sage enlisted one of the constable’s help in making a joke? Perhaps he should speak to Roark about her penchant for making jokes of people’s names.
As he rounded the corner and spied her sitting there, he had to admit if she was one of Sage’s creations, he’d have to rethink asking Roark to scold her. Rachel Moriarty was gorgeous—she looked to be a bit taller than average with light brown hair streaked with silver and highlights from the sun. He couldn’t tell exactly from where he was standing, but she looked to have a curvaceous figure that she tried to hide in dumpy clothes.
He idly wondered what she’d look like in a corset and G-string, no boy shorts, at Baker Street, the BDSM club he’d begun frequenting. It allowed him to exert control and dominance in sexual manners, meet his own needs, and help submissives with theirs. And all done with a contract in place protecting both him and the submissive he was playing with. Actually, almost anonymous sex had seemed ideal when he’d been introduced to the club, but the more time he was out of Sage’s books, the more he longed for the kind of true connection, Roark had found with Sage—a kind of private intimacy they could take out into the world and not just leave behind in the bedroom or when they were playing.
“Ms. Moriarty? I’m DSI Michael Holmes. The constable seemed to think you were in some distress and that I might be able to help.”
“Actually…”
So, she was American.
“It’s Dr. Moriarty. And did you say Holmes?”
Michael chuckled. “Yes, a rather unfortunate name for a detective…”
She picked up the large purse that had been sitting beside her. “And people think the English don’t have a sense of humor. I hope your constable is having a good laugh…”
Michael reached out to grasp her elbow lightly. “I won’t tell you I don’t think Landry spoke to me because of the names, but I can assure you I am a DSI and if you have a problem, I’d like to help.”
She glanced around furtively, seemed to think about it, and then nodded. “I promise you this is not a joke on my part.”
“How long have you been visiting us here in England?”
“What makes you think I’m not a citizen?” she challenged, bringing her chin up a notch.
So, the girl had spirit—dreadful taste in clothing—but she was feisty.
She shook her head. “The accent. My apologies DSI Holmes, it seems my nerves are getting the better of me and I’m lashing out.”
He chuckled. “I assure you, Dr. Moriarty, that if that is your idea of lashing out, you and I should get along famously. Why don’t we into one of the privacy rooms.” He escorted her down a short hall and into a private waiting room. He held out a chair and noticed how gracefully she sank into it. Would she have that kind of grace sinking to her knees? God, he really needed to make time to get to Baker Street. “Now, what brings you to Scotland Yard?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I assure you I’m not.”
“Go on,” he urged gently.
“I hold a PhD in English History, specializing in the War of the Roses through the reign of Elizabeth I. Five years ago, I relocated to London and began my business, Select Tours. I specialize in small, private tours catered to an individual or small group’s specific interests.”
“I’ve heard good things about your company. I have friends at the Savoy and they speak well of you.”
“You have? Your accent pegs you as born and raised in London, the West End if I’m not mistaken.”
“You have an ear for accents. Not far from Leicester Square. A few months ago, you took a friend of mine on a tour she still raves about—Sage Matthews.”
“The author? Lovely person. So kind and unassuming. I didn’t know what to expect when I met her. Her husband seems quite intimidating…”
“But madly in love with Sage. Roark and I have been friends for years. I’ve never known him to be as happy and settled as he is now.”
Her body was tense and he wondered if a session with a caring Dom might be just what she need to quiet what was an obviously busy mind.
“Yes, they did seem to have a very intimate and loving connection…” Her mind seemed to have drifted away with her sentence.
“But I don’t suppose you came here to talk about the Savoy’s most illustrious couple.”
“No. No, I didn’t. You’re going to think I’m crazy…”
“I assure you I won’t.”
She nodded again. “I was in Whitechapel, conducting a tour after dark. We were in the actual flat where Mary Jane Kelly met her end…”
“I didn’t know they allowed people up there.”
She smiled. It transformed her face even though the smile did not reach her eyes.
“Because I keep my number so small and I have a doctorate in English history…”
“But Jack the Ripper operated in the time of Queen Victoria, long after Elizabeth the First.”
“Yes, but it fascinates people to this day and the beauty of what I offer is I can cater my tours to the client.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. Please, go on.”
“We were headed down to the street level when I noticed the door to her room was slightly ajar. I was certain I had locked it, but I went back to do so. As I grasped the knob, I felt someone pulling on it from the other side—someone strong. When it was about halfway open, I heard a woman scream and then it felt as if a powerful force passed through my body… For the past several nights, I’ve awakened in my loft. The door to my balcony has been open, even though I know for certain I closed and locked it. And there’s an icy chill in the flat… This was a mistake. I’m sure you think…”
“What I think, Dr. Moriarty, is that you are frightened and in need of help. I’m not sure that I can do anything officially, I think perhaps you and I should call Roark and Sage and have Roark treat us to lunch at the Savoy.”
“I couldn’t possibly presume…”
Michael grinned at her. “Maybe not, but that’s what old friends are for. Besides, he’s loaded, and the Savoy has an exceptional menu.”