The Mech Who Loved Me(24)

She'd tucked her feet up underneath her skirts, and her head rested on her outflung arm, a diary of sorts in her lap. It looked terribly uncomfortable, but for a moment, looking down into her heart-shaped face, he had a feeling of... something. And it vexed him to not know what that something was.

"Ava?" He shook her gently.

It was like watching the sun dawn on the horizon; a flicker of her lashes, her eyes blinking sleepily as awareness came back into her face. The faintest of smiles when she saw him. "Kincaid?"

"Sleeping Beauty," he murmured, caught for a moment in the spell of seeing her like this.

"Pardon?" She was swiftly rousing, and his statement clearly flummoxed her enough to get that clever little mind working. "Are you speaking of fairy tales?"

"It seemed to suit the situation," he replied with a soft smile as he sank into the armchair opposite her. "All it needed was one kiss to truly wake her. And I know how much you like the idea of them."

Ava blinked at him, and just like magic, her cheeks turned rosy.

Kincaid waited for her to refer to their earlier argument-and his proclamation. It was written all over her, but she swallowed, and then cleared her throat. "Did you... did you question the neighbors?" 

Ah, business then. He smiled at her, unfooled by her redirection. She hadn't said no, and she needed time to think about it.

He could be patient.

"I did."

"And?"

"A curious thing," he said. "Mr. Thomas only discovered three days ago he was stricken with the craving virus. It's a very interesting tale. He was most shocked, hence why the woman who did his washing knew."

"Shocked?"

He could understand the question. With a single drop of blood able to transmit the craving virus, most people who developed it knew they were at risk, or at least suspected. There was usually an altercation. Or a man or woman was paid for blood, or sex, or sometimes both. "With good reason," he said, passing her a small piece of paper. "This is the vaccination certificate for Mr. David Thomas, who attended the clinic on St. Paul's Street. Six weeks ago, he received a vaccination for the craving virus. He was rabidly anti-blue blood. A humanist through and through."

Ava sat up abruptly, peering at the certificate. "But that's.... Then how did he get the craving? The vaccination is quite safe. It's been thoroughly tested. And we've had no evidence of anyone coming down with the craving postvaccination."

Kincaid scratched at his jaw. "Did he have the craving before he received the vaccination?"

She started pacing, her skirts dragging behind her, and a lovely little frown drawn between her pale brows. Those stockinged toes sank into the carpets. "Now you've mentioned it, I cannot help but recall seeing something about a vaccination somewhere. Dr. Gibson showed me the files on the other victims, and I swear there was a note in there. I'll have another look for it. They're in my rooms."

"Are you certain?" She looked exhausted, despite the fact it was night, and therefore a blue blood's "day."

Ava waved him off, already turning back toward the autopsy rooms. "I'm certain. There's no use in me seeking my bed tonight, not with all these questions circling through my head. I'll be awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Might as well have a look. I'll see you on the morrow."

Then she was gone, leaving him alone in the armchair with an unanswered question in the forefront of his mind.





Seven





"FOUND IT!" AVA declared, holding the folder up high as she hunted Kincaid down the following afternoon. She could hear him moving around inside his bedchamber at the secret house, and rapped swiftly on the door.

"Come in," he called.

"I was right. There is more to this than expected," she said excitedly, slipping inside his bedchamber. "Two of the other victims recently received vaccinations! One of them was a staunch humanist and the other-" Ava staggered to an abrupt halt, losing track of what precisely she'd been saying.

For there he was.

Half naked.

And everything she'd been trying to forget rushed back in. "Pretend all you like, kitten. I know you shiver when I touch you."

Kincaid's braces hung from his waist as he stared into his mirror, and the top button of his trousers was undone in the reflection. There was a towel around his bulky neck, barely covering the heavy slabs of his pectoral muscles, and a froth of shaving cream covered his cheeks. She wasn't a complete innocent; she'd seen half the Nighthawks at the guild in various states of undress as they fought and sparred in the weapons room, but Kincaid was... different.

For one thing, he was an absolute brute of a man, layered with thick, heavy muscle, his left hand constructed purely of steel spars and hydraulics. The posterior triangle of trapezius muscle flexed in his back like a pugilist's, and his deltoids rippled... both drawing her attention and making her mouth a little dry.