When he smiled like that he stole her breath. The slightly crooked slant of his nose, the fullness of his mouth, and the faint dimple on the right side of his mouth stirred her in ways she couldn't quite comprehend. She could still taste that mouth on hers, and Ava swiftly looked away, trying to busy her hands before he noticed her fascination with him. They didn't have time to play games today, but he'd promised her the next time he kissed her, he didn't intend on stopping.
"Busy day?" she asked.
Kincaid stepped inside the room, taking it in. "I slept," he admitted, "since you had little use for me, and then I visited Orla and Ian this morning, and returned for lunch. I'm not much help with the laboratory work, I'm afraid."
She filled him in on what she and Dr. Gibson had found.
"Something is vexing me," she admitted, pushing thoughts of Kincaid's mouth and body out of her mind. "If someone killed Mr. Thomas, then that someone knew he was a blue blood. How? Was it someone watching the clinics? The same person who tampered with the vaccine and set the bombs? Did they tamper with all the vaccine vials and track every single victim down? The lack of bodies on the ground suggests otherwise, as there were at least ninety-eight other patients through the clinic during the time period we've nailed down, and there's been no outcry. We'd have noticed if people were finding more bodies. So why Mr. Thomas? Why Marcus Long? Why Francis Jenkins, John Redmond, or Quentin Longbow? What made these gentlemen stand out as men to die?"
"Can't help you, I'm afraid."
She sighed and lowered her head, resting her hands on one of her benches. There were no answers to that question, not yet. But if she kept asking questions, then maybe she'd jog loose whatever thought kept teasing her. "I'm missing something. I'm sure of it. There's something about this case I feel I should know."
His hands settled on her shoulders. "You've done an amazing job already. I'm in awe of your thought processes."
Awe? She swallowed a little, still feeling the weight of a thousand other rejections over the years. "It's nothing, really. Dr. Gibson helped me figure out most of it."
Kincaid turned her around, his black brows drawing together. "Ava, I've been at your side for most of this case. Dr. Gibson might be an accessory to the thought process, but you're the one in charge. You're the one who's putting this altogether." He arched a brow. "I feel fairly bloody useless, to be honest."
"You're not useless," she protested. "You saved my life at the clinic when the bomb detonated. I wouldn't be here-"
"It wouldn't have detonated if I hadn't opened the back panel."
"Yes, but then whoever set it could have triggered the detonation at any time they wished, and we'd know no better." She glared up at him. "I wouldn't have even made it to Mr. Thomas's house in the first place without getting caught in that riot."
"So I'm to provide some muscle, am I?"
"I'm sure you'll come in handy," she replied, not quite looking at the breadth of his chest.
"Aye, when someone needs a bunch of fives," he snorted.
"When I need you," she said quietly, and the night he'd put his coat around her shoulders at the Garden of Eden sprang to mind. "I couldn't do this without you. I grow hysterical sometimes, when I cannot even help it. Here, looking at vaccines, and evidence, and bodies, I'm in my element. It all makes sense to me, and I'm in control. Out there"-she gestured to the windows-"I'm fighting to keep my equilibrium. You know London like the back of your hand. You know its people and the way they think. I'm merely a bystander, plucking clues from what they leave behind. You're more important than you think."
The intensity of his gaze burned her. "You're my anchor," she whispered, "my link to a world I sometimes don't understand."
Kincaid twirled something in his fingers; a flash of color, quickly contained. "I'm not going to keep arguing over which one of us is more useful than the other. You win. You couldn't do without me."
A laugh escaped her, but he reached out, brushing the curl of hair that had escaped her chignon back behind her ear, and when he removed his hand, there was something else tucked there.
Ava tugged it free, catching a hint of its dark, sultry scent. Brilliant magenta petals draped lushly over her palm. "Cattleya labiata," she breathed. "Oh, my goodness, where did you get this?" Then horror dawned. "You cut the flower off the orchid?"
"I told you I was busy today. Do you like it?"
"Yes!" Even if he'd beheaded it. Ava cupped the precious bloom in her palms. "This was the first orchid species Mr. William Swainson sent back from Brazil in 1818. I've seen it in books, but never...." Never in person.