Free A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis by Jillian Stone Page B

“Ah, but I think you’d like me to be wicked and foolish again, wouldn’t ye, Fanny?” Her glare fell to his mouth. “Yes, I believe you would.”

Chapter Seven
    H e kissed her again. And though her hands pushed against his chest, her tongue dipped into his mouth and swirled a sensuous little dance with his. The honeyed taste of her conjured up sweet memories.
    Shuffled footsteps and a bit of mumbled conversation alerted Rafe to a new rash of activity outside their compartment door. With his mouth still on hers he opened an eye. The ticket collector stood in the corridor chatting with a passenger. Torn between the man in uniform and her luscious mouth, he let her break off their kiss.
    “Let me go.” She shoved him back into the seat and slipped off his lap, quickly settling on the bench opposite.
    His breath matched the heave of her chest as they both labored for air. “Sorry, Fan. It’s just that you’re so—”
    A short rap and the door opened. A uniformed man stepped into the compartment with a perfunctory nod. “Evening.” He took a long look at Fanny before he turned to Rafe. “Tickets, sir.”
    “The lady and I will be traveling on to Bathgate.” Rafe reached into his pocket. “Change for a quid?”
    “Two for Bathgate.” The ticket taker appeared to be having a bit of trouble with his coin changer.
    “You wouldn’t happen to have a pad of telegram forms on you?” Rafe looked the man over again. After a few years with the Yard, one developed a nose for murky situations. He slipped a hand inside his coat pocket as a precaution. “Turning wet out there?”
    “Yes, sir—we’ve got a spot of weather ahead—”
    “Is that right?” Rafe fashioned a rueful smile. “Clear as a bell in Edinburgh.”
    The ticket man let go of the change machine and pulled out a pistol. “The lady and I will be traveling on without you,” he growled.
    Fanny slid down the bench, wedging herself in a corner. Her perfectly natural act of self-defense created a moment of distraction.
    Rafe fired his Webley and the bullet struck the man’s temple. A faint trickle of blood flowed down the side of the imposter’s face. Glassy-eyed, the man pitched forward into his grasp. Rafe eased the body onto the floor of the compartment.
    With barely a blink, Fanny stared at the frozen expression. “Is he—?”
    Rafe dropped the man’s wrist. “Dead.” She inched around the corpse and reached out to him. Rafe helped her step over an outstretched arm. “You look a bit pale.”
    “Where on earth did he come from?” Her open-mouthedfascination moved from the corpse to Rafe. “And—how could you know?”
    “He must have jumped on board with the other two—worked his way up from the baggage car.” He nodded at the imposter’s shoes. “The wet trousers and fresh mud didn’t seem exactly right. And the man couldn’t work a simple change device.”
    Her gaze swept over the body again. “Shall we search him? Perhaps we might find—I don’t know, some sort of clue, I suppose.”
    “You’ve been reading the story papers.” Rafe grinned.
    Her flush colored wan cheeks. “You know very well I prefer a good adventure tale to poetry.”
    Rafe checked the corridor. “Hard to believe no one heard the shot.”
    “Frightened, wouldn’t you say?” Fanny pressed her nose to the outside window. “Broxburn station is straight ahead. Several constables are standing on the platform.” Fanny turned to him eyes bright. “A bit of good news, yes?”
    Rafe grimaced. “I’d like to avoid local authorities for the moment.” He took up an arm of the body. “Help me get him on the bench.”
    She did a yeoman’s job with her end of the corpse. “You don’t believe they are real policeman?”
    “At the moment, I trust no one.” Rafe lifted the deadweight onto the train seat with a grunt.
    They propped the sham ticket taker against the wing of a headrest and set his cap. Rafe glanced out the window. The train would soon slow