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“What happened to her?”
Hardy ran a hand through his hair. “Found in an alley. Dress pushed up. Bruising on her throat. No cuts that I remember, but the police surgeon said she was throttled face to face. No garrote or an attack from behind.”
“Blonde?” Electra couldn’t help but ask, recalling the similar sunny-blonde hair of Miss Collier and Miss Fretwell.
Hardy nodded. “He has been killing women for three years, right beneath our noses, and none of us could see it.” He fixed his gaze on Electra. “Until you.”
He leaned farther across his desk, hand stretched out, almost as if he’d reach for her. “What else did you see? Can you identify anything about him?”
“I only saw his hand, and there was nothing remarkable about it. Clipped nails. No rings. Just a man’s pale hand.”
“What was he wearing?” Gideon asked.
“I saw only a cuff of what seemed to be a coat. Black. Nothing notable about it.”
“And what else?” Hardy pushed. “There must be something that can aid us to find him. Stop him.”
Electra recalled the feelings she’d felt while in the man’s memories. The darkness, like an encroaching rot inside her that turned her stomach.
She drew in a breath and started, “When I see the images, a memory of someone, it is as if I am seeing through their eyes. Sometimes feelings are attached…” She glanced at Gideon, who seemed to sense her unease and reached out, lightly touching her wrist.
“Electra?”
“I have never felt anything like that before.” Her voice broke and she was mortified to feel the press of tears.
“What did you feel?” Gideon had lowered his voice to a near whisper.
A shiver skittered down her back, and she clenched her teeth at the memory. “Like a ravenous hawk watching a field mouse. Like a vulture staring down at carrion, deciding how it should be devoured.”
She bolted up, pulling away from Gideon and then crossing to the door. She pulled it open and rushed down the hall. She heard Gideon calling for her but didn’t turn back. Not until she’d pushed out of a side door onto a patch of grass behind the building did she stop, bending at the waist, struggling to catch her breath.
Chapter Eleven
“Tell me what I might do to help.” Gideon stood behind her, a welcome presence of support. A broad-shouldered wall of heat against the autumn breeze.
“I just need a moment,” Electra told him, trying her best to wrangle her emotions under control. She was not used to allowing them to overcome her usual restraint.
“Take as many as you like,” he whispered. His deep voice had dipped low, soft. Meant to soothe.
For some unaccountable reason, it added to Electra’s frustration. “It’s not quite that simple. Is it, Gideon? The sand is running down in the hourglass, and we must find this young woman. Now we know she was being watched by a man who has harmed others. And I want to help you find him.”
“Electra, you matter more—”
“You know that’s not true,” she bit out, spinning to face him.
The shock on his face made her immediately regret that she’d snapped at him when he had spoken to her so gently, and even now looked at her so devotedly. “Forgive me.”
“What are you apologizing for?” he asked, voice still soft. “I’m the one who should apologize.”
Electra frowned. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I’m the one who asked you to involve yourself in this case.”
“I do not regret that. Not a single bit.”
He searched her eyes. “But I see that it is taking a toll on you.”
Electra tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. “It is…new. That is all.” She glanced back at the door they’d exited, hoping no one could overhear them. “Usually, when I see memories, I merely see images. I rarely hear ambient sounds or voices. And I don’t always feel the emotions of the person whose memory appears in my mind. Sometimes, I do. My heart will race. Fear will overtake me as if I am experiencing the moment myself. Their thoughts are often not clear. I can draw conclusions when their feelings come through, but nothing in the way that we normally speak to ourselves in our own mind.”
