Druid's Daughter by Jean Hart Stewart Page B

Metropolitan Police
and the other the most revered inspector in the C.I.D., were in accord. The
Commander, never energetic, had chosen not to attend the meeting,
    “This time we must be smarter.” Randall leaned back in his
chair and contemplated what the next step should be.
    “I do agree.” Dellafield was now pacing around the room,
thinking on his feet. “Hopefully panic won’t ensue when the people of London
suspect another vicious serial murderer is loose. At least they’ll know their
police were doing their best to protect them.”
    “Our plan is settled, then,” said the Commissioner and the
two shook hands as the cohorts and friends they were.
    Lance decided to take a short walk before returning to his
own office. As he strode along, the irritations of the city’s dirt and noise
seemed to evaporate into the mellow air. He could not remember when London had
been blessed with a more lovely summer. Leaves of trees were still a shining
green, although they would soon change. Grass sprouted in the dirty cracks of
the pavement. Even the usual city odors seemed to be muted and a freshness
filled the air. London was always a fascinating city, but today it seemed even
more attractive. In such a beautiful world, how could anyone be driven to such
horrendous deeds as those he was now investigating?
    He arrived back in his office with his thoughts a little
clearer. As he headed toward his inner room, Shriver put his finger to his lips
to shush him and then slowly opened the door. Throwing his sergeant a
questioning glance, Lance entered and discovered the delectable reason for
Shriver’s unusual behavior. Morgan lay curled up in a chair, fast asleep. Lance
stopped short as every nerve in his body came to exhilarating life.
    Lance closed the door, softly and walked with care to look
down and exult in his beautiful Druid. No matter their intrinsic differences,
she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. She was lying curled with her head
resting on the arm of the chair. Her mouth in repose was curved almost into a
smile and her impossibly long lashes swept down on her creamy cheeks. Her hair
had come loose from its thick coil and several chestnut strands lingered over
her face and neck. Her breath in peaceful sleep barely moved her perfect
breasts. She far surpassed any female even of his rather fertile imagination.
    He could not resist. He leaned down and kissed her
soft-as-satin skin. Her breath halted, then caught as she sat bolt upright.
    “Lance!” He could not decide if her tone was delighted or
accusing. Maybe both.
    He knelt beside her chair so their eyes were level. Her
fragrance drifted to him, a floral scent he could not name. He must ask her
sometime. He was sure it would be as unusual as the rest of her lovely self.
    “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, my dear. I had no idea you’d
come to visit me.”
    He felt himself subjected to one of her long, searching
glances. Then her face cleared.
    “I can see you’re all right. I’m glad. I’ll come back
another time.”
    She made an effort to rise but he stopped her.
    “Oh, no, my girl. Not quite so fast. Why did you come? I
know you had a good reason. Now tell me.”
    He stood quickly even as he leaned over and imprisoned her
in her chair with his long arms.
    “I want to know what’s bothering you. If your mother and
Ambrose can’t fix the problem, it must be bad indeed.”
    His tone was joking, but she didn’t answer his smile.
    “Oh, I’m so foolish,” she muttered. “I feared you’d been
injured. I seemed to see your aura and it quite frightened me. It’s tinged with
black, even now. But I guess you escaped what worried me.”
    Lance was unbearably touched, both that she’d seen danger to
him and also that she came scurrying to check on him. Had the murderer been in
the vicinity when he and his men examined the body? He smiled as he realized he
no longer dismissed her comments as completely foolish.
    He turned away from her as his traitorous