Apologies for the missed post, the universe decided on a perfect birthday-present for me: a 13 hour day working around a building site, while suffering a nasty cold. After that I felt incapable of anything but lying on the couch wheezing. So, with a day's delay, here is the next chapter. I hope you are enjoying this little tale.

Chapter 9: Blood Will Have Blood

The stench reached them as soon as they entered the stable. Jack held his breath in an effort to shut out the smell. He disliked blood, the colour, the look and especially the taste. Right now it seemed to be crawling through his nose right into his mouth. He realised that Phryne had already barged forward. She seemed to have completely forgotten about her ghosts and Jack could honestly not say that he minded. Her ashen face just before she'd collapsed still sent chills down his spine.

Following her into the gloomy stable he finally reached 'Evening Wind's' box. Grace's description barely did it justice. The horse's grey coat was encrusted in blood, the floor drenched, the walls splattered. The eyes were rolled up, showing only white. But none of it was a gruesome as the nasty cut in his throat, half severing the head from the body. The smell was overwhelming here. Jack felt he might be sick. Swallowing hard, he took off his hat and crouched down beside his wife.

"The cause of death seems quite obvious," she said. "While I don't know terribly much about horses, I believe they need blood in order to live."

"Well spotted, Miss Fisher," Jack quipped, "but I do wonder how one would get close enough to such a beast without being attacked."

"Quite a knife," Phryne stated without answering his question. She wasn't wrong. The cut was deep and beside causing the Inspector's stomach to heave, it also made him wonder what kind of weapon could inflict such a wound.

"It looks almost like he was slaughtered and bled," Jack concluded quietly, aware that Grace Harper was still hovering in the background.

"Well in a farmer's community that restricts our circle of suspect to only about half of the population," Phryne grinned, picking up something from the floor. The horse's blood left her white gloves stained.

"What is it?" Jack asked, moving closer. He felt his father join them, but didn't turn to look at John.

"It appears to be a sort of buckle," Phryne said, holding the blood covered metal against the light.

"Hardly would fit on a belt though," John grumbled, holding out a crumpled envelope. It looked more like an empty letter case than an evidence bag, which considering that he had been retired for years was a much more obvious conclusion.

"Maybe some sort of adornment?" Jack asked. "From a dress or shirt?"

They turned to Grace, who was leaning pale against a box door, caressed on the shoulder by Athena's soft muzzle. She shook her head.

"I don't recognize it."

Her voice was shaking and she looked faint. Jack traded a look with Miss Green.

"Come, you'll feel better for some fresh air," she said, taking Grace gently by the arm. The farmer's wife didn't protest and the door falling shut marked the Detectives being alone.

"It's rather considerate of the killer to leave us a souvenir," Phryne quipped, dropping the buckle into John's envelope and care.

"I take it, you don't believe in so much politeness?" her father-in-law asked her, storing the evidence away.

"Murderers are hardly ever so friendly as to lead us straight to them by a trail of breadcrumbs," Jack sighed, pulling himself to his feet then reaching out his hand to help up Phryne. "And how would a horse rip a clasp from a piece of clothing in the struggle?"

"Are you saying that it has been planted?" John asked, stretching his own legs.

"It's a possibility."

"If so, we should find out who our killer wants us to believe slaughtered that poor horse," Phryne pointed out, taking Jack's arm.

When they stepped out of the stable they burst into a heated, if whispered discussion between the two women. They trailed off immediately. John glared at them for a moment.

"Was there anything you would like to share?" he asked coldly, fixating Miss Green. She seemed annoyingly little intimidated by him.

"Not that I am aware of," she answered with so much sweetness that he felt his teeth might rot. "Other than that my attendance will be required at the hotel soon if you wish your beds to be made."

John grumbled something under his breath but stepped past her to open the car door for her. She turned, giving her friend another hug and whispering something into her ear before graciously accepting his offer.

"Too kind," she smiled when he slammed the door shut and climbed in on the other side. Phryne and Jack shared a look. John Robinson wasn't famous for his gentle temper but being this uncivilised towards a fresh acquaintance seemed odd, even for him. The Inspector made a mental note to have a little chat with his father later. He felt Phryne fumble for his wristwatch when he pulled out onto the road. While her touch was far from unwelcome, the fact that she was still wearing bloodstained gloves caused him to shudder and also wonder if she was as composed as she seemed. It was odd for her to forget about something like this.

He left the Harper's sheep station and their unusual murder victim behind with mixed feelings. There were still people to question and he wouldn't have minded to talk to the Master of the House, but it was almost ten o'clock and he had promised Jane to be back within an hour. Even though Miss Fisher could seemingly never manage to suffer a holiday without a murder, at least this time they would attempt on not letting the investigation spoil everybody's day. Rupert had proposed a visit to a nearby vineyard and Hazel was keen on the cute little boats she had spotted on the dam near Hanging Rock. After the stuffy stable filled with the metallic smell of blood and the ghostly appearance of the horse's cadaver, Jack found he was rather looking forward to some time out in the beautiful countryside of the Macedon Ranges, not occupying himself with death and destruction for a change. And a good drop of wine wouldn't hurt his mood either. Phryne was still looking pale when he helped her out of the car in front of the hotel. She could also certainly do with the distraction.

Despite his resolve to let her fainting spell rest, it gnawed on him. He had seen Miss Fisher unconscious on occasion but it usually took either drugs or physical harm to accomplish that. In fact he remembered vividly the very first time when he had flung himself at her, slamming her head into the floorboards and knocking her out for a few brief, scary seconds. Of course there had been a very good reason in the shape of a falling sandbag which might have killed her if it hadn't been for his impolite act of sweeping her off her feet. But it had been hard to remember that between the sensation of her warm body underneath him and her perfume in his nose. Despite all that, even those brief moments had scared the life out of him. Phryne was not a born damsel-in-distress and the more frightening it was whenever he witnessed her rare spells of weakness and fragility. It made him want to stop the world and wrap himself around her for protection. She wouldn't appreciate those notions.

"Jack?"

The Inspector resurfaced from his thoughts to realise that he was standing in front of a door with the No 13 in peeling gold and Phryne staring at him in a mixture of confusion and worry. He cleared his throat while fumbling for the key. His wife watched him out of tired eyes. She longed to dispose of her bloodstained clothes and a distraction from both, the horse murder and the stinging dread filling her chest. Mrs. Robinson had rather hoped that a case might divert her thoughts from the nonsense occupying her head, yet the gruesome scene in the stable had twisted her already upset stomach into a knot. And Jack's uncharacteristic absence of mind added to her anxiety. Phryne made a decision.

After he had finally managed to unlock the door, she brushed past him with a painted on smile and after disposing of her street clothes in a trail across the room, plonked herself down onto the bed, leaning onto her elbows.

"Aren't you going to take off your trousers, Inspector?"

He looked rather startled, obviously still absorbed in his thoughts and she grinned, this time more genuine. Even after all this time she still enjoyed throwing him off balance.

"You have got blood on your pants, Jack."

He looked down where indeed, the bottom of the grey fabric showed a thin line saturated with Evening Wind's bodily fluids. He suppressed a shudder.

"Would you like me to give you a hand?" she asked from the bed, her voice soft and sultry. Jack felt himself flush in embarrassment, which seemed an odd reaction to his wife aiming double entendres at him.

"Thank you, I think I am capable of undressing myself, Miss Fisher," he said before she could follow through and made a show of turning towards the cabinet.

"As you please," she quipped. He could feel her eyes on him but chose to ignore her while he flung his coat onto a chair and started unbuttoning his sweaty shirt. By the time he had fished a fresh pair of trousers from the stack, he was getting uncomfortable with her silence. She didn't seem in the least inclined to chatter nor take advantage of his state of half-dress, which was certainly unusual.

"Drop it," she said beside his ear, startling him. Jack wasn't exactly intending to obey, the fabric slipped from his grasp before he had caught himself. His breath was heavy, less with arousal and more with shock about her sudden appearance.

That changed a moment later when her hand slipped into his unbuttoned pants and found their goal without any hesitance. With a groan Jack's head fell back against her shoulder.

"We are expected downstairs," he managed to grind out before his senses got flooded with the force of her attentions.

"We had better be quick then," she whispered.

While one of her hands stayed buried in his trousers, finding an intoxicating rhythm the other was kneading his nipples in a way she had proven before would easily drive him to insanity. Jack had to steady himself against the cool oak of the cabinet door in order to stay upright.

There was something almost violent about the way she drove his body closer towards the edge with every touch.

With a start her intentions became clear: she was not merely trying to distract him, she was making amends for her strange behaviour. With a grip so tight that he heard her surprised hiss in his ear, Jack peeled her finger's from himself and spun in her arms. His body protested, but he paid no mind to it.

"Don't," he whispered roughly, when she attempted to return to her doings. "Please don't."

She stood too close for his arousal to cool, but there were tears shimmering in her eyes that didn't belong there and he leaned in to kiss them away. Her lids fluttered shut underneath his lips. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Phryne melted against him, her intention of driving him to a quick, violent orgasm dissolving into his embrace.

A harsh knock to the door caused them to jump.

"I don't know what you are doing in there, nor do I wish to know. But please remember that you are not on your honeymoon," Mac called through the wooden wall separating them. "We are waiting for you."

"We'll be down in a minute," the Inspector called, unable to suppress a grin. Phryne gave him an unsteady smile, reluctantly retreating from his arms.

They got changed in silence, Jack aching with unsatisfied lust, Phryne confused about his reluctance to let her please him. When she opened the door, ready to leave, she found his hand grasping her wrist, much gentler this time and holding her back. He seemed to battle with himself for a moment, then he leaned down to whisper into your ear.

"I doubt I'll ever stop quivering in desire at your touch, but there is no need for apologies."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her hand and was out the door before she had sorted her thoughts on the matter. So he knew. The realisation filled the emptiness his refusal had left in her chest with a warm, fuzzy feeling and the near irresistible urge to pull him back into the room and make love to him properly.

X

"Why?" he heard her ask, making him flinch but not compelling him to turn around. The lamb who he had just inspected, baaed in confusion.

"You are speaking in riddles," Luke pointed out.

"Why did you do it?"

She sounded close to tears now and he abandoned the animal to pay attention to his friend, leaning pale and upset in the door. He slowly shook his head, watched her eyes fall onto his hands.

"Is he right? Were you so envious that you couldn't just try and win fairly?" she asked again, tears filling her voice. "I would have never thought you capable!"

"I don't understand what you are talking about," Luke spat, now torn between anger and frustration and God knew, feelings that he didn't want to address while he looked at Grace Harper, wrapped in a mixture of sadness and fury.

"Don't play with me!" she said, her voice suddenly cold. "I know. I won't tell the police and I certainly won't tell Aidan. But we are through, Luke."

"Grace!"

He tried to grasp for her arm, but she brushed him off.

"An innocent horse! What is it going to take for you two fools to come to your senses before you bring us all down?!" she yelled. Luke glittered at her angrily as he finally caught on, opened his mouth to defend himself. But her next question knocked the wind out of his argument.

"Why on earth do you hate him so much?"

He retreated, barely visible.

"Tell me!"

The young farmer bit his lip, stayed silent. She nodded grimly.

"That's what I thought."

She slammed the door shut in his face and through the dusty window he watched her hurry back towards the waiting Athena. Luke kicked against a metal bucket which fell over with satisfyingly loud 'clunk'. The deep cut in his hand was throbbing in sympathy as he continued his work on the sick lamb. It looked at the angry man with huge, black eyes, scared to even make a sound.