Chapter Eight

"You know it could be so much better than it's been."

Tom laid in bed, but it was all for nothing because he couldn't sleep. It had been...a long time since a woman set his blood to pumping like Emma. In fact he would wager that no one had ever sent his blood to pumping like her. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

It was all out in the open now. No going back. He'd done it tonight. Kissed her. He didn't want to stop. If he wasn't a gentleman he wouldn't have. He braced his hands on his knees. His mind was wandering. He thought about what she looked like in her night gown. Something a gentleman shouldn't be imagining. What's worse, his thoughts didn't stop there.

It was taking all his will power not to march himself downstairs and into her room. He could. He knew he could and he could easily persuade her to say yes...

But he wouldn't. He didn't want her like that. No, he wanted all of her. He sighed, that was something he would never truly have. With that sobering thought he threw himself back in bed and shut his eyes.

Emma was up before the sun preparing for breakfast. Her hands were busy at their task but her mind was a million miles away. Well, actually her mind was just upstairs. It was settled on a man she knew was probably dangerous, but she couldn't help herself. From day one she was drawn to him. At first she thought it was only his mysterious nature, but no. Now that the mystery had been revealed to her she wanted him more than ever.

Her hands washed a bowl in the sink as she stared out the window into the garden. She thought about the way Tom pushed her up against this very counter last night. She could feel her cheeks blushing.

"Good morning," Augustina's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She dropped the bowl into the water.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." she patted Emma on the shoulder.

"You're all right. I was just off in another world apparently." Emma chuckled.

"So it would seem. It wouldn't have anything to do with the handsome police inspector upstairs now would it?" her guest teased.

"No," Emma dried her hands on a towel. "I was just making a grocery list in my head."

"Mhm," the older woman was not convinced. "Can I give you a peice of womanly advice?"

Emma didn't want to seem unkind so she agreed.

"Don't play hard to get. If you want him, let him know." she winked.

Once again Emma felt her cheeks burn. She heard Tom coming down the stairs, but instead of coming into the breakfast room he walked right out the front door. Emma's heart dropped to the floor. She glanced at the clock. He was running a bit behind, he probably just wanted to get to work.

Tom shut the front door and headed for his car. He was late for work. He was certain that any minute now Goodfellow was going to come in search of him. He straightened his tie, and slipped behind the wheel of the car. One last look toward the house and he sped away.

Goodfellow met him at the station door, "I was about to come in search of you, sir."

"Yes, sergeant I know." Sullivan said sarcastically. "Anything to report?"

"Yes, actually. Some foreign fingerprints were found on the barn door at the Weaver farm. As far as we know he didn't have any farm hands. The prints don't belong to him or his brother."

Sullivan sat down in his chair and sighed. "More questions and no answers."

Goodfellow pursed his lips and shook his head in agreement. The inspector's phone started ringing and Goodfellow showed himself out.

Sullivan answered, "Kembleford Police."

The Chief Inspector's voice boomed over the line, and he knew he was in for it. With two murders in as many days and no closer to solving either one he had been waiting for this call.

"If it's too much for you Sullivan I'll send someone down to give you a hand,"

"That won't be necessary, sir." Tom said confidently.

"Regardless, Tom I'll be sending someone to take over the investigation if some progress isn't reported soon."

It was the final word he knew. "Yes, sir."

He heard a click on the other end. Might as well have been a baton to the head. He considered himself a well put together man, but in that moment of pure frustration he felt like hurling the phone across the room. Instead, he took himself to the evidence room. Two murders. Two crime scenes, and yet hardly any evidence.

He spent hours going over what they had. By the end of the day he was beginning to doubt himself. Beginning to doubt his skills as an investigator. Lord knows the meddling priest had outsmarted him on more than one humiliating experience. Now was no time to be giving way to his self pity he knew.

Goodfellow appeared with a cup of tea. "Why not have a break, sir?"

Sullivan sat the evidence back on the shelf and took the teacup from his sergeant's hands. "I'm not getting anything accomplished anyway,"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Goodfellow encouraged him.

"If I don't make progress soon they're going to send someone down here to take over the investigation! So you see, I have to find something,"

Goodfellow didn't know what to say, so he turned to go.

"Thank you for the tea," Sullivan said quietly.

He was so tired. He thought about sleeping in his office so he wouldn't have to drive home. With reluctance he closed the door to the evidence room, handed his cup over to Goodfellow and grabbed his things. He was not going to find a breakthrough when he could barely keep his eyes open.

He dragged himself through the front door and looked down the hall. All was dark so he climbed the stairs. To his chagrin the other guest was exiting her room.

"Good evening, Inspector," she said cheerfully.

Sullivan offered a rather lame "Evening," and turned to unlock his door.

"I believe Mrs. Kennedy is still awake," she said as she passed by behind him.

Tom nodded curtly and stepped into his room and promptly closed the door. He was too tired to hold a conversation with anyone...including Emma, and especially Ms. Webb.

One day had passed since he and Emma shared their moment. Deep down Sullivan really thought that kissing her, taking her as he had would rid him of this blasted obsession for her. He had a need for her. A need he thought he satisfied. Fulfilled in a desperate, burning kiss that took him off guard. Even as he descended the stairs that night he wasn't sure what his plan was. Then he saw her and realized there was nothing for it.

What he thought would burn like a flash in the pan was revealed to only be the kindling for what he felt for her. The truth slowly occurred to him that he cared about her. A great deal. More than was good for him. He didn't want to be smashed to bits again.

Not ever again.

He had bigger things to worry about now, regardless. He was given a deadline to solve the case. If he failed to meet that deadline Scotland Yard would send someone else to work the case. He couldn't have that. The next morning he knew what he had to do. It was time to pay another desperate visit to the Father.

The priest was sitting in his study behind his desk. Sullivan entered the room and removed his hat. He tossed it onto the desk and plopped himself down into the chair with a sigh.

"I need your help, Father."

Lyrics- Hanson