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would be a working relationship, not a personal one.
    Of all the times for his libido to reawaken.
    Thornton ran a hand over his face, then forced himself to his feet and reached for his cane. He needed rest, needed sleep. Two nights, two murders, two autopsies. And his leg was killing him. But increasing the dosage of the medication would only hurry along the inevitable. Already the painkiller was at sixty-two percent purity. According to his calculations, the fibular nerve would begin to erode at seventy-four percent. He had a week, maybe two before the brace would no longer suffice.
    Relegated to desk duty, the murderer might well escape his grasp. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
    He followed the women to the ascension chamber, climbing inside when the doors slid open to stand stiffly beside Lady Amanda. The room was not made to carry three, and the ladies’ skirts made it a tight fit. Warmed by the angry heat of her skin, a faint floral scent drifted past. Orange blossoms? Thornton gripped the top of his cane tighter and fixed his gaze on the doors. He had no business wondering.
    “What can you tell me about this situation ?” Lady Amanda asked as the doors closed and the chamber’s engine engaged. “And how can it possibly relate to my neurachnid?”
    As they dropped downward, Thornton answered, “It appears we may have a lead on who has stolen your spider. We require your…‌ expertise to examine the evidence.”
    The doors slid open once, disgorging them into a cool, subterranean room.
    “An autopsy suite!” Lady Amanda glanced about with interest, then pressed a hand against the metal wall. Her voice held a note of amazement. “I’ve heard of the novel cooling systems, water pipes providing a continuous flow of cold water to refrigerate bodies and prevent their decay.”
    “Slow their decay,” he corrected. “We are one of the first facilities to install one. An important step to preserve evidence.”
    It was a far cry from the traditional dissection theater, one that was lined with wooden benches and tall windows with a table in the center from which the surgeon would perform his autopsy, often over several days as the stink rose, all the while describing with clinical detachment exactly what he found. Here they became intimately involved with those murder victims who caught the eye of the Queen’s agents.
    Three walls and the floor were lined with mint green tile. A large circular grate covered a drain in the floor. Much easier to keep clean. One wall contained a supply cabinet and a sink. Another wall contained metal doors covering six storage slots around which the pipes ran. Over the central table hung harsh, bright lamps, the better to ferret out evidence of wrongdoings.
    Thornton crossed the room to one of the doors in the wall and twisted its handle, yanking it open. “Are you aware of the recent string of murders?”
    “The gypsy murders?” Lady Amanda asked. “I am. There was mention of one in the London Times the other morning.”
    Lady Huntley shot him a grim look before turning to Amanda. “Often the most curious news is covered in a mere sentence and never expanded upon. This particular bit of news happens to be our concern.”
    Thornton tugged on a metal shelf within and the gurney rolled forth, its contents discreetly covered with a white cloth. “This is the sixth such murder. We suspect there will be yet more. Prior to this murder, we have had few leads. Lady Huntley and I have already examined this latest victim and made our observations. Now, we require yours.”
    “Mine?” Lady Amanda pressed a hand to her chest where leather buckles encircled her torso.
    An interesting and practical alternative to a corset. He imagined it wouldn’t take much time to remove such a bodice. He forced his gaze away; staring at her figure was improper, and her attire did not require his attention. This victim did. “Until now, the victims, all gypsy, have had their eyes removed with