Deadly Double

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “At this point, I’ll take anything. But won’t it be a little difficult to wash my hair while I’m sitting in the tub? It’s not like there’s a whole lot of room in here.”

  “How about we finish the bath, and then wash your hair at the sink? There’s a vanity table in the bedroom. We can use the chair for you to sit on.”

  “That will work,” she said, but didn’t like being a charity case.

  William lowered himself onto his knees and gently took the soap and washcloth from her hands.

  The tremors returned, but this time Josie swore they came from the sudden swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

  His hand dipped into the water, by her calculation a mere inch from her behind, before he placed the soapy towel against her back and washed it in slow, deliberate circles.

  Josie’s breath thinned in her lungs.

  “I’m experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu,” William said.

  The observation was an awkward one. There were numerous times when she and William had shared a shower or bubble bath. All she needed now was for him to climb in and for two flutes of champagne to mysteriously appear.

  “I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I?” he said at her silence.

  “No, it’s okay.” She glanced down at the depleting bubbles and then reached out to pull an armful of them back toward her. “But it was a long time ago.”

  William’s hand dipped back into the water, and this time his knuckles brushed against her butt. She gasped and grew still.

  He stopped. “Is something wrong?”

  Say something and end this torture. “N-no. I’m fine.” Her words echoed with a strange hollowness. If William noticed, he was kind enough to pretend otherwise. As Josie steeled herself against the pleasure of William’s gentle strokes, a strained silence enveloped the former lovers.

  She was dying to know what he was thinking but couldn’t muster up the nerve to ask.

  He glided the soap over her shoulder blades, and then abruptly stopped. “This is new.”

  “What?”

  “A tattoo.”

  Josie froze. She had forgotten about it.

  “It’s Chinese, isn’t it? What does it say?”

  There was no way she was going to tell him the Chinese characters spelled his name. She squeezed her eyes tight and came up with another lie. “Love.”

  “Humph.” He started scrubbing again. “I never figured you to be the tattoo type.”

  “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “I don’t know.” He chuckled. “I know you pretty well. And it’s a good thing, too, or you’d still be at Keystone.”

  She nodded. “Good point.”

  The small talk ended, and the heavy silence returned.

  William washed the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, and worked a trail down her spine. Everywhere his hand went her skin tingled in its wake, and it was growing harder to pretend to be unaffected.

  “Okay. That ought to do it.” He placed the soap in its dish on the accessory deck, dipped the cloth into the water several times, and then rinsed off her back.

  “Thanks,” she said. Her gaze remained downcast while he climbed back onto his feet.

  “You don’t have to keep thanking me, Josie. I’m glad to be able to help.” He grabbed a large body towel.

  “Hold on while I go get that chair before we get you out of there.” He disappeared into the bedroom, but returned quickly.

  However, getting into the tub was nothing compared to getting out, and Josie’s embarrassment deepened at the amount of water she splash. Through it all, he remained gracious.

  After successfully being transported to a small wrought-iron chair with her towel draped around her, William set out a robe close to her and gave her a few minutes alone to dry herself and apply the supplied bottles of lotions and creams.

  Though William was out of sight, Josie suspected he remained close in case she experienced some sort of episode. She appreciated and hated it at the same time.

  She sighed, confused about her mixed emotions. How many years had she wished that their path would cross again? Now, through some truly bizarre happenstance, here he was.

  In her dreams, she’d envisioned he would spot her at a CD signing or promotional gig. She would boast about her successful career and her wonderful marriage.

  But her life hadn’t gone as planned. Nowhere near it. Because of a series of polyps on her vocal cords, her singing career was over before it really began. After three moderately successful CD releases, Josephine Ferrell’s singing career had ended.

  Her music never garnered the big crossover audience in America, but she was close. She was sure of that. And Etienne. She didn’t want to think about it.

  “How are we doing in there?” he called out from the bedroom.

  “So far so good.” She injected pleasantness into her voice and hurried to finish massaging lotion onto her elbows. A few minutes later, garbed in a large, fluffy robe, Josie gave William the okay to rejoin her.

  “All righty, then. Let’s get this thing started.” He flashed her a smile as he entered with a pitcher, and then gathered more towels.

  His return immediately wrecked Josie’s calm reserve. In retrospect, he’d always had that effect on her. And she had always enjoyed it.

  William positioned her and the chair in front of the sink and gave it enough room so she could comfortably lean her head back over the sink. Since she couldn’t get her entire head under the immobile faucet, William filled the pitcher with water, and then used it to wet the areas that wouldn’t reach.

  “Seems like you’ve done this before,” Josie commented. She closed her eyes and loved the feel of his strong fingers as they massaged her scalp.

  The sound of his light chuckle washed lazily over her. “I guess you can call me a veteran.”

  Josie instantly thought of his wife and as a result ended her feelings of euphoria. “Your wife is a lucky woman,” she said before she could stop herself.

  William’s fingers froze for an eternal second and then resumed. “I used to do this with my ex-wife. I’m not married anymore.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.” There was no denying the rush of relief she experienced after his confession, but now a series of questions strolled through her head.

  “No way you could’ve, I guess.” He reached for the bottle of shampoo. “It’s been almost two years.”

  She detected sorrow in his voice, and a low level of jealousy stirred within her.

  They fell silent while his fingers worked up a good lather. It was nearly impossible for Josie to stop her toes from curling or prevent the soft moans from escaping her lips.

  “Glad you’re enjoying this,” he commented, with another chuckle.

  “How can I not?” she said. A lazy smile curled her lips. “You have great hands.”

  “I think you might have told me that before.”

  “Oh, yeah.” An embarrassed Josie remembered. “How could I have forgotten?”

  “Beats me.” William chuckled.

  She smiled but couldn’t combat the sudden chill that crept from her toes and slowly transformed her body into a giant glacier.

  “Josie, are you all right?”

  She heard him, but couldn’t get her teeth to stop chattering long enough to answer.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He shut off the water, wrapped a towel around her head, and then helped her to lean forward.

  Her shivers turned into violent convulsions, but Josie felt William’s arms slide beneath her and she was aware of him taking her back into the bedroom. When he placed her on the bed, she thought her soul was being lifted from her body. The experience frightened her.

  William quickly piled blankets on her. All the while, he whispered words of comfort in her ear. “Just ride it out, Josie. I’m here for you.”

  His words filled Josie’s head. Hope fluttered inside her chest, but another part of her was too afraid to believe him.
Trust no one.

  However, the eighteen-year-old Josie, the part that still fantasized about that one magical summer in Paris, railed against her defensive mantra.

  This was William, after all. He hurt her once, and he could do it again.

  Chapter 16

  A feathery kiss brushed against Ming’s cheek, and she woke with a soft moan.

  Her husband, Conan, smiled down at her. “Why don’t you come to bed? I want something warm beside me tonight.”

  Ming sat up and stretched out her arms as she let loose a wide yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Three o’clock.” Conan placed his large hands against her shoulders and began an impromptu massage.

  “Ah, you’re looking to have sex.” Ming chuckled and closed the case notes she’d fallen asleep on. “I should’ve known.”

  “Yeah. It’s about that time of year.” Conan leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “One of these days I’m going to get you to leave your work at the office.”

  “I think better at home.”

  “All right then. Maybe we should start having sex at the police station.”

  Ming laughed as she stood and looped her arms around his neck and gave him a quick peck. “Definitely not one of your better ideas.”

  “Oh, I have some ideas.” He captured her lips in a tantalizing kiss as he slid his hands down her backside and gave her butt a gentle squeeze.

  Ming sighed and wiggled her rump playfully against him before she came up for air. “If you were going to kidnap a person from a mental institution, how would you do it?”

  “What?” Conan frowned at the question thrown in from left field. “What are you talking about?”

  “This case I’m working on.” She turned from him and sat back down at the table to reopen her notes. “Whoever took Michelle Andrews from Keystone had to be either the luckiest bastard in Georgia or the smartest. They were able to get in, take a body, and leave without anyone seeing a thing. What are the chances of that?”

  “Work? I was squeezing your butt and grinding against you, and you were thinking about work?”

  “Sorry, honey,” she said, scanning over her last entry. “But after three days on the Andrews case, I don’t think we’re getting anywhere. It’s as if this woman just disappeared into thin air, and that’s just not possible.”

  Conan huffed out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

  “Oh, thanks, honey.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “It has to be someone working on the inside.” She shook her head and turned the pages. “A dead doctor, a missing patient...and a missing medical chart. That alone is odd.”

  “Fascinating,” Conan called from the kitchen. “Do you want fresh ground, or are we celebrating the moments of our lives?”

  “You pick, honey.” Ming drummed her fingers on the table while she willed for something to jump out at her, but nothing happened. The department had already ordered cross-references for Keystone employees with names from the Daniel Thornton murder case and come up with nothing.

  They’d also delved into Andrews’s background and Ming had no doubts that the missing patient had a few enemies of her own. However, everyone they’d interviewed turned into dead ends.

  “You murder a doctor and take a patient,” she whispered to herself. “Why?”

  Conan returned to the table and set a coffee mug beside his wife. “Anything I can help you with?” He pulled out a chair beside her and made himself comfortable. “You know I’ve been able to put together a few jigsaw puzzles in my time.”

  “This is a little more complicated than a puzzle, honey.” She flashed him a smile, but didn’t pull her gaze from her paperwork.

  He popped open a bottle of beer. “Since I’m not having sex tonight and I’ve had more than my fair share of cold showers this month, then I can at least lend my genius to my government to help crack their most difficult cases.”

  Ming laughed and rolled her eyes.

  “Ha. Ha.” He took a swig of beer, and then challenged, “Try me.”

  She settled back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Okay, smarty-pants. Where do I start?”

  “From the beginning. I would hate to think that you’re setting me up for failure.” He winked and took another swig.

  “All right. I have two murders and a missing person. Murder number one, Daniel Thornton, a five-year member of our prestigious most-wanted list, is discovered dead in a public park beneath a tree. Cause of death: He drowned.”

  “But doesn’t that close your case?”

  “Technically, but the drowning…”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re forsaking my sex life to work on a closed case.”

  Ming sighed. “Murder number two, Dr. Meredith Bancroft. Seemingly a different case; however, she is the doctor of murder victim number one’s girlfriend. Then we mosey on inside and we discover that, lo and behold, the girlfriend, Michelle Andrews, is missing from the mental institution. Now Andrews isn’t exactly Sandra Dee. She has a rap sheet a mile long.”

  “Uh-huh.” Conan bobbed his head as he listened.

  “So, what do you think so far?”

  He turned up his bottle and took a deep gulp. “Is there a butler in this story?”

  She leaned over and popped him on the arm. “Come on, genius. This isn’t Clue. I want to hear your fresh prospective.”

  “Well, tell me a little bit more.”

  Ming shrugged. “There are a few other characters. Andrews’s twin sister for one. Talk about a cold bitch.”

  “Twin?” Conan frowned.

  “Yeah. I did some digging, pushed a few envelopes, and peeked inside their adoption records. Apparently, this sister, Josephine Ferrell, was adopted by some well-to-do family and lived most of her life overseas. She was even a jazz slash blues singer for a couple of years. All in all, she’s just some rich kid who inherited a ton of money about a year ago when her father was killed in a plane crash.”

  “I take it this Andrews wasn’t so lucky?”

  “She wasn’t adopted by a rich family, but a pretty good suburbanite family took on the challenge...and failed. When Tyrese and I went to talk with Michelle’s adoptive mother, she made it pretty clear that she’d severed all ties with Michelle sometime ago. She didn’t show the least bit of interest in her daughter’s disappearance.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You’re telling me.” Ming thought about it for a moment. “This Josephine has a clean record, but she’s definitely a handful. I didn’t care for her.” She paused. “Actually, something about her made my skin crawl.”

  “All right, all right.” He set his beer down, braided his fingers, and cracked his knuckles as a stalling tactic. “Okay, how about this. This Andrews chick killed her boyfriend or had him killed, I don’t know, maybe he slapped her around one too many times, and then she entered the mental institution to cover her butt. So if she’s arrested or found guilty, she can say that she was crazy at the time.”

  “And the doctor?”

  Conan shrugged. “I don’t know. I usually think better after sex.”

  Ming shook her head. “No dice. You’re supposed to offer a fresh look at this. You didn’t fulfill your end of the bargain.”

  “You mean if I come up with something that you haven’t thought of, I get to have sex?”

  “You got it.”

  Excited, Conan turned up his bottle and drained the rest of its contents. “All right. Something you haven’t thought of...okay. I think I got it. Michelle killed her boyfriend…”

  “You said that already.”

  He held up his hand. “Let me finish. She killed her boyfriend, and then convinced someone at the institution to help her escape. The doctor stumbled onto their escape so they killed her and then she went on to kill her twin sister so she could take her place.”

  “Wait a minute. That’s three murders. Who said anything about three murders?”

  Conan got to his feet,
and then pulled Ming to hers. “Hey, have you ever seen the two sisters side by side?”

  She blinked. “Well, no. But the staff at Keystone…”

  “Saw them before the patient disappeared,” he reminded her. “How do you know that there isn’t another body out there to be discovered?” He began to rock against her. “Did I tell you about this fantasy I had of you the other day? You never took off your gun.”

  “Switch places?” Ming said, frowning.

  “Yep.” He nuzzled her neck. “You’re wearing my favorite cologne.”

  “It’s Ivory soap.”

  “Still my favorite.” He worked his way down her collarbone.

  “How did they meet?”

  “Who cares?” He slid open her top button. “Boy, your skin sure is soft.”

  “Josephine lived most of her life in Paris,” She mused. “She’s rich, has everything going for her...how does Michelle fit in the picture?”

  Conan worked his magic on a few more buttons.

  “Someone like Michelle wouldn’t be too happy that her twin sister received the better end of the stick.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He slid off her shirt and fumbled with the hooks of her bra.

  “That would mean I met Michelle, not Josephine.” She thought it over, and then shook her head. “Nothing in my notes supports your theory,” she continued on. “I mean, this is pretty thin.”