Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (Love & Hate #3-4)

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “You seem tense. It looks like Mr. Hot Shot Detective has some dirty secrets,” she mocks me.

  “Stop winding me up; otherwise, I might forget about our little agreement and go back to being a tough cop,” I warn her. Steph was my girlfriend. I should let people know that she was kind and funny.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “I hit the spot, didn’t I?”

  “My past is unattractive and twisted. Do you really want to hear about it?” I ask, wondering if this is what she wants, thinking about how much shit I went through in the past few years, remembering the anger that overshadowed everything else. I don’t care. I’ll talk about anything just to be with her. I have never felt as content as I’m feeling now, not since Steph.

  “It can’t be that bad. Fire away, cowboy, and who knows? I might even kiss you after the story is over,” she says, leaning over.

  Fuck, why does she do that? Pretending to be withdrawn and shy, but deep down she is wildly excited to keep playing this game. Maybe she is acting too? Who the fuck knows?

  “Fine. I grew up on a council estate. My parents were losers. Father drunk most of the time, and mother watched TV all day,” I explain.

  “So what happened? You obviously came out decent?”

  “My girlfriend was murdered when I was seventeen. The police never found the killer. That changed me, and I stopped trusting people, stopped believing that there was any good left in the world. I was smart, so I got a scholarship and fucked off as soon as I could.”

  I look at her, expecting her to laugh or tease me, but she seems shocked. “That’s really messed up.”

  She looks dejected, but that empathy that I saw in her eyes is long gone. It’s not the reaction that I expected at all. No one apart from my parents, Brandon and the cops from years ago know about this.

  “She was no one, just an ordinary girl who had dreams and aspirations. We had plans, and she accepted my background and me. We were connected and then some son of a bitch took her away.”

  Then Tahlia does something that I wasn’t expecting. She moves her hand and places it on my thigh, then squeezes it. The storm of darkness moves its way to the surface. That simple moment of comfort means more than any “sorry” that I ever heard. I finally realise that this is what I have always been craving: the intimacy.

  “I like the honesty, Hot Shot. That’s what makes you human,” she says.

  Her touch diverts the darkness into desire; my heart is speeding up. Tahlia is able to bring these buried feelings back out. I take a deep breath, enjoying the silence, and let myself deal with whatever the hell I’m feeling right now.

  Half an hour later when we both spot the large manor on the hill, we forget about this conversation. I have no idea how long we were driving, but we have arrived. Tahlia doesn’t take her hand away, and the heat keeps moving up, until the heat in my groin is almost unbearable. I’m too distracted too look at her, at the same time trying to concentrate on the road.

  The sun is still up. I haven’t done the normal dating stuff for eight years, so I need to make sure that she is impressed by what’s in front of her.

  It takes us another ten minutes to reach the car park. I stop the car in front of the manor that was built in the sixteenth century. I’ve done some research about this place, and it seems perfect for our first real date. Tahlia pulls away and looks at me. I catch the scent of her perfume and tingles explode over the nape of my neck.

  “You’ve earned a point from me, Hot Shot,” she whispers and her lips brush my cheek, making me instantly rock hard.

  I turn my head, so our eyes meet. Our mouths are only inches apart. All the anger and resentment has vanished from her eyes. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

  Her eyes flicker with disbelief and panic. She moves away, rubbing her arms.

  “Don’t give me that clichéd bullshit, Hot Shot. Let’s get moving,” she says and then gets out of the car.

  I have a couple of seconds to catch my breath, wondering what the hell is wrong with her. Compliments are useless. I can’t keep talking about myself all the time, but somehow I feel better, lighter.

  I few seconds later, I catch up with her. As the view opens up to the large four-foot-thick stone walls of a manor house set on the hill, she slows down, widening her eyes.

  “I read that the original defensive design incorporated a single entrance,” I say, having done my homework, “and the walls enclose spiral stone staircases for access between floors and wooden doors. This old building was designed to be easily defended during the turbulent times in the sixteenth century.”

  Tahlia looks back at me, smiling, and in that moment I realise that I’m a coward and a manipulative son of a bitch, who is willing to do anything in order to get what he wants.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The real Micah Thomson.

  “The manor… it looks amazing. I had no idea this place was even here,” Tahlia says, looking up at the right and then left wing. We both admire the majestic old building, and for the first time since I started working on the case, I don’t feel under pressure anymore. Tahlia is the key to everything and right now I don’t want to care about her secrets. I have to let her to open up to me on her own.

  “Are we going to visit it?” she asks.

  “That’s the plan. I don’t know much about Braxton, but if you know what you’re looking for, it’s really surprising what you can find on the internet,” I mutter as we both walk through the impressive gate. The manor is surrounded by grey fields, and forest on the other side. Dark, heavy clouds hang above us—there is a storm approaching, turning the sky into a battlefield.

  Several minutes later a woman greets us by the gate. She looks like she must be in her mid-sixties, wearing a blue skirt and smart jacket. I notice her disapproving look when she scans Tahlia’s pink hair and piercing.

  “Visitors?” she asks, smiling warmly towards me.

  “Yes, I booked the trip yesterday. My name is Micah Thomson,” I introduce myself, shaking her hand.

  “Oh yes, I remember speaking to you, and this must be your girlfriend?”

  Tahlia snorts and looks at me like I’m an annoying insect that she wants to step on. Yeah, I had to tell a few lies to get this slot for today. Apparently the owner wanted to shut the manor for the winter, but I somehow managed to convince Carol, the guide, to make an exception.

  “A girlfriend? Where the hell did that come from?” she asks, through gritted teeth as we start climbing the narrow staircase.

  “Relax, that was the only way of getting in. I told her that I was planning to propose here.” I chuckle, winking at her.

  She hits me hard, looking like she is ready to turn around and leave. I grab her elbow and we keep walking. She must realise that I’m the last person that would want to get married in a place like this. She is definitely not my girlfriend, although my dick clearly disagrees with my line of thought. We both know that I’m only trying to apologise for being so abrupt and shut down.

  “Built in 1708, fully restored, former home of Lord Keysham. It was his summer home…”

  Our guide starts talking as we walk through the long corridor filled with old paintings, high pillars and various statues. Tahlia keeps her distance, listening carefully to Carol’s tales about the manor. I switch off around halfway through. This whole trip is not for me, but for Tahlia. I know that she likes places that hold so much history, even if she is pretending that she doesn’t want to be here.

  “Lord Keysham purchased the manor for one of his mistresses. His wife had no idea that he had stayed here,” the woman continues, taking us to a large fully restored open-plan room.

  “It sounds to me that this lord was a dirty son of a bitch,” Tahlia whispers to me. I laugh and the woman shoots me a sharp look that says that I need to stop messing around and listen. I feel like I have no responsibilities when I’m around Tahlia, that I’m not the detective in charge of a case that still hasn’t been solved.

  Tahlia takes he
r jumper off, revealing bare arms with tattoos that still fascinate me. She listens as we walk around the west wing admiring the art from the sixteenth century. Carol explains that the current owner turned the east wing into a residential accommodation. He likes staying here during the summer when the weather is still good. The guy obviously must be loaded to afford maintaining something like that.

  Halfway through our tour I tell Carol that I need to take a piss, and she directs me to the nearest bathroom, carrying on with Tahlia towards the north part of the manor. I know that I’ll be a genius if I can pull off the rest of my plan without being caught. For some reason I feel madly excited, because the next part of this tour will be very interesting.

  I disappear around the corner and run downstairs, trying to sneak out undetected. So far I haven’t seen any CCTV cameras around this magnificent space. There is a possibility that Carol is completely alone. She mentioned that she had been looking after the manor for years.

  I run through the long corridor and stop in one of the rooms that has been staged as a sixteenth century bedroom. I pull out a cigarette and a lighter. My heart is racing, but this time from anticipation and excitement. I light it up and drag the smoke deep into my lungs. I hate this shit, but it’s for a better cause today. It fucking burns my throat, but I try to ignore the discomfort. It takes at least three cigarettes to get the alarms going, and by that time I’m coughing like an asthmatic.

  Soon the alarm starts going in the whole manor house. I leave the room and head to the corridor, waiting for someone to come through the large wooden doors, but no one does.

  I find the packet of gum in my pocket and pop a piece into my mouth. Surely, there must be other people working here somewhere. After twenty minutes of searching, Carol and the pinky head manage to locate me in the west wing.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to get downstairs to check what is going on,” Carol says, looking anxiously around. “Can you wait for me here? It’s probably nothing.”

  “Maybe one of your colleagues has switched it on accidentally?” I suggest.

  “There isn’t anyone else here. I’m the only one that takes care of this place. There are cleaners that come in once a week. I shouldn’t have let you in. Oh, dear.”

  “Why don’t you go and check it out? We’ll be fine here,” I say.

  “I’m not supposed to leave you alone.”

  “Carol, this might be important. Just go and check everything. We will be happy to wait,” I press. She looks disorientated and stressed. In any other circumstance I would have felt sorry for her, but right now I can’t wait for her to leave.

  Tahlia is staring at me, baffled.

  “Okay, please wait here. I shouldn’t be too long,” she finally says and quickly vanishes, muttering to herself.

  The fire alarm spoils the mysterious atmosphere, but I can easily fix that. I grab Tahlia’s hand, and excitement starts rushing down my body.

  “What are you—”

  “Shut up, Pinky Head, and just go with the flow,” I tell her with a wink. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “What? Didn’t she tell you to stay here?”

  “She did, but I have a better idea. Shut your mouth and follow me,” I tell her and start dragging her in the opposite direction. There are at least fifty rooms in the whole manor. We follow through to the other side, running down the wide empty corridors. The pressure is gone; now I just feel fucking fantastic.

  After a couple of minutes we stop in front of a wide wooden door. I try the door handle, but the doors are locked.

  “I guess we have to go back,” Tahlia says.

  “That woman is old and, as you heard, she is the only one in here. Use your skill, Pinky, and open the door,” I say, walking up to her. She frowns, probably wondering if I’m playing a game.

  “Why? What’s behind that door?”

  “My surprise. The trip here was just part of what I was planning. Who do you think switched on the alarm?” I ask.

  Her jaw drops. I bet she wasn’t expecting that from an uptight arse like me, but my plan requires it.

  “And you switched on the alarm because?” she asks, finally gaining control of her torn emotions.

  “There is something behind these doors that I want to show you, something very special,” I say, brushing her hair away from her face. She shivers and in that moment I’m fucking certain. She’s affected by me. There is no doubt about that.

  “Fine, let’s see what you got,” she says, her voice vibrating with nerves.

  She lifts her hand and moves down to her cleavage. I widen my eyes, thinking about touching her tits. Finally she picks up a hairpin, steps away and starts twisting it.

  Then she goes to the door and starts to fiddle with the lock. I drag my hand through my hair, watching her as she does the same thing she did with Suranne’s lock.

  She seems concentrated on her task. The alarm keeps going off. After several minutes, the lock gives out and Tahlia straightens her posture, grinning at me like it’s Christmas morning. She presses the door and, here we are, only a step away from my next surprise. I want to push her against the wall and slam my lips on hers, but all of a sudden darkness shades my vision. The flashback from the past reminds me that there is a cruel and rotten world out there, and I’m still a man with a twisted past.

  The screams, horrible screams. The girl sounds like someone is tearing her to pieces and I can’t stand it anymore.

  I’ve been told that I have to stay away, that this is none of my business, but her case has clouded my sharp mind. No one knows what that drug dealer really did to her, how much suffering she endured over the years. I didn’t listen, and after we were finished securing the evidence in that shithole, I went to the hospital, followed her. Now I’m standing outside the door, fighting with my own emotions, trying to tell myself that she is in safe hands.

  “What’s going on in there?” I ask the nurse.

  It took me ages to find out what ward she was admitted to. The nurses and doctors refused to talk, but after bribing some health care guy on the ward, I discover that she went straight to the psych. The urge to see her again was slowly making me weak. In the past few hours all I thought about was how she was coping and if she was all right.

  “She doesn’t want to be touched by anyone. She’s filthy and covered with deep scratches. The doctors can’t get any closer than a meter away. She keeps screaming when anyone goes near her. We gave her some time to rest, but we can’t just leave her in that state,” the nurse explains, looking impatient.

  I grab her arm to stop her from going inside the room. I’m not a medical professional and I have no idea what to do, but she was calm with me and she touched me.

  She only started getting hysterical when I left.

  “Listen, I’m the detective that found this girl. She didn’t want to leave my side. Please let me in. Let me try, before you sedate her.”

  The nurse is pretty, but she looks tired and has large grey bags under her eyes. She considers my proposition for some time.

  “Okay, hold on,” she finally says and then disappears behind the red door for no longer than five minutes.

  A man in a white lab coat appears, looking at me intensely. “So you were the one that found her?”

  “Yes, this is my badge,” I say. “She was inside a hole in the wall behind a washing machine. When I coaxed her out she wrapped her arms around me and didn’t want to let go. I think I could help.”

  “All right, you can come in, but be careful. She’s very fragile,” he says.

  The room is small, with a medical bed in the middle and silver trays at the back. The girl is curled in the corner against the wall. She’s still in her torn dirty clothes, but right now she looks like she went through hell. My stomach contracts painfully. Her hair is tangled, filthy. She needs to be washed.

  She lifts her head slightly, seeing me. The nurse and the doctor are by the door, looking intrigued.

  “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Do you
remember me from earlier on?” I ask lamely, feeling like my lunch is turning in my stomach.

  She shifts and drops her hands. Her pale eyes follow my every movement as I approach.

  “Come on, you don’t have to be scared. I’m here to help you,” I keep saying.

  She doesn’t react when I pick up the white wet cloth and squat down next to her.

  “I can’t… don’t let them touch me… I can’t,” she squeaks, so I can barely hear her. I feel movement on the other side of the room.

  I look at the doctor, who nods to me and then points at the bed. The girl is trembling, staring straight through my broken soul, seeing my cracks and out-of-control anger. The wounds on her whole body are raw and they are making me fucking crazy. I want to cut off the limbs of the motherfucker that did this to her. I want to cry for her, maybe for the first time in years.

  “Take my hand. You can’t be on the floor. Come on, flower,” I say, not even knowing where these words are coming from. I’m usually abrupt and demanding, but with this creature I’m a new broken man.

  I lift my hand, holding it for several seconds, waiting for her to take it. She hesitates, still shaking.

  I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. The doctor and the nurse stop breathing, waiting, wondering if she will do what I say.

  Then she touches my hand and my whole body shakes with shock. Her nails are black, shattered and the skin is bruised. I help her back on her feet and then back on the hospital bed. She hides behind the ragged hair, dirt and dried blood covering her face.

  My head is screwed, thoughts racing, but I feel like I’m back to being human again, not the numb, angry guy with issues.

  The nurse hands me a wet cloth.

  “I’m going to clean you up a bit, okay?”

  The girl’s wide eyes are full of pain; the anguish in them rots me from deep inside, like small crawling warms. When she finally nods, and I touch her, I want to think that it’s all going to be okay.