Dr. Orgasm (A Holiday Romance Collection Book 2)

by Michelle Love

  Inca gave a hiss of frustration. “Olly, have you any idea what women have to go through every day because a man might kill us? I’m not curtailing my life.”

  “Then let’s just hope he doesn’t curtail your life.”

  He'd seen her out with her friends, drinking, laughing. Her engagement party. He'd come upon her in her bedroom, trying on her wedding dress. She'd been drinking cheap white wine and twirling in front of the mirror. Princess for the day. Then, as he stepped into her eye-line, the fear.

  She hadn't screamed, just a widening of the eyes. He'd picked up her glass, put the tablet in, the cheap Rohypnol from the scrawny dead-eyed dealer in Belltown, made her drink it. The liquid spilling over her lips, she had obeyed, shaking, tears pouring down her face. The horror of it all worked quicker than the drug. She'd passed out. He had lain her gently on the bed waiting. As she stirred, he had gripped the knife firmly and plunged it into her abdomen, his hand clamped across her mouth as she screamed at last. Blood had spattered across the intricate lace.

  Turned pink.

  Inca was falling asleep in the armchair. She had tried to keep awake for the movie but kept missing huge chunks of it. She hadn’t slept well since Olly’s warning and now she was exhausted. She had settled Boomer into her life and now she sat with the dog on her couch, wondering if she should just close her eyes and sleep.

  The credits were rolling when Boomer started barking. He skittered to the front door and scratched at it. Inca, dopey from sleep, didn’t think. She pulled it open and Boomer ran out.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hunter yelled at her.

  She was awake then. Hunter strode up to her, his face contorted with anger. Boomer had disappeared. She shook herself.

  “Hunter, what…?”

  “I could have been anybody. You just open the door?”

  She was shocked. Hunter had never even raised his voice to anyone as far she knew, and for certain not to her, but he was red with anger now. He came up to her and grabbed her shoulders.

  “Inca, I could have been anybody. Someone who’d want to hurt you. You don’t just open the door like that. Not on your own.”

  “Hunter, calm down. I’m sorry; I didn’t think. “

  He drew in a deep breath and she was shaken to see tears in his eyes.

  “Hunter, I’m sorry. Come in for a minute.”

  He looked behind him, scanning the street. He whistled, and Boomer came bounding out of the darkness, his tail wagging. He waited until the dog was in the house before nodding at Inca and stepping through the door. Inca shut the door and locked it to keep Hunter happy. She followed him back to the kitchen.

  “Hunter, are you okay?” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer for him. He took it.

  “I’m sorry, Inca; I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Thank you for the beer.” He took a long drink. Inca sat down opposite him and waited. He drained the beer and sighed.

  “You need to be more careful, is all. There’s bad people around. Pretty girl like you on her own.” He shook his head.

  Inca tried not to smile. “You are very sweet, Hunter. But I have Boomer.”

  He looked at her in the eye. “Dog ain’t no protection against a knife or a bullet.”

  Inca swallowed. He had a point. “Hunter, I know everyone on the peninsula. Who’d come over from the mainland just to … there’s a lot of other people between me and … after all.” She smiled and pointed out the window. “The next land that way is Japan. I’m okay. I promise.”

  “Olly would want me to look out for you.”

  “I know, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I do. You’re my family, Hunter; don’t ever forget that. I’m sorry about earlier. I promise I will be more careful. I’ll keep Boomer in the house and keep the door locked. I won’t answer the door after dark unless I know the person. Is that okay?” Inca got up to get him another beer and to pour herself a glass of milk.

  “Not all bad people are strangers.” Hunter muttered and she turned, frowning. Hunter looked away from her, down into his drink. She sat down again.

  “Hunter, who are you talking about?”

  He didn’t answer, but Inca had already guessed.

  “Hunter, are you talking about Tommaso?”

  He nodded. She leaned over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

  “Hunter, why would Tommaso want to hurt me?”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  Inca gave a frustrated laugh. “Have you been talking to Olly?”

  “Olly’s a good man. Smart guy. I’ve seen him watching you.”

  “You’ve seen Olly watching me?”

  “No. Him. Tommaso. He watches you. He’s said things.”

  “What things, Hunter?”

  Hunter flushed, shifted in his chair. He didn’t look her in the eye. “Says he could have you if he wanted you.”

  Inca laughed. “Hunter … he and I are seeing each other. He knows it’s not serious.”

  Hunter’s voice was small. “I don’t think so.”

  Inca didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Hunter. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s a nice guy.”

  Boomer started barking again and Hunter was up. He yanked the door open, keeping Boomer from running out. He passed the dog to Inca and ran out.

  “Keep him in; lock the door. Don’t open it again, even for me.”

  Inca did as she was told and went to the window. Hunter’s torch bobbed into the darkness and disappeared. She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for some news or for Hunter to call through the door. Just before midnight, she couldn’t keep her eyes open and crawled into bed. She glanced at her phone just as she saw Hunter text her to say all was well. Inca smiled, hugged Boomer to her, and fell asleep.

  At home, Olly showered quickly and dressed. He’d enjoyed his run that morning with the fresh cold Washington air in his lungs. His smile soon faded when the familiar scene of police tape and CSI officers filled the screen. Another murder. This time in her home.

  “Jesus Christ.” He tried to think back over the serial killings in the US over the last few years - The Milwaukee North Side Stranglings between ’86 and’04; Anthony Kirkland’s campaign in Cincinnati in the late 00’s; the California Bride Murders in 2014. Something about that last one snagged at something in his memory. He flicked on his laptop and waited for the browser to load. He turned the television up as he waited.

  “Victim was stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen and, reports say, disemboweled.”

  Olly felt the usual nausea rise in his throat. He tapped Bride Murders in California into the search engine and hit return. A sense of familiarity made the hairs on his neck stand up.

  How the hell had he not seen this before?

  The victims, all stabbed to death, almost eviscerated. Over three days in San Francisco, Bakersfield, and Fresno, the killings had been famous not only for their savagery but for the killer’s audaciousness. All three women were killed whilst trying on wedding dresses—in the dressing rooms of the boutiques. No-one saw anything. Olly gave a choked laugh.

  How is that even possible?

  But it wasn’t even that which made him shake his head and wonder just what the hell kind of monster they were looking for. The women. The dead women. Their pictures would haunt him. The beautiful faces of Kelly Cho, Zyang Mha, and Melissa Tang stared out at him from the screen, every one of them reminding him of his tiny brunette ex-girlfriend.

  “How’s things going, missy?” Tyler smiled down at her. And how is the boyfriend?”

  Inca saw Tommaso look up, his interest piqued. They were all gathered in Levi’s restaurant for his partner’s birthday and Inca had invited Tommaso as her plus one. So far, she’d introduced him to her father, Tyler, her friends, and now he was chatting with Scarlett. Olly joined Tyler and Inca, casting suspicious glances at Tommaso. Inca ignored him and turned to Tyler.

  “It’s good. I mean, we’re all just getting to know each other. It takes time. Some
times it can be rocky but … we’re getting there.”

  There was a long silence. Inca sighed.

  “Just say what you want to, guys,” she said, shooting a glance over to Tommaso at the bar. “But keep your voices down.”

  Tyler grimaced slightly. “I don’t know about that one,” he said, his deep, soulful voice low. “Seems to me, you need to watch him. There’s something … off.”

  Olly raised his glass slightly. “Exactly what I think.” Inca looked back and forth between them. Both were people she would trust with her life.

  “Listen,” she said softly, “I agree he’s not like us—how could he be? But I get the feeling … oh, I don’t know, that there’s more to his story than he’s told me. I don’t think he had an easy time of it.” Inca rolled her shoulders, suddenly tense.

  “People deserve second chances,” she said quietly. Her eyes glistened and she felt suddenly very weary. Tyler put his arm around her shoulders.

  “You always try and see the best in people, Inca, honey, and I love that about you. I just hope, in the end, your faith is served. I would hate to see you disappointed … or hurt.”

  She leaned into him gratefully, wishing for the millionth time that Tyler was her real father. He was the nearest thing she’d ever had. Olly’s face was set and thoughtful. He leaned over to her.

  “Inca, not now, but we need to have a talk. Please. For my peace of mind.”

  “It’s not your job to protect me,” she whispered back. “As much as I’m grateful for you trying.”

  He grinned. “Actually, it is my job. Just a chat. Nothing heavy, I promise’

  “Come by the Sakura next week.”

  “Just let me know when.” She nodded and he gave her a reassuring smile. She picked up her glass and looked over at Tommaso. He caught her eye and she smiled back, trying to see in his expression any spite, any malice.

  There was none. Instead his eyes were full of concern, of truth. She rubbed her hand over eyes.

  “Olly, Tommaso is not dangerous. You have nothing to be worried about, although I thank you for your concern. I’m a grown woman. I decide what’s good for me.” She felt bad for her snippiness then. “Truly. You cannot imagine how happy I am that you are in my life. So thankful. But Tommaso and I are having fun getting to know each other. Please, find it in your heart to be happy for me.”

  Olly kissed her cheek. “I would never try to stop any happiness of yours, Ink. I meant it when I said you’ll always be my best friend.”

  “You too, buddy.”

  Raffaelo had fallen into a routine. He would rise at five a.m., take a run along the town’s roads and beaches, shower, shave, and dress. At a quarter of noon, he would drive down to Main Street, sliding his rental car into one of the few spots outside the Sakura. Then he would take up his spot at the counter of the teahouse and talk with his brother’s girl. He liked the routine; it was clean, reassuring, controlled. Inca didn’t seem to mind his regular appearance and even, it seemed to him, made an effort to make him feel … welcome. There was that word again, so very alien to him. Welcome. No-one screaming at him, no-one banishing him.

  And, to his utter astonishment, he liked Inca too. For a woman, she was bright, funny, and a good conversationalist without being … chatty, gossipy. When the conversation fell silent, she didn’t rush to fill it, at least, not anymore, now that she’d become more comfortable in his presence. And he took pleasure in watching her, her slim yet softly rounded body, that glorious honeyed skin. On her sweet face, even now at twenty-eight, vestiges of puppy fat remained, making her look at least five years younger.

  He kept most of his visits from Tommaso. He didn’t want his brother to think he was making a move on his girl. They’d had that particular problem before, back in Italy, with Perdita. Raffaelo felt the familiar pain flash through him. Perdita had been his girlfriend, his one true love before she’d cheated on him with Tommaso. Tommaso had been guilt-ridden, begging Raff for forgiveness which he had given to him—finally. But Perdita was lost to him; he never saw her again.

  So now he trod carefully. He never wanted Tommaso to feel that pain, not from him. And Inca was special; Raffaelo could tell. She was different. Tommaso had always been the playboy, the man-whore—despite what their respective reputations said—but now Raff saw a real change in his brother. He was falling in love with Inca.

  Raffaelo would do anything to protect that. Anything.

  “Well, why not?”

  Tommaso’s question, abrupt, irritated, took her aback. The expression on his face was something else. Anger.

  Inca swallowed, remembering Hunter’s warning. “I’m sorry, Tommaso. I need to do some paperwork and I need some time alone. I did tell you I was busy until tomorrow.”

  She turned away from him, reaching for the coffee pot. When she turned, he was standing right beside her. She started, and the pot smashed to the floor.

  “Jesus, Tommaso!’

  He held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just coming to help.”

  “Lift a coffee pot?” She was aware her tone was snippy. She crouched down and started to pick the pieces of glass up. He didn’t bend to help, nor did he move. As she stood to put the glass into the trash, she was aware of the closeness of his body, and that he was watching her. Her skin prickled, and she didn’t bother to hide her discomfort. Even in the soft warmth of the teahouse, she shivered.

  “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “I’ve offended you.” His tone was amused.

  Inca wasn’t impressed.

  “No, Tommaso, you just startled me. It’s fine.”

  “Well, clearly not. I’ll leave you alone.”

  He stalked out, leaving Inca to gape after him. Had that actually just happened? Where was the fun-loving, good-time man she had spent last night with? It was like he’d been body-swapped with someone else.

  She was still upset later when Olly came to see her and asked her to sit down with him. She closed the teahouse for a while and braced herself.

  “We have the DNA results, sweetheart. I’m afraid my hunch was correct. The murder victim was your biological mother.”

  Emotions she didn’t understand rushed through her and she gave a little moan of distress. Tears came then, and Olly held her while she cried. “I’m so sorry, Inca.”

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said eventually, wiping her eyes, “I never knew her. But even so, I hate to think this happened to her. God.”

  Olly nodded, his eyes serious. “And, sweetheart, it makes it more likely that the murders are tied to you in some way. Inca, listen, whatever you tell me now is strictly, and I mean, completely, between you and me. I won’t tell a soul, but I get the feeling you’re hiding something.”

  Inca stared at him for a long moment, then closed her eyes. Olly took her hand.

  “Inca … is there anyone who might want to cause you harm? Anyone?”

  Slowly, Inca nodded. God, she really didn’t want to have this conversation.

  Please, God, don’t let it be him …

  “Yes. There is, Olly. There’s someone who would want to kill me … but I don’t know how the hell he found me. I don’t know how …”

  Olly leaned forward, his face almost contorted with fear. “God, Inca, who? Who is it?”

  Tears began to pour down her face again. “Olly, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …”

  “Who? Who is it?”

  Inca took a deep breath in and looked at him, her dark eyes full of misery. “My husband. It’s my husband who wants to kill me …”

  Icestorm #2

  Inca had already decided to go into the city when her cell phone rang. She’d gotten up late, rested but distracted, disturbed by vivid dreams. She stood under the shower, trying to unravel the parts she could remember. Olly. And her husband, the one she’d never told anyone about—Kevin. Then a choking, suffocating terror. Pain. Despite the heat of the shower, she shivere
d.

  It’s just a dream.

  But her stomach was cramped up with tension. After a few minutes, she gave up and ran a bath, hoping immersing her whole body into the water would help. She kneaded her stomach muscles with her fingers, feeling how knotted and sore they felt.

  Ever since she’d told Olly about Kevin, she hadn’t been able to shake the fear that ran bone deep. It had been when she was abroad, in England, during her time at college. She’d met Kevin in the student bar of her college and the attraction had been immediate. Kevin hadn’t had the preppy good looks of his cohorts, but he had seemed genuinely besotted by Inca. Even then, though, she had been reticent about telling him everything about her. And when it came to sex, she had refused him.

  “I’m not ready,” she had told him, “if you need to go elsewhere for that, I’m okay with it.’

  She had never known if he had taken her up on that and slept around. For Inca, that had not been the foundation of their relationship; to her, she had found a good friend. To Kevin, however, it was more. He had appeared to fall in love with her and, when he had told her he wanted to relocate to the States, he had asked her to marry him so he could get his green card. Inca wasn’t keen on the idea, but Kevin had manipulated her into agreeing to it and they had had a five-minute ceremony at a London registrar’s office.

  Then, when they had gotten back to the States and moved into a little apartment in New York, that was when he had turned nasty and Inca had realized that was why she had held back from fully committing to him. The menace that lurked underneath his outwardly friendly appearance was now all on the surface. He watched her every move, pressured her to have sex, and got nasty when she backed off.

  The first time he had hit her, she had known she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. What had she been thinking? She had planned to leave less than a month after the wedding and get the marriage annulled. But Kevin had made sure she knew that he would never allow her to leave.