Contradiction in Terms (Angel of Death Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Epilogue
Kindle Edition
©Contradiction in Terms
©Angel of Death Series
Copyright © 2016 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover photo © Suzanne Steele photo
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Patricia Commander Editing
Cover Design by Suzanne Steele
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
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All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Epilogue
Prologue
Angel’s fingers trembled as she looked at the frail woman asleep in the hospital bed. She watched her chest as it barely expanded each time she took a weakened breath. She was already dead; maybe not physically yet, but it was inevitable. She would be sent to hospice and kept comfortable until she breathed her last. Angel hated that phrase kept comfortable. It was only a way to say, “We’ll keep her drugged until she dies.” Why not die that way—comfortable?
It made it so much harder when a patient begged for her to pull the plug when they were going to die anyway. If she didn’t step in and do something, the medical bills would consume any savings the woman had. Her children would be left with nothing but heartache and bills. She would be doing the woman and her family a favor.
Angel pulled herself from her morbid thoughts when a fellow nurse entered the hospital room.
“Hey, girl.”
“What’s up, Jenny?”
“What’s been up since the good Dr. Jackson got killed? It’s all any of the hospital staff talks about. You’d think after six months people would be over it, but the media just keeps it alive by not letting it go—they just keep reporting on it. I know what he did was wrong and for the wrong reasons”—she leaned in like she was sharing a secret with a close friend— “he was putting terminal patients out of their misery. The only thing their families are left with by the time the doctors are done is medical bills.”
Medical bills and heartache. Angel felt like Jenny was in her head voicing her opinions. Angel listened as the nurse chattered on and was grateful she changed the subject. “How’s that baby boy of yours doing?”
“He’s doing well; growing like the proverbial weed. It’s the reason I might be taking some time off.”
“I say go for it. They grow up too quick, and you’ll never resent taking the time with him.”
Chapter One
The sting of her slap on his face felt like fire that awakened his need to roll with the sex they’d had in the past; sex, that was fed by rage. Jericho didn’t know why the burn of the slap lit the fire that shot straight to his cock—the need to dominate her, it just did. He should be feeling very angry at her right now for her lies, not wanting to pin her down and fuck her brains out. Who the fuck was she to smack him anyway, when she was the one who lied? He hated what he felt for her right now. He damn sure hated himself for feeling it. She’d put him in a position that could cost him everything: his job, his reputation, and the woman he loved. His body moved with lightening quick speed—his hands locking over her wrists pinning them to the wall. The press of his body pushed against her sealed her fate of not being able to move.
“Yes… I lied.” She answered in a tone that was more like a resigned whisper of defeat. How could she feel so defeated yet feel like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders? It had been weighing on her; the guilt, and the fear of being found out. You had to have your come to Jesus moment in front of an FBI agent!?
He buried his face in her hair, pushing his hips into her as he spoke. His voice was now a whisper, a mixture of regret for her inability to trust him, and sarcasm to show his side of the equation. “Hey babe, I realize most folks aren’t showing up on a first date revealing that they’re a nurse and a serial mercy killer. Great career move. I get it, Angel. What I don’t get is why you’re able to kill someone else, but you called me to kill you. What the fuck!?” He shook his head. “Do you realize what kind of position you’ve put me in?”
Her whole body struggled to be released from his grip—to just run away. But it did nothing for the truth that rough sex turned her on, and he had been the one to show her that unknown truth. It was a closeted skeleton of sorts that she never realized she had. The guilt came from a new place. She was used to the guilt that came from setting souls free from their pain, but this was a new beast; just another revelation of how fucked up she was. How could somebody be as fucked in the head as I am and never even realize it? There would have been no realization of it if there’d been no knowledge of its rattling bones in the distance. No hint. No shadow. Just boom… Jericho. With him came the knowledge she was as twisted as he was in her bent for sex. Had she been honest with herself, she would have realized she was mad at herself for the discovery of her layers she never knew existed. With Jericho came the raw reality of who she really was.
“I know you can’t fucking trust someone who lies to you, Jericho. Fucking liar! I’m a fucking liar!” She hated the tone of her voice; sounding like some part in a Shakespearian Taming of the Shrew Broadway play. A woman out of control in a world she had created for the purpose of having just that: control. Ho
w did all of this happen? How could she have let herself become this… Angel of Death? She’d heard about nurses who killed before; all for different reasons: some out of a sadistic need to deflect their pain on a patient that reminded them of a past trauma. Some, like her, out of mercy. Surely, he would understand after what Jericho had been through with his mother. But he hadn’t killed. How ironic he felt guilt for not killing, while she felt guilt for pulling the proverbial plug. In an effort to defend herself from the onslaught of guilt she was feeling, she blurted out what was in her head before having a chance to filter it.
“You lied; lied about who you are, what you do. You led me to believe you were a killer; it is no different than me leading you to believe I’m not one.” Say it like it is—a killer.
His fist tightened in her hair at the nape of her neck, grasping it as if it would force her to hear his truth. “I would never fucking lie to you about the connection”—
“The connection?” Curiosity forced her to ask.
His voice became low, nonthreatening in nature— “what I feel for you. God… I love you.” In a second it changed to one of determination. “I won’t let you go. Nobody will believe you. I swear to God I’ll lock you in the basement. Don’t grow a fucking conscience and fess up—don’t you dare do anything that would make them take you away from me. The feds I work with, they’re not like cops. Once they’re onto something, it’s like a dog with a bone.”
“You’re crazy!”
“You have no idea how fucked up and crazy I am.” It was the voice of a man resigned to his nature. “I couldn’t kill my mother when she asked me to, and then I couldn’t live with the fact I’ve killed in the name of being an FBI agent. I am a contradiction in terms—an FBI agent and a killer. It doesn’t matter that I’ve killed in the name of law enforcement, Angel.”
His body racked with spasms as she held him. Not the sign of a weak man, but a tormented one.
This time it was her clawing and tearing at his flesh in urgency. His hands slammed against the wall palming it beside her head as he took a step back looking in her eyes. She could see the pain he felt over her lying to him, but she’d done it for all the right reasons. She killed for the right reasons, lied for all the right reasons. The lines were becoming so blurred.
His hands ripped and tore at the dress she wore and the tiny G-string beneath it. He needed to be in her—he needed her. He pulled his jeans off, kicking them to the side. He grabbed her hips, lifting her up and down on his cock. Her legs wrapped around him, ensuring she didn’t fall.
This wasn’t lovemaking. It was violent sex. A need to consume each other—a need to solidify that the fucked-up bond they shared remained intact. They were married. No one could force them to bare their secrets, in a courtroom or anywhere else as far as that was concerned.
He bit into her neck just hard enough to intensify the raging orgasm coursing through her body. Once again, he had marked her, ensuring she belonged to him. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, the lies, and the truth, they remained united.
Chapter Two
Son of a bitch! Jericho couldn’t believe what he was hearing as he listened to Agent Turner and his partner, Rene, filling him in on the latest of late Dr. Jackson’s case.
“We don’t believe Dr. Jackson is responsible for all the mercy killings.”
“Well, there can’t be that many people who are willing to go out on a limb to kill. Most medical professionals aren’t going to take a chance on losing all they’ve worked for just because they feel sorry for a patient. No offense agents, but I think you might be looking for ghosts. That doctor was responsible for those deaths. The area has suffered a black eye over this. The hospital really needs to move on, and if all this mess gets stirred up again, they can’t do that.” Jericho wasn’t about to tell the agents his wife was possibly responsible for at least one of those deaths. If he could steer agents clear of their suspicions, then he would tell his wife not to even consider relieving anyone of their medical bill woes.
“Well, for now, that’s all we have is our gut to go by. Let’s hope you’re right. If there are no more killings, then we’ll chalk it up to our overzealous imaginations.” Agent Turner stood and shook Jericho’s hand, and with that, he and his partner left.
That was the golden ticket: no more killings. He’d make damn sure his wife walked the straight and narrow. The last thing he needed was two overzealous FBI agents on her ass. He knew them well enough to know they wouldn’t stop. Jericho waited until they were down the hall and out of sight to breathe a sigh of relief. His wife was a serial killer. Well, technically she wasn’t unless there were two more kills she’d just so happened to forget mentioning. How could he have gotten involved with a mercy killer and never known it? He was trained to read people, trained to profile, trained to read body language, and here he was as clueless as the next guy about his own wife. Good God, she was the mother of his child. Maybe the emotional ties had blinded him. Or worse yet, maybe he just didn’t want to see the truth. At least he had that whole matrimonial clause of not being forced to testify against his wife. She was so much more than his wife, though. She was the woman that fueled his obsession, and letting her go was out of the question. A serial killer… I’m married to a fucking serial killer. Okay… she’s not a serial killer, but still.
There would be no love lost with the agents that had come into his office. They had no ties and no emotions to cloud their judgement. What they did have was a gut feeling, and just like a hunting dog, they would exhaust every avenue to find the killer they were convinced existed. There was no way he was letting his wife go to prison in the name of justice or anything else for that matter. Fuck justice! The obsession was stronger than anything else—even justice. He would rescue her, but he’d damn sure make her pay while he did it. Whether the why of his need to monopolize his wife was in the forefront of his mind or not, the primal part of him looked for any reason to possess her. It wasn’t enough to do it once or twice. It was an ongoing need that he was overcome with anytime any issue had to do with her. He’d come to grips with his nature long ago—he was wired differently, and nothing would ever change that.
Chapter Three
Rene sat clicking her vintage lighter open and shut as she studied her partner/lover. It was a stress reliever, and David had learned to get past the irritating sound of it a long time ago. Years of working together and sharing the same bed had merged them in a way that the small things didn’t seem to matter as much as they did in the beginning.
Their bedroom antics weren’t the norm. They were both kinky, and up until lately she had been his mistress, but he was reevaluating that. The need to take back his dominance had been cropping up, and she was still getting used to the idea of it. He’d always been the driving force at work, but giving up complete control was a different issue. Rene was used to being in charge, but she was about to find out it didn’t matter because her lover had made up his mind. And once he made his mind up about something, there was no changing it.
The sound of the vintage lighter flicking open and shut continued as she spoke. “Normally I just go with your gut on things. But this time, I’m not so sure you’re right. The MO was the same, there were no other suspects, and now you come up with an idea there’s another killer out of nowhere. I just don’t get it, David.”
“It’s Agent Turner at work.”
“Oh please, everyone in the department is well aware we’re fucking, David.”
She was surprised when he got up out of his chair and closed the blinds so curious eyes wouldn’t witness what he was about to do. He made his way over to where she was seated and leaned down growling in a hoarse whisper, “I said: It’s Agent Turner at work.” The threatening tone, mixed with the handful of her hair he had twisted through his fingers, sent a thrill of awakening through her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It surprised her that her body felt like it was coming out of a slumber, and parts of her were being stirred that she didn’t know exis
ted.
“Agent Turner it is, then.”
“Much better.”
Yes… she had taken his dominance, and now he wanted it back!
Chapter Four
“Such a pretty, pretty, girl,” he whispered, as he flicked his thumb over her picture. He had been watching her long before he figured out she shared his penchant for killing. “Such a rare find, a female serial killer—my rare precious jewel—my rare precious jewel.”
“It’s going to be wonderful having someone to pin my murders on. I picked you because the press is going to have a field day with you. The wife of an FBI agent being a serial killer and he didn’t even realize it. It doesn’t get any better than that.” He spoke out loud as if she was seated in the room having a friendly conversation with him, and in his mind, she was. Every moment of planning and strategic analysis revolved around her.
It wasn’t the woman he was fascinated with. It wasn’t even her FBI agent husband he was intrigued with; it was the power. The ability to play with them like they were little puppets he could manipulate to take the blame for his sick fantasies. It would be so much fun to play with these two because this was the first time he’d ever had access to two people with such reputable professions. Now he could expose them for who they truly were—no, more like for what they truly were. They were monsters just like him. They could hide their lust for killing behind their white picket fence of their suburban lives, but he was going to expose them so the world could see they were no better than him. He despised the upper echelon of society for their pious attitudes; always rating the world around them by the size of their bank accounts. Doctor Jackson had proven they were no different than he was. Their power came from their ability to hide behind their prestigious jobs. It would be gratifying to expose another professional’s heinous desire to kill; to show the world that they were as fucked up in the head as he was. Everyone was so anal about their precious image. But not him, he was intent on showing them who they really were. He’d come to terms with his identity a long time ago; now it was their turn. By the time he was finished, they would be horrified to see they were no different than the monster roaming the streets looking for his next victim.