Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  "I love you," I whispered without wondering whether he could hear me.

  "I love you too," he replied and pulled me up to lie beside him.

  As he cradled me, I buried myself in his arms and felt their strength.

  "I'm expected to be at the hospital today," he said.

  "Do you have to go?" I asked although I knew the answer.

  "Always," he replied with a sigh. "But tonight is ours."

  I knew full well he didn't have a romantic candle lit dinner planned but instead was going to show me the ropes as I joined his small yet fatal team.

  "Tonight is ours," I repeated. "Will you show me around your laboratory? I mean, properly this time."

  "Only if you promise not to scream."

  We both laughed albeit nervously.

  "I promise not to scream," I said. "Unless you want me to."

  His lips twisted with a hint of mischief and he smiled that delectable wicked grin of his. He bopped me on the nose before jumping up and heading for the shower.

  "Better get a move on," he said. "I'm taking over from Harold this morning and I'm assuming he had a stressful night."

  As I listened to him turn on the shower and potter around the bathroom, I switched on the television and propped myself up against the pillows.

  The news flickered on and the solemn newsreader, her face deadpan and somewhat jaded, relayed a story.

  "The body of nineteen year old Isabel Danziger,or Jet as she was known to her friends, was discovered this morning in the Broadwood area of the city by..."

  My skin turned cold.It felt as though my heart was being filled up with a lead balloon. Suddenly the gentle breeze through the window felt frigid.

  "At this moment it is impossible to tell if her death is indeed related to the others and investigations are ongoing. Reporter, Antony Delaney is now on the scene."

  The camera cut to him standing in the middle of an alleyway. Behind him, the forensic team scurried back and forth.

  "Yes, Monica it's impossible to say right now what the specific cause of death was but we do know she was murdered. That much is clear."

  My mind was desperate to hear what else he had to say but my body wouldn't let me. In one single jerking movement, I leaned off the edge of the bed, reached for the gold trashcan beneath the bedside cabinet and vomited into it. As I lifted my head and dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, Lincoln appeared in the doorway wrapping a towel around his waist.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes plagued with concern.

  Before I could answer he saw the screen filled up with Jet’s face. His eyes widened and he took a step back.

  "You were here last night," I cried. "I know you were!"

  We watched in silence until the story came to a close and commercials began to run.

  "It wasn't me," he finally said, turning to me in a daze.

  We both stared at each other, stunned.

  "If it wasn't you then who was it?"

  Walking over to close the window, he lingered for a second in front of the balcony and looked out across the mountains.

  "I don't know who it was," he said. "But I'm sure we'll find out."

  Chapter Four

  Lincoln

  Some places were unluckier than others but the Waters’ House seemed to have a curse on it. It had fallen to not one, but two killers and Jet was the latest person to wind up dead. Not that I could say I was surprised. She was a wild one alright. Loved to get herself into trouble. As much as I hated to think it, sometimes it was only a matter of time until some of these unfortunate souls winded up dead. It was like a price was placed on their head the moment they were born. Girls like Jet seldom reached their twenties and if they did they brought a whole host of problems with them; children, addiction, deadbeat boyfriends.

  I didn't feel much like going to work today but I knew the patients needed me. As I drove in, I thought about the great dichotomy I juggled every day as I balanced myself between life and death. On one hand, I saved lives as one of the most skilled surgeons the country had known. I'd even patented and profited from inventions that saved thousands of lives. I was proud of that, made me feel as though as I had a reason to exist.

  On the other hand, I lived to kill. Of course, I tried to justify it in all sorts of ways. Girls like Jet who hurt children were dead inside already and how could I kill what was already not alive? Still, I liked to think that somewhere deep inside these girls there was a kernel of goodness within them. I know Roberta at one point in time cared for her dying grandmother and just before I killed her, I struggled with the notion that she was just a good girl influenced by her unfortunate circumstances. By the time I stopped struggling she'd stopped breathing and that was the end of that.

  Still, I wondered what people would think if they discovered that the great saver of lives in the white coat spent his nights killing.

  I found myself chuckling to myself as I pulled off the highway and joined the queue of rush hour traffic that was aiming itself toward the hospital. Not because my life was so comical but because life was indeed a large gray smattering of good and bad mixed together in a melting pot of madness. Good people sometimes did bad things. Bad people were known to do good things.

  It tickled me to think that somewhere out there people were alive because Ted Bundy talked them out of killing themselves when he worked at a suicide hotline. When I first learned that fact it had almost fried my brain, made me feel as though there was no way of ever discerning who was right or who was wrong. Later, I would learn to discover that we're all evil if we try hard enough.

  Pulling into the parking lot of the hospital, I took my usual space and glanced at my watch. I had almost an hour to kill until I was expected in theater and I didn't want to sit in my office staring at paperwork.

  Making my way upstairs, I ventured into the break room where Harold was sitting in his usual seat with his usual breakfast of watered down coffee and a stale donut. You'd think doctors would know the benefits of a healthy diet.

  "Morning, Harold. How was last night?"

  He turned to me and swallowed.

  "Jesus Linx, are you okay?"

  "Sure... I'm fine," I lied.

  He moved to pour me a coffee but I waved him back to his seat.

  "I just had a late night. That's all."

  He seemed to accept my explanation and relaxed back into his seat.

  "Hey, you see that shit over at the Waters’ House?"

  He pointed up to the television where the Broadwood was once again taking center stage. The sound was turned down but I could still make out the desperation of the voices. Neighbors were out in the streets talking to reporters, outraged that so many women were dying.

  "Did you know her?" he asked as Jet's photograph was projected behind the newsreader.

  She looked so young, so fragile, but I knew the truth.

  "Yeah... I knew her," I said and Harold hung his head.

  "Crazy shit going on over there. I suppose the cops'llbe wanting to talk to you."

  "Probably," I replied with a shrug and realized that for once I'd had nothing to hide.

  I genuinely knew nothing about who could have killed Jet.

  "Anyway, what’s the situation with you?" I asked, eager to change the subject.

  He cocked his head to the side, confused.

  "The last time I saw you a whole load of spooky stuff was happening."

  "Oh... that," he sighed. "Nah... Nothing going on. A little convinced I imagined the whole thing."

  He drained the last of his coffee and slumped back in his seat, his eyes darting back up to the television.

  "I'm a little surprised you don't have your own spooky stories to tell."

  "Me?" I asked, sitting down beside him.

  I glanced down at my watch and knew I had to get going soon.

  "Well sure. You're in the Waters' House all the time, aren’t you? I bet the place is haunted."

  "I don't really subscribe to that stuff,
" I replied.

  "Yeah, but it still must be weird, a house surrounded by death."

  I'd never thought about it like that before. It was the saddest house I'd ever known but I'd never thought of it being haunted before.

  "It won't be long until weirdos are arriving in their droves on one of those macabre ghost tours," he laughed. "You'll see them all out there in their plastic tourist ponchos taking selfies next to the death house."

  The place was becoming a circus, was starting to attract more attention than I liked. Feeling nauseous, I decided I needed to be inside the clear, sterile space of the operating room where the pure whiteness and pungent smell of chemicals always calmed me down.

  "I won't be seeing much of anything," I replied as I got to my feet. "I doubt I'll ever be going back there."

  "Oh? Really?"

  "A little too busy with other things," I said and made for the door. "Catch you tomorrow, right?"

  "Yeah, buddy. Good luck in theater."

  Death house... It made it sound like an amusement park attraction and I shuddered.

  Chapter Five

  Detective Berger

  Her small, heart shaped lips opened as she spoke but I heard nothing. Kneeling in front of her as she sat on the edge of her miniature pink chair, I felt as though I was infiltrating a doll's house. She spoke again in little more than a whisper.

  "Sophie," she said. "That's my name."

  "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Sophie."

  I looked up to the children's liaison officer, Sue who was sat on a matching miniature pink chair, her suit and clipboard along with her adult body looking ridiculous. She gave me a warm smile and leaned forward to tap Sophie on the hand.

  "Are you happy talking to the detective, Sophie?"

  The little girl nodded.

  She seemed even smaller now. Dried off, cleaned up and dressed in new clothes, she looked like a regular kid and it terrified me.

  "Sophie, how old are you?"

  "Seven," she replied with her head bouncing up and down.

  She clutched a doll in between her miniscule fingers, its hair becoming tangled around her hand. Beside her lay a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  "Wow, seven. You're almost as old as me," I joked but she didn't laugh. "So... Sophie. Can you tell me where your mommy and daddy are?"

  She shook her head, her hair falling over her face. I had the urge to comfort her and brush her hair back but I didn't dare. She probably thought all adults were monsters and over the years I was starting to come to the same conclusion.

  "When was the last time you saw them?"

  She shrugged, pulling her shoulders all the way up to her ears and keeping them there.

  "Sophie," I reached my hand out to touch my arm but changed my mind and kept it hanging in the space between us should she need to hold it. "Sophie, you were living in a basement until last night. Can you tell us a little about that?"

  Again, she shook her head.

  "Bad place," she said.

  "Yes. It was a bad place but you'll never go back there again."

  "Really?" her eyes brightened. "You promise? Pinky promise?"

  "I promise," and I held up my pinky finger which she latched onto with her own. "You'll never go back there, but I need your help to make sure other children don't go back there either."

  She frowned as if she was trying to process what I was saying.

  "There are loads of others down there," she said.

  My stomach lurched.

  "How many?"

  "Just lots."

  "Okay well there are police officers there right now to save them."

  She seemed to relax at hearing this and picked up her sandwich. Chewing on it contently, she began speaking with a full mouth.

  "Detective? You're not friends with the judge are you?"

  It was such an innocent question but it bristled through me, cold and sinister.

  "The judge?" she repeated. "Kennedy."

  "Are you talking about Judge Kennedy?" I jumped up, horrified, I glanced at the rookie officer behind me.

  His mouth had dropped open and he saw the fear in my eyes.

  "Yeah... Kennedy,” she confirmed.“We were always at his house. His wife baked us red velvet cupcakes."

  I heard she'd been saying wacko stuff but I didn't expect this.

  "I'm sorry," I said to Sue. "But I have to go now."

  She nodded and held my gaze, sealing us both into a silent pact.

  "Don't worry, I wasn't listening anyway," she lied, her eyes flicking from side to side.

  "Glad to hear it," I said and stepped out into the hall.

  Sophie waved to me through the window and I waved back. She was surprisingly chipper for someone who had been living in the deepest depths of hell, but if there was one thing I'd learned over the years it was that kids were resilient and tougher than the rest of us. I had a strong feeling that eventually she'd be okay.

  As for hearing about Judge Kennedy... My stomach was churning itself over. I was going to have to tell the chief about what I'd heard and he wasn't going to be happy. As I ascended the stairs to his office, I felt the sweat begin to form across my brow. Please don't shoot the messenger, I thought. Shoot the judge but not the messenger.

  Chapter Six

  Phaedra

  The notebook was tucked inside my bra with its sharp corner pressing into my breasts as a painful reminder of all the secrets it kept. At this very moment, policemen were conducting a fingertip search of the house. I should have known this moment would come sooner or later but I still found myself unprepared. As I shivered in my bathrobe, I looked out the window to where the doors opened down into the basement.

  A team of men in paper suits were crawling in and out like Earth bound astronauts looking for signs of life but I knew they'd fine none. I'd made sure Jet took all the children away somewhere safe, somewhere no uniforms could touch them.

  I held my hand to my chest and felt the edges of the book against my fingertips. There was nothing in this house that would incriminate me more. The names, the numbers, what they ordered, it could bring this city to its knees. There was nothing more valuable to me, nothing more dangerous.

  Behind me, Detective Berger was sat on the edge of my bed. He'd rushed over here this morning in the same suit I saw him in last time. He was always so chatty, so polite and friendly but today he was different. It might have been his state of sleep deprivation that caused his amicable mask to drop or it could have been the events of the last few days.

  "Phaedra, I feel as though I've come to know you quite well over these past few weeks."

  He crossed his legs and made himself comfortable to prove a point. In a way, he'd become as much a part of this house as so many of the other visitors and I'd come to trust him enough to know not only the whereabouts of my bedroom but the location of my snack stash, something many of the girls weren't aware of.

  An opened pack of double chocolate chip cookies now sat open beside him and he delved in as though he hadn't seen solid sustenance in weeks. Certainly, his suit now looked looser on him and sagged at the shoulders. His face was a little gaunt too, his skin a slight ashen gray.

  "Yes I feel like we've become friends in a way," I said.

  I watched him hungrily eat a cookie in one single bite as he scribbled in his notebook, the pages becoming littered with crumbs.

  "Are you sure I can't fix you some breakfast?"

  "No really I'm fine," he said without looking up. "Besides, the team is still down in the kitchen."

  I frowned, beginning to become weary of their interference.

  "What exactly are they looking for?" I huffed and crossed my arms. "Murder weapons?"

  I forced a laugh which pierced the air and I flinched when I heard how I sounded like a cackling witch. Straightening myself, I looked back out the window.

  "I mean, they don't think the girl was killed here, do they?" I narrowed my eyes. "Or do you?"

  He set
his notebook down on the bed and stood up to join me at the window. We both looked down at the basement's double doors.

  "It's not just the girl. Jet is what you called her, wasn’t it?"

  "That's right. She always preferred to be called Jet. Don't ask me why? They all come with weird pet names.”

  He pressed his lips together and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  “Not just the girl,” he repeated. “You know why they’re down there, don’t you?” he pointed down to the basement. “You know why you can’t leave this room yet?”

  I thought for a second with my eyes still on the scene unfolding below.

  “I don’t know a thing.”

  He gave me a sideways glance.

  “I think you know a lot more than you’d lead us to believe.”

  I said nothing.

  “Where were you last night?” he asked.

  “You’re not really doing this, are you? You know where I was. I was here with the girls.”

  “But not all the girls,” he said.

  “Well, no.”

  “Is it common for girls to break curfew? I know you’re strict with some of them.”

  I felt my heart begin to quicken against the notebook.

  “They’re all good girls but Jet… she was a wild one.”

  It felt awful to think of her in the past tense. She was always so alive, so vibrant and crazy. She was very much alive the last time I saw her. Then she wasn’t.

  “So you’re saying Jet, I mean Miss Danziger, frequently broke curfew.”

  “That girl had problems,” was all I said and his face remained tight lipped and expressionless.

  “I have to ask you about the little girl,” he said.

  “What little girl?”

  Still, his commitment to hiding his emotion remained unwavering.

  “The little girl who said she knows you said you kept her down there for months with several other children. She said you ordered the other girls in the house to take her places, take her to houses up in the west end.”