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

by Brooke Kinsley

  He was in Phaedra's room...

  As soon as I stepped inside, I felt a rush of cold. The temperature seemed to drop. I shivered and wrapped my coat around me tight but it did nothing to stop the wind from penetrating my bones. It drifted in through the open window and tickled the tops of the books that were stacked up on the bed, the floor, on top the television that was still switched on.

  The picture looked like it was struggling its way through a snowstorm, all static and fog. Two stripes ran through the middle of the screen like it was cutting off the heads of the news anchors who were babbling away with flat eyes as they read their prompts.

  I slammed my hand against the side of the television hoping it would correct the picture but it somehow made it worse.

  "Urgh, how did she watch this thing?"

  I slapped it again and the stripes disappeared to reveal a reporter standing on a street corner. It looked familiar then I realized why. It was the same street corner that lay beside the house, the same one I could see from where I sat. I half expected to peer out the window and see the reporter still standing there with his oversized microphone. I even found myself staring at the television expecting to see the top of my head through the window.

  When did they film this? Earlier today?Yesterday? Were we even here then?

  The sound flittered in and out as I strained my ears and slapped the television again.

  "... believed she knew Judge Kennedy since childhood... unknown... murder... Pillar of the community"

  I switched the TV off. There was no way people really knew what happened. It was all too complicated.

  As I sat in silence, I looked around the room and saw the scattered diaries and once again thought of Stephanie at the graveside. It was as if the record keeping was as synonymous with Phaedra's identity as much as the house was.

  A shiver came over me again. I shouldn't be in here, I thought. I stood up to leave hoping the site manager would clear this room next but just like the everyone else, he wasn't keen on venturing up here. I wondered if her room would lie like this forever like a museum.

  I was about to call out for Jason when something caught my eye, a diary flipped open on the bed. Picking it up, I saw a series of names down a page but they meant nothing to me. Was this what Lincoln was looking at? I glanced around the room and saw the open wardrobe and a pile of shoes. On the dresser, a few ornaments lay scattered and discarded.

  Probably not, I thought and placed the diary on a pile with all the others.

  "Goodbye Fay," I said to the empty room and closed the door behind me.

  I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices. One of them I recognized in an instant and froze.

  It can't be him! What's he doing here?

  Like a child sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night, I crouched down and peeked through the bannister. From that angle, I could just about make out the lower portion of the front door. Two pairs of feet were facing each other, one clad in heavy workman's boots, the other in worn out sneakers.

  I knew those sneakers. I'd bought them myself years ago along with a matching pair for myself. They were supposed to kickstart our new healthy lifestyle where the two of us would go jogging every morning. Of course, that only lasted a little more than a week and soon it was just me slapping the sidewalk every morning. Meanwhile, he wore his sneakers as nothing more than a fashion accessory, something bright and white to wear along with his designer jeans that I also bought him.

  "Craig!"

  I stomped down the stairs and saw him arguing with the site manager who looked more than pleased to see me.

  "Sorry, ma'am. I've been trying to get him to leave but he said he knows you. Do I need to call the police?"

  "Knew me..." I corrected him. "We don't know each other anymore."

  Craig sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. If it was possible, he looked even worse than the last time I saw him. As if he was on the brink of collapse, he rested against the doorway and sighed.

  "Please, Etta. Just two minutes."

  Jason reached for his phone but I waved it away.

  "It's okay. Thank you," I said.

  Sensing the tension between us, he nodded and walked away.

  "I'll be in the kitchen," he said. "Call if you need me."

  Craig waited until his lumbering figure disappeared down the hall before turning to me.

  "I hope you don't mind me turning up like this."

  "Of course I mind! You think I want you here."

  He looked down at his shoes and sniffed again. I couldn’t help but notice his clothes were dirty and he smelled like he hadn't washed in weeks.

  "What the hell happened to you?" I asked.

  He'd lost weight and I could visibly see the shape of his eyes socket making its way around the side of his head.

  "Where have you been? Jesus, Craig you look like you're dying."

  He coughed and spluttered into his hand, his chest wheezing as he doubled over.

  "Hang on. Let me get you a glass of water."

  I ushered him into the lounge that was empty apart from two garden chairs that the builders had been using in an attempt at creating a makeshift breakroom. On the floor lay a half-eaten sandwich partially covered in dust. Craig lifted it up and began cramming it into his mouth, eating like a starved animal.

  "Craig!"

  He looked up, humiliated, as though he just realized what he did.

  "Stay here," I said. "I'll be back in a minute."

  Hurrying into the kitchen, I filled up a glass of water and rifled through the cooler box before pulling out two vanilla puddings and a milkshake.

  "Sorry," I said to Jason who was confused as to why I was stealing his lunch. "I'll replace it all."

  "Don't worry about it."

  Back in the lounge, Craig gratefully cracked open the milkshake and drank it in one go before making a start on the puddings.

  "When was the last time you ate?"

  He shrugged, his finger wiping around the side of the pot.

  "Thursday, maybe."

  "Are you serious?"

  He tossed the empty pot into the trash and yawned. It looked like he hadn't slept in weeks either. It was like he'd aged twenty years.

  "Craig, how did you know I was here?"

  Again, he shrugged and began picking at a loose thread on his shoe.

  "When people say a billionaire just bought this house it's not hard to figure out who it is."

  So the gossip had spread already. I wish I could say I was shocked.

  "But how did you know I would be here? What would have happened if you turned up and Lincoln was here? You think he'd be pleased to see you? Think he wouldn't get you arrested? Or knock you out himself?"

  He said nothing, just continued to wrap the thread around his finger until the tip turned purple. Then he let it fall loose and the blood returned to his finger.

  "You were watching, weren't you?" I said.

  I was answered with silence.

  "You waited until you saw Lincoln leave!"

  He crouched over some more until all I could see was the top of his head.

  "Craig will you talk to me!"

  He flinched and sat upright. There was a wild look in his eye as though he was becoming unhinged.

  "I shouldn't have come," he said.

  "No, you shouldn't have."

  His eyes met mine. I could tell he was trying to soften me up, trying to get me to feel sorry for him and it was working. I'd never seen a sorrier sight in my life.

  "I just... I just miss you so much!"

  He burst into tears and buried his head in his hands.

  "So... So much."

  "Craig stop."

  "It hurts, Etta!"

  "Please, stop crying."

  "You've no idea how much it hurts."

  I let him sob into his hands for a minute that felt like a lifetime. When at last, he lifted his head, his bottom lip was quivering like a baby who'd been caught stealing candy.

&n
bsp; "Craig, for Christ's sake, calm down."

  I didn't mean to be so short with him. Part of me wanted to go over and hug him, tell him that he would be okay but at the same time I didn't want to lead him on and give him false hope. The last thing I needed was him interpreting a hug as something more.

  "I'm calm," he said and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I'm okay."

  "You don't look okay."

  We both looked down at the dusty floor. I cast my eyes over the shapes my Jimmy Choo heels cast along the floorboards like a small subsea creature had burrowed itself down into the sand. Meanwhile, Craig fiddled with a hole in his jeans, the bare skin of his knee looking as white as a moonbeam.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  He ran a hand though his hair which I noticed was now thinning.

  "Just wanted to see you."

  "Why?"

  "Dunno."

  I'd never wanted to shake someone so much in my life. He was frustrating the hell out of me and I wanted him gone but I couldn't live with myself if he walked away and something happened to him. He looked as frail as a piece of paper and just as white.

  "Look, Lincoln will be back any second now."

  He remained still.

  "So are you gonna tell me why you're really here."

  He gulped and coughed again.

  "I've ruined myself," he said. "Ruined everything."

  "I can see that."

  "No. I mean I've fucking destroyed my life! I'm nothing without you. I've lost everything. My job, the house, everything!"

  I was starting to realize what he wanted. Money.

  "You're a real sorry son of a bitch, Craig. How much do you want?"

  "Nothing. I don't want money from you. I just want you back."

  "Not happening. Just tell me how much you want and leave."

  He thought for a second and resigned himself to being honest.

  "Five hundred," he said. "For car payments.For rent."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.

  "Fine."

  Reaching for my purse, I pulled out the cash and thrust it at him.

  "Here's a thousand. I don't wanna see you around here again. Okay? The next time I'm calling the cops."

  And I realized just how hollow that sounded. Cops weren't coming anywhere near this place, near me, near Lincoln.

  "I love you," he whimpered as he shuffled toward the door.

  "Just go."

  I ushered him outside and watched him scurry away.

  "Sorry loser," I said to myself as I watched him scuttle down the street. "This is exactly why we need security."

  Chapter Ten

  LINCOLN

  Consultant cardiologist, Andrew Patten was standing outside the main entrance squinting into his phone. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, his face opening up into a wide smile as he saw me.

  "Well look who it is. Bosworth you handsome bastard. Where have you been?"

  He slapped his hand into mine and noticed the scars around my wrist. He knew where I'd been and pulled his hand away like the scars were contagious.

  "We've really missed you around here. Is this your first day back?"

  He joined me as I stepped into the foyer,his Italian loafers squeaking beneath his pinstripe suit.

  "No," I said. "Just needed something from my office."

  "Hmm."

  He shot me a skeptical look and pressed the button for the elevator.

  "Number three, right?" he asked as we stepped in.

  "No, level five please."

  "Really? I thought your office was on level three? Cardiology's on five."

  "Oh... Yeah. Of course. Sorry. Yeah, three."

  We rode up in silence but I could feel the burn from him staring into the side of my face. Just like everyone else I'd met over the last few days, he was desperate to ask a thousand questions. When the elevator dinged open on the third floor, I walked out without saying goodbye.

  Let him stew in his questions, I thought. Let them all gossip.

  Jogging up the next two flights of stairs, I eventually arrived on the cardiac ward. Sidling up to the nurse's station with my best smile, I leaned over and tried to scan the notes on the desk as a nurse giggled.

  "Mr. Bosworth, I didn't know you were back."

  "Yep!"

  "Anything I can help you with."

  "Actually there is. You know Harold? You don't happen to know what operating room he's in today, do you?"

  "Hmmm... Not sure if I should tell you," she teased with a wiggle of her nose.

  "I'd really appreciate it," I said. "And the next time I see you I'll make sure there's a great big box of chocolates coming your way."

  She giggled again, her pink little hamster cheeks getting on my nerves as she fluttered her eyelashes.

  "Okay, let me have a look."

  Her fingers fluttered over the keyboard as she drew up today's charts.

  "Okay, here it is. He's in operating room eight but he should be finished any second now."

  "You're a doll. Milk or dark?"

  "Dark please, Mr. Bosworth."

  "Sure thing."

  I gave her a complimentary wink and she blushed.

  As I rounded the corner toward the operating room, I found Harold in the midst of his usual post operation routine, leaning against the wall beside the coffee machine with a scalding latte in his hand. When he saw me coming, he gazed up like a puppy who'd been waiting all day for his owner to return home.

  "Lincoln! What are you doing here? I thought you were on vacation."

  I punched him square in the face, his nose bursting open creating two streams of thick, viscous blood that poured down into his coffee.

  He stumbled back stunned, a look of sheer betrayal on his face.

  "What the? What the fuck?"

  Two nurses walked around the corner, saw the two of us, gasped and hurried past. If people weren't talking about me enough already…

  "What was that for?" he cried, still holding his cup of pointless, bloody coffee as he winced in agony.

  "You think I wouldn't know."

  "Know what?"

  "Harold Wilkinson... Not a common name. There are only three in this city and two of them are over the age of sixty so that only leaves you, right?"

  "Lincoln, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about!"

  I began to pace. What if I had been wrong? What if he'd done nothing wrong? He was a good guy after all. I'd known him for years and I never suspected him of anything. But I'd checked the electoral roll on the way over here and facts were facts. There was only one Harold Wilkinson in his age range. It had to be him.

  "Jesus, fuck."

  He held his face as though he was afraid his nose might fall off, a river of blood flooding his scrubs.

  "I think you've broken it," he said.

  "That's what I was aiming for."

  He flashed me a hurt look over the top of his hand that was trying in vain to stop the blood flow.

  "I swear to God, Bosworth, you have ten seconds to tell me what the hell is going on or I'm calling the cops."

  "Call them," I said. "And hand yourself in while you're at it."

  "What... I don't get it. Look, I think there's been some misunderstanding here."

  "There's been no misunderstanding!"

  He blinked at me unsure of what to say.

  "Let me jog your memory," I said and moved toward him just as footsteps sounded in the distance.

  There was the faint crackle of a radio, the sound of boots on the clean linoleum. Security was on their way already.

  "In here," I hissed and pushed him into the empty operating room.

  He fell backward against the bad, blood pumping out his nostrils.

  "Bosworth, what's got into you?"

  "Harold Wilkinson. Brunette. One Am. Ring a bell?"

  His face paled, his mouth dropping open slightly in disbelief. He tried to speak but nothing came out. A look of terror swept over his eyes as
he realized his broken nose was the least of his worries.

  "It's you, isn't it?" I asked, leaning into his face.

  Outside, security approached with the nurses leading the way.

  "They were here a moment ago!" one of them said.

  "Wait, the blood goes that way."

  Any second now, they'd be in here and I'd look like the bad guy. Glancing to my right, I caught sight of a tray loaded with scalpels. I ran a hand over it and Harold's eyes widened.

  "It was you, wasn't it?" I asked.

  He nodded, his mouth still dropped open.

  The door opened with a bang and the crackle of the radio intensified.

  "Security!"

  Two uniformed guards barged in, their hats pulled down low so I couldn't make out their expressions.

  "I was just leaving," I said.

  "You're not going anywhere," said one of them, reaching for his Taser.

  "Don't!" the other one stepped forward. "That's Lincoln Bosworth."

  They both froze.

  "You're not as dumb as you look," I said and reached into my pocket.

  Pulling out a few fifty dollar notes, I tucked them into their shirt pockets.

  "Not a word," I said and pushed through them, looking over my shoulder at Harold who was still in shock, his nose dripping into his open mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  ETTA

  I was still seething about Craig long after he left and still raging that Lincoln had just walked out leaving me alone. Jason was talking to me pointing at sections of the wall and gibbering about plaster and cornicing but I wasn't interested.

  "Sorry, can we do this later?" I asked.

  "Sure. I can continue with the kitchen. Everything okay? Hope you don't mind me saying but you're not looking so hot right now."

  "Not feeling it either."

  "That guy earlier..."

  He looked down to his clipboard as though he was debating whether he should even say anything.

  "He was my ex," I said. "And he has a real talent for showing up in places."

  "Yeah. I figured. Look if I see him round here again I can have a word in his ear, make sure he never shows up again. No police. No questions."