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

by Brooke Kinsley

  I took a sharp right not sure where it led me. If I was being honest, I'd not been in this part of the city for years, if I had at all. I wasn't even sure where it led me.

  For a long while, I drove down one street after another. The only thing that was remarkable about the area was that it was entirely unremarkable which seemed like a feat in such a dangerous and overpopulated city.

  Yet, despite the place being unfamiliar, I found I felt a strange affinity with the place. I'd felt like I had been here before or maybe it was just my mind playing tricks.

  With its perfect lawns and tidy houses with two cars in the drive, maybe it was just the kinda place I wished I lived. It was normal and family oriented. It was safe and filled with strong families. Just being here cleared my head, made me feel as though I had something new to fight for.

  Perhaps once I found Etta we could live somewhere normal and anonymous like this. Maybe we could even have children, two modest but stylish cars and a lawn we all played out on in the summer. Maybe we could forget about the mansion up in the mountains and all the luxury. All we needed was each other and a little comfort.

  But all I needed was to find her.

  I drove through the labyrinth of suburbia as though I could find her amongst the multiple images of normalcy.

  Now the sugar from the candy bar had begun to wear off and I was starting to become tired again. Gradually, the cute family homes were starting to annoy me. They were reminding me of what I couldn't have without her.

  Fuck, why did I come out here? What the hell am I doing!

  I was raging mad at myself and my naivety. I needed to think of a plan immediately, one that would lead me right to her. I was on the brink of screeching to a halt in the middle of the street and turning around when I saw something I'd seen before.

  St Colvans Church lay right ahead of me.

  I knew it so well because not only was I baptized there but I'd been an altar boy for five years until I was fifteen. Out of nowhere, my old neighborhood popped up and I found myself right in the center of my old stomping ground.

  Fate, I thought. This has to be fate. Why else would I end up here?

  Chapter Seven

  BERGER

  Oh, Miranda. I could see her through the window across the ward. She was busying herself with another patient, a young guy in his early twenties who'd fallen off his motorbike and snapped his leg. Not that I could guess his age properly. Now everybody below thirty looked about twelve to me.

  As I watched her walk back and forth around his bed, taking his temperature and checking his blood pressure, I couldn't help the weird jealous feeling that was squeezing my gut.

  It wasn't like me. I didn't care about anyone, not anymore and I certainly didn't get jealous. Still, I wondered if she found him attractive. He wasmuscular and athletic with blonde hair and blue eyes, the quintessential American Jock.

  Urgh... Why am Ifeeling this way?

  I put it all down to being confined to my room for days on end. On the outside, I would have fucked her and left her and she'd be nothing but a happy memory. In here, she was so much more. She was a guardian angel, a fleeting sight of her uniform bringing me so much comfort. And another new feeling came over me. I was starting to think it wasn’t just about the sex.

  Lying in my bed, I thought about all kinds of other things I'd like to do with her. Maybe we could go hiking together, or camping. I reckoned she had pretty skillful hands and could put up a tent without a fight.

  I imagined sitting in a coffee shop with her on a blustery winter day with the snow gently kissing the windows as a fire blazed in the corner. We'd cozy up together and listen to the smooth jazz that simmered in the background as we sipped on our frothy mochas. I'd nibble a marshmallow out of her fingers and watch her giggle.

  What the fuck? I don't even like jazz and mochas are for girls!

  I was losing it. My mind was running away with itself, making me want things I knew I didn't actually want. Once I was out of here, I'd no doubt forget all about her and she'd be nothing but an anecdote.

  Across the ward, the young biker cracked a joke and she burst out laughing, her beautiful voice sounding like music amidst the beeps and chimes of the medical machinery.

  Bastard, I thought. You think you're so awesome because you can make her laugh. Well, I can make her come.

  She was still laughing as she walked away from him, a tray of bloody gauze in her hands and a bounce in her step.

  "I'll be right with you in a second, detective!" she called to me as she walkedpast.

  Butterflies flew around my stomach but I kept my cool.

  "Whatever," I mumbled back at her and looked away, embarrassed that I’d acted like a teenage.

  Why did I just do that? She'll think I’m a rude jerk. She'll think I’m not interested in her. But I'm not interested in her. Or am I? Fuck, what is my brain doing right now?

  She emerged in the doorway and blushed.

  "Hey..."

  "Hey."

  She stared at me for a moment before coming in and closing the door behind her, her body graceful and measured as she moved.

  "That was close earlier," she said as she sauntered over.

  She gripped a hold of the bedside railing and peered down at me. As I looked up at her, I saw how she was the perfect combination of strength, beauty, and maturity.

  "A second later and we would have been caught," she said and glanced up to make sure no one was watching.

  "It might have been exciting..."

  She bit her lower lip and laughed, leaning over to subtly hold my hand.

  "I've never done anything like that before," she said. "Please. Don't tell anyone. I could lose my job."

  There was a sincerity to her gaze and I squeezed her hand back.

  "I won't tell a soul. Don't worry about. It's our little secret."

  "You make it sound sleazy."

  "Wasn’t it?"

  She pulled her hand away.

  "I don't know what came over me," she sighed. "I'm just going through a really bad time right now."

  On instinct, I looked down and saw her wedding finger. There wasn't a ring but there was a slight imprint in the skin as though there had been one. She caught me looking and clutched her hand to her chest, rubbing at the phantom wedding band.

  "I just got divorced," she explained. "It was finalized last month."

  "Aw, I'm sorry to hear that."

  "No you're not," she laughed and gave me a playful and gentle slap to the shoulder. "Anyway, it's been rough on me."

  She reached for the thermometer and began making herself look busy to the passing nurses.

  "Were you married long?"

  "Fifteen years."

  "Wow. What happened?"

  "He had an affair. With our babysitter."

  "Ouch."

  Now I was seeing her in a whole new light. She was a mother. Now her strong arms didn't seem as though they came from hours at the gym but from carrying her babies. And those faint lines beneath her eyes weren't signs of premature aging but were from endless sleepless nights.

  "Do you have children, detective?"

  I shook my head.

  "I have two,” she said.“A little girl, Shona who just turned ten and a boy Alex who’s two."

  Somehow I was finding it hard to grasp that she was the mother of a ten year old.

  "Any pictures?" I found myself asking and cursed myself.

  Don't get involved! She'll be looking for a new daddy for her kids and it sure as shit ain't gonna be you!

  She slid open her phone and showed me her screensaver. Two perfect children looked back at me. They looked like the happiest kids in the world. I could tell she was a good mother.

  "They both have your eyes," I said. "They're lucky."

  She pulled back the phone and traced a finger down her screen as though she was stroking their faces.

  "I get them every other weekend," she said.

  "What? Why?"

  "
Their father can afford a better lawyer than me," she explained before shoving her phone back in her pocket. "Anyway, I'm sure you don't wanna hear some sob story."

  "No, really I do," I insisted and I found, to my surprise, that I was telling the truth.

  I really did want to find out more about her.

  She looked up at the clock and took my hand again.

  "I finish in twenty minutes. I know you're not supposed to leave but... there's a cafe on the fifth floor that does a good mocha. Maybe you could meet me down there?"

  The smile on my face answered for me.

  "I'll be there."

  "Awesome. Just... put on pants first."

  Chapter Eight

  ETTA

  "Open the door, Etta!"

  I gripped the knife tighter.

  "Open the fucking door!"

  He kicked it once and I could see the lock begin to buckle.

  "Open the door!"

  He kicked one last time and the door flew off the hinges. A storm of splinters and bolts came at me and I flung an arm over my face to shield my eyes.

  "Don’t' take a step closer!"

  I held the knife out toward him and he stopped in his tracks. But there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

  "What are you going to do with that thing? You don't even know how to use it!"

  "I can kill you with it. I know that much."

  He laughed, a maniacal cackle that struggled to escape his body through all the mucus and dirt that filled his lungs.

  "Kill me? You're forgetting I know you, right? I slept beside you for years, used to have to pick up spiders and take them outside for you. I know you, Etta. You're not capable of hurting a fly."

  He was wrong. Dead wrong. He only had to move too fast, take a step forward, lunge at me and he'd be dead.

  "You don't know a thing about me," I said. "You don’t' know what I'm capable of."

  He stopped laughing and a look of realization came over his face as he realized I was being serious.

  "What happened to you?" he asked.

  "Me? What happened to me? Have you ever thought of asking yourself the same question?"

  Down by his sides, his hands were flexing into fists. I thrust the knife out further, trying to make sure it filled the distance between us. He was never getting near me again, never touching me as long as I lived.

  "Put the knife down," he said, raising his palms at me in a gesture of surrender.

  "It's never leaving this hand."

  "Put it down."

  "I'll kill you first."

  He took a step back, his hands still out in front of him.

  "What do you want from me?" he asked. "What do you want me to do? We can talk about this, right? We can talk about this like adults."

  "Talk? You didn't want to talk when you were knocking me out with chloroform. You didn't want to just talk when you were kidnapping me, bringing me to our old house and stripping me naked!"

  A look of fear flickered over his eyes.

  "I never meant to hurt you," he said.

  "Shut up. That's all you wanted to do. You wanted my money and you wanted to make me pay for leaving you."

  "It wasn't like that!"

  "Then what was it like?"

  He opened his mouth but said nothing. Backing out into the hall, his boots crunching on the shards of broken wood, he kept his eyes on me.

  "What's the next step, Etta? What do you want?"

  "I want you to go into that room, get my clothes then let me go. There's money in my purse. It's all yours. I don't care about it."

  "I don't want money," he said. "I want you."

  "Don’t start this again. It's never happening."

  "I mean it. I'm nothing without you."

  He was performing his lovesick face again, the one that used to win me over when we first met but now I knew it was just an act. The truth was that he couldn't bear to see me happy with someone else, especially someone as rich and successful as Lincoln.

  "Craig... You were nothing anyway."

  If there was ever a chance to pinpoint the moment someone's world fell apart, that would have been it. He jerked as though he'd been punched in the heart. His eyes bulged out as though he couldn't believe what he'd heard. Then he simply walked away, leaving me standing there, the knife still pointing toward the empty hallway.

  "Craig?"

  He didn't respond.

  For a fleeting moment, I thought I was maybe too harsh on him. Then I realized I wasn't being harsh enough. The lunatic kidnapped me and had been drugging me and holding me hostage. I would have been well within my rights to stab him where he stood.

  From down the hall, I could hear him whimpering but I didn't feel much like checking on him. Instead, I rushed into the bedroom, pulled on my clothes and grabbed my purse. Finally, I was getting out of there. If I hailed a cab I could be back at the Waters’ House in under half an hour, or back at Lincoln's house in an hour. In any case, I was counting down the minutes until I was safe.

  Looking down the hall toward the staircase, I saw I only had twenty more steps until I was out the house. I knew the number because I'd walked it so many times. Twenty more steps to freedom. I just had to leave the bedroom.

  But something gripped me, a feeling, a memory. I don't know why I did it but I found myself lingering for one last minute to look around the room.

  It had brought me so much joy. I stood at the bottom of the soiled mattress and remembered how our bed used to lie in its place. Beside it rested the small pine cabinet where Craig would always place my cup of green tea. On Christmas mornings, he'd wake me up with cocoa piled high with whipped cream and hand me over my smallest present of the day.

  I remembered last Christmas I'd opened my eyes and saw the small silver box on the cabinet. As I opened it, I squealed as I saw the diamond bracelet. But now, the bracelet was long gone, probably pawned for booze. At the time I was sure he must have saved up for months to buy it but now, as I stood in the darkness of the house and saw what he really was, I realized it was probably fake just like our whole relationship had been.

  I turned on my heel and walked out, the knife still in my hand.

  "Don't go."

  He was in the doorway, looking at me with those big, pathetic bloodshot eyes.

  "Please."

  "I'm leaving."

  "Don't call the cops."

  "I won't."

  "Please. Stay."

  "Get out my way."

  He began to cry and rubbed at his eyes as though he was trying to force out more tears.

  "Get out my way!"

  He pulled his hand down and the expression on his face changed in an instant. It was no longer distraught but was cunning and sly. There was a look of pure malice in his eyes. He'd been acting all along.

  Something flashed silver by his side. I looked down and saw the gun.

  "Craig, no."

  He raised his hand, his finger firmly on the trigger.

  This time I didn't waste a second. I ran at him and plunged the knife into him, aiming for his chest. But he was quick and spun round, the blade digging into his bicep. He screamed and dropped the gun and in a panic, we both dropped to the floor to scrabble for it.

  I kicked him hard in the face, my heels sinking itself into the thin skin of his cheek. He rolled over, crying out as he clutched his face and the blood ran through his fingers.

  "Motherfucker!"

  I grabbed the gun and cocked it before pointing it right at the sweet spot between his eyes.

  "Let me go."

  "Okay! Fuck. Jesus. Go!"

  He was still gritting his teeth in pain.

  I took off, desperate to get as far away from him as possible. Now with both the gun and the knife, I knew he wasn't stupid enough to try anything. He may have been crazy and delusional but he wasn't dumb.

  Racing down the stairs, my legs struggling to balance my weak body as I teetered in my heels, I only thought of escape and Lincoln.

&n
bsp; Where was he? Why hadn't he found me yet?

  Stop thinking. Just run!

  Just another eight more steps and I was free. I lunged at the front door as it came into view, fumbling with the handle.

  “Shit. Come on!”

  It was stuck, the door remaining unmoving. Meanwhile, there was a shuffling behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw Craig making his way down the stairs, the smell of him descending on me with every step he took.

  “Come on!”

  I rattled the handle again but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Looking for these, sweetheart?”

  I turned back around to see him land on the bottom step, jangling a set of keys in his hand.

  “Have you forgotten our house already?”

  I had. Unlike most houses with a simple lock on the inside, our modern house was only able to be locked with a key. It seemed like the safest option when we were buying the place but now there was only one key to get me out and he was swinging it around his finger.

  “Open the door, Craig!”

  He laughed, his hand still holding onto his arm. A long stream of blood was running down the length of his body and pooling around his feet. Surely it wouldn’t be long until he grew exhausted with blood loss.

  “Open the door!”

  I held up the gun.

  “I’ll shoot. I swear to fucking god, Craig. I will shoot you if you don’t hand over the key right now!”

  He stood smiling, unmoving, the key still hanging from his hand.

  “You’ve got three seconds,” I said, with my hand trembling. “One.”

  “Don’t play games, Etta. We both know you’d never hurt me.”

  “Think again. I just stabbed you, didn’t I? Two.”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “This thing? Hardly a stab wound.”

  “Give me the key!”

  He held my gaze for a second, his lips twitching mischievously. Dropping the key into his pocket, he patted his chest.