She'd been the head nurse on the ward since I'd arrived but so far we'd had no more interaction than her checking my vitals and yelling at me to stop smoking. Still, I'd noticed her. She wasn't my type but I knew an attractive woman when I saw one. With her solid, muscular body and deep tan, she looked like she was the sort of woman who spent her spare time doing yoga and hiking up mountains.
"What would you like me to call you?" I asked.
The question took her aback and the color in her cheeks deepened.
"I... I don't know what you mean.”
She was acting shy but she was coming closer, taking tentative steps toward me until our bodies were only inches apart. I could smell the slight, sweet scent of sweat on her mixed with something fruity. Her shower gel maybe. There were other smells mingled in too. The stinging sterile scent of antibacterial soap mixed with latex gloves. Strong laundry detergent and breathmints.
"What about if I just call you... nurse?" I asked.
"How about you call me by my name... Miranda."
She looked like a Miranda. Sensible and professional but with a hint of something deeply feminine and exotic.
"Miranda..." I repeated and as she heard my voice, her face spread into a smile.
She looked gorgeous, like a whole new person, like she was a thousand miles away from her job that caused her to be so harsh.
"Miranda..." I repeated, tossing my cigarette butt over the edge of the fire escape. "Got a mint?"
She licked her lips and grinned as she slid her hand down the front of her body, her fingers like an arrow pointing to the sweet spot between her legs.
Then, when I thought her hand was going to slip itself into her skirt, she pushed it into her pocket and pulled out a pack of mints.
I watched as her nimble fingers pulled the foil apart before plucking out one of the minty pearls.
"Here," she said. "But don't tell a soul. Otherwise, I'll have to go around giving all the patients treats."
She placed it between her ripe, shining lips and held it there. I leaned in sucked it from her mouth as I kissed her.
She let out a subtle moan and glided her hands up beneath my gown, her nails trailing down the length of my thighs.
I was hard before her hands reached me and as her fingers caressed my balls, I kissed her harder. Then a noise came from the other side of the door; voices and quick footsteps.
"Shit," Miranda said as she pulled away. "We need to leave."
"Aaw, serious? You can't leave me like this!"
She looked down at my erection that was pointing at her. Her eyes widened with lust as she stroked it gently.
"Okay, I have an idea but you gotta keep quiet."
She poked her head around the side of the door.
"The doc's coming," she gasped. "Quick! Come on!"
Taking my hand, she yanked me back inside and just as the doctor turned the corner with his team of consultants in tow, she shoved me into the nearby linen closet and pulled a box of spare towels across the door.
"Shhhh..."
She pushed me up against the wall and pressed a finger to my lips.
“Don't make a sound."
Chapter Two
Etta
He was just on the other side of the door. I could hear him prowling like a predator, his heavy footsteps padding up and down.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at the lock on the door, grateful that it was keeping me safe. For now…
Craig wasn’t a strong man, but he was crazy and I’d seen enough people throughout the years at the hospital who were capable of doing the wildest things once they were fortified by their rage or insanity. Together, they were a powerful cocktail of pure danger. I just prayed that Craig would soon start to see sense and let me go.
Looking around the bathroom, I saw evidence that he’d been living in the house; a toothbrush, a towel, some mouthwash. Although it had been stripped down to its bare bones, the house still strangely felt like home. Or rather it at least felt familiar.
I curled my fingers around the edge of the sink and looked in the mirror. How many times had I stood here and got ready for work as Craig slept in the next room? It seemed so long ago as though all those years happened to a different person in a different lifetime.
Looking in the mirror, I felt like I’d aged. There was a weariness to my eyes, a mature and jaded quality to my features as though I’d lived through things no one should. I shivered and pulled the towel from the rail. I noticed it was still damp as it touched my skin but I was thankful that I was now covered.
On top of the toilet, lay the phone charger. It was such a mundane object, something so boring and ordinary but now it was all I had. I picked it up and wrapped the cable around my hand before clenching my fingers into a fist. With three metal prongs jutting out from the sturdy base, it could be a powerful weapon.
I swung it around a few times like a mace and was certain I could do some damage with it. But I didn’t want to actually hurt Craig. I didn’t want to hurt anyone! It wasn’t that sort of person but it was who I was becoming. Over the last few weeks, I’d turned into a monster. I was morphing me into something rotten and insidious.
I dropped the charger to the floor and began to weep. The tears fell silently onto the tiled floor. On the day we moved into this house, Craig and I had made love on this floor. Fresh out the shower, slippery and in love, we’d tumbled down onto the pile of towels and kissed each other until our lips ached. It was one of those instances of love-making that always stays with you, the memory as intense as the very moment.
Thinking about it made me miserable. Not because I missed Craig, but because it reminded me of an innocent time. And it reminded me of what the crazy bastard out in the hall used to look and feel like before he fell apart. I didn’t understand how someone could ruin themselves in such a way.
He was still out there, walking up and down. His breath was coming to him in short bursts as though he was panting like a dog. Then I heard something else. It was almost inaudible at first but then it began to grow.
His voice.
He was muttering to himself, a litany of words coming out of his mouth as one long muffled syllable. It sounded as though he was starting to unravel with any last residual sanity in his mind now long gone.
“Bitch…. Bastard… Bitch. Thinks she’s a queen. I’ll show her. I’ll show her. I’ll show her whose boss.”
As I listened to him, his voice growing louder by the second, I found that I was holding my breath. How long until he tried to break his way in here?
I brushed my fingertips over the flimsy lock on the door and knew it wasn't enough to withstand him if he chose to kick at it.
Glancing around to see to see if there was anything I could barricade myself in with, I saw there was nothing. Just me, a phone charger and a few toiletries.
Then I saw it.
The bottle of cologne. It wasn't the sturdiest of weapons but I could temporary blind him if he came in here. As he began pacing faster, his ramblings becoming more intense, I clutched it tight and flipped off the lid. Holding my finger on the spray cap like I was ready to squeeze a trigger, a braced myself.
On the other side of the door, Craig was reaching a crescendo of madness. Any second now he was going to do something. I could hear the intent in his voice. I could feel it.
Chapter Three
Lincoln
"You do know who you're talking to, don't you officer?"
The old cop cocked his head to the side with his eyes burning into mine.
"It's sergeant to you and yeah, I know who you are. You want me to make a big song and dance about it?"
He was stood leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest like a barrier. Sitting across the table from me was the younger cop, a kid who looked like he was barely out of high school. I couldn't help but feel him deciding to sit next to me was a small act of rebellion against the old guy behind him. At my side, he was an ally and the
sergeant knew it.
He looked down his nose at the both of us and shook his head. His deeply tanned face was lined with wrinkles that showed the map of his life. His stormy gray eyes looked out from the folds of leathery skin, as cold and unforgiving as a winter sky.
"You call me Sergeant Phillips," he said.
"All I'm calling is my lawyer," I replied.
He flinched, offended that I wasn't intimidated by him. Obviously used to talking down to hillbilly kids, he found himself a worthy adversary in the city slicker in front of him. He couldn't hide the disdain he felt for me. It oozed out of every pore as his top lip curled up higher and higher as though I was a bad smell.
"Lawyer," he spat. "And why would you want one of those if you've done nothing wrong?"
"Because I know my rights."
We stared at each other, the seconds passing as the clock on the wall accompanied us with its constant ticking. Phillips' was growing tired, I could see it by the way he began to slump against the wall as his erect posture weakened.
But I wasn't tired. I was raging mad.
"Look, sergeant, if you know what's best for you you'll have me out of here in two minutes."
Phillips chuckled but I could tell he found nothing funny. It was a reflex action, a behavior he performed when he was trying to kill time thinking up a witty response.
"Is that a threat?"
I let a long breath escape my body as leaned my elbows on the table. Inside I felt as though I was on fire. All I was thinking of was Etta and how every minute I wasted in this backwater was keeping me away from her. Still, I wasn't going to show this bastard what I was really feeling. Keeping my composure, I tried to look as calm as possible.
"I don't threaten people, sergeant. I don't need to."
His eyes narrowed. I could tell he was lost for words but was masking his speechlessness with a look of hatred.
"You don't need to... huh? And what about this poor girl here? Did you not need to threaten her either?"
He flicked open the brown file on the table to reveal a photograph of Chrissie.
If it weren't for the color of her skin or the white foam that had crusted around her lips you'd be forgiven for thinking she was just asleep. Despite how she died, she looked serene.
"Look, some girl overdosed. What's that got to do with me?"
Phillips stabbed his finger into the photograph.
"She's dead! In your room. In your bed! People up at the bar saw you two together. Said there was something strange about you. Old Nelson behind the bar said he was sure the two of you were planning something."
"And I'll ask you again, what's that got to do with me? Looking strange is not a prerequisite of being a murderer. Now I'm not going to cause a scene. I'm not going to hurt anyone. But I'll repeat myself. If you know what's good for you, you'll have me out of this room in two minutes, you'll watch me climb into my car and drive away and you won't follow me or tell a soul about how you pulled over one of the richest men in the world and accused him of murder."
Phillips was seething, his eyebrows pulling themselves together into a tight frown that wrinkled up his forehead.
"You do know how serious the charge of murder is, don't you sergeant? Do you know the shit storm that will rain down on this station when your boss realizes who you've brought in here?"
He remained silent. Meanwhile, the young cop was looking up at Phillips with wide, child-like eyes. I could sense he got a peculiar sense of gratification from watching the old man lose the upper hand.
"Besides," I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms behind my head. "You can't prove a thing. She overdosed. I didn't touch her."
"We know you gave her the fatal dose on purpose," said Phillips.
I couldn't help but notice the slight tremble to his voice.
"Oh, you know that do you? Any lawyer, or law student even, would have that thrown out of court in seconds. How do you know, eh?"
He remained silent, his gaze beginning to waver.
"Answer me. How do you know?"
At last, his eyes dropped away from mine and he walked away. His younger partner looked down at the table as he tried to stifle a triumphant smile. He'd probably been waiting months to see the old guy crumble and get knocked down a peg or two.
"So... from your silence I can only assume you don't know at all and that you’re vilifying me because... what? You're jealous? You wish you had my car? Your wife saw my face on TV and said I was handsome? Or is it just that you don't like outsiders? Especially wealthy ones who drive cars that cost as much as ten years of your salary in this tiny town?"
He looked up at me but kept his gaze off my face. Instead, he looked over my shoulder out to where I could only assume his superiors held office.
Then he stormed out without saying a word, the door nearly coming off its hinges as he tore it open.
The young boy across from me laughed to himself and stood up and stretched.
"Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you,Mr. Bosworth."
He slapped his palm into mine and gave me a firm handshake.
"You get back home safely."
"I certainly will. If you'd be kind enough to give me a ride back to my car."
"Absolutely," he beamed. "Any chance you could take a picture of me in the driver's seat?"
About The Author
Brooke Kinsley has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She loves writing steamy, sexy stories with very strong guys who fall deeply in love with the women they flirt. Coffee and wine inspired her stories and she thinks every person should partake in! Brooke lives in Quebec, Canada with her boyfriend. When she's not crafting stories, she's probably playing with her two cats.
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Jewels and Panties (Book, Eight): Romance Suspense Page 6