Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  After a final check of all the locks, I go back to Windy’s room, where I’m greeted by a sight that melts my heart and hardens my cock: my woman, sleeping peacefully in her bed. A twin bed.

  Oh, hell no. Yeah, I’ll be doing something about that. That shit doesn’t work with my plans at all.

  I stand beside the bed and push down the urge to touch her. This is the first time I’ve been able to look my fill, so I do. She’s lying on her back in a white tank top, arms resting high on her pillow, her hands relaxed and open by either side of her head. A blanket is draped over her hips, revealing ample feminine curves that make my mouth water and my fists clench. I know from experience now that her breasts are more than a handful, even for me, and I can see enough now to know they’re gorgeous. She rolls over onto her stomach with a sigh and the blanket is off, hallelujah. She pushes one knee out to the side, arching that luscious ass up just enough to tease me with a hint of sweet pussy lips through her thin white panties.

  Mine.

  I realize I’ve growled the word out loud and freeze as she stirs briefly. I hold my breath, part of me hoping she’ll open her eyes and invite me to join her. But she sleeps, so I stand over her for a minute more, thinking about how quickly things can change.

  In the past, wood like I’m sporting at the moment would be a simple matter of a quick phone call, immediately followed by a visit to one of the like-minded and free-spirited Louisville women I’m intimately acquainted with. Pleasure would be given and received, tension would be released, then I’d head home for a good night’s sleep. But no more. The idea of sex that’s little more than a bodily function holds no appeal now.

  Shit, Harley’s gonna have a field day with this when word gets around that I’m off the one-night-stand circuit.

  But I have bigger plans now, plans that involve the beauty who’s now curled up in a ball in the twin bed. I pull the blanket over her and resist the urge to let my hands wander. Plenty of time for that soon enough, when I’ve got her primed and ready for me.

  Then I see a sight that sends my hard-on into the chill zone in a hurry: a stack of blankets and a pillow, folded carefully on the couch in the far corner of the room. I know I’ve given her a lot to think about, and God knows there’s no room to spare in her bed; so I give her the space she obviously wants and resign myself to bunking on the couch. For tonight.

  Thus begins my first overnight duty of protecting the woman I no longer see as a child.

  Chapter Eleven

  Windy

  I managed to get ready this morning and avoid Thorn while doing so. I even thought I’d managed to keep him from following me to work until I got out of my car in the hospital parking lot and saw his black SUV parked nearby. Stalker.

  The feeling that someone is watching me sweeps over me again as I make my way through the parking lot to the building entrance, although this time I find myself looking up at the hospital windows. I can’t see anything through the tinted glass, but the idea of being observed isn’t unrealistic with so many curious patients in the building. Still, I don’t like it so I quicken my steps.

  Thorn is the most hard headed man I’ve ever had the displeasure of dealing with. He’s made it known he doesn’t have any intention of going anywhere and I know him well enough to know he means what he says; he won’t give up in his mission to protect me from whatever bogie man he has convinced himself I’m in danger of. The best thing I can do is try to ignore him and move through my day as I normally would. I have too much going on right now with my new job and the move to be preoccupied with Thorn.

  “Good morning, Miss Fairchild, I trust you slept well.” My boss greets me as I walk in. Something eerie crawls over my skin as I push away the thought that Dr. Brinkley has been watching me. Where the hell did that thought come from? My vivid imagination is no doubt running wild.

  “I managed to get moved and spent my first night in my new home,” I say brightly as I stow my purse in my drawer and lock it up.

  “With your boyfriend?”

  I jerk my head up from where I’ve seated myself at my desk, my heart thundering in my chest.

  What the hell? Is everyone in town following me now?

  I’m met by the steady gaze of a man who is all but challenging me to answer his question. He sees nothing wrong with what he just said.

  “He’s not my boyfriend and I’m not quite sure how you’ve come to that conclusion.”

  He stands and makes his way over to where I’m now sitting at my desk. I’m forced to look up at him, which was probably his intention all along.

  “I suppose the dirty look he gave me when he pulled out of the parking lot yesterday following you, might have something to do with it.”

  I double check that my drawer is locked and take my time as I place the lanyard with my magnetic card key around my neck before I reply to my boss. “He’s my bodyguard, and not by choice.”

  “I can fully relate to why your father would deem it necessary to have you followed.”

  Okay, that was a little too revealing. I brace myself as it seems I always do when confronting my boss. There’s something very intimidating about the man standing in front of me. “How would you know something like that?”

  “I make it a point to research my employees. Miss Fairchild, I think you’re forgetting I have a doctorate in psychiatry. Reading people is my job, and I’m very good at what I do.”

  His gaze is so intense that I find myself looking down, and want to kick myself for doing it. There’s something about the handsome man I’m working for that troubles me, no, scares me. Also, I’m not in the habit of being in the presence of people who read people for a living. Though I know I have nothing to hide, it’s unnerving.

  “Come, Miss Fairchild, I have a rather intense interview planned for you today, with Georgia.”

  Once again I struggle to keep up with him. When we enter the interview room he takes his usual stance with one foot on the wall and his arms crossed across his chest, but this time he doesn’t stand next to the door; instead, he positions himself to the side of the interview table. I know right away that he has changed his vantage point so he can monitor our facial expressions and body language. Is this interview going to be that intense? In past interviews he’s been the one in control and I’m seeing that’s a personality trait he carries in all areas of his life. I already know it isn’t uncommon for doctors to have that mind set. If I know anything it’s the inner workings of the medical community. In a career where life and death are daily issues, being in control is a necessary evil.

  I direct my attention toward Georgia and ready my pen and paper for the interview. I’m not permitted to tape the interview and I don’t want to miss any key points.

  I turn my attention to Georgia and find that she is already staring me down. Her expression is unreadable as she sizes me up and ponders her strategy for how she will cut me down to size today. She reminds me of a predator sizing up how they will exact the demise of their prey. I’m sure toying with her victims is as much fun as the actual kill.

  Crazy bitch.

  It’s not very professional of me to think like that but I can’t help it. I’m doing serious research here and she just wants to play her games. I guess that’s as telling as anything she could actually tell me about what led her to be locked up in the private wing. I already know she’ll try to shock me with horrific stories of death and pain. Just from the short time I’ve interviewed her I know she enjoys making her catch suffer while she revels in deciding the exact moment to snuff the light of life from them. According to Dr. Brinkley’s case notes, she becomes sexually aroused by the suffering of others -- the bloodier the better – often timing her orgasm to precisely coincide with the moment of death. I wonder if she was born this way or if life turned her into a killer?

  “Remember what we discussed.” The doctor’s tone is threatening as he speaks to Georgia, who continues to stare at me, barely even blinking. “Miss Fairchild would like to know all the g
ory details of your first kill. Leave nothing out.”

  Though I think his statement is rather presumptuous, it’s true. I also wonder what he is referring to when telling Georgia to remember their discussion—these two have definitely got some kind of connection going on, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

  “It started when I was a kid. The neighbor’s dog, you know. I hated that fucking dog, barking all the time, snarling at me through the fence like he wanted to eat me alive. It was easy lacing his food with anti-freeze, but it wasn’t…satisfying, I wanted a hands-on kill. About a month later I found a little black cat wandering around out in the field behind our house.” Her eyes grow heavy-lidded and her breathing becomes shallow. “The stupid animal came right up to me, rubbing up against my leg. I choked him until the life evaporated from his eyes. Mmmmm, that was better, but still…I knew in that moment my next kill would be a human.”

  She picks up the paper cup of water in front of her in her manacled hands and takes a drink. She never takes her eyes from me as she continues her horror story. I hate her for killing those animals and it’s taking everything I have to keep an impassive expression on my face.

  “It was so easy to pick up that john off the streets. I was only sixteen years old, everything high and tight and toned. He took one look at my innocent face and heard my song and dance about being a virgin, and made the mistake of thinking I was an easy mark.” Again, the faraway look drifted into her eyes as she recalled her first real kill. “I took him back into an alley. I knelt down on the pavement like I was going to suck his dick for twenty dollars. He never saw it coming. I took the box cutter I’d lifted from my drunk of a father’s tool box and slit the femoral artery in his upper thigh, so close to his groin,” she whispered and licked her lips. “It was my first orgasm. I’d never felt anything like it. It was glorious; the amount of blood and the way it poured out of him onto me was intoxicating. I’d been successful in luring that man and taking what I wanted from him. I knew there would be many more after him.” She practically purred toward the end, running her hands up and down her thighs in long, slow strokes before reaching up to touch her breasts.

  “That will be all for today!”

  I’m ripped from my nearly-hypnotized state when Dr. Brinkley barks those words at Georgia. His face is flushed and he directs a thunderous scowl at her as he takes me by my arm and leads me from the room. She just laughs with complete abandon, like she’s just heard the best joke ever, the sound trailing after us until the elevator door shuts. Dr. Brinkley doesn’t say a word and just looks straight ahead, seething and breathing heavily. I clutch my notebook to my chest, just to have something to hold on to.

  This is the first time I’ve experienced an interview that intense and I have no doubt it will be a landmark of my career for years to come. The look on her face as she described how she killed her first victim had been one of pleasure; but the drunken gleam in her eyes as she described the pouring out of the man’s blood and spilling onto her gave away just how ruthless a killer she is. She doesn’t kill because she’s tormented; she kills because she enjoys it. She is driven by blood lust—an insatiable need to see blood spilled. She’s the most dangerous kind of serial killer there is because she has an addiction that demands to be fed. She is always looking for signs of weakness in anyone who crosses her path. Well, I have no intention of underestimating her, especially since she seems to consider me an enemy because I work with Dr. Brinkley.

  There’s something between those two and I won’t rest until I find out what their secret is. I’m frustrated that he pulled me from the interview when she was finally sharing information that would shed some light on her particular brand of insanity. But he’s the boss and I had no choice. If I could have my way, I would continue that interview into the night, for as long as she would talk. In the same way that she has an addiction to blood, I have an addiction to studying the criminal mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thorn

  “Hey Melissa, can I bend your ear for a minute before you get too busy?”

  “Sure.” She wipes her hands on a dishtowel from where she’s been doing dishes and pours us each a cup of coffee. When we each have a mug of coffee in front of us, she sits and gives me her attention.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but I would feel much better about things if I could hole up for a while in that room I slept in last night.”

  “You’ve really got it bad for that girl, don’t you?” she says with a soft smile.

  “Yeah, I do. I haven’t spent much time trying to put a name to what this is, I just know that I won’t let anything happen to her. She’s a strong woman and her father probably doesn’t give her enough credit for having a good head on her shoulders. But I can’t complain about that because twice in my life it’s led me to her door – and I’m not letting her go this time. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate the hospitality so I can get your security system installed and keep an eye on my girl.”

  “Your girl, huh? Does she know this?”

  Melissa’s a lot smarter than she lets on. I definitely want to stay in her good graces, so I’m straight with her. “I’ve put my cards on the table so she knows I’m here to stay. If she needs some time to come to terms with it, I can give her that – but I’m not backing off.”

  Melissa’s eyes widen abruptly at my words. “Wow. You are a piece of work. Well, take your time; you’re welcome here as far as I’m concerned. Ultimately, I’ll leave it up to Windy, though. It’s up to her how she sets up her new life.”

  “Fair enough. Like I said, she’s strong and deserves a lot of credit for all she’s accomplished. But this is all new to her and, in true Windy form, she dove in head first right into the deep end with this new job. I think you’re right and your position as support players in the neighborhood buys you some peace of mind, but I want to watch out for her because of the risks associated with that job. So I won’t be in your way, but I’ll be around.” I tip my nearly empty coffee mug toward her and nod my head in appreciation.

  Melissa beams at me and I can tell she’s glad to have my intentions toward her best friend out in the open. So am I. She gets up and rinses her mug out in the sink and continues, “To be honest with you, I’d love to have you stay here. I’ll feel much safer knowing your team is keeping an eye on us. I tell you what,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You hook me up with one of those friends of yours to protect me and you can stay as long as you want to.”

  “I might just do that. I’ve got a friend who needs a challenge to settle him down and you might have just the temperament needed to do it.”

  If I have my way, Harley’s single days are numbered. I think Melissa may be just what that wiseass needs.

  Let’s see how he feels when the tables are turned on his sorry ass. Oh yeah, I have a good feeling about this.

  I down the rest of my coffee and smack the table lightly as I get up, setting out to do some work. I’ve got a busy day ahead.

  “Just ignore me while I work, I’ve got a lot to get done in a short amount of time.”

  “Ha, ha, playing Beat The Clock with Windy so she doesn’t see you moving in?”

  “That… among other things.” I chuckle as I make my way out of the kitchen. Melissa is nobody’s fool, she pegged me on a couple of things and there aren’t many people who can do that.

  Windy

  “I warned you it wouldn’t be easy.”

  I consider Dr. Brinkley’s words as I pick at the unappealing salad in front of me. He and I are having lunch in the hospital cafeteria and discussing current cases. Of course, Georgia tops the list. I shrug as I reply, “I knew it would be intense, but I wasn’t expecting her to enjoy reliving those experiences so much. It was all I could do to keep from showing any emotion.”

  “You did well controlling your response to her behavior; I’m impressed. Giving in to the emotion you felt
would only have intensified her pleasure. You’re right; she does enjoy reliving it, she was quite deliberately trying to horrify you.”

  “In my mind, I could see that poor innocent cat that trusted her. How could anybody hurt a harmless little animal?”

  “You know the statistics; most serial killers start out as children who kill animals.”

  “I know, but hearing her say it... Also, she was…she became…well, you know.”

  He has that intense look on his face again as he eyes me steadily, as if he can see what I’m thinking. “The fact that she became sexually aroused by slitting a man’s femoral artery and practically bathing in his blood, speaks of her innately dark nature.”

  “So you believe she was born that way?”

  “I believe both aspects of nature and nurture. That is one of the reasons I’m intrigued with you. Most people don’t recognize the combination of the two is more common than originally thought; they believe either/or, but not both. You and I see eye to eye on many issues. Interviews like the one today are the nature of the beast in our profession. Don’t lose your confidence in your abilities, you have what it takes to be very successful, but you’ll need to leave your emotions at the door if you’re going to be effective.”

  I know he’s right. There is a difference between me scientifically analyzing the mind of the criminally insane and trying to figure out how anyone can be so cruel. The doctor hit the nail on the head. I’m dealing with cold blooded killers who feel no empathy for their victims. No wonder the two men closest to me feel the need to watch over me. They know exactly what the people I’m surrounded by are capable of.

  For the first time I find myself not only being grateful for Thorn watching over me in my new home, but Dr. Brinkley looking out for me at my new job. There is a dark undercurrent to his personality that makes me tread carefully where he’s concerned; nonetheless he also makes me feel safe when I’m face to face with patients like Georgia. He is a paradox, a mystery, he scares me; yet he makes me feel like he is more than able to handle the dangerous element of the criminal population at Our Lady of Tranquility. So strange that the traits that strike a chord of fear in me are the same attributes that make me feel safe under his ever watchful eye.