Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  I look at her, caught up in her beautiful chaos. She has the DNA of a killer; a beautiful, fucking Femme Fatale. She is the definition of the word. Even locked away from society, she still has the ability to coerce the male species into doing her dirty work. She even has the ability to ensnare a professional – me -- who knows better than to be caught up in her mental mayhem.

  I think back, trying to pinpoint the moment I became caught up in her web. I can’t place a specific moment that it happened. Maybe that’s part of her allure; you’re her captive and you don’t even know it. It’s too late when you try to break free and in that moment realize she has worked her voodoo on you.

  She and I both know I’ll never allow her to be transferred to another facility. If keeping her captive is the only way to keep her, then so be it; she is my captive. I’m the man who makes her recommendations, signs her psychiatric evaluations. So in the end…I guess I do hold the power. Oh, yes, I feel much better about things now.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Windy

  I’m up early doing research on Georgia Clark. I can’t help it; I have to know more about this woman who seems to hold some ritualistic spell over all those with whom she comes into contact. It’s as if she sets out to pull them into her deception, only to move on to the next unsuspecting victim—unless it’s someone she truly has an interest in…like my boss.

  My fingers move quickly over the keys, looking for some sort of resolution to my curiosity about this deranged woman. Others may view her as a Femme Fatale but I see her as what she is: a cutthroat, ruthless bitch who enjoys the suffering of others.

  I pick up my ringing cell phone and I’m surprised to see it’s Dr. Brinkley. He doesn’t give me time to speak, just goes straight into what he wants to tell me.

  “You need to get to the office; she killed a man last night. Well, more like facilitated his suicide, but in my opinion it’s still murder. How can someone have that kind of influence on people?” His voice sounds like he’s tired, exasperated with trying to figure out a woman who’s too much of an enigma to be dissected and probed by doctors such as himself.

  “How did she do it?”

  “Talked the poor guy into hanging himself. It’s got her name all over it. I noticed she’s been spending time with him in the lockdown common room and thought nothing of it. She must have been working on him all along, the way other patients might take up a hobby to pass the time. I guess it was some sick form of playing beat the clock before he got released. Poor guy was just one week shy of being cut loose. We’d regulated his meds and his rage was under control.”

  “That’s the guy who tried to kill his kids, right?”

  “Yeah, and I guess she decided to be judge and jury.”

  “And executioner, too. I know I don’t need to tell you this isn’t your fault. It’s just another way for her to pull you in, by making you feel guilty that you didn’t see what she was doing. There’s no way you could have known.”

  “My only question is…how the hell did she get the belt he used to hang himself?” The guy used a belt. My Georgia has a sick sense of humor.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Dr. Brinkley

  I push away the guilt I’m feeling about not seeing it coming. Georgia’s always up to no good. It’s as if her form of entertainment is fucking people’s lives up. Like other people watch a television program or read a book for entertainment, my patient indulges in mind fucks. I think the day couldn’t possibly get worse, until my phone rings.

  As I listen to the frantic update from my security director, my stomach clenches and I struggle to breathe normally. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How long ago? Who helped her, do we know? Shit, put the place on lockdown now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I look up to see Windy in the doorway where she’s entered unnoticed. I rub my hands over my eyes that feel scratchy and dry from lack of sleep. I’m glad my assistant is here, I can use the moral support and the help trying to track down my patient’s last movements.

  “Georgia’s escaped.”

  She sinks down into her office chair with a look of disbelief on her face.

  In a matter of moments this place will be flooded with police and S.W.A.T. teams. It won’t be long before the reporters are here. This is news because the Femoral Fatale killings terrorized the country only five years ago. The memory is still fresh enough to strike fear in the hearts of people. No doubt by tonight people will be double-checking locks on windows and doors to ensure they don’t cross paths with the lunatic who enjoys bathing in her victims’ blood.

  “Follow me,” I say curtly as I get up from my desk. “We’re going to have to work quickly if we want to get to her personal belongings before this place is locked down by the police. It’s our only chance to find any clues about what she has planned.”

  Miss Fairchild has to run to keep up with me as we make our way through the maze of hallways leading to Georgia’s room. Many people imagine that these criminals are kept in a cell of sorts but that isn’t the case. I look around the room we’ve entered and it looks more like something out of a magazine rather than the room of a killer. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen it but I’m always amazed with how she maintains her surroundings as if she lives in a penthouse rather than a hospital for the criminally insane.

  The full-size bed is one that is more like a fashionable hospital bed, complete with the ability to adjust. I guess her purpose for that is so she is able to write. Her journals will provide me with all I need. Georgia opens up to her journals in a way she doesn’t with any living being, even me.

  “Grab anything that enables her to journal her thoughts.”

  “So you’ve done this before.”

  “People reveal on paper what they aren’t willing to say out loud.”

  “So you’re saying she’s complex by nature?”

  I turn sharply, eyeing my assistant and meeting her gaze, unable to stop myself from remembering details of the voluptuous body she hides beneath her conservative suits, and how very completely and eagerly she participated in last night’s …activities. I allow myself only a moment’s reverie before returning my attention to the urgent matter facing us. “This woman is multi-faceted. She’s like a diamond; the lighting brings out the darkness that inhabits her being. She has a purpose for everything she does and right now she’s reveling in the fact that we’re trying to figure her out.”

  “Are you in danger?”

  “Yes. That isn’t what I fear, though. She won’t hurt me. She’ll toy with me by going after anyone she perceives as a threat. It isn’t me I’m concerned about…it’s you, my dear.”

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Windy

  Thorn’s rhythmic breathing is background noise as I try to unravel the complexity of a killer. We were able to remove Georgia’s journals from her room, and I have copies strewn across the bed. Dr. Brinkley has access to her journals on a regular basis, but we’re hoping her most recent entries may shed some light on how she managed to walk out the side door of a maximum security hospital with the help of an accomplice.

  She’s been working one of the guards for the last six months, using sex to convince him they would be together if he helped her escape from the walls of the hospital that kept them separated. She was reaffirming what she told me in that last interview with her: ‘Because…it proves to the world what I already know, men think with their cocks not their minds. I’m only showing the world just how barbaric men are’. Looks like that guard has proven her right this time and God knows how many people will suffer for it.

  I want to stop reading the gory details of her crimes, but as I begin to review yesterday’s final entry, I find that I cannot stop:

  Watching him beg me not to kill him was more of an aphrodisiac than the actual kill. It’s incredibly satisfying to bring a grown man to tears. Under my power they turn into weak whimpering creatures begging for mercy. Mercy? What the fuck is that? I don’t bother with
mercy or remorse. I kill because I fucking love it. Every aspect of it is enjoyable, the hunt, the takedown, and ultimately the kill.

  I trace the knife over his flabby, nude abdomen, putting just enough pressure with the tip of the blade to draw a trickle of blood. I can see his heart rapidly pounding beneath his chest cavity, powered by a flood of fear-induced adrenalin. I lean down, whispering in his ear much like a lover would.

  “You’ll bleed worse, love. Calm down.” I reach into my pocket, removing OxyContin tablets. I tap the opening of the pill bottle on his stomach and arrange ten pills in a straight line.

  “Take these, darling, you’re going to need it for the pain. One for you, one for me,” I taunt as I place the pills in his mouth, one by one—alternating giving him one and taking one myself. I save the last one I place in my mouth and dip it into the blood that has trickled down his abdomen. His will to survive stops him from refusing what I’m offering—the drugs are the only form of mercy he’ll receive from me—he takes every single one.

  I wait a few moments, entertaining myself by making small nicks and cuts all over his body. It’s been long enough for the pills to kick in.

  “Can you feel it, darling? That wonderful numbing effect of the drugs.”

  “Yes,” he smiles, well on his way to being high.

  “Good, because this is going to hurt. Like. Hell.”

  I raise the knife as his eyes widen in terror, and thrust it between his third and fourth ribs. He gasps for breath and at first I think the pain has rendered him breathless, which would end my fun far too soon. Then I realize his lung has collapsed. His chest is rising slower now; his lungs fighting for air. Plenty of time left for what I have planned.

  I stroke his hair, comforting him, much like a mother would her child. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, just give in to the high.” His eyelids flutter and he passes out from the pain. I’ll toy with him throughout the night until it no longer pleases me. Then I’ll kill him.

  I see now that he and those who came before him only served as preparation for the one I really want laying on my table in complete submission. I don’t think I’ll kill the object of my affection, though. He understands me and the novelty of that connection never gets old. And, more importantly, I understand him and his darkness. So much untapped potential there, waiting for the right moment to manifest itself. The doctor gives me something I need—peace in the midst of my fucked up storm.

  I drop the journal to my lap. There’s no doubt in my mind she’ll be back for the doctor. And in order to get to him she’ll use anyone she can. No one is safe. She will use patients, hospital employees…even me.

  I would be lying if I said this crazy bitch doesn’t scare me; she terrifies me. What she is failing to take into account is that the survival instinct can make someone very dangerous; much like a cornered animal, they will fight to the death.

  If this bitch thinks I’m going to let her get her hands on me…she really is crazy.

  Thorn

  “He’s in danger…”

  “Who’s in danger?” I ask, rolling onto my back and yawning as I glance at the digital clock next to the bed. “It’s three in the morning, girl.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you. I just can’t stop thinking that she won’t stop until she kills him.”

  I had known about Georgia’s escape before she had – Undercover Elite’s connections and sources know no bounds. So I know my girl’s got a lot on her mind. I want to put her mind at ease because the boys and I have got things well in hand. Between the security system and our combined efforts to form a virtual buffer around Windy, we’re in good shape.

  “I don’t think so,” I tell her as I yawn again. “She needs him too much. But if she can’t get her hands on him, she’ll find other ways to hurt him. And to do that, she’ll focus on anyone he’s close to. He isn’t the one in danger, baby, you are.”

  I lie on my side, lifting up on an elbow to rest my head in my hand. “You spend at least eight hours a day with him—she’s jealous. Hell, I’m jealous too, I want you all to myself.” I toss aside the papers on her lap, pull her panties down and roll on top of her to push her knees apart; it’s time to change the subject. “Now fuck me and show me I don’t have anything to be jealous about.”

  “Promise to protect me and I’ll consider it,” she says coyly. My girl is a flirt but I know she’s not really joking.

  I lean down to press my forehead to hers and tell her what she already knows. “I’ve got that covered, sweetness. Now, no consideration allowed,” I say as I rise up to my knees between her legs. Placing a hand on the side of each of her thighs, I pull her toward me until her pelvis is perched high on my legs and my hard-on is pushing into her wet heat. My cock’s fully seated in a single, fierce thrust. “I’m taking what I want.”

  My hips piston into hers, my position on my knees giving my thrusts more force than ever, and my baby likes it. From this vantage point, I can watch her writhe and twist as she tries to angle her hips tighter around my cock. She’s squeezing me like a goddamn fist as I work her over, those plump breasts quivering with every thrust and I hold on to them like a lifeline, squeezing them and telling her how good they feel in my hands. This is a woman I will never tire of. We were years in the making, years of waiting and living separate lives until she was ready to come to me of her own volition.

  My thrusts become frantic as her hips swivel beneath me and her pussy walls clamp down on me as she orgasms. She pulls me into her abyss of pleasure, pulling an orgasm from my body that leaves me shaken…speechless. I collapse on top of her and enjoy the way our sweaty limbs slide against each other as we continue to rub against each other, neither of us willing to come down just yet. I move off of her but I don’t go far. I rest my head on her breast and listen to her rapid heartbeat slow down as the moments tick by. Eventually I lift my head, glad to see that she’s finally drifted off to sleep; she’ll need it with all she has going on. I will, too. I have no doubt Georgia will come for her and when she does…I’ll be ready.

  Chapter Forty

  Dr. Brinkley

  Sleep was something that eluded me the night before. It was if I expected her to come for me. I know she will; it’s only a matter of time. I’m more concerned for those around me than myself. She needs me and I believe that need will keep her from killing me, though it won’t hamper her inflicting harm on me in a myriad of other ways.

  As if reading my thoughts, my assistant speaks. “She’s a whole lot more dangerous than I initially suspected. She enjoys a slow methodical kill. We already know she’s obsessed with you. What do you think caused her to develop a fixation on you?”

  “You’re asking me, there’s no logic to her thinking,” I reply curtly. After spending hours reading Georgia’s journals, Miss Fairchild now knows her almost as well as I do. That is more than a little disconcerting to me.

  “There’s more method to her madness than you think,” she continues. “It’s just a matter of figuring out what motivates her.”

  “I motivate her. It’s the guilt of knowing that; it robs me of sleep and I can assure you she’s aware of it. She knows inflicting that on me keeps my mind on her.”

  “You can’t be held accountable for her mental illness. Now tell me why she’s drawn to you.”

  “I am the only man she has ever trusted; the only man who has truly been concerned for her wellbeing and I want nothing in return. She’s been used all her life for her body and now she uses it against her victims.”

  The vibration of my phone pulls me into the present. For no particular reason, I know it’s her. It’s as if I’ve conjured her, the way I can feel her reaching out to me. I press the button to accept the call, but say nothing as I hold it to my ear.

  “Oh, love, you’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you? You knew I’d call.” I hear her coquettish giggle before she purrs, “I miss you, love, do you miss me?”

  “Yes,” I reply against my better judgement. She already knows the truth. Th
ere is no hiding from her knowledge of me that goes deeper than a mental aspect. We do not choose our bonds, like begets like and is drawn to all we hide from others. I have mastered being the professional psychiatrist to the outside world and yet she sees beyond the professional façade…and she will never let me go.

  “Good boy. I have a surprise for you. Now write it down, because I’m only giving it to you once. Tell that little bitch assistant of yours she may need to call her big bad boyfriend in on this one.”

  “How do you know about him?”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets, now can I, love? 3005 River Road. He’s in the boat parked at the dock. Now be a good boy and do as I said. Call Undercover Elite. What’s their motto? Oh yes, ‘When no one else wants the job…we dare to get the job done’. Blah, blah, blah. Typical males, always looking for a new challenge. You’re going to need them, dear, because I represent just that…a challenge.”

  Chapter Forty One

  Thorn

  “This bitch is dangerous, Thorn. You better watch you and your old lady’s back. She specifically called for you. That tells me she’s been doing her homework. She’s stalking you, bro.” Harley is looking at me like he’s going to force me to listen. My eyes are straight ahead as I drive down River Road, but I can feel his stare.

  “No…she’s researching any connections Windy has.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s appears she’s developed an obsession with her doctor and anyone who gets in the way of that poses a threat to her.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a damn shame your woman is suffering for it.”

  “Ha, don’t kid yourself. She loves this psycho killer shit,” I say, shaking my head impatiently. “One thing I can say for sure about the doctor is he put her on the fast track of being a professional profiler. She didn’t go in getting her feet wet; she dove in head first in the deep end. To be honest with you, I’m proud of her. Her success also paves the way for what I ultimately want, which is her working for Undercover Elite. My woman’s expertise will come in handy in our line of work.”