Dangerous Daddy Box Set

by Blake, Zoe

  Good god!

  And the way the man looked. She honestly didn’t think men looked like…like…that!

  He was a marble statue of a Roman centurion come to life. All chiseled jaw and harsh, beautiful angles. Those strong shoulders! The way he looked in his blue uniform. There were so many medals on his chest, she got dizzy from staring at all the flashes of color as she tried to memorize their pattern so she could look them up later. His short haircut only emphasized his high cheekbones and beautiful, deep blue eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was dark and commanding, as if he was used to everyone in the room standing there just waiting to obey his every utterance.

  He was arrogant. Condescending. An ass. A sexist…Marine.

  He was also tall. And handsome. And…sexy as fuck. The kind of man who grabbed you by the hair to tilt your head back for a kiss. Who took what he wanted without asking.

  Good god. She was fucked.

  Phoebe gave herself another mental shake. No. She had an assignment to complete. The owner of the newspaper was watching her on this one. She needed to stay focused. She needed to remember why she was here.

  She needed to stay far away from Lieutenant Colonel Michael Lawson…Commander.

  * * *

  Phoebe surveyed the room. She had interviewed people in prison who had a cozier cell than this. The room was spartan to say the least, containing only the bare necessities. The room looked to be as old as the university itself, even the windows had that distorted wobble of turn-of-the century glass. Apparently, even the teachers were subjected to rigid, military conditions.

  Ah, well. At least it had a private bathroom and shower and it was only for a week or two, enough time for her to poke around and see what she could learn about the suspicious deaths without rousing suspicion herself.

  Now that she had passed the first crucial test and was accepted as an assistant professor, it was time to tackle the gruesome task of looking through the files Henry had provided. They contained information and photos of the women as well as the autopsy report and photos. Phoebe had delayed doing this necessary part until she was certain she could infiltrate the school. No point in upsetting herself if, in the end, she couldn’t write the story.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Phoebe opened her laptop and took out the two files on the murdered women.

  Opening the first one, she was startled to see a striking resemblance…to herself.

  Ms. Annie Porter had honey blonde hair and favored red lipstick judging by both her photo in the file as well as the social media profile that was still up and that Phoebe was flipping through. She’d been only twenty-years old and the girlfriend of one of the midshipmen when she was found naked and strangled. According to the autopsy report, there was nothing sexual about her murder. As Phoebe continued to read, her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Oh god!

  Phoebe quickly grabbed the other file. Again noticing a strong resemblance to her own features, she flipped to the autopsy report for Mary Bruen, the professor she had just replaced. It had the same horrible note.

  Both women had been strangled.

  Both were found naked with a strange somewhat satanic symbol carved into their chests.

  Neither was sexually assaulted.

  Both had their livers removed…the organ was not recovered at the scene.

  Phoebe shuddered as images of every Jack the Ripper documentary she had ever seen plagued her.

  It was one thing to report on a murder.

  It was another when both women bore an uncomfortable resemblance to yourself, but it was quite another when it was assumed the murderer carved out and ate each woman’s liver!

  She needed a break…and a stiff drink.

  Putting aside her own research for the night, Phoebe looked over her schedule and started to jot down some notes for a lesson plan. She would have to play the game of being Professor Pringle if she wanted to last long enough to find out the truth about the deaths of those two poor women! And the thought that word would get back to Michael about what an amazing, competent teacher she was didn’t even cross her mind…nope…not even once.

  * * *

  After working late into the night, Phoebe stripped off her clothes and finally fell on top of the bed, dressed only in her panties, too exhausted to put on pajamas. Sleep did not come easily though. Visions of a tall, uniformed Marine, forcing her to bend over his desk, swam before her eyes. She bit her lip and moaned as she imagined him tearing her skirt off and kicking her feet wide to position his own hips behind her. She could hear the sound of him lowering his zipper as if he were really in the room. Her hand drifted across her flat stomach to rest between her thighs. Dipping her fingers beneath the edge of her panties, she raised her knees up. She imagined the scrape from the fabric of his uniform against her soft skin as he stepped closer. The feel of his large, warm hands on her lower back as he held her down. Could feel the press of his cock against her pussy.

  Phoebe’s fingers moved in swift circles over her clit. Faster and faster. Increasing the pressure. Her hips rising off the bed.

  He thrust forward. Impaling her. So thick and big she cries out from the pain of the intrusion.

  Phoebe clenched her eyes closed as she let out a soft keen in the silent room. Coming to the thought of Michael forcing himself on her.

  Lowering her hips, she haphazardly tossed a corner of the blanket over her body, thoughts of an arrogant Marine lulling her into a restive sleep.

  * * *

  Phoebe sat up in bed, looking about the quiet, unfamiliar room, unsure of what just woke her.

  She stopped to listen.

  Nothing.

  Conscious of her undressed state, she reached over to her open suitcase and grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. Slipping them on, feeling more secure, she turned to burrow under the covers.

  There it was again.

  The sound of approaching footsteps just outside her door. A heavy footfall. She glanced at her phone. Three am. She could see through the shaft of light under the door that someone was standing just outside.

  Waiting.

  Phoebe held her breath.

  Her eyes grew wide as the doorknob slowly turned. Then stopped.

  Thank god she had remembered to lock the door.

  The footsteps paced away…only to return again.

  This time whoever it was rattled the door knob angrily. The door itself shook.

  Phoebe covered her mouth to prevent a scream from escaping.

  Who the hell was trying to get into her room? Mrs. Ludtz had made it clear she was the only person down this particular hallway. After studying the map, she learned the male students were dormed in a completely different building across campus.

  Could it be Michael, she thought wildly.

  Fantasy was one thing, but she wasn’t prepared for matching wits and…other things…with him just now.

  Just as she was about to risk yelling ‘go away’, the person stormed off.

  Phoebe wrapped the thin blanket from the bed around her shoulders and sat against the headboard.

  So much for sleeping, she thought as her eyes stayed focused on the door.

  Standing up on shaking legs, she slowly made her way to the door. She stopped and unplugged the bedside lamp and held it up like a weapon. Stepping closer, she pressed her ear to the wood panel and listened intently. There wasn’t a sound. Unclenching her left fist, she reached for the door knob. Twisting the lock, she threw open the door quickly while taking a defensive step back, raising the lamp high and at the ready.

  The hallway was empty.

  Placing her hand on the door to steady her shaking limbs, she poked her head out and looked left and right. Nothing.

  It was then she became aware her hand was sticky and wet. Pulling it off the door, she looked down.

  Her hand was covered in what looked like…blood.

  Crying out, she fell back against the wall. Holding her hand up to the light in the hallway, she examined it more closely
. The sticky substance on her palm was a bright red. Phoebe sniffed the air.

  It was blood.

  She then turned her attention to the door. The image was smeared, probably because it was painted in haste, but unmistakable. It was a satanic symbol. The same image that had been carved into the chests of both murdered women. A crude, simplistic image of a goat over a pentagram.

  It was an unmistakable warning.

  Swallowing the bile in her throat, Phoebe quickly wet a towel and cleaned off the symbol. She couldn’t risk raising an alarm on campus. The commander already wanted her gone. This would give him the perfect excuse to force her to leave. No, she would tell no one. This only proved she was on to something. Phoebe was determined to see her investigation through.

  When she was finished, she closed the door, this time throwing the small deadbolt lock as well.

  * * *

  Undaunted, Phoebe walked into her classroom at a quarter to eight the next morning. It was a pleasant, cozy room. Something straight out of Dead Poet’s Society with its lattice window overlooking a slightly overgrown courtyard and dusty old bookshelves. She loved it. It made her feel like she should be wearing tweed and smoking a pipe.

  The meeting with the department head had gone surprisingly well. Professor Jones was a short, pleasant man who was shockingly candid.

  “Listen. They are here to learn about the Navy. That is all they care about. And all the Navy cares about is that they learn about the Navy…and perhaps some math. English is fairly low on everyone’s priority list. I need you to make sure they know the basics. Shakespeare, Dickens, Hemingway. Just enough culture befitting an officer. Got it?” said Professor Jones as he shoved papers into a worn leather satchel. Phoebe followed him down the hall as he shuffled along to his first class.

  “What have they learned so far this year?” she asked as she tried to keep up in her platform heels.

  “Nothing. The last teacher we hired quit less than a week in, unable to…well there was some unpleasantness and since then the class has been a quiet study hall. Good luck, Professor Pringle. Your classroom is right down this hall, third door on the left.”

  Knowing he had just given her the perfect in, Phoebe asked, “What sort of unpleasantness? I hope it had nothing to do with cheating or plagiarism?” she prevaricated.

  Professor Jones stopped mid-shuffle and turned to her. Without looking up, and nervously adjusting the buckle on his satchel, he said, “No, no, no. Nothing like that. They have an honor code here and they take it very seriously. It was…well…a few weeks ago…two lovely young women were…well they were found murdered in the forest that borders the school.”

  Phoebe laid a consoling hand on his upper arm. “That is terrible. I’m so sorry. Did you know the women?”

  “One of them was a teacher in my department. The other was a girlfriend of one of the men on campus. The boy was cleared of course. He was training on a boat out in the bay at the time of the murder.”

  At that, Professor Jones seemed to come back to himself, giving Phoebe a startled look as if in his reminiscences he had forgotten she was standing there.

  “I’ve said too much. It was probably some vagrant passing through. Don’t believe what they say about it being someone on campus. That’s just speculation from the locals.”

  “You mean they didn’t catch the murderer?” Phoebe, of course, knew they had not, but she always felt it was best to plead ignorance when ferreting out information.

  “Don’t let any of it frighten you away, Miss Pringle. I’m sure the school is safe despite the strange circumstances…well…yes…I’m sure we are all safe.” And then he was gone.

  Turns out Henry and Jimmy were right, there was a story here and this school was so frazzled and distracted no one seemed to care if she could spell Shakespeare let alone teach it.

  Phoebe couldn’t wait to get back to her room to start her research. There was more to these murders than just the sensational aspects. She was sure of it.

  * * *

  Laying out her lesson plan notes, she leaned against the desk and waited for the first bell. Her first class of the day was with third class students. She wasn’t sure if that meant they were sophomores or juniors but she would read up on that later. She hadn’t really had time to learn the ins and out of military academy life.

  At precisely 7:55 am, they began to quietly file in. Phoebe had expected a little more noise and chaos typical of college students. These men were calm and orderly as they took their seats and patiently waited for her to begin. Inherently realizing that exact timing was probably important on this campus, she nervously watched the clock hands till it was precisely 8:00 am before beginning.

  Standing upright, she addressed the class, “Good morning, students!”

  Several hands immediately shot up.

  What the hell, thought Phoebe. What could I have possibly gotten wrong so quickly?

  She nodded her head towards the student closest to her.

  “With all due respect, ma’am. We are midshipmen, not students.”

  At her confused look, another voice chimed in. “We are considered ensigns in the Navy, ma’am. A low ranking officer,” he clarified. “So we are technically midshipmen in the Navy, not just college students.”

  “Shut up! That is so freakin cool!” she exclaimed.

  The whole class laughed and the tension eased.

  She introduced herself and then asked the class to one by one stand and introduce themselves. After the greetings were finished, she announced they would be studying Shakespeare. There was a small, but perceptible, groan.

  “What? Are you remembering the Shakespeare plays you were forced to read in high school? Romeo and Juliet. Hamlet. You don’t think Shakespeare applies to your military career? That a few men strutting around in tights have nothing in common with you?” asked Phoebe, her hands on her hips.

  “With all due respect, ma’am, yes,” someone from the back of the classroom responded.

  Perhaps it was the Dead Poets Society vibe, but she felt compelled to inspire these men. Pulling out the wooden, straight-back chair from behind her desk, she hitched her skirt up and stepped onto the seat. Raising her arm up high, she shouted, “Cowards die but many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once!”

  “Hooyah!” erupted the whole class, reciting the naval battle cry in unison.

  “Cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war!” she growled with aplomb.

  “Hooyah!” They all cried out with enthusiasm as they beat their fists on their desks.

  “Yes! Yes!” she clapped. “Those are from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar! Now let me see, oh! I have a good one.” Lowering her voice to sound more masculine, she cried out, “From now until the end of the world, we and it shall be remembered. We few, we Band of Brothers. For he…”

  Phoebe broke off with a start as Michael strolled into the room, looking like the embodiment of authority and command in his dress blue uniform.

  “I ah…I…”

  “Finish the quote, Professor Pringle, you’re on a roll!” called out one of the midshipmen.

  “Yes, please, Professor Pringle, finish what you were doing,” said Michael. His dark gaze direct and scrutinizing.

  At the sound of his voice, the whole classroom stood at attention.

  “At ease, men.”

  The students…that is the midshipmen, all sat.

  All the while, Phoebe was desperately trying to see how she could get down from her chair with any dignity. In her excitement to rally the men she hadn’t really thought her plan through. Her red skirt wasn’t so much tight as it was form fitting. While only having to hitch it up to mid-calf to step onto the chair, Phoebe was afraid she would have to hike it up a great deal higher to get off the chair. And there was no way she was going to be able to do it and keep her heels on. Carefully, she slipped out of one shoe, grimacing when it made a sound as it fell to the floor. She quickly slipped out of the other. She lost several inches of ta
ctical height in the maneuver, but she had no choice.

  Michael strolled down the aisle between the desks. “Professor Pringle, please don’t let me interrupt your lesson.” He moved to lean against the wall directly to her right.

  Recovering some of her dignity, Phoebe swallowed hard and tried to remember the line. “We few, we Band of Brothers. For he who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”

  Casting a nervous glance towards, Michael, she asked, “Who can tell me what play that is from? Anyone?”

  After a long pause, Michael chimed in.

  “I think I can answer for my men, King Henry the Fifth,” said Michael with a knowing smile.

  The bell rang before Phoebe could reply. Saved by the bell, she thought. Trying to act like she meant to be standing on a chair shouting like a banshee, she called, out, “Read the first act of Henry the Fifth for class on Wednesday.”

  The men all filed out with respectful nods towards Michael and murmured ‘Good afternoon, Commander’ as they went.

  Soon the classroom was empty.

  Save for Michael.

  Leaning against the wall.

  And her.

  Standing on her chair.

  Phoebe kept her eyes forward, hoping, as if by sheer will, she could make him leave. She could hear the rustle of his uniform coat as he straightened up from the wall. Then the sound of his booted heel on the hardwood floor.

  One step. Another.

  Memories of her sleepless night came back to her. The heavy footfall outside her door. Had it been him?

  He was standing to her side. Even up on the chair, her five-feet-four inches without her heels was nothing compared to his obviously over six-feet frame.

  “Phoebe.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, looking down at her nervously twitching fingers. She wished she knew how this man could make her feel like an errant school girl. Strike that…she knew why.

  “Yes, what?” he ground out.