Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2) (26 page)

Dr. Brinkley

“Oh, God, stop, it hurts!” The branding device she has held over the stove’s open flame in the kitchen is still hot enough to scorch my flesh as she presses it into my chest, searing her brand right above my heart.

“Take these, love,” she presses more pills between my lips and I gratefully accept them, swallowing them down with the water she offers.

I try to look down at my chest but my muscles won’t do what I want. My voice comes out in a strained whisper, “What is it?” It’s the last thing that escapes my lips before I pass out from the pain. When I awaken later Georgia is smiling down at her handiwork, the wound she managed to bandage while I was unconscious.

“It’s the name you gave me, darling—Femme Fatale. You branded me with it in the press and now you will carry it, too. Remember how the press started calling me the Femoral Fatale?” She rolls her eyes before looking at me gratefully. “You knew I deserved better than that horrible, unimaginative pun. You told the press I was a real, live Femme Fatale, and they loved it. Ate it right up, didn’t they? Much classier, I think. So it’s only right that you see it every day for the rest of your life. Just think...” she runs a finger down my chest and her eyes light up when I gasp at the contact with my bandaged wound. “Every time you’re naked, you’ll think of me. Mmmm…I bet you’ll like that.” Her hand slides lower, moving across my lower abdomen and through the patch of dark hair that leads to my erection. She caresses my length with long, leisurely strokes, then takes me into her mouth, rolling her lips and tongue around the tip before sinking all the way down my shaft to deep throat me.

It’s sick that I’m enjoying this but, sweet Jesus, her mouth is perfect, her lips are perfect. I always knew this would be perfect. Perfect…

My mind is bleary from the narcotics but my body is wide awake and ready for her.

“You’re mine, love, there’s no denying it,” she says serenely, flicking her tongue up and down the sensitive vein that runs along the length of my engorged cock. She sits up and strokes me, asking indignantly, “Do you really believe I’m going to let them put me back in prison?! It really doesn’t matter what they do. Because I’m in here.” She smiles and presses a fingertip to my chest, just below the brand. “And here,” she whispers as she strokes a fingertip over my temple.

She applies herself to her task, using both hands now, frowning earnestly as she watches her hands move apart and together in slick slides against my heated skin, over and over. Her strokes become frantic and my hips buck wildly into her hands, the orgasm building at the base of my spine. “You’ll never be able to shake this darkness that we share. Why, we’re a match made in…hell.” At that, I surrender the last vestiges of control and can only stare helplessly into the lovely, empty eyes that will forever haunt my dreams. The orgasm rips through me and I come in a gush that feels endless as it spills over her hand and onto my stomach.

“Rest now, love. You’ve made me so happy, agreeing to bear my mark,” she purrs as she rubs my cream into her breasts in slow, languid strokes. “So you see, no matter how this ends, I’ll be with you and you’ll be with me…forever.”

She’s even crazier than I thought. She actually believes I’ve agreed to her scarring my body.

My body gives in to the numbing effects of the narcotics she has fed me so relentlessly. I lay my head to the side; I’m so tired. I can breathe easy now. Maybe if I give in to sleep, when I awaken this will all just be a dream.

Thorn

“I can see why you’re so intrigued with profiling, there are so many different diagnoses and opinions on serial killers.” I study the computer screen as I talk. Wonder is curled up on the floor by my feet, her tail thudding against my leg every time I speak. Yeah, she’s Windy’s dog, but she knows who her daddy is.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what you’ve voiced before, the whole nature versus nurture thing. Georgia Clark has managed to convince the professionals that she was born with something they refer to as a
criminal gene
. Do you believe that it exists?”

“I think believing someone who performs heinous acts for no apparent reason does it because they were born that way makes it easier to understand,” Windy says with a frown. “As humans, we tend to ask the question why, so if we can pin it on someone being born with a penchant for evil then it curbs the fear somehow.”

“This woman is suspected of killing close to a hundred people, mostly men,” I remind her.

“And I believe that’s one of the reasons they profiled her as being criminally insane. It secured keeping her in a mental institution and enabled Dr. Brinkley to interview her in hopes of solving cases. He wants closure for the families.”

“He’s a man, baby; he wants more than that. This woman has gotten to him, somehow, someway.”

“Maybe they’re meant for each other, even if they can never be together the way we are. We don’t choose who we love. What’s that saying? ‘The heart wants what it wants.’”

“You chose me,” I say, smug as hell.

“I couldn’t help myself; I was just a kid with a crush.”

“And yet here we are, working to find the most prolific serial killer in the nation.”

“Yes, and it won’t be easy because the woman has no family, no connections and no habits. The only constant is her obsession for her doctor. This woman is smart and she has a reason for anything she does. She takes manipulation to a whole new level. For her, it’s like an art form she wants to master. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more calculating woman in my life.”

“Well then…by all means, love, let the games begin.”

Dr. Brinkley

I open my eyes and squint against the sun streaming in through the window. Someone has pulled the curtain back. As the hair on the back of my neck rises, I look around the room, not sure exactly what I’m hoping to see. Georgia is gone and I’m alone. I’m alive. But the bandage on my chest reminds me that what I endured last night wasn’t a dream. It was a fucking nightmare.

I rub my wrist, grateful to be free from the handcuffs she used on me last night. I smell the coffee that she must have left on auto before she left. I get up, making my way into the kitchen to pour a cup when I see the note she’s left on the counter:

My dear, sweet boy, though I had a very pleasurable time with you, I must be on my way. You would do well to keep our rendezvous between the two of us. Seriously, love… it just wouldn’t look very professional for people to know just how much you enjoy me fucking you at will.

One more thing: when I get caught, if I do, you had better make sure I’m housed with you, or I will work until my dying day making certain I kill that little assistant of yours. I know how stubborn you can be if I don’t give you an incentive. You really should work on getting rid of that guilt complex you have—with all the killing I do, I don’t feel guilty. After all…I was born this way. One more thing, love, don’t make the mistake of breaking my heart.

I pour my coffee with hands that shake, then make my way into the shower. Taking a moment to set the mug down on the counter, I peel the gauze away from my wound. I’m grateful she salved it, which keeps the dressing from sticking and tearing at the burn. She took such care with the dressing, but not to alleviate pain on my part; she did it because she wants the mark to heal perfectly. I look in the mirror and see, perfectly written in cursive,
Femme Fatale
. The letters are intertwined in a way that it almost looks like a tattoo. Though it’s a scar—it’s beautiful. No doubt she had the branding device custom made by her security guard lover.
Break her heart? I doubt she has one.

For the rest of my life when I look in the mirror, I will think of her. If I’m able to make love to another woman, the question will arise of what it means and where it came from. I doubt I will encounter another woman I’m able to have sex with. Before, I could pretend it was her. But she has taken that, too; nothing can ever compare to the real thing.

Windy

My cell phone rings and when I hesitate because I don’t recognize the number, Thorn picks it up. He just cuts his eyes at me when I comment on the fact he’s monitoring my calls. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, this is Thorn.”

“You’re kidding?” He puts the call on speaker so I can hear what’s going on. I immediately recognize Agent Turner’s voice.

“I called the hospital--”

Thorn interrupts him. “You mean the institution”

“Yeah, anyway, you probably need to meet us at the rest stop at the Lexington exit; I believe our girl has struck again. I’ve already called Dr. Brinkley and he’s on his way. This looks like her work.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, the ME is saying the pattern of the cuts, the collapsed lung and the way she makes her cuts like she enjoys the penetration. Of course the telltale sign is the femoral cut; it’s the dead giveaway—no pun intended. Anyway, get down here and bring that girlfriend of yours with you. At this point she’s as involved in the case as you are.”