The Body Thief

by Chris Taylor

  Up ahead, his indicator light came on and she breathed a sigh of relief. Following him around the right-hand turn, it wasn’t long before he swung into a cobbled driveway that led to what was once a grand old house. Rohan cut his lights and climbed out of his car. Sam pulled in behind him and did the same. Clutching her handbag to her chest, she walked toward him and fought off a wave of nerves.

  The house beckoned to her with all its old-world charm. Though it was in darkness, there was enough light from the street for her to see the two-storey, old red-brick façade. Manicured hedges, four feet high, bordered the pavement and added to the appeal. Now that she was here and the reality of what she was about to do was upon her, she was filled with indecision.

  “Stop looking so scared, Samantha,” Rohan chided with a smile. “It’s not like I’m going to jump you in the driveway. Come in and have a drink. Enjoy the view from the balcony. We’ll see how you feel after that.”

  Sam drew in a deep breath and nodded, relieved that, despite what had gone on in her workplace, he hadn’t assumed she was a sure thing. If anything, Rohan Coleridge was polite and respectful. Other attributes she admired.

  “Thank you, that sounds lovely. I’m sorry; I’m a little nervous. I don’t usually follow men home for the purposes of having wild, passionate sex.”

  He chuckled, then drew closer and cradled her face in his hands. “I know. It’s one of the many things that makes you so special.” With that, he pressed a soft kiss against her lips, lingering only long enough to leave her wanting more. When he pulled away, her legs were unsteady and her lungs clamored for air.

  Giving her no time to respond, Rohan turned on his heel and began to walk up the driveway toward the house. Cremorne was perched among some very steep hills and by the time Sam reached the wide front porch, she was once again breathing heavily.

  Reaching out for one of the pale columns that held up the red-tiled roof, she fought to catch her breath. Rohan inserted a key in the front door and pushed it open with his shoulder. Stepping back, he indicated she could enter.

  The house was just as Sam imagined and remained true to its earliest roots. The walls were painted in federation colors and the rooms were furnished in the same style and period, to match. Polished floorboards gleamed in the soft light that spilled out from a freestanding lamp.

  The front room had been styled as a sitting room and a fireplace stood against the far wall. It was dark and cold, but Sam could see it had recently been used and she could imagine how comfortable and cozy the room would be with the fire blazing.

  “Are you cold?” Rohan asked, as if reading her thoughts.

  “No, I’m fine. The weather’s really warmed up the past couple of weeks.”

  “Yes, it won’t be long and we’ll be into summer and everyone will be complaining about the heat.”

  She smiled and he smiled back and once again, the air grew charged.

  “I love how your hair does that,” Rohan murmured, reaching out to touch the riotous waves.

  “What?” Sam asked with a catch in her breath. His nearness was a hazard to her equilibrium.

  “Curls madly after it dries,” he said and twisted a lock around his finger.

  “I washed it in the shower at work.”

  He nodded and continued to work his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp as he did so. It felt so good, she couldn’t hold back a groan.

  “Is that good?” he asked, maintaining the pressure on her head.

  “Mm, more than good. It feels fantastic.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered and led her to a couch with fabric upholstery lavishly embellished with large gold flowers. He picked up a silk-covered pillow and handed it to her.

  “Lie down and relax. Let me iron out some of your kinks.” Gently he pressed her into the couch.

  Kicking off her shoes, she succumbed to his urgings and lay down on her stomach with her head on the pillow. Rohan sat on the couch beside her and his hands went to her shoulders.

  With slow, firm, repetitive movements, he massaged the tight muscles in her neck. Her upper back was also given some attention. She groaned into the pillow at the exquisite feel of his strong hands pressing into her flesh. It felt so good she didn’t want it to end and was pleased when he moved lower.

  Tugging the ends of her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, he slid his hands under the fabric until he was touching her skin. He continued to work at the tight knots in her muscles, working his way up from the base of her spine, across her neck and back down again. He traced the bumps of her vertebrae and spanned the side of her ribs. His fingers skimmed over the soft swell of her breasts and she couldn’t hold back a gasp.

  Warmth tingled everywhere that he touched, and her nipples grew hard with need. She yearned for him to touch her fully and to stoke the fire kindled low in her belly. His hands reached down to cup the cheeks of her butt and his fingers worked over the soft muscle. She flexed and tightened beneath his touch and heard his low, satisfied chuckle.

  “Do you like that?” he murmured.

  “Mm,” she said, her voice muffled against the pillow.

  He moved on the couch and a moment later, his hands went around her foot. Kneading first one, and then the other, then moved onto her calves and slowly inched his way up. By the time he reached the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she could barely remain still.

  Her heart beat fast and hard against her ribs and she wasn’t sure how much more of his attentions she could take. When his fingers skimmed the lace of her panties, she gasped, rolled over and surged upright. Her gaze found his and her mouth parted when she recognized the raw desire in his eyes. She was sure it was reflected in her own.

  “I want to touch you, Samantha.”

  His voice was rough with need and she felt it all the way to her core. Liquid heat consumed her and all of a sudden she needed him like she’d never needed any man before. With her heart pounding in anticipation, she shuffled over on her knees to where he sat. Her gaze burned into his. She hitched up her short skirt and straddled him, positioning herself in his lap.

  Her hand grazed the top of his suit pants and she heard him catch his breath. His cock lay thick and hard beneath the fabric and once again, she was filled with fiery need. Tightening her fingers around his erection, she pulsed her hand around his shaft. He watched her with eyes hooded with desire. His breath came faster and faster. She pulled at his belt and loosened it, all the while keeping her gaze on his. Her fingers found the button of his trousers and slid the zipper down.

  She reached inside, beneath his underwear, for his thick, hard, throbbing cock. Tightening her hand around it, she stroked him once again.

  “Christ, it feels so good.” He groaned and then put his hand over hers. “Don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

  Emboldened, Sam bent her head and licked the head of his cock. His skin was warm and silky beneath her tongue. With her hand still tight around his shaft, she opened her mouth and took him all the way inside. He sighed in relief and stretched out on the couch, giving her better access.

  Over and over again, she licked the sides of his cock and sucked him deep into her mouth. His breathing became more and more frantic.

  “I’m going to come if you keep that up,” he murmured and gently pulled away. “Before that happens, I want to pleasure you like you’ve pleasured me.”

  With that, he stood and gathered her in his arms and carried her down the hall until they came to a bedroom. Tucked against his chest, she barely had time to register the king-sized bed that filled most of the modest room before he lay her down on its softness.

  He took a step back and pulled off his shoes. His suit jacket and tie quickly followed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he tugged it off and then shucked his pants off over his hips. She watched him, breathless with anticipation. When at last he came back to her, naked apart from his underwear, she sighed in relief.

  Gathering her close, he nuzzled the side of her neck. “You have
way too many clothes on.”

  She pulled away and quickly dispensed with her blouse and skirt. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra, but Rohan stilled them.

  “Let me,” he murmured huskily. Sliding his hands beneath the lacy fabric, he kneaded each breast. His head came down and his mouth opened hot and wet over her nipple. She arched into him, wanting and needing so much more. Plunging her hands into his hair, she held his head in place.

  “You taste so sweet,” he mumbled, sucking her nipple deeper into his mouth. A rush of heat flooded through her and she moved against him.

  As if sensing her impatience, Rohan reached around her back and released the clasp of her bra. Her breasts sprang free. He slid the garment off her shoulders and tossed it in the direction of the floor. Burying his face between her breasts, he breathed in deeply.

  “You smell like jasmine, or maybe honeysuckle, or vanilla. Maybe cinnamon. Whatever it is, it smells good.” He groaned and his mouth found her other nipple.

  Licking and sucking, he used his mouth and tongue until she was wild with need. Just when she didn’t think she could take another minute of his sensual attack, he moved lower and pressed more kisses against her soft skin.

  His tongue found her belly button and dipped in and around the small nub. She lay back against the pillows and enjoyed his attentions. Moving lower still, he kissed his way across her flat stomach and came to a halt at her underwear. Without hesitation, he slipped his fingers beneath the lace and covered her mound with his hand.

  Her hips came off the mattress and she stifled another gasp. His fingers explored her soft folds. Slick with desire, they swelled and throbbed beneath his touch. When his hand dipped lower and his fingers slipped inside her, she couldn’t hold back a groan.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, his eyes glittering with desire.

  “Yes!” she gasped and surged up against his hand.

  “Patience, Samantha. All in good time.” When he shifted and his tongue replaced his fingers, she thought she’d die. She was about to combust from the inside out; burn up in a fire pit of need. In and out, his tongue slid over her, driving her wild.

  Just when she didn’t think she could stand the onslaught another minute, he lifted his head and gazed at her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

  Sam half sat up and reached for him and he climbed back up her body. Taking a moment to shuck off his underwear, he lay full-length upon her and pressed her against the sheets. Her breasts were crushed against his muscular chest and his cock lay thick and hard and pulsing against her stomach. She ached to feel him inside her and in a harsh whisper, told him so.

  Needing no further encouragement, Rohan surged upward and reached over and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand. Grabbing a condom, he sheathed his erection and then returned to her side. Bracing his weight on his hands, with his knee, he spread wide her thighs and then settled himself between them. She stared up at him, filled with yearning and anticipation.

  He prodded her entrance with his cock and she lifted her hips to meet him. He inched in a little further and once again, she offered him wordless encouragement. He reached for her hands and threaded his fingers through hers and as his fingers tightened, he thrust all the way inside.

  She gasped at the feel of him and at the pull of her inner muscles as they struggled to accommodate him. He slowly withdrew, but not quite all the way and then plunged into her all over again. Over and over, he slid in and out and the pressure inside her grew. She clung to his shoulders and dug her nails into his back and held on tight.

  With a cry, she reached the pinnacle and went free-falling over the other side. For a long time afterwards, her muscles clenched and unclenched around his cock. Slowly, she returned to earth and her breathing became more normal. Rohan gazed down at her, his expression a mix of satisfaction and wonder.

  “Was that good for you?” he asked.

  “More than good,” she breathed. “It was amazing.”

  He smiled and leaned down to press a lingering kiss on her lips. With his forehead on hers, he moved again and it wasn’t long before she felt him tense in her arms and shudder as he found his release. He collapsed against her and his breath came harsh in her ear. Gradually, it quietened and he lifted his weight off her.

  “You’re right,” he whispered. “It was amazing.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dear Diary,

  Please, God, somebody stop me! The Devil has wrested control of my soul. I started out with such noble intentions, but I no longer recognize who I am.

  I wanted to help people, to help the lame walk again, to help the blind to see. But all that drives me now is the money. I’m consumed by it every second, every minute, every hour of the day.

  The more packages of human tissue that depart for distant shores, the more dollars land in my bank account and I’m addicted to their impact. I have enough money for a hundred lifetimes. But even that is not enough. Greed has taken hold of me and will not let me go.

  Dear God, where will it all end…?

  * * *

  Rohan sifted through the files that covered every available surface of his desk and had even spilled over to Bryce’s. He’d received the files he’d requested from Samantha and had examined each and every one of them closely. There was one thing for certain: None of the people he’d interviewed had exaggerated about the sudden rise in the number of organ donations over the winter months.

  From the beginning of June to the end of August, there had been ninety-three deaths at the Sydney Harbour Hospital that had resulted in organ donations. Fifty-nine of them were female. There were a range of ages, but the majority of the deceased were over the age of seventy-five. There was no doubt about it. Winter was harsh on the elderly.

  His mother was no exception.

  Rohan had spoken to her only that morning and was relieved that she sounded much better. The cough had almost disappeared and she talked about going out for lunch. The health crisis seemed to be over and he was glad. It was hard enough working a difficult investigation without worrying over his mom’s well being.

  His thoughts drifted to Samantha and her mom who was so much sicker than his. She’d confided in him the night they’d made love that her mother was in desperate need of a kidney. It saddened him to think the woman could die before a donor was located and he understood Samantha’s frustration and fear. He sure as hell wasn’t ready to lose a parent and he knew Sam’s mother was all she had left.

  She’d told him about her father and how he’d died when she was barely twelve months old. With no memories of the man who’d helped create her, she was forced to rely on photos and stories shared by Alistair and her older sisters to gain any sense of him at all. The thought that she might also lose her mother prematurely was a lot for her to bear. She refused to even contemplate the possibility, preferring to concentrate on the present and make the most of her time with her mom.

  Many people would have succumbed to despair. Samantha knew better than most the odds of finding a match weren’t in her mom’s favor. Rohan admired her positive attitude. It wasn’t the only thing he admired. He was only just discovering what wonders existed beneath her surface even though a decade earlier they’d considered themselves good friends.

  The affable girl he’d had fun hanging out with every now and then had given him no indication of the passionate, cheeky, loving woman she’d become. He only hoped their very new and fragile relationship could stand the test of time and the inevitable pressures it would come under.

  With a sigh, he flicked through the notes he’d made during the course of his examination of the records. Out of the ninety-three donor cases, thirty-six of them had been sent to the Glebe Morgue for autopsies. All but seven of those thirty-six cases had the death certificate signed by Alistair Wolfe.

  On the surface, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. The doctor was the head of the team, but when Rohan looked closer and discovered that out of the thirty-one
cases bearing Alistair’s Wolfe’s signature, every one of them had the organ donation authorization given by Richard Davis, a cold ball of suspicion settled deep in his stomach and refused to go away.

  The next step was to ascertain whether the organ retrievals had occurred in accordance with each patient’s consent. That duty was at the heart of the investigation. Of itself, a surge in organ donations wasn’t cause for concern. In fact, he was sure there were many people ecstatic over the figures. They showed that the various private and government initiatives to increase public awareness had been a huge success.

  Those campaigns might very well be the true reason, but Rohan’s gut was telling him there was more to it. Besides, both Hannah and Samantha had come forward because they’d felt something wasn’t right and they were in a good position to know. For his sake and for Samantha’s, he hoped everything was aboveboard. The alternative was unthinkable. If it turned out the organ retrievals hadn’t been carried out in accordance with donors’ wishes, it would mean the doctors involved in the retrieval process, and maybe even the deputy state coroner, were responsible for something unspeakable.

  The thought was beyond abhorrent and Rohan refused to waste another moment in speculation. First, he’d compare the consent forms they had with the reality of what had been removed and go from there. As for the missing consent forms… He’d deal with them later. With a firm course of action, he reached for the phone and dialed the Max Grace Funeral Home. His call was picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Is that Hannah Langdon?” he asked when it was answered by a young female.

  “Yes, it is. May I help you?”

  “It’s Detective Coleridge. You attended the station with Samantha Wolfe and spoke to me about your concerns regarding deceased persons showing signs of beyond the usual organ donation.”