Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

  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.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  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.”

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Dr. Brinkley

  As soon as I exited the shower the call came in, letting me know she had struck again. Perhaps her restraining from killing me roused the beast within her to see someone’s, anyone’s bloodshed—anyone’s but mine. She didn’t waste any time. She must have left immediately after I fell asleep and started her hunt for her next kill.

  As soon as I view the body at the truck stop I immediately recognize this as being her work, the blood bath alone speaks of her signature. Cutting a major artery causes bleeding like nothing else will. She has a bloodlust that goes far beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. Her past M.O. has been to do the cutting after the initial slicing of the femoral. She has a sick need to play in blood.

  The thing a female serial killer has going for her is it’s easy to convince a man he’s going to get lucky. At that point lowering your head down on a man in the cab of a truck like you’re going to suck his cock gives you easy access to that main vein running up his inner thigh.

  I discreetly reach for the bandage under my shirt, thinking of how she bathed in his blood. The fact she has such an extensive case of bloodlust and didn’t kill me speaks to her sick sense of longing for me. I’m actually lucky she believes she loves me; her dysfunctional form of love saved my life.

  Georgia is the calculating, deceptive object of my sexual obsession, so much so that I will keep our secret safe from prying eyes and curious minds. She is the woman who holds me captive and I have a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. I will obediently await her next assault on my senses. As she directed I will keep her secrets and I will do all I can to ensure she is placed back in my care when caught; what I will not do is enable another escape. For then another victim would be subject to her blood lust, and, therefore, on my conscience -- and that isn’t going to happen. Once again I stroke the area directly over the burn she left on my chest. I wear her brand, I share in her obsession, and her thoughts are captive in my head. She cannot, however, make me a partner in her sick, twisted killings.

  Agent Turner’s voice cuts through my thoughts, speaking what I’m thinking. “I’ve never seen anyone with this much of a hunger for blood. What a fucked up example of gluttony.”

  “It speaks to her obsessive need to kill, and when she gets the chance she makes her point through overkill or bingeing. For her, there is no cooling off period. Before she finishes one kill, she’s already anticipating the next. As soon as the blood runs dry, the urgent need to kill rises up in her again. Do not underestimate her level of intelligence, Agent Turner. The fact that she left this scene covered in blood leads me to believe she has access to a vehicle so she was able to leave without being noticed. She had to have been bathed in it when she left. Anyone seeing her would have been horrified.”

  “She could have stopped someone like she was the one hurt and stolen their car.” My assistant speaks up. Smart girl, that one.

  “That’s highly probable,” Agent Turner says with a nod, then instructs a passing PD officer, “Check for stolen cars that were reported last night and put out an APB for any vehicles that were stolen in this immediate area.” He turns to look at me as he continues, “I can’t fathom any other way she could have gotten away with that much blood on her clothing.”

  I barely hear Agent Turner when he speaks, “She may have come with a car and hidden it before meeting up with the victim.”

  True to form, she remains one step ahead of us.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Thorn

  I look at my boss, Cash, and shake my head as we make our way to question the widow of the trucker who was killed last night. “Jesus, working overseas human trafficking cases is easier than this one is turning out to be.”

  “Well, working cases like that don’t involve worrying about your girlfriend being on a killer’s radar,” Cash says, giving me a grim look. He understands how deep this goes for me.

  “I’m beginning to believe it isn’t her life in danger anymore.”

  “What makes you believe that?” he asks, surprised by my change of position.

  “She’s had time to realize the doctor has no interest in Windy.”

  “I don’t know, Thorn. You don’t have a way to know that for certain. And it doesn’t change the fact she wants to hurt anyone close to him.”

  “True, but in her mind it’s only those who are connected to him emotionally who are worthy of her…efforts.”

  “She’s still out there killing random men, isn’t she?”

  “That’s where the blood-lust fetish comes into play. She enjoys the feel, the smell, the very life in the blood that she rolls around in. That’s some sick shit, dude.”

  “First rule of working with the criminally insane is: don’t underestimate them,” Cash says as he turns into the driveway.

  “I can assure you, Cash, when it comes to my woman, I’m not taking any chances.”

  “I hear you, brother.”

  “Hey guys, I’m right here,” Windy says flatly.

  “We’re well aware you’re back there, dear,” Cash answers with a chuckle, then continues. “I know that’s right, man. The sooner we get this woman off the streets, the sooner we’ll all rest easier.”

  “Well, maybe the widow can answer some of our questions,” Windy says optimistically from the backseat. “Thorn, this isn’t the time to be a hard-ass—you know, the prickly personality thing that got you your nickname.”

  “I’m not that bad,” I mutter indignantly.

  “Yeah, you are,” Windy pipes in. “If you want information, you’re going to get more if you’re nice.” She glares at the back of Cash’s head when she hears laughter from the driver’s seat. “As I was saying, play on the fact she’s well aware her husband used prostitutes on the road trips he took. She’ll be pissed on her own because of that. If you come at her accusing her husband, her innate desire to defend him will come out and she’ll close down. We need to use her being mad at him to our advantage.”

  I turn around to face Windy in the backseat, “Damn, baby, you really are hardcore about interviews. Maybe the guys and I should come up with a nickname for you? Seriously, maybe you should question her. She may be more inclined to open up to a woman.” I give her the slow smile she likes so much, “Especially a badass woman.”

  “I think he’s right,” Cash turns, looking back at her after he cuts the engine.

  “I’m game; it will give me the opportunity to hone my profiling skills.”

  We make our way out of the car, up the sidewalk and t
o the door to question a woman who’s just been informed her husband was brutally murdered. The odd thing about it is, the sooner you question a family member after the death of a loved one, the more apt you are to get fresh details and a possible lead. I’m glad my woman will be doing the talking because every time she does a job with me, it brings us that much closer and paves the way for her to work with me full time. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  Windy

  I clutch my notepad and pen close to my chest as I ring the doorbell and wait. I have no doubt she’ll be here. Most people, after hearing traumatic news like the death of a loved one, aren’t able to function immediately out in public; I just hope no one else is here because it will be easier to question her if she’s alone. Her situation is embarrassing enough and anyone else being here during questioning could cause her to shut down.

  A woman who appears to be about fifty answers the door dressed in a house dress with an apron tied around her waist. She wipes her hands on the apron and opens the door. “I assume you’re the team Agent Turner said he was sending over; something about a profiler in training.”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you so much for seeing us. As you can imagine, we very much want to catch the person who did this and offer you some closure.”

  “Come on in, then.”

  Her voice sounds resigned to the fact she’s now a widow. We follow her into a small sitting area where she directs us to a couch. She takes a seat after she offers us a drink and we decline.

  I fumble to open my notebook and start writing furiously when she immediately begins to open up to us. “My husband was in the habit of hiring girls for sex. I went through menopause younger than most women, I think, and after I went through it I wasn’t able to, you know, have sex due to pain and I guess all men have needs so he began hiring women from the truck stops. I found out when I found a woman’s number in his wallet. He said it wasn’t anything but a way to have his needs met and we never talked about it after that. It isn’t the kind of thing a wife wants to dwell on. I just want his memory not to be soiled in any way.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand and anything we discuss will be kept private.”

  “The agent, Turner, I think it was, said he suspected a woman had picked up my husband and done this to him. Why in the world would any woman want to do something so horrible?”

  “We think we’re dealing with a serial killer. This isn’t the first time she’s done this.”

  “Shouldn’t you people be warning the public, making up flyers and putting her picture up in truck stops?”

  “The authorities have been proceeding cautiously to start with, but I agree with you. I think the time for caution has passed and that’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Davis; an excellent idea.”

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Thorn

  The idea of posting flyers and getting the police to take the news to social media forums is a good one. Doing that and involving the news media will get the public involved. Someone has to have seen this woman and rewards have a way of breaking alliances, although I highly doubt she has any, other than the guard who broke her out. We still haven’t located him and he could be dead for all we know. He must still be of some use to her if he’s alive. One thing is certain: he knows the public is aware he worked with her on breaking out because the asshole never returned to work. Poor sucker lost everything for a twisted version of love. “Call Agent Turner and have him get a press conference started, Windy.”

  “Why do you want me to call him?”

  “Because I want him to get used to working with you.”

  “You’re set on me working full time with the team.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “You of all people should know once I set my mind on something I want, nothing can change it.”

  “I wonder, if Dr. Brinkley did the press conference, would it bring her out of hiding?” My girl is brilliant.

  “That’s a great idea.” I grab my cell phone and dial the agent’s number, one I’ve become accustomed to dialing over the years.

  “You just said you wanted me to call him.”

  “Consider it one of the few times you’ll ever see me change my mind.” I meet her gaze, letting her know I’m serious about what I’m saying.

  “You’re on speaker, Agent. The widow said something that made a lot of sense to us. We want to put flyers out and hit social media outlets hard, to get the public involved. Also how do you feel about the doc doing a press conference?”

  “It might be a good idea to have Brinkley do it.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Her obsession with him might bring her out into the open.”

  “I’m on it. There are times I don’t like putting a subject’s face out in public, it causes them to run and the trail goes cold. But I think in this case it may be just what we need to bring her to the forefront. The same way she can’t control that nasty little need she has for blood; she can’t resist her need for the doctor. He gives her what no one else can.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Believe it or not...love. As close as she’ll ever get to it, anyway.”

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  Dr. Brinkley

  I’m well aware why they’re asking me to do the press conference—she will be, too. The woman has a sixth sense when it comes to me. I guess I’m doing this press conference because it’s the least I can do. Hiding the fact I’ve had contact with her since she escaped doesn’t trouble me; I can’t expect anyone to understand what we have. Informing them would only cause me to lose credibility; it would also cause me to have no input regarding where she will be held when she’s caught. Crossing her in the form of not meeting her mandates will put anyone who crosses her path in danger, but it’s a last ditch effort to bring her out of hiding.

  I’m walking a tightrope by leading her to believe I’ll have her put in prison, but pissing her off may be the way to force her into making a mistake. I have no intention of putting her in prison but she doesn’t need to know that yet. At this point, the less she knows the better so I have some degree of control in all the chaos she wreaks. It’s the same reason I keep the feelings I have toward her a secret that only she and I share.

  Doing this press conference gives me the opportunity to make the general population aware there is a killer in their midst. Someone is bound to have seen her and she isn’t the type woman you forget.

  I stand leaned against the back wall, taking in the activity going on as reporters set up and prepare to ask questions. This is by no means the first press conference I’ve done; it is, however, the first I’ve ever had to do where my emotions were involved. I inadvertently touch the gauzed area on my chest. She knew what she was doing when she put it there; she has been successful in keeping my mind exactly where she wants it -- on her. I’ve thought of little else since she used me so relentlessly. The memory of being clenched inside her is enough to harden my cock. I look around the room and my gaze lands on Miss Fairchild, who is looking at me with concern. I acknowledge her with a brief nod, and then breathe deeply to stifle my desires and get ready for the press conference to start.

  I make my way up to the podium and stand next to Agent Turner as he prepares to introduce me—it’s show time and I can only hope she’s watching. I brace myself as the agent approaches the podium.

  “We’re offering a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of Georgia Clark. She is a prolific serial killer who escaped from Our Lady of Tranquility.” He holds up Georgia’s photograph and turns it slowly in each camera’s direction. The faces of the reporters look eager, as if the more horrendous our story, the more pleased they’ll be. If I’ve learned anything in my years of being a psychiatrist, it’s that the public is intrigued with serial killers. As scared as they are of a killer, they are, nonetheless, fascinated by them.

  “Make no mistake, this woman is dangerous. Do not approach her. Well, if you see her, call the tip line and the authorities will follow up. I cannot express how da
ngerous this woman is. Do not mistake her beauty for weakness. I fully understand by looking at this picture she appears to be harmless, she is anything but--”

  The reporters interrupt Agent Turner to begin asking me questions.

  “Dr. Brinkley, how did this woman escape the institution?” I use this time to hold up the photograph of the guard who helped her escape.

  “We believe this security guard helped her. We also believe he left the facility with her but we cannot verify his whereabouts at this time.”

  “Don’t you think it would be a good idea for a woman this dangerous to be held in a maximum security prison rather than a mental institution?”

  This is my opportunity to piss her off and bring her out of hiding. I’ll be deviating from the script I’ve agreed to with the Feds, but I have my own goals here. If Georgia thinks I’m betraying her, she’ll be pissed and react. I can only hope she’ll make a mistake when she does. One that I can capitalize on to restore a proper balance of power between us. Anything less is unacceptable; anything less could prove to be…problematic.

  “I most certainly do. The problem is, I don’t have the authority to decide where she is incarcerated. The courts make those decisions.” Though it’s a lie, it seems to satisfy the reporter and I continue. “We’re asking the local television stations and those in surrounding areas to post her picture on the news. Once again, if you have any kind of contact with this woman, please call the FBI’s tip line, and please promote the number to the public.”

  Agent Turner and I leave the podium and he pats me on the back, leaning in to whisper, “Good job, Doc. You went off script, but that can happen to the best of us. No worries.”

  I just hope it’s good enough to get Georgia off the streets and back where she belongs – under my control. I’m sure the $10,000 reward won’t hurt. Though she has her share of groupies, money has a way of causing even a crazed fan to see things in a different light.