Protect and Correct (7 page)

“I am not going anywhere. Damn it, Brooke…”

“Hold me,” she whimpered, clinging to him. “I can’t erase those images.”

“We will talk about what you saw in the morning. Are you okay to sleep?”

“Don’t leave me. Stay here.”

“I am not budging. You are safe with me, pipsqueak.”

“I need to tell you what I saw and the clues he left,” she sobbed.

She told him that when she had come out of the bathroom and saw him snoring quietly on one side of the mattress, she also noticed the hand gun on the floor near his head. It was then that she hacked into his laptop.

As Collin had said, each murder had occurred on the third Wednesday of the month. The crime occurred in different Eastern states at different intervals, confirming her suspicion that the killer was being selective in his choice of victims and willing to exercise patience so he could catch them unaware. He had also chosen locations fairly close to a source of deep, living water—the ocean, a harbor, large lake, or river.

She had been correct when she had raised the question about the victims having a common involvement in a criminal case. They were all present at one time or another during the Gardenia Killer’s trial or execution, indicating that the perpetrator had either been present or had access to records that allowed him to pick and choose. She had been an expert witness, but the others were less involved. Several had served on the jury panel, one was an ex-bailiff, and two others were minor reporters for different agencies. All the victims were unattached and without anyone who would notice their immediate absence. Either way, the pattern had emerged, directing them, daring them to find the killer.

Brooke paused in her recitation as she struggled to maintain her focus. She had discovered a major glitch. This was
not
the same person as the one she had sent to death row. The original Gardenia killer had been named because he had placed a gardenia blossom in the empty cavity which once contained the victim’s heart. He had killed directly and had not relied on the elements to finish his work. This suspect used a burlap root bag to restrain his barely-living victims before throwing them into moving water. There were no flowers left as calling cards, either. He left only the bodies… bodies he had obviously
wanted
to be found.

Collin allowed Brooke to clutch his hand as she continued to verbally process her findings. She had seen the photographs of her own body and knew that the river’s current had hastened unexpectedly and brought her to the surface before she drowned. She had been life-flighted and placed under guard due to the likelihood the killer witnessed the unexpected rescue. Investigation of the area revealed large footprints made by a man’s boot, as well as findings of broken twigs and brush, suggesting the perpetrator to be fairly tall and of normal width. There was no blood, no vehicles, and no tire marks. These clues were consistent with the possibility that the butcher had taken a boat upriver, did his business once he arrived, and then hid in one of the myriads of swamp caves before letting the current take him back down.

She admitted that she panicked when she heard Collin stir and had stopped snooping. The images would not leave her mind, so she took the sleeping pills. She then admitted that he had been right and that she was too vulnerable to handle the truth objectively. She knew she had made a huge mistake by defying his requests to not be involved.

Collin sighed, taking in the confession and contemplating the situation. His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny voice that broke the dark stillness in the room.

“Collin? Are you going to spank me for not minding you?”

Unprepared for her question, Collin remained silent until her tears exploded in a torrential outburst.

“Yes,” he said softly, praying he was making the right decision. “Yes, I will spank you for that. Because you chose to disobey, you caused yourself more hurt, and I care too much about you to allow that. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Brooke sniffed, relaxing in his arms. She yawned. The drugs were helping lull her back to sleep again. “Thank you. I guess you really do care,” she murmured, her head dropping heavily against his shoulder.

Collin stared up at the ceiling, perplexed. The only thing he knew for certain at this point in time was that Brooke Doyle was going to give him a damn good run for his money. And that was one race he would not miss for the world!

Chapter Five

Brooke squinted at the shaft of light that assaulted her through the eastern facing bedroom window. She slowly sat up and rubbed her stiff neck while she watched the sun rise like a giant red phoenix from the misted waters.

Damn
, she thought, remembering the old rhyme…
Red at night, sailors delight… Red in the morning, sailors take warning
… It was going to rain again. Did it ever stop that infernal downpour in this part of the world? Grabbing a quilted throw that she had found in the box labeled ‘linens’, she padded over to the sliding glass door and walked out onto the small balcony. The thick fog covered the ground like gray cotton candy, hiding all but the very tops of the trees as they pushed through the haze. Tendrils of fog poured over the bank and extended over the waterfront with skeleton-shaped fingers reaching out from the shoreline and tickling the edge of the horizon. The sunlight cast a blood red glow to the fog bank, making Brooke shudder.

The image of her mutilated body returned to her mind. She had prayed that the event had merely been an awful dream. A dream that Collin could reassure her had no substance beyond being the product of an overactive imagination. She turned to the sound of footsteps. Collin.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, planting a kiss to her temple before sitting on the chair next to her.

“He knows I am still alive, doesn’t he?”

“We are pretty certain he does. He had to have seen you taken out of the area, and we can’t take the chance that he assumed you didn’t survive.”

“Damn it, Collin. I should have listened to your warnings and not been so nosey. In this particular situation, ignorance is bliss,” Brooke said miserably.

“Sometimes you are told
no
for your own well-being,” Collin sighed. “Or, in this particular situation, to save your bottom from the punishment it is going to experience later for breaking into my computer and disobeying my instructions.”

“Pardon me? It is my life and—”

“You asked me to spank you. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

“I was under the influence of those meds I took. Why would I want you to discipline me? I am a grown woman… the whole notion is ridiculous,” Brooke blustered. She shifted uncomfortably in the chair, staring out over the yard. “Besides, it hurts.”

Collin chuckled. “Of course it hurts. It would not serve as a deterrent if it didn’t. But you made that request, and I intend to honor it. We will take care of it this evening after dinner. This way you will have all day to think of ways to weasel out of what you have coming to you.”

“What if I refuse? You can’t force me.”

“Actually, I could. Physically, I am quite a bit bigger and stronger than you are, but that is not my style. No,” he eyed her, “my true strength is mental. I suspect that a woman of integrity such as yourself will find that you are incapable of reneging on something that you know you deserve. Now go slip on your sneakers, and we will go for a jog.”

“Jog? I hate running.”

“I doubt you ever ran a day in your life with your old body. This one, though, demands maintenance. And I am going to teach you how to take good care of it. I don’t care if you like it.”

“Well… Okay, maybe I never have run before. But that doesn’t mean I like the idea of doing it now,” Brooke grumbled, slowly standing.

“You’ll get used to it. We will start slow and work your way up. You are still in recovery mode and need to introduce your muscles to more normalcy apart from hospital rehab.”

“Still not happy.”

“Still don’t care. Move it, munchkin,” Collin laughed, smacking her on the rear and not acknowledging the evil glare cast in his direction.

* * *

Brooke wheezed miserably as Collin pushed her to trot the extra hundred yards back to the house. She stopped at the front door, bent over and gasping for breath. “You are killing me,” she panted.

“That was less than a mile. Walk it off,” the man ordered. He had not even broken a sweat.

“I hate you.”

“You hate exercise. You adore me. Tomorrow will be easier. At least on your lungs. Not so sure how your backside will be feeling,” he teased.

“I disagree. I’m fairly certain that I hate you. Thanks,” Brooke accepted a hand towel and wiped the back of her neck. “I can’t believe I am sweating like this. Can we go jump in the water?”

“I think it is a bit too chilly for that, but you can wade around on the shore. Come on,” Collin grabbed her hand and began running to the backyard, Brooke’s protests to slow down echoing in the trees. She threw her sneakers on the ground and walked knee deep into the gentle waves, sighing with relief as she dug her toes into the cold, sandy bottom.

“This feels good. Try it.”

“Too cold.”

“Wimp.”

Collin raised his eyebrow. “We will see who the wimp is this evening, little girl. You can put on this big, tough act now, but I am willing to bet you will be changing your tune when you are bare-bottomed and across my knee.”

“You are not funny.”

“You don’t see me laughing, now do you?”

Brooke snarled at him. Unfortunately, no laughter met her in return. She cursed the day that God invented the bottom and the concept of spanking. Like it or not, Collin’s words ate at Brooke as she showered and got dressed for their trip into town. She felt her body tense with apprehension at the thought of being
bare-bottomed and across his knee,
but she also could not deny the uncomfortable wetness that spread between her legs. What was this man doing to her mind?

Back to his jovial antics, Collin cheerfully ushered her into the car with a comment on picking up some specialty items for the evening pursuits, including a wooden spoon and a nice, broad wooden hairbrush. Brooke scowled, muttering her opinion of his thoughts under her breath. Her mood, like the weather, was growing fouler by the minute. Her mood was a brew of exhaustion, soreness, anger, confusion, terror, and unmet arousal. Complicating her unhappiness was her physical discomfort as her muscles screamed in protest from the forced jog, hunger, and abdominal cramping associated with medication-induced constipation… All in all, a dangerous mixture of volatile ingredients that would blow at the slightest spark.

They drove to a quaint little diner, surprised to see that it was quite crowded with locals.

“I don’t want to go in,” Brooke said, hankering down in the seat. “Can’t we just take out?”

“What’s wrong, honey bun?”

“Please stop with the cutesy nicknames. They are making me sick to my stomach.”

“You are going inside with me. No arguments. Why are you so cranky?”

“I dunno. I have one fucking nerve left, and everything is getting on it.”

“Then this is a good time to work on your anger management issues…”

“I don’t have any goddamn anger issues!” she shouted. She reddened as she realized what had happened. “I am just not in the mood.”

“As I was saying,” Collin said cheerfully, acting as though the outburst had not occurred, “your old life habits need to be changed so that your new life is a happier and healthier one. To start, absolutely no more swearing from you.”

“What the fu…”

“You heard me. You need to learn how to express your anger appropriately. You would never pop a gasket when you were in the courtroom, would you?”

“Not intentionally. It happened now and then.”

“Yes, which is why you were known as the Coroner’s bitch. Don’t look so surprised. You know the truth.”

“You suck.”

“Let’s talk about name calling. I think that now would be a good time to learn to think about what you say and how to say it,” Collin said patiently. “Every time you want to say something nasty to me, I want you to pause and say the opposite of how you feel.”

“That’s not conducive to honest communication,” Brooke snapped.

“Again, focus of choosing words to appropriate express how you feel, and deliver it in a respectful method. Personal attacks, though, are to be delivered with words and actions opposite of whatever nasty thing you are thinking.”

“Who do you think you are anyway? You act like you are this know it all psychologist… Oh!” Brooke’s eyes widened with understanding, “Your old life? Is that what you did?”

Collin nodded. “Yes, only I was a psychiatrist. That is why Denise changed her tune when she wanted to know when I had gotten my medical license. I had to give up my practice and all those years of school when I was, uh,
renewed
. But, like you, the knowledge still exists, and I will not hesitate to practice it when it’s appropriate. Let’s get inside before the rain starts up again.”

“Do I have to?” Brooke sounded like a petulant child.

Collin nodded, holding his hand out for her to take. He hugged her tightly when she exited the car, surprising her.

“What was that for?” She wrinkled her nose, her jewel sparkling against her skin.

“You needed it. You don’t have to hide this face or body from people anymore, baby. It’s okay.”

“I still feel like I am going to be laughed at. You know the feeling… You walk by a table, and you hear twittering, knowing they are making fun of you.”

“Old tapes, Brooke. And filled with lies. You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here.”

Brooke sighed and allowed him to lead her into the restaurant. They were seated quickly in a corner booth and handed menus by an older woman with bleached-blond hair and an uneven line of red lipstick.

“Welcome to Patty’s. I am Francine. New in town, or just visiting?”

“Coffee,” Brooke demanded, ignoring the greeting.