Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2) (5 page)

Thorn

I’m not in the habit of babysitting, even if it is for a man I’ve worked for on numerous occasions. I had been prepared to say no until I saw that photograph. I look down at it and take time to study it. My little Windy has definitely grown up. She still has the light brushing of freckles over her nose and cheeks that I found to be adorable when she was just a kid with a crush on me, but the face looking back at me now is that of a woman, not a little girl. She’s a natural beauty without much makeup; her long honey blonde hair, hazel eyes, high cheek bones, and full plump lips make for a very sexy look.

“What are you staring at?”

I look up to see Harley heading into my office. He makes his way over and snatches the picture from my hand.

“Damn, dude, is that little Windy? If I didn’t know you had a meeting with her old man today, I never would have guessed who this was.”

“Yeah, it’s her. Her dad wants me to keep an eye on her for a while.”

“Yeah, well, if you don’t want to, I will. Little Windy grew up and she’s hot.”

I don’t even try to hide my irritation from him as I reach for the picture, trying, unsuccessfully, to yank it out of his hand.
Fuck, did I just growl?
“You stay the fuck away from her, you man whore.”

“Dude, did you just growl at me? What, are you jealous?” he asks incredulously.

“She’s just a kid. I mean it, Harley, you stay the fuck away from her.”

“This…” he holds the picture out and, for emphasis, practically shoves it in my face. “This… is not a kid.” I snatch the photo away from him and place it back on the desk in front of me as he keeps talking, “Like I said, your little
Wonder Windy
grew up. Now the question is, does she still have a crush on you?” He sticks his bottom lip out like he’s pouting as he points to the picture.

“You’re such an ass.”

“So, I can assume you took the job?”

“Yeah, Harley, I did -- and it’s
my
job, so like I said, stay away from her. I expect you to be professional…”

“Professional about what?” I look up to see Cash entering in his standard suited attire.

“Aw, Jesus…” I mutter, scrubbing my face with my hands in frustration.

“Oh, Thorn’s all bent out of shape about his little
Wonder Windy.
”

“Stop calling her that,” my voice by now has become a low, irritated rumble.

“Well, she certainly has grown up,” Cash acknowledges as he looks down at the picture.

“Yeah, she has and I don’t want any of you goons near her.”

“Hey, I’ve got my hands full with Johnnie,” Cash says, his hands raised in surrender. “Harley, here, now he’s a different story.”

“Harley…had better stay away from her,” I hiss, my eyes narrowing as I glare at Harley and the shit-eating grin on his smug face.

Cash leans down, eyeing me with a steady gaze before saying softly “Then I suggest you mark your territory, so to speak.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if I have to spell it out for you, I will,” he says, leaning a hip against the desk and picking up Windy’s picture to hold it up between two fingers, facing me. “Take the damn job and make your presence known so you don’t have to worry about any other guys. As long as she’s out there floundering around single, she’s fair game.”

I know he’s right. How can I get mad about another man hitting on her when I haven’t even seen her in ten years? As beautiful as she is, it isn’t just about that. What it is about is my deep–seated, primal need to protect this woman. Old habits die hard, I guess. There is no way I’m letting some jerk waltz in and take advantage of her innocence or her good heart. At twenty-four, chances are she’s not so innocent anymore. My jaw clenches and my lip curls in a barely concealed snarl at the thought of someone else breaking her in. Cash is right, I need to make my presence known, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

Windy

I brace myself for the worst as we exit the elevator. Faces press against the glass to get a closer look at us. I quickly look away as a wild-eyed man licks the glass and cackles as we pass by. The sound is evil, causing my hackles to rise. Brinkley moves along undaunted and I have to powerwalk to keep up with him. It’s like he’s on a mission and it’s clear he has a destination in mind.

We make our way to the end of the hall where it dead ends. He takes out a magnetic card, swiping it through a security box. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as we enter a room where a woman is seated at a table in manacles. She immediately locks eyes with me, never looking away even as she speaks to the director.

“You brought me a visitor, how thoughtful of you, Doctor,” she purrs, her dead eyes still locked on mine. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone address him as
Doctor
and it reveals the fact he isn’t just an executive but a man who most likely has a doctorate in psychiatry; it makes sense.

I look away from the woman to watch as Dr. Brinkley leans against the wall, folding his arms and bending one leg at the knee, placing a foot flat on the cinderblock wall. The smug look on his face is infuriating.
Show time, Windy. You’ve got this.

“Yes,” he says with a smirk, “she’s convinced she wants to work with serial killers. An introduction would seem to be in order. Miss Fairchild, this is Georgia Clark, one of our case study participants and one of the most prolific serial killers in the country.”

I jump when the woman abruptly rattles her chains against the metal table, the discordant clanging echoing around the room.

“Jumpy little thing, isn’t she, Doc?” she laughs, sounding almost giddy.

That pisses me off and I sit on the bench but don’t put my legs beneath the table. It gives me a sense of false security knowing I can jump up from the table and run if necessary. Why, I don’t know, because the locked door will prevent me from escaping. Suddenly I’m glad the woman seated across the table from me is restrained. I study her, noting she looks like the typical suburban wife; a very beautiful one, but not the typical woman you would suspect of being a serial killer if you saw her on the street. Nothing about this woman gives away that she is a blood-thirsty serial killer. She has shoulder-length blonde hair and porcelain skin any woman would envy, but it’s the cold blue eyes that haven’t strayed from me since I entered the room that reveal the threat she truly is. She’s intently studying me, looking for any information to use against me. There is no doubt in my mind that this is a very intelligent woman.

“I’m here in the room so if you’re going to address me, then do so in a direct manner.” I meet her gaze, challenging her to stop addressing me in the third person. It’s very condescending behavior to talk about me like I’m not in the room; I know from my psychology classes it’s her way of de-humanizing me. If she can make me insecure by demeaning me, it gives her the sick illusion of control she wants. Who knows, maybe she even believes it. If I’ve learned anything in my studies it’s that patients like her are all about one thing: control. Here at
Our Lady of Tranquility
, her control has been stripped away;., one fleeting moment of feeling like she has regained even a modicum of control will serve to give her a cheap thrill—I have no intention of providing her with that.

She ignores my demand and continues to stare at me as she speaks once again to the doctor. “Feisty little thing, isn’t she? I like it when they fight. Her cunt smells like a pampered little rich bitch, doesn’t it, Doc?”

I jump up from the table when, quicker than I can process it, the doctor pushes off the wall and slams his fist down on the metal tabletop. The force of the impact reverberates so hard that I can see the steel bench I was just seated on vibrate.

“That’s enough!”

He grabs my arm and pulls me to the door, swiping the card he’s still holding in his hand. He opens the metal door in one fluid move, escorting me out. He waits until we’re in the elevator and he’s pushed the button to speak. “I’ll expect you in my office by 8 am tomorrow morning.”

I look up at the elegant man who stands at least 6’2 and realize it’s the first time in the interview I’ve seen him flustered in any way. He breathes deeply and looks down at me as the elevator doors open. “That will be all, Miss Fairchild.” His tone is dismissive and arrogant, and it suits his personality perfectly.

Windy

I take a moment to stop packing and think about all that has happened today. I was shocked when my parents didn’t react the way I had been prepared for them to when I informed them this morning that I was moving today. They acted like they weren’t even surprised. On top of that, they seemed downright pleased that I am starting my new job in the morning. There was a time when I would have given anything for them to show me that kind of support; but I know my father well enough to know that he’s up to something. I just don’t know what it is yet.

I let my mind wander back to the incident in the mental hospital this afternoon. There is something about Dr. Brinkley that makes me uneasy. I guess I’d been expecting a balding, middle-age man with a middle-age spread to match -- Dr. Brian Brinkley is anything but. It’s evident by the way he fills out that navy blue, expensive suit that there is a fit, athletic body beneath all that elegant tailoring. He had been smooth and well put together until the patient had been disrespectful with me, and then it was like someone flipped his crazy switch.

It didn’t take a profiler to read his demeanor and how rapidly he had gone from being the poised, professional executive who was in complete control, to a very pissed off angry man who was going to get his point across—the guy had actually scared
me
when he slammed his fist down on that metal table. I wish I had taken the time to see how the woman reacted to his outburst. It had all happened so fast it never entered my mind to get a read on the serial killer. The thing I find the most troubling is the fact it wasn’t an outburst of anger in the normal sense; there was a swift and intense element of danger in Dr. Brinkley’s reaction to the woman—one that left me more afraid of the doctor than the patient. The look on his face had been one of intense purpose, the same look my father gets when he’s crossed. It’s the look of relentless purpose, the look of a powerful man who won’t tolerate insubordination of any kind.

Some people’s anger is wild and out of control, while others… it’s more of a power-driven anger. Those are the people who scare me. They scare me because they are the ones with not only the power but the resources to ruin a life. They not only pose the threat of physically harming a person, they have the means to slowly and very painstakingly take a life apart piece by piece. There’s no veiled threat; only the promise of retribution. I push the foreboding thoughts away and continue packing. Surely the guy can’t be dangerous. I do wonder why the director’s name plaque doesn’t boast the prefix “Dr.” rather than the Executive Director title. It is just another thing that puts my mind ill at ease. Most people would flaunt the degree for the prestige it gives. It tells me he is a very confident man to not feel the need to do so. I make a note to look at his wall plaques tomorrow to familiarize myself with his degrees. One thing is for sure: the fact he’s a doctor explains how he knows my father. If doctors are aware of anyone’s accolades, it’s their fellow colleagues’.

I pull myself up off the floor and stack several boxes neatly along one wall of my walk-in closet. I have no intention of taking everything and my parents will leave my room just the way it is as if I haven’t moved out. I know in the back of their minds they are hoping this is just a phase and I’ll be returning home as soon as I find out independence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. If they could they would probably keep me here until I marry. In their minds I’ll always be their little girl.

The thought of moving back home isn’t what is prompting me to have reservations about taking all of my belongings with me; the thought that I’m moving into a dangerous neighborhood is. I have no intention of drawing attention to myself by flaunting my father’s wealth. This is a new start for me with very basic beginnings, and I’m fine with that. A lot of the women I’ve grown up with are content with getting a degree only to get married and never put it to work. I have no intention of doing that. I have a strong desire to be an independent and self-sufficient woman. I don’t need a man to feel complete; in fact, at this point in my life I don’t have time for one because they will only get in the way of me achieving my goals. I simply don’t have time to date with all I have going on right now.

Regardless of how badly I want to believe my father is wrong, there is an element of truth in the fear my father has about me working with Melissa. During the day the downtown Louisville area is a tourist trap, complete with horse carriage rides, the Belle of Louisville boat tours, high dollar spas, and boutiques to shop in. Some of the most elegant shops and beautiful architecture can be found in the large downtown area that is known for horse racing and celebrity sightings.

At night the downtown area takes on a much more sinister atmosphere of pimps, prostitutes, drugs, and those who walk the streets looking to fill the dark void of addiction. The darkness comes in various forms, for some it’s drugs, for others it’s sex, and downtown Louisville is where they come to sate the beast within. Like any other addiction, temporarily satisfying it is the best they can hope for because it will rear its ugly head over and over again. It’s no different for the criminal element; downtown is their hunting ground, a place where their victims can be easily targeted with no worry of public outrage when their victims show up at the hospital or the morgue. Years my father spent working in the emergency room as a surgeon on duty have exposed me to just how ugly street life can be. When I was a kid, they shielded me from life’s harsh realities; but when I was old enough, my parents made sure I understood how cruel people can be. Though my father can drive me crazy at times with his overprotectiveness, I know he’s coming from a good place.

In less than 24 hours, my life as I know it now will be unrecognizable: where I work, where I live – it will all change. It’s now or never as far as I’m concerned, so there’s no turning back or changing my mind. I just wonder why my father isn’t throwing more of a fit about the fact that I’m basically reinventing myself. He was livid at first, and then…nothing. I know it’s only a matter of time before I find out what he’s up to.