Jewels and Panties (Book One): Sex Prescribed Read online

  "Urgh..."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. It looked as though it was going to be another sleepless night. In my pocket, my phone rang and for a fleeting second I was filled with the hope it was Helena even though I knew perfectly well it wouldn't be.

  "Hello?" I answered suspiciously, not recognizing the number.

  "Berger?"

  "Yeah."

  "We have another one."

  I knew what he meant but I wanted so desperately for him to be wrong.

  "Another..."

  "Another girl," he confirmed. "On the beach."

  The heaviness in my chest plummeted.

  "Is she connected to-"

  "Yes," came the definitive reply. "There's no question about it."

  My hand began to shake as it clutched hold of my coffee cup. As if this night couldn't get any worse....

  "I'm on my way," I said as I pulled on my coat. "Let's just hope the news crews aren’t there before I am."

  Chapter Four

  Etta

  Lucy had tears in her eyes as she leaned over the bed. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing there, or why she held a tray of bloodied bandages in her hands.

  "Hey," she said as I opened my eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" I heard myself say but the voice seemed unfamiliar and echoic.

  Lucy sniffed and set the tray down.

  "I know. I'm not supposed to be on this ward but when I heard you came in, I had to make sure you were okay. Luckily the doctor understood."

  I tried to frown but realized my face was unable to move.

  "No. I mean. What are you doing here?"

  She pressed a knuckle into her eye and blinked hard.

  "I have to go back upstairs," she said. "It's hectic up there today but I'll be back on my break, promise."

  She turned to leave and I tried to reach out and stop her. Again, nothing happened and I looked down to see my arm flat on the bed with a needle inserted in the crease of my elbow.

  "What the?"

  "Shhhh."

  She reached over and held my hand.

  "Lucy? What's going on?"

  Glancing up at the clock, she frowned and rubbed her tired eyes.

  "I guess I could stay for another minute."

  Perching on the side of the bed, she squeezed my hand tighter and dabbed the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. Her unexplainable crying was starting to irritate me.

  "Will you just tell me what's happening," I pleaded.

  She looked over her shoulder to the reception desk where I could just about make out the shape of a tall figure in a white coat.

  "You were in a crash," she explained. "You've been hurt."

  None of it was making sense. I couldn't remember a thing, and if I was in a crash then how come I wasn't in any pain?

  "A crash? But... Nothing's broken, right? I mean, nothing hurts."

  She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers against something hard around my neck.

  "You've been given a high dose of morphine. I mean, a really high dose of morphine. Dr. Bosworth said you're lucky to be alive."

  "Bosworth?"

  I'd heard the name before. He was like a celebrity in the hospital and all the men fawned over him while most of the older nurses spoke of how handsome he was, and how caring and intelligent. There were some rumors that he was a genius, a man who invented the very tools he worked with and made a fortune with his medical patents. But in my time on the nephrology department I'd never caught sight of him. He was little more than a myth to me, a man whose great expertise lay within the confines of the basement operating rooms.

  "Bosworth is here?" I asked, confused. "Why would he be here?"

  Lucy gave a weak smile.

  "You really don't remember a thing, do you?"

  I tried to shake my head but it was held in place by what I now realized was a neck brace.

  "Nothing," I said. "I remember nothing."

  Then I realized that I remembered something. Craig. The image of his face was stamped in my mind and the way he cried as I left. After that, everything was a blur. There were flashing pictures of a highway, a stoplight, and a loud noise. Lucy saw the pained looked on my face and patted my head.

  "Shhh.. It's okay. It's probably best you don't remember. From what I hear it was pretty grisly."

  "Who was in the crash?" I asked.

  "Some asshole," she replied and I was a little shocked to hear her swear. "He ran a red light and side swiped you."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

  "He's dead, though," she said with an aloofness I didn't much like. "But you're not and that's what's important."

  Then her eyes widened.

  "But you'll never guess who found you."

  All I could was blink at her as I tried to take in all the information.

  "Dr. Bosworth! Isn't that something? He was driving behind you when the crash happened and he was on the scene before the ambulance arrived. Ain't that a stroke of good luck?"

  I heard what she was saying but I couldn't process it.

  "Bosworth found me?"

  "That's right and-"

  A knock on the door interrupted her and she looked up, her expression changing to one of girlish adoration with her eyes bright and twinkling.

  "Doctor, I was just telling Etta about how you found her."

  I looked down at the end of the bed and saw him standing in the doorway with a clipboard, his face mostly obscured through a mixture of the bright lights and a haze of morphine.

  "That's right. I've never stumbled across a patient like that," he said. "And you're a nurse here too. What are the chances of that?"

  I was dreaming. I had to be. Any second now I would wake up back at home in my bed and Craig would be bringing me green tea.

  Lucy leaned over the railing and kissed my cheek.

  "I'm so happy you're okay," she said. "I nearly had a heart attack when I heard what happened."

  She turned and walked away with the tray of bandages, a peculiar wiggle in her hips as she sidled past Bosworth. I swear I saw her push out her breasts as she left, strutting and puffing herself out like a peacock.

  "Etta..." the doctor's said.

  Stepping forward, he lowered the clipboard and revealed his face. He was surprisingly handsome in a way that took me aback. Despite my injuries, I still found myself blushing in his presence and as he leaned over the bed with a stethoscope in his hand, I felt my heart beat a little faster.

  "Now, this is a little cold," he said as he pulled my gown to the side. "Hmmm...." he placed his pen between his teeth and began chewing on it pensively, "Your heart rate is quite high. Better keep an eye on that."

  He began scribbling in his notes, his face pulled taught into a serious expression. As he stood in profile, I could make out the silhouette of his refined features and how his high cheekbones were accentuated by his aquiline nose. His hair was neat and coal black and his skin a Mediterranean bronze. I couldn't quite figure out his age. He was either the healthiest forty year old or the most mature thirty.

  As he turned to me, I saw how his long, dark eyelashes framed his pale blue eyes. I felt myself gasp and glanced away, embarrassed by my reaction. Up until yesterday I'd been in love with one man since I was a kid and had never even looked at anyone else. I hadn't even so much as gazed lustfully at a celebrity and now here I was, lying in a hospital bed swooning over Dr. Bosworth. Maybe it was because he saved my life or maybe it was because he was quite genuinely the best looking person I'd ever seen.

  "Let me just feel your other pulses," he said. "I just want to double check something."

  He pressed two fingers to the carotid artery in my neck and I felt myself heat up. Below his white coat I could make out the shape of his muscles and as he leaned in closer, I caught the scent of his cologne, rich but fruity.

  "Hmm..."

  He pulled away and resumed scribbling.

  "I was expecting your heart rate to have come down a
bit but it's no surprise that it's still high, I suppose. You'll be under a great amount of stress right now."

  He placed his clipboard down and leaned his elbows along the railing.

  "So tell me Etta, how are you feeling?"

  "Erm..."

  There were no words that could describe how I was feeling.

  "Confused," I said at last. "I don't...understand... how...."

  "It's okay," he patted me on the shoulder. "You've suffered severe trauma. You'll still be in shock."

  Finally, the tears began to fall. They trickled down the sides of my face and down into my neck brace.

  "Hey..." his face softened, "It's okay. You'll be fine."

  "I don't feel fine," I sobbed.

  He gently touched my forearm, his warmth relaxing me immediately.

  "I promise you'll be okay," he assured me. "Look, I have your x-rays right here."

  He pulled the file out from the end of the bed and slid out two x-rays. Holding them above my head, I could see the shape of my torso in negative.

  "See that there?" he pointed to the dark line that looked like a hair winding its way across my collarbone. "It's just a slight fracture. It'll heal on its own. And see this?"

  He held up the other x-ray and I saw the somewhat macabre image of my skull and neck.

  I squinted and struggled to make anything out.

  "I can't see anything," I said.

  "That's because you're living proof that miracles can happen."

  He smiled and my eyes were drawn to the dimples in his cheeks.

  "Miracles?"

  He nodded.

  "You've got a nasty bump on your head but surprisingly no signs of concussion and no fracture. At the most, you'll have the effects of whiplash for a few months but that's about it. Your airbag and seatbelt truly saved you. Apart from that you've a few bumps and scrapes but nothing that won't sort itself out."

  The relief washed over my body.

  "I can't believe it."

  "Neither could I," he said.

  I couldn't help but notice how much time he was spending with me. Didn't he have other patients to see?

  "Lucy told me you found me. Thank you... “

  He slid the x-rays back into the file.

  "Don't thank me. I was just doing my job. Anyway, I'll leave you alone now. I'm sure you'll want to rest and see your family."

  "Mom?" I asked, perking up at the thought of being pulled into one of my mom's cuddles.

  "And your partner too," he said.

  My heart sank.

  "Oh..."

  "Anyway, you have a good night now. I'll be back tomorrow to check up on you."

  "Goodbye," I said, not really wanting him to leave.

  He smiled and moved toward the door, stalling in the doorway as though he'd remembered something.

  "Hey... Your name's Etta."

  "That's right. I was named after Etta James."

  "I thought so," he beamed. "She was my mother's favorite singer."

  And he walked away, the smell of his cologne lingering in the room.

  Chapter Five

  Lincoln

  My god, even in her neck brace she looked beautiful and when I saw the tears in her eyes, I had to restrain myself from climbing onto the bed and holding her. I was still thinking about her on my rounds. There was a patient in front of me, talking at speed but I was ashamed to realize I hadn't heard a thing he said. He looked up at me expectantly as he twiddled the ends of his gray mustache.

  "Well, doc, don't you think that ain't right?" his wife asked.

  I glanced down at the notes and looked back up at him as though I just noticed he was there.

  "We'll need to do some more tests," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask me to elaborate.

  Leaving his bed, I ventured back to the break room where Harold was chewing on a sugary pink donut, his eyes fixed up at the television.

  "Well look who it is. Just when people didn't like you enough already, you go and pull that off."

  "Pull what off?" I asked even though I knew fine well what he was talking about.

  Pouring myself a coffee and reaching for a cereal bar, I sat down beside him and rubbed at the bags beneath my eyes. I'd been working too many hours recently, needed a proper break, a vacation maybe.

  "Pull what off…" he chortled. "That whole guardian angel thing on the highway."

  I smiled to myself and looked down at my shoes.

  "Hey, it's my job isn't it?"

  He shook his head as he chewed on the last of his donut.

  "You're something else, man. Most doctors wouldn't have bothered their ass. They'd have waited for the EMTs."

  I shrugged and looked up at the television.

  A story was unfolding of a body being found at the beach, the third one this month.

  "Hey, what d’you make of this?" I asked, raising my coffee cup to the television in an attempt at changing the subject.

  Harold looked uninterested.

  "Just some fucknut serial killer," he said. "There's always one on the loose, right?"

  I wasn't sure I liked his casual attitude.

  "There's something weird about it though," I said. "I think there's a bigger picture the cops are missing."

  He gave me a sideways glance.

  "What? Are you a superstar genius cop now too?" he laughed.

  "No... I'm just saying they're lumping all these victims in with the usual stereotypical demographic of good girl gone bad but I think there's something going on here. I don't think it's just some guy picking up random vulnerable prostitutes."

  Seeming disinterested, Harold fished in his pocket for his phone.

  "I dunno, man," he said as he opened his emails. "Most of these cases are all the same."

  As I watched the screen, I paid attention to the reporter's voice and wondered if she was scared being on the edge of a crime scene. Corpses were found just a few steps away from where she stood but she relayed the news as though it was just another day at the office, just another boring shift at a crime scene talking on camera to millions of people. I considered whether the job had made her jaded, had made her look at death as though it was nothing but entertainment for the masses.

  As I drained my coffee, I watched the footage of the forensics team sweeping the reeds and sand for evidence but I knew they wouldn't find anything. Then the camera panned back to the reporter.

  "As always, the Normont Police Department is displaying extreme vigilance with extra patrols set to be on the lookout in the Broadwood area of the city and right here, we have Detective Berger. Detective, what can you tell us about the victims?"

  Detective Berger... I'd met him before at a gala once, a real cocky son of a bitch with a body like a bull and the manners to match. His beady eyes focused on the camera, his chiseled face red from being whipped by the coastal winds.

  "Well, Sandra. We're dealing with a unique case here. So far the victims have yet to be identified but we know for a fact they're linked. All three of them wore tattoos of a red spiral on their right ankles. It's an unusual image and definitely not a coincidence."

  "So detective, what does this mean for the investigation? Are you pursuing any leads?"

  He sighed and pointed out to the waves.

  "Right now, one of our only clues is that they were dumped at sea, and washed up on this same patch of beach. The killer must have known this would happened but he did it anyway. As for the tattoos, we have our cryptography department on it as we speak."

  "Thank you detective."

  As it cut back to the newsroom where the anchors sat motionless and unblinking, I turned back to Harold who was laughing at an email.

  "Did you hear that?" I asked.

  "Hmmm?"

  "All the victims. They had the same tattoo."

  "Probably some weird cult thing," he said without looking up.

  I slapped a hand on his shoulder.

  "Anyway buddy, you enjoy your break. I'm finally leaving this place."
r />   At last, he put his phone down and looked up crestfallen.

  "Aw, I thought you were gonna be working in O.R. 8 tonight?"

  "Nope," I shook my head and crumpled my coffee cup before bouncing a trick shot into the trash via the back of the seat.

  "Mullins is taking my place tonight. The chief insisted I at least take some time off. Apparently there's a legal limit to how much you can work doctors these days."

  Harold stood up and frowned.

  "Mullins is a dick," he said. "I think it actually hurts him to be nice."

  I laughed and made for the door.

  "Ah he's alright really. Just don't call him Len. He hates that."

  "Don't call him Len," he mumbled to himself as though he was taking mental notes. "Hey... you have a good night. Catch up on some sleep for me."

  "Not likely," I called over my shoulder as I reached the hall. "I'm volunteering over at Broadwood this weekend."

  Harold folded his arms and grinned.

  "Jesus, Bosworth. Are you tryna win the Nobel Peace Prize?"

  I winked at him and jogged toward the waiting elevator.

  ~

  The Walters House in Broadwood was an old crumbling tenement that had been condemned in the seventies only for it to be bought cheap by a local woman, the flamboyant but kind-hearted, Crystal Walters. Restoring it to a habitable state, she turned it into a refuge for homeless women, many of whom were escaping dangerous homes and abusive relationships. All of them were vulnerable and most of them found it difficult to access any sort of healthcare, never mind being able to afford it.

  It was Crystal herself who suggested I volunteer with them and I couldn't resist the opportunity.

  "Anything to help these women," I'd said and she'd kissed my cheek, leaving a powdery fuchsia pink stain on my face.

  Some people may have wondered why I did it. I didn't need the experience after all and I had enough things to busy myself with. Most of the time I felt as though I was spinning plates but there was something about the tragedy of the house that spurred me on to get involved.

  Now, five years after Crystal's death, the house was in need of some love and attention. As I pressed the doorbell, I saw how the paint was cracked and splintered and how the drains were backed up. Looking up into the first floor bedrooms, I saw the curtains were tatty and unwashed.