Protect and Correct

Protect and Correct

By

Breanna Hayse

Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Hayse, Breanna

Protect and Correct

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Images by The Killion Group and Bigstock/Linda Jackson Photography

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

Chapter One

The sensation of floating fogged her senses as she struggled to join the waking world. She felt weak, helpless, and disassociated from her body. A face harboring a wicked grin leaned over her. A short knife glittering in fading sunlight… An odd laugh… An odor that was so sweet it sickened her…

“Doc! She’s coming to!” a deep voice called out, sounding far in the distance. Something warm and comforting touched her thigh. Why couldn’t she focus? Her head swam with dizziness.

“Brooke? Come back to us, honey. You are safe now,” a soft female voice coaxed. “Open your eyes… slowly. There you go, sweetheart. Easy… Collin! Turn those damn lights down! They are too bright for her.”

Terrese squinted against the harsh whiteness that surrounded her. Brooke? Who were they talking to? Something cold and wet pressed against her parched lips, and she allowed her mouth to suckle. Never before had an ice chip tasted so heavenly.

“Where am I? Who is Brooke?” she croaked out hoarsely as her senses struggled to return to normal.

“You are in a hospital in Richmond, Virginia.” A lovely, middle-aged Asian woman dressed in a white lab coat reached over the bed to stroke her face. “You have been to hell and back. Do you have any pain?”

“Hospital? Virginia? Why…? Ohhh.”

“No, don’t try to sit up yet. You are too weak right now. Relax and let me help you.”

The hospital bed moved underneath her, and she was forced into a sitting position. Brooke groaned as her stiff muscles screamed in protest, and she scrubbed her palms against her thighs in an attempt to relieve the tormenting spasms.

The physician smiled, taking her hand. “I am Dr. Nguyen. You have been here for two months, recovering from injuries. It is going to take some time for you to adjust to moving your body again.”

“Two months? What injuries?”

“There is no way to say this delicately. Someone tried to murder you, honey. And thankfully, he failed miserably.”

“What? Who…? How…?” Brooke widened her eyes in fright and disbelief. Murder? The pallor in her face caught her physician’s attention.

“Shhh, try to stay calm—”

“Pardon me, but I have to interview her,” a male voice intervened. “Sorry, but this investigation needs whatever she can remember.”

“I understand,” Dr. Nguyen said, patting Brooke’s frail hand. “I will be in the hall if you need me. Please try not to excite her too much, Collin. And no threats…”

“Why do you always think I go in that direction?”

“Because inevitably, you do! Leave her backside out of the equation, mister. Spanking will not get you the information you want.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Collin chuckled. “I promise that I will be as nice as I can, Denise. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Dr. Nguyen grunted, glancing at Brooke as though she were unconvinced of his reassurance and then leaving after one last pat to Brooke’s shoulder.

“What was she talking about? Threaten me? Spanking? What the hell is going on here?”

Collin winked, sitting upon the edge of the bed. “I paddled her backside once for not giving up information I needed. Since then, she has been justifiably wary of my right hand.”

“You
spanked
her
?
Please tell me that you are just screwing with me. This is insane…”

“Chill, kid. No need to worry unless you intentionally don’t cooperate with me. Let’s talk a bit,” came the amused retort from the broad-shouldered man with a set of very kissable lips.

Brooke studied his demeanor. From the several days of growth on his tanned face to the shaggy, dark blond hair in serious need of a trim (or at least a hairbrush), she decided that he might be the type of guy whom a girl could fall in love with for no other reason than the sense of safety that emanated from him.
His kind eyes reminded her of melted caramel and made her inner goddess sigh.

“I want to welcome you back to the wonderful world of reality, kiddo. You had a tough journey. I also want to apologize that we are not meeting under better circumstances. My name is Collin Golde, FBI. Before you say anything, I assure you that you are safe with me under the care of the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

“Witness protection? What happened? Do you know who did this to me?”

“Shhh, calm down. We have no suspects as of yet. We believe your assailant to be the same person who is responsible for the murder of seven other people in the last year. Anything you can tell me that will help us in tracking him down is greatly appreciated.”

“That monster has killed seven people? Fuck…” Brooke blinked in disbelief. “Truthfully, I don’t remember anything past getting on the bus after a really bad day at work. Who is Brooke?”

“As far as the world is concerned, Terrese Fanguard, his latest victim, died from mortal injuries sustained after falling from the Tallahassee Bridge. You are now Brooke Doyle, a 22-year-old newlywed straight out of the corn fields of some unknown town in Nebraska.”

“Twenty-two? How in the world did you manage to shave ten years from me? Not that I am complaining about it,” Brooke tried to smile. Her face felt odd, and she touched her fingers to her jaw, flexing it.

“I aim to please, my dear. Can you tell me what you remember just before you woke? It seemed as though you were dreaming about something that agitated you.”

Brooke tried to maintain her composure as she responded, knowing that now was not the time to allow emotions to break through her hardened defenses. She self-reprimanded herself to stay in control.

“It wasn’t much. I saw a man smiling while holding a paring knife. I could not tell who he was. However, I think it was just dreamed. Sorry.”

“More information might come to you as you wake up a bit more. I need you to tell me anything, even if you think it’s irrelevant. Anything at all…”

“Certainly. I have a condition though. Since you know my name, then you know that I was a forensic analyst. I am aware of how information is obtained and processed. I want to help. I am really good at what I do… did… and… Damn, what is wrong with my face? It is so stiff and numb,” Brooke reached again to massage her jaws, unable to hide the shaking of her hands.

“You are not assisting in this investigation other than telling me what you know. I don’t care how good of an investigator you are, so you might as well drop the topic here and now,” Collin said, offering her a half-smile. “Let me get Dr. Nguyen in here to explain what has happened to your face. Denise? Could you come in and talk to Brooke? I also think she might need something for anxiety.”

“When did you get your medical license?” Denise frowned, sitting next to Brooke.

“You know my background,” Collin’s voice was firm. Brooke looked between the two of them in confusion
.
What was going on here?

“Sorry. I forgot,” Denise shrugged. She refocused her attention on Brooke. “I am assuming you want to know why your face and neck feel so strange.”

Brooke nodded.

“I cannot explain it except to be honest. The sick bastard who attacked you drugs his victims, carves them up, and then tosses them to the fish to finish the job. You are the sole survivor of his attacks and possibly the only witness.”

“He took off my face?” Brooke whispered as she massaged her jaw muscles.

“No, but he made you unrecognizable. You received extensive plastic surgery repairing the damage, but your bones and muscles will need some therapy to work properly. You have also lost a tremendous amount of weight and will need some work in re-strengthening. We went ahead and performed a full body sculpt on you. You do not resemble the person you were before this tragedy. You have a brand new look that goes with your new identity. I’m truly sorry this happened to you.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying I am skinny? And younger? And that I got the full makeover for free? I hated my old face and body, so I consider this positive news in an otherwise not-so-wonderful experience,” Brooke said, trying to hide her bitterness. “My husband…”

“He thinks you are dead. There was no other way to keep you in hiding,” Collin began. “I know that will be hard on you, but…”

Brooke interrupted, her voice choked with emotion, “Hard? Are you kidding? That is the best news I have heard so far. You just saved me the headache of divorcing the arrogant, self-absorbed, spineless jerk.”

There was silence throughout the room as Brooke began to cry. Dr. Nguyen squeezed her hand after hitting the call button and ordering a sedative from the floor nurse.

“I know this is a lot to take in, kiddo,” Collin said, his voice soothing. “There was no other way to tell you about this mess. Is there a reason to place your husband as a suspect?”

“Not unless he managed to invest in a large, accidental death insurance policy and name himself beneficiary. Nah, I was worth more to him alive than dead. He married me for financial support only. Trust me. There was no love lost between us,” she sniffed, accepting the tissue he handed her.

“As far as we have discovered, he did not have any insurance on you, and the house you owned was not covered under a death protection clause. That means he is responsible for the payments and all the debts you two raised as a couple.”

“That is poetic justice, then. Including the house—which he cannot sell for the purchase price at its present condition—two new cars, and five maxed-out credit cards, he is in major debt. It must be for over a quarter million. Love it. Rat bastard,” she stated bitterly.

“Let’s get back to the situation. What do you last remember?” Collin asked softly, holding a tablet in his hand and posed to write,

“I will tell you what, detective. We switch back and forth with questioning. Wanna tell me where you fit into all of this? And don’t even think of threatening to spank me. I might like it.” Brooke raised her eyebrow.

Collin chuckled, handing her a glass filled with ice chips. “You are a feisty one; I’ll give you that. As I mentioned, I am with the FBI Witness Protection Program serving as a private investigator and bodyguard. I am going to be by your side as you recover and stay with you during relocation. It is going to take a couple of weeks before you are strong enough to move, so we will have plenty of time to get to know each other. I plan to be there assisting you during rehab.”

“Stay with me? Like, move in and baby sit me from a guy who thinks I’m dead?”

“Like stay with you and take the role of your happy, new husband. Completely platonic, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that part of the deal, detective. I am sure with how I look, past or present, that you would have it no other way. So, what qualifies you to help with my rehab?” Brooke asked tersely, rubbing her temples. She could feel her blood pulsing under the aching skin. Why did it feel so strange?

“Let me show you…” Collin pushed her hands down and took over. The pads of his fingers circled counter-clockwise over her tense brow line.

“Okay, you are hired,” Brooke muttered, her shoulders sagging in surrender as those same fingers moved along the sides of her neck, kneading in a firm, circular motion. “How will you keep anyone from recognizing me? I have a very, uh, unique appearance. It has a description of its own—uglier than shit.”

“I think we are pretty well covered. We are going into an area that, as far as our records show, you have never been. You were formally announced as deceased and cremated during a private ceremony. No open casket was offered due to the extensive bodily injuries that made you unrecognizable. There is no reason for him to believe you are alive as we figure out a common denominator.”

“And about your appearance,” Dr. Nguyen said, entering the room to check on her patient and overhearing Brooke’s question, “I assure you that no one, especially the perpetrator, will ever recognize you.”