Brush With Death- Dr. Tara Ross Series Vol 3

By Tanya Goodwin

After nearly killed twice, Dr. Tara Ross swore not to pry into her husband's homicide cases. Having closed her OB/GYN practice in Brewster, NY after her sociopath ex-partner murdered their young associate and attempted to kill her, Tara has taken a teaching position at Westchester Hospital and Clinics, mentoring OB residents and medical students. Putting her past behind at Brewster Medical Center, Tara has happily settled in her career. It was the perfect move until one of her medical students is suspected of being "The Lingerie" serial killer. Once her daughter, Abbie, who has a summer job at a lingerie store, is targeted, and after her friend and co-worker is assaulted, all bets are off.

Captain Jeffrey Corrigan, homicide commander of Brewster Police Department, is on the hunt for the killer. He's put his men into action, casting a net to ensnare him. He'll do anything to protect the love of his life,Tara, and his stepdaughter, Abbie.

Despite Tara's vehement disapproval, and Jeffrey's warning, Abbie, a budding criminologist, dives into her own investigation to avenge her friend's assault.

Between Tara's mission to protect her daughter while revealing the medical student, Abbie's revenge, and Jeffrey's rush to not only solve a homicide, but guard Tara, Abbie, and Abbie's friend, will they be quick enough to cage "The Lingerie" killer before he strikes, again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tanya Goodwin
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513605159

Tanya Goodwin

Tanya Goodwin writes romantic suspense with a twist of medicine, medical romance, and mystery. Her experiences as a physician are reflected in her characters and in her stories. Tanya is a graduate of the University of Miami School of Medicine and completed her specialty training as an obstetrician and gynecologist in Tampa, Florida. A former New Yorker, she now resides in St. Petersburg, Fl. Her present life as a traveling doctor allows her to switch from stethoscope to keyboard. Tanya is a member of Romance Writers of America, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime.

Book preview

Brush With Death

Dr. Tara Ross Series, Vol 3

By

Tanya Goodwin

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Tanya Goodwin

ISBN 9781513605159

Dedication

I'd like to thank my fabulous editor, Faith Freewoman. Not only is she a top professional with an eagle eye, but she also is truly a joyful and easygoing person. I'd also like to thank Rae Monet, my fabulous cover artist from the very beginning, and also my web designer. I'd like to give a shout out to my family, friends, and fellow authors who have cheered me. Finally, I'd like to thank my readers who have waited patiently for the third Dr. Tara Ross book, Brush With Death. Here it is, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Prologue

He bolted from the school bus, but they caught up with him. Why did his mom have to make him move again? Seventh grade was tough enough, and being in a new school sucked. It was all her fault. She drove him away. Now he had to suffer the consequences. He walked as fast as he could without running. His boots sank in the February slush.

Hey, loser! one of the ninth grade gang taunted him.

He didn't answer. He'd not look back.

The bully grabbed his backpack and clothes lined him.

I'm talking to you, jerk-off!

There was no point saying anything. They were bigger and stronger. They were going to do what they always did. He had no comeback. His day had already been extra-shitty, so it didn't matter. He only had to make it two more blocks to his house.

The brute yanked the backpack from his shoulders, unzipped it, tossed out the calculator, and crushed it with the heel of his boot. There you go, smart ass! He whirled the bag around his head and tossed it into the street. Go fetch!

He hunted for the pieces of the fractured calculator from the slush, and was about to retrieve his backpack from the street when a car swerved to avoid it, its skidding tires swiping the edge of it.

The woman driver stopped, got out of her vehicle, picked up the bag, and walked it over to him, glancing over at the rowdy teenagers, hooting and buffeting each other while they watched him trying to undo their damage.

I'm sorry, she said. That was mean." She handed him the soaked backpack.

The gang cackled and dispersed.

How humiliating, to be rescued by a woman. He thanked her anyway.

He stomped along the remaining two blocks, kicking up the dirty snow every other step until he'd reached home. He trudged up the steps and went inside. His mother never locked the door even though he had a key. She was too drunk most of the time to get up and do it.

I'm home!

No answer.

I'm home, mother, he called.

You don't have to shout. I'm in the tub.

His stomach clenched. He knew what that meant.

He slung the bag onto the kitchen table and tossed what was left of his calculator next to it. He unzipped the backpack and pulled out the soppy A+ biology test and the stepped-on envelope with the Valentine's Day card spoiled inside it. He threw it in the garbage.

Her name had smudged across the top of it. She gave him his card back in class without even opening it. He swiped the hot tears from the corners of his eyes.

Are you coming? his mother called from the bathroom.

Yes.

He walked down the hallway. The bathroom door was wide open, not even a modest crack. His mother was anything but modest.

He entered the bathroom. She lay in the tub, votive candles surrounding her. Her breasts stuck out from the water. She sat up and set her wine bottle on the floor.

Be a dear and wash my back.

He averted his eyes. Mother, this isn't appropriate.

Ooh! Big words. Come on. I'm your mother, not a stranger.

He sighed. He picked up the washcloth and slopped it across her back with his eyes half closed.

Do it right, will you?

He stroked her back.

Good boy. So how was your day?

I got an A+ on my biology test, a girl shoved my Valentine's Day card back at me without opening it, some turds smashed my calculator, and then for good measure, tossed my backpack into the street, where a car ran over it. So that sums up my day.

The water is getting cold. Can you turn on the hot water faucet?"

He balled his fists. Sure.

CHAPTER ONE

HER LONG BROWN hair swayed across her back. He watched her from the mall bench outside of DreamMaker's Lingerie Store. What a gorgeous smile! She was the one. There was something special about her, how she moved about the store, the choices she made. He had to get closer to her.

Finally she took her place in line. He got up and went inside the store, brushing past her to browse the bras and panties while keeping a watchful eye on her. The line moved too quickly. He'd lose her! He grabbed a beige bra and panty set that would fit Sara and barged past three women, slamming his selection onto the cashier's counter.

Hey! one of the women protested.

I'm in a hurry.

Well, so are we! Get in the back of the line!

Three hardly made a line. The lead woman tapped her foot. He'd step on it, but he couldn't afford to waste the time. Bitch! I'd not consider her or any of these losers. He ignored them and smacked crisp bills onto the counter. Here!

The saleswoman's face froze in shock. She rang up the sale and stuffed his purchase into a pink polka-dotted bag. Thank you for shopping at Dream Maker's.

Yes. Yes. Thank you.

As he followed his chosen one out, two young women working at the back of the store caught his attention. He'd come back for them. But this beauty was not to be missed.

He spotted her in the parking lot and followed her at a distance. She opened the door to a Jaguar. Nice! He got hard watching her bend over while she shoved her purchase into the empty passenger seat. He yanked his car keys from his pants pocket. He'd parked a convenient two rows over from her. Meant to be! He'd readied for the chase. Off we go!

Another car jockeyed between them. But that was good. He'd not want her to notice he was tailing her. She looked into her rearview mirror and ran her fingers through her long chestnut mane. So straight. What a tease! She doesn't even know I'm there.

He'd pull next to her but he didn't want to scare her, yet. Then he'd have to start over again and find another suitable woman. He was on a tight schedule as it is. He still had to iron his lab jacket and study for OB rounds in the morning. First impressions were key. Plus he needed to stuff her hairbrush in the bin under the bed and shower before Sara came home.

She pulled into her drive. There was no other car there. Bingo! No boyfriend or husband to interrupt us. He waited a block away and cut the engine. He slipped out of the car and hid behind some hedges. She got out of her car and retrieved her purchase. I love when she does that!

She headed to her front door and reached into her purse for the keys.

That a girl!

She pulled out the keys and and stabbed one into the lock. The tumblers released.

Now!

He shoved her inside, hard, and grabbed her from behind. He spread duct tape across her mouth and handcuffed her. He dragged her upstairs to the master bedroom. Yes, he was the master. She smacked her head back and slammed it into his forehead.

Oh, not nice! He crushed her ribs.

Off to the bedroom we go!

He tossed her on the bed and pulled off her clothes. There! There! Not to worry. You'll enjoy this. Enjoy me. That's right! Breathe gently. Your breasts rise and fall so beautifully. I'll be with you in a minute. I know you can hardly wait. Me, too.

He stripped off his clothes and folded them in a neat pile on the chair.

Here I come. No pun intended, my sweet.

He covered her with his body.

Her fingernails dig into his back.

Bitch! You shouldn't have done that!

He straddled her.

He pressed hard at her neck until his fingers blanched. She kicked until her protest faded. He stared at her face, now a deep purple.

I told you you would have liked it. She should have given it a chance. It would have been her last, but so worth it.

He dismounted her and straightened his mussed hair with his fingertips. He scanned the top of the dresser. That's where he discovered most of them. Her hairbrush lay poised on the cherry wood top. He shrugged. Gotta love a classic gal. He clapped his bare chest. I'd picked the right one, again. Although, this one put up a fight. He turned and wagged his finger at the dead woman.

I'll doubly remember you!

He grabbed the wooden handle of the brush and bounced his hand off the bristles. The stiff hairs pricked his palm. He gazed up into the dresser mirror and smiled at the still woman's reflection. Firm like your belly. You must have sweated at the health club for it. I like a woman who takes pride in her body.

He let loose of the brush and sighed.

I can't leave you like this. It wouldn't be respectful. I'll be right back.

He eased down the staircase. Why hurry? The alarm was off and it was mid-morning. Her man was tucked away at his job.

I'll have to make her presentable to him when he gets home. To see what I saw. Who was there before him!

He snatched the DreamMaker's bag and traipsed up the stairs with it. He strode into the bedroom, their bedroom.

See? I'm back, as promised.

He plucked a pink lace bra and matching panties from the bag. He set the empty bag onto the dresser's edge and adjusted the pink tissue as if her purchase was still tucked inside of it. Smiling, he approached her.

Excellent choice.

He lifted her limp legs and fed them through the the panty holes and yanked the panties to her knees. A crack echoed in the room. The lace had sheared at the sides.

Sorry, but panties are nonreturnable.

This happened every time with dead weight.

With his biceps tight, he twisted them to her hips. He exhaled, pressed his lips into a firm line, and snapped the elastic waistband to her pale body.

No need to thank me.

Now for the bra.

Straddling her, he threaded her heavy arms through straps. He grabbed her elbows and hoisted her up. Her head lobbed to his shoulder and her spine collapsed into a jellied arc. After snapping the back hooks, he pushed her over onto the bed. The springs groaned. He haunched to his knees and pulled off of her. While standing at the foot of the bed, he stared down at her. Satisfaction purred deep inside him. She looked beautiful. All that was left was the finishing touch.

He yanked on his jeans, commando, as always for these occasions, but left his chest bare. He thumped his fist onto his sculpted muscles. Perhaps she had worked out at the same gym, different time of course. He would have noticed her, and their encounter would have happened earlier. But he'd spotted her anyway, so the end was the same.

He snatched her hairbrush and brushed her hair, smoothing it down her shoulders until the ends teased her nipples. Perfect. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. They were still warm. He'd not kiss cold lips. He never hung around long enough. He grabbed the brush and descended the stairs. He glanced at his watch. Lunch time! He opened the front door and walked out of the house as if he belonged there. Cut grass filled his nostrils. The neighbor across the street pushed the grinding lawn mower across his thick summer blades. He waved at the guy, but he hadn't noticed him.

Humph! The suburbs!

He chuckled, his laugh lost in the roar of the mower. He trotted to his car. Why lock it in this safe neighborhood? He scooted into the seat and laid the hair brush onto the passenger seat. It was as if she was there, next to him. He started the car and eased to the stop sign and waited. He looked both ways and drove out of the neighborhood.

CHAPTER TWO

JEFFREY AND MIKE ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape. They'd retired from the NYPD where they solved more than their share Manhattan homicide cases. They'd both moved to the city's northern suburbs and were back, partnered like the good old times as detectives for the Brewster PD. The uniformed officer opened the front door to the white colonial.

Good evening, Detective Corrigan, Detective Price.

It was a rote greeting. It wasn't a good evening for the dead woman inside or for her husband whose voice cracked between sobs to the 911 operator.

The husband, appearing in in his thirties, sat on the living room sofa with his hands curled around the edge of the cushion as if he'd fall over if he lost his grip. The whites of his eyes were stained red and his tie hung loose around his white shirt, its top three buttons undone. He would be looked at first as suspect. There was no way around it.

Jeffrey waved Mike to the stairs to start processing the master bedroom where the man's murdered wife laid. He sat next to the distraught man. Jeffrey offered his hand to the man. The man accepted the strained greeting, complacent, his handshake less than firm.

I'm Captain Jeffrey Corrigan, lead detective with Brewster Police Department. My condolences. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you.

Phillip Rawley. My wife...

Jeffrey heard the man swallow.

My wife, Elise. I found her.

Phillip buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Jeffrey touched his back. I'm so sorry for your loss. And I know this seems cold, but we'll have to escort you the the station for an interview. It's standard.

Phillip nodded. Can I please see her?

No. I'm sorry. My partner and I, the crime scene unit, and the medical examiner need to leave her where she is. It's the best way for us to start solving this crime against her. Then she'll be taken to the medical examiner's office for an autopsy. You can see her there.

Jeffrey and Phillip sat in silence.

A police officer approached them. Ready Mr. Rawley?

Phillip Rawley stood. Yes.

The police officer glanced at Jeffrey. We'll take him to the station.

Offer him some food and drink. I'll be there as soon as I can.

Will do, Detective.

Jeffrey stood and walked past the crime scene tech dusting the staircase banister.

The tech shot his thumb over his shoulder. Bedroom's at the end of the hallway and to the right.

Thanks.

Jeffrey trudged up the stairs. He'd rather be having Friday night dinner with Tara, her daughter, Abbie, and his son, James. But Abbie was working at the mall, James was filming a movie short in the city, and the love of his life, Tara, was the attending OB/GYN tonight at Westchester Hospital and Clinics. It was July, and her charges were green at every level. She was probably submerged in keeping residents and medical students from killing the patients. Looks like he'd have a late dinner with Mike, if that, tonight.

A mix of voices emanating from the open door of the room in question wafted into the upstairs corridor. Jeffrey donned his non latex gloves and slipped shoe covers over his oxfords. They crinkled with his every step. He passed by two rooms on his left, and one and two on the right, opening the doors to them. The ones on the right included a home office, and another bedroom, the ones on the left, a full bath, and an empty room directly across from the crime scene bedroom. On quick glance, nothing appeared in disorder. Jeffrey entered the master bedroom.

Mike stood, pensive over the dead woman, Elise Rawley, as she lay on the bed in her pink lace lingerie. The window blinds were closed. He looked up at Jeffrey while camera flashes lit up the dim room.

Aside from sheet wrinkles beneath her, nothing appears disturbed, he said. There's an empty lingerie gift bag on the dresser. All that's left inside of it is that pink paper wrap stuff.

The CSU tech collected the bag, and tagged it, while his colleagues continued to dust the room for prints.

Mike leaned over, and with his gloved hands, he lifted price tags from the bra and the panties on Elise's body. He arched his bushy brows. Who leaves these on lingerie, expensive ones at that?

Good point. Someone dressed her. Question is, was it her purchase or the perp's?

My thoughts, exactly.

Jeffrey stared at the price tags with DreamMaker's stamped onto them. Abbie had a summer job at that lingerie store. His jaw clenched.

What's up? Mike asked with concern.

I have to make a call. Go ahead and draw out the scene.

You want my scribble scrabble?

Yeah. Get the techs to help you with the measurements.

Jeffrey stepped to the open doorway, took off his gloves, and yanked his cell from his back pocket. He tapped Abbie's number.

You've reached Abbie. So leave me a sweet message, and I call you when I'm free!

He'd only made it to her voicemail.

Abbie, it's Jeffrey. Call me. It's important.

He stared at the phone. She probably couldn't answer her cell while she was working. Jeffrey searched for DreamMaker's Lingerie in his cell and tapped the phone link.

Hello. DreamMaker's Lingerie. May I help you?

Yes. May I speak to Abbie Ross. This is Jeffrey Corrigan, her stepfather.

Just a minute, please.

His heartbeat pulsed at his neck.

Hi, Jeffrey. What's up?

He sighed into his phone.

Are you all right? Her pitch escalated. Is Mom okay?

We're fine. Your mom's on call. I'm at a crime scene.

Oh. Sorry.

When do you get off work?

I'm closing tonight. So about 9:30.

I'll be there at 9:15. I don't want you to walk outside the mall, alone.

Jeffrey. I won't be alone. A group of us go out to our cars. Plus the mall security guy escorts us. Are you sure everything's all right? You sound weird.

Everything's fine, he lied. He couldn't divulge the truth. I just want you to get home safe.

Don't worry. I will.

It's my job to worry.

I thought that was Mom's job.

We have a worry schedule. It's my turn tonight.

Abbie giggled on the other end. Okay. See you later, tonight?

Yeah. I just need to wrap things up.

Okay. Love you.

Love you, too, sweetheart. Call me when you get home.

I promise.

Jeffrey ended the call. He handed a CSU tech his gloves and donned a fresh pair. He strode to Mike and peeked at his drawing. Not bad.

Mike raised his pen. Thanks.

Hey! I've come to join this soirée.

Mike and Jeffrey looked at the open doorway.

Hey, to you. Come on in, George, Jeffrey said.

George Adamides, a Greek balding man, wasn't as easy on the eyes as Jeffrey's long time medical examiner friend, Emily Roseman, but he was just as sharp. Plus, his family owned the best Greek restaurant in town.

George snapped on his gloves. He shook his head. Too, young. Too, beautiful. He walked over to the dead woman. May I?

Sure. We've been waiting for you, Jeffrey said.

Yeah! A whole fifteen minutes. Where the hell have you been? Mike teased. More importantly, did you bring that uh, spankipiopia?

How many times do I have to tell you, Mike? It's span-i-ko-pita.

So I'm an Irishman.

Thought you were born in the Bronx?

Okay. I'm a second generation. I'm Irish by blood, but my gut is Greek, tonight.

All right. Once we finish up here, I'll bring you Mousaka.

Fine with the moose stuff, but make sure you bring the spankipiopia to the station.

My relatives are wincing in their graves.

Okay, you two. This lady's not in her grave, yet. She deserves our attention, Jeffrey said.

George bowed his head at Elise. I'm sorry. We did not intend to offend you. So, tell me, who's the sick person that did this to you? He leaned over the woman and raised her half-closed eyelids with his thumbs. Petechial hemorrhages. George trailed his fingers down her neck. Bruising.

We're going with strangulation, too, Jeffrey said. There's no forced entry downstairs or in the bedroom and the alarm was off. Jeffrey looked at Mike. We'll have to check with the alarm company regarding when the last time it was activated and deactivated.

I'll be on that.

Is that the husband I passed by on my way up? George asked.

Yes, Jeffrey answered.

Poor guy.

We'll be interviewing him. But he's not my man. Call to dispatch came at 5:23 p.m., but let's say he came home early and found his wife, dressed in sexy lingerie, in bed with another man. The man may have managed to escape or been booted out. If there was an altercation, this room or the house would show signs of a struggle. There's no evidence of that. And an incensed husband, would more than likely show rage. More than strangulation. Beating her. Bludgeoning her. Stabbing. Shooting if there's a gun around. None of that's here. This is a bloodless scene. Her assailant had this planned.

Bingo, Mike called.

But we're not going to rush to judgement, Jeffrey advised.

He'd been guilty of that before.

George parted the woman's thighs. There's a panty stain. Semen, I'm sure.

That was sloppy of him, Mike said.

Or maybe she and her husband had sex before he left for work. Perhaps the assailant couldn't get an erection. Many of these perps can't. Hence his anger and frustration. So he strangles her and dresses her in his idea of a whore.

I'll collect the sample back at the morgue. If its the husband's that's one answer. If it's someone else's, then perhaps the DNA will pop up in the system.

We could hope, Jeffrey said.

She's just beginning rigor and some lividity to her back. I doubt she's been moved. I'd say this most likely happened this morning, before noon. I'll get you my full report as soon as I can.

I'll let you know when I finish interviewing Phillip Rawley. Fair to say I'm working with a contaminated the scene.

Detective Corrigan, we're finished with the downstairs,a CSU tech called.

We're done here, too. George, she's all your yours.

Now for Phillip Rawley.

CHAPTER THREE

ABBIE HANDED THE woman the pink polka dot bag. Thank you for shopping at DreamMaker's. I've including a sample of our new perfume in the bag.

The woman smiled. Thank you.

Freebies always had that effect.

Abbie folded her arms onto the counter. That's the last one.

Her co-worker, Lexi, rolled her eyes. Thank God. My feet are killing me and my head aches. I hate semi-annual sales. Summer is just as bad as Christmas vcation season! Look what they did to the two for one bras, and 5 panties for fifteen bins. What a mess.

Suzi Swails, the store manager and their boss, waggled her finger at them. Precisely! We made a killing today. Even the most frugal woman can't resist a sale. It brings out men, too. Nowhere near Valentine's Day, but deals call to their wallets as well. You and Abbie straighten those bins. I want everything folded neatly and according to size. Then line up the hanged items and set up the boxed perfume sets for tomorrow's day 2 sale.

While Suzi closed out the register, Abbie and Lexi tackled the disorder the competing customers left behind.

Lexi sorted the bras and Abbie, the panties.

Lexi picked up a black lace demi-cup bra and held it up to her breasts. This one's to die for. What do you think?

It suits you.

I'm going to get it with my discount. How about you?

I'm partial to the pink one. Abbie rummaged through the bin. And here's matching panties.

Get both!

Less chatter and more work. I want to get out of here, tonight. Mat and I have plans.

Suzi Swails strode as rhythmically on her 4 inch high stilettos as the sing song sound of her name.

Hey, Suzi. Can you ring up these bras and panties for Abbie and me?

Suzi sighed. All right. But I have to close out.

Lexi winked at Abbie. Come on.

They plunked their purchases on the counter. Lexi and Abbie took out their cell phones. Suzi scanned them in.

Gotta love technology!

Suzi waved them off.

Giddy from their deep discounted sales, Abbie and Lexi sorted the lingerie with gusto.

I'll line up the box sets, while you straighten the hanged items, Abbie said.

Will do. We'll be out of here in no time.

They'd finished at the same time.

Voila! Lexi said.

All right. Nice job, both you. The registerer is closed out. I'll make a bank run tomorrow morning.

Suzi pulled the metal gate to the store's entrance closed and locked it.

Where is old Kowalski? He's security tonight, Suzi asked.

What a joke. Why can't it be hunky Gabe? I'd wait for him, Lexi replied.

I'm not going to be late for my date. Let's roll. We'll walk out together.

They grabbed their purses and Lexi and Abbie snatched up their pink bags. They stood on the other side of the metal grid gate and the three tugged it shut. Suzi secured the lock.The swish and click of other mall vendors securing their stores for the night echoed in the empty mall.

They headed to the mall's exit door leading to the parking lot. Kowalski was no where in sight.

The man's useless, Lexi said. The lot's lit up and our cars are parked together. Let's go.

The women's heels clacked against the mall tiles.

Lexi shoved the exit door open, letting Suzi and Abbie pass. She shoved it closed. The door automatically locked. Their cars stood alone in the dark parking lot.

Guilt poked at Abbie. She promised Jeffrey that a security man would walk her to her car. She doubted he'd care Kowalski was a senior reed of a man. She'd lie if she had to. Otherwise, she'd not mention it.

Abbie made a fist and squeezed a key between two knuckles. She'd be ready to gauge any creep's eye.

They hit their car remotes amazingly at the same time, releasing a cacophony of car horns.