Page 13 of The Dom with a Safeword

“Foot in your mouth,” Q whispered under her breath. “So what kind of doctor do you want to be?

“A surgeon. Like my father was. And my brother.” He waved his hand lazily. “And my father’s father and so on.”

She zoomed in on the one discrepancy. “Like your father was?”

His pained expression made her almost regret her nosiness.

“He’s been sick for a while…years.” He nodded a little and stared into space for a few seconds. “But, yeah, he was an orthopedic surgeon.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled about becoming one,” Sabrina pointed out.

He shifted in his seat and shrugged. “Family tradition.”

She assessed him, using what she’d dubbed her Bullshit Detector. And it was beeping like crazy. “Family tradition, huh?”

Q gave her knee a squeeze. “You should know all about family pressure,” she whispered.

She dropped her gaze, fumbling with her hands. Damn her. Q always knew how to throw her off balance. Her family’s disapproval was the number one reason she refused to act on her more serious flirtations with her. Q knew it too.

“Anyway,” Jude started, stretching his arms overhead. The sleeves of his navy t-shirt slid up displaying his well-muscled biceps. “This summer is kind of my last hoorah before I’m forced to buckle down and grow up.”

“Growing up is overrated,” Q said.

“But necessary. Speaking of not growing up…” he said with a mischievous smirk at Sabrina, “how can I help with your ghost hunt?”

She narrowed her eyes. She’d ignore that little insult for now. “Anything you know about the former occupants of the house would help.”

“Well,” he leaned forward in his seat, “there was quite a scandal back in the eighteen hundreds.”

“A scandal!” She could almost feel her eyes lighting up.

“A tragic romance, a love triangle, and a murder,” he added in an exaggerated tone. “Some of it’s in the town records. But I had to read between the lines to get the real story.”

She clapped her hands excitedly. “Do tell!” If he was shitting her, she didn’t care. She could always kick his ass later.

Jude told the story. It was eighteen-fifty-three. The mayor lived in the house with his wife, three kids – one an infant – and several servants. His wife had fallen ill after giving birth and one of the servant’s young daughters came to help with the children. Her name was Naima and she caught the mayor’s eye with her stunning beauty and grace. She was keen on him as well and, as was common in that time, they had a tryst. As his wife, Grace, recovered, she and Naima spent time together looking after the children. Grace suspected the affair and grew jealous of the pretty girl. But Naima admired her and begged the mayor to ask his wife to allow her into the bedroom. Grace was appalled at the request. Jealousy and bitterness grew and formed a poisonous knot in her heart. Finally, she couldn’t look at the two exchange flirty glances any longer. She took the pistol from her husband’s study and shot him first. After, she went to the nursery to find Naima. When she walked in, Naima was facing away, looking out the window. Grace raised the gun and shot her in the back. But when she fell to the ground, Grace’s baby boy rolled out of Naima’s arms, bleeding from the head. He too, died.

Grace lived the rest of her long life in a miserable sorrow.

“Former occupants have said they could hear a woman wailing from time to time, especially in the early morning,” Jude finished.

“That’s awful!” Q cried.

“Yes, but that was ages ago.” Sabrina was practically bouncing out of her seat. A real haunted house! God, she must’ve looked like a hyper poodle that had to pee. But she couldn’t stop her excitement.

Jude laughed when she squeaked in anticipation. “Alright, little ghostbuster. Get to it then,” he said as he walked from the room.

She wasted no time unpacking her gear. It wasn’t dark quite yet but maybe, with some luck, she’d find something. And it still gave her a chance to charm her way into his good graces so he’d let her come back.

After throwing on her fishing vest to help stow her gadgets – which she’d bedazzled to match her knock-off designer denim skirt – she turned to check on Q.

“Do you have your camera stuff?” she asked her.

She was crouched as she assembled some fancy lens. “Yes.”

“You’ve got it on a fast shutter speed, right? I don’t want to miss anything.”

She gave her a tired look. “This isn’t my first time, little girl.”