Unhinged by his White Heat (Unhinged Erotic Romance Series, Book 1)

Chapter 1

Kema Ekwueme balanced on the edge of the black leather sofa, her elbows on her knees, aware of another flash of disapproval from her reluctant hostess whose eyes had returned yet again to Kema's spread legs.

Feeling a little perverse, she jerked her black jeans-clad legs apart even more. In response, her hostess, Doctor Awolowo shot her another glare.

Kema ignored her. She was here to fish out the circumstances that led to the death of a sixteen-year old girl and if that meant that she had to face this woman's judgey glares, she would gladly do it.

The main reason she was here—sixteen-year old Nike, daughter of Doctor Awolowo—sprawled opposite on another black sofa. The young girl's head was bowed and her legs stuck out at careless angles.

Her mother lingered unbendingly beside her, and now she had transferred her glares to Kema's rather —improper—hairstyle.

Kema pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her face bland, struggling to keep from laughing. Yes, she could imagine what this prim doctor was thinking about her punk cut.

Nike's mother's slim frame was draped with a cream caftan which—of course—happened to match the walls of the room. Her sleek hair was plaited into a neat bun. The epitome of elegance.

Kema leaned forward, training her focus on the girl sitting in front of her.

Nike continued to look away, knotting and unknotting her hands, shaking and shaking her legs... restless, scared—guilty?

"Tell me again what happened."

More leg-shaking and then, she mumbled, "I've told the police... I've told everyone..."

"Yes, I know—but tell me. I want to know."

Nike shrugged. "We had a day out—she... Rachel... wanted to go to the doctor and r-remove the baby. After the doctor, we came back. That's it."

"That's not all, is it?" Kema nudged.

The girl swung her legs apart; her right foot began a dance.

Her mother suddenly snapped, "Put your legs together, miss!" simultaneously flicking another baleful glance at Kema's unladylike posture.

Nike slammed her legs together but she twisted her arms, pouting mulishly.

Kema cleared her throat. This woman was not helping. Her daughter and the school were being sued by the grieving parents of the dead girl flailing around for anyone to blame for this tragedy. This wasn't the time to care about seating postures.

"Please, Nike, continue."

The girl shrugged again, flicking her eyes away. "She was okay when we came back, so I left her to go and see Sandra in the next room and when I came back, she-she was crying, complaining of stomach pains. She was s-sweating, I gave her a painkiller. B-b-but she was still crying and-and blood was just... pouring out. I didn't know what to do!" She started wreathing her hands.

Kema watched her attempt to control herself, to keep from crying. This was a teenager, for goodness sake. She must be confused, devastated. Her friend had died—practically in her arms. And to top it all, she was facing a court case.

Yet, Kema could tell—she was hiding something.

"But why didn't you get help in time?" Kema asked, trying to catch the girl's eye.

"I didn't know she would die! I thought she would be fine..."

"But all the blood, Nike..."

Doctor Sheila Awolowo sighed noisily. She was getting impatient with this brash girl with the weird hair, wearing all black in this twenty-nine degrees centigrade heat, for goodness sake! She was allowing this... this interrogation only because of Crestamead School. This woman had bamboozled her way into her house with a letter from the school, claiming she was the head of the alumni association.