Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Note to Readers
Where To Find Author
More Works by Author
I Burned Down His House
(Love at First Crime #3)
By Jessica Frances
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Jessica Frances
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Frances-Author
Cover Design by MGBookcovers
Editing by C&D Editing
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Note to Readers
Where To Find Author
More Works by Author
I Burned Down His House (Love at First Crime #3)
She burned his house down, so he lit a fire between them that she could never extinguish.
So, I burned his house down.
It was an accident.
I mean, technically, the dog did it.
Well, the dog helped me to do it.
Did I mention it was an accident?
When circumstances mean I suddenly have a new housemate,
A man who is my ultimate fantasy,
And my entire world is turned upside down by new friends,
And a dog who likes to get me into trouble,
I have to wonder how my life got so crazy.
Add in my neighbor, who is under investigation;
Some unfinished business from the past, which just won’t go away;
Interfering family, who don’t know when to stop;
And mixed signals, making me wonder if fantasies really can come true,
And you have my new, hectic, crazy life.
But, when things take a dangerous turn,
And lives are on the line,
Will we all make it through in one piece?
Or is everything destined to crumble down around us?
Who would have thought that burning down a house would change everything so much?
Then again, as some people say: there is nothing quite like love at first … crime.
Dedicated to my sweet dog, Madden.
My best friend, my sister, and forever my family.
Chapter 1
This is such a bad idea. Maybe the worst idea I have ever had. But I don’t have a choice, right?
My incredibly hot neighbor, Joey, asks me to feed his dog all the time. Sometimes, I even take her on walks. And, okay, so he didn’t ask me to feed her tonight, but it’s late and Joey hasn’t gotten home yet. Therefore, I make the executive decision to go over to his house to feed her.
I’m not usually this much of a stalker, I swear.
Well, at least, not unless it involves Joey Kim.
Just over two years ago, after I walked in on my now ex-husband Jarrod, and my then best friend Natasha, in bed together, I decided a change was in order. Consequently, I got in my car, left Denver, and started the long drive to Chicago.
That was roughly six months ago.
Chicago was easy to choose since I have always wanted to live here. Then, choosing my house turned out to be a lucky break. The couple who owned it before me also happened to be going through a divorce and wanted a quick settlement. They sold it below market value, and what sucked for them, was a blessing for me.
Turned out, the luck didn’t just end there.
I moved in next to the hottest man I have ever seen.
I was immediately attracted to Joey, as in, the first time I laid eyes on him, I froze for a good five minutes while drool dripped out of my mouth. Thankfully, I was inside my own house, so there were no witnesses to my embarrassing display.
Still tender from my divorce, and not all that interested in making an effort in life, I watched him from afar. And while I found out many things about Joey, like he doesn’t work set hours, he likes to keep his SUV clean, and he has a dog he loves, I also found out something I don’t love a whole lot.
At first, it was incredible seeing the number of women he brought home.
Then it was concerning.
Now it’s just sad.
I went from being intrigued by Joey, to having a major crush, and then to where I am now—frustratingly still infatuated with him, yet hating myself for it.
Actually, where I am now is breaking and entering into his house.
But I have a good reason!
His dog, Karma, an adorable German Shepherd, who Joey says is a retired police dog, even though she doesn’t seem old enough to be retired, has been whining for over an hour. I’m watchful enough to know Joey hasn’t been home all day or night, and now it’s nearing midnight.
My bedroom faces the side of Joey’s house, and Karma’s constant whining is not conducive to getting a good night’s sleep. Not only that, but I feel guilty.
I tried to call Joey, and when he didn’t answer, I left him a message. After waiting half an hour, I haven’t received a response. Besides, I have a key to his house, so it’s not like I’m an untrusted stranger. All I’m going to do is feed Karma, and maybe let her outside for a bit if she has business she needs to tend to. Nothing sinister or arrest-worthy.
I don’t know why I keep glancing nervously around myself, as if I’m worried I’m about to be busted.
The entire neighborhood is quiet. It always is.
I got lucky with all my neighbors. We either have young families, divorcees, singles who are past the age of throwing house parties, or a few retired couples. Not exactly the type of street to get embroiled with late night parties or noisy cars trolling down the street at all hours of the night. I like it, and after the drama I left behind in Denver, moving to Chicago was daunting enough. I didn’t want to realize I made another bad choice by coming here.
I twist the key and listen as Karma’s insistent barking quiets down. She heard the key and is likely pondering if she should pounce on me straight away, or give me two seconds to brace myself before she pounces. Those are her two speeds.
Yeah, for a retired police dog, she has very little self-control.
Karma’s nails click on the hardwood floors, growing louder as she approaches, telling me she is going to go for the immediate pounce.
“Karma, it’s me. Teagan,” I call out, hoping she recognizes my voice and halts he
r attack.
The first time I met her, she tackled me as I was getting into my car. That was also the first day Joey spoke to me, one month after moving in.
Our one-sided conversation was one I often repeat in my mind, even if, for Joey, the words he spoke were just thrown out without any forethought to how I might obsess over them.
“I’m so sorry,” he huffed out as he sprinted over to us, grabbing Karma by the collar to pull her off me before grabbing hold of her leash. “She’s a little rascal,” he said that part on a smile, holding Karma back as I wiped off all the wet kisses off my face. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes roaming over me, likely checking for injuries, but I imagined he was just as turned on by me as I was him.
Really, it was only nine words all added up, yet his voice made me shiver, his piercing gaze fixed me in place, and his concern might as well have been a physical touch.
At the time, I couldn’t even bring myself to respond. I was so shocked by my physical attraction that I froze. I forgot how to speak, to move, or even think as he patiently waited for my answer.
Joey has a strong, confident presence, and that day, as well as many afterward, I found myself in awe of being given his undivided attention.
My nipples pebbled behind my thankfully padded bra, and my knees grew weak. Then I opened my mouth, and even to this day, I have no idea what I planned to say. It would have likely been something incredibly awkward or embarrassing. But, before I could utter a single word, Karma broke free of his grip and bounded across the street. Luckily, there were no approaching cars as she made a mad dash over to Ms. Asher’s front door.
I hadn’t lived on my street long by that point, but I had been introduced to most of my neighbors, and I had seen Ms. Asher’s hissy fits when she discovered something out of place. Like her newspaper chewed up, her fake potted plants by her front door knocked over, or, like what was about to happen, a huge, stinking poo left on her doorstep. For a seventy-year-old woman, she isn’t afraid to get in your face and give you a good talking to. She also has a shopping addiction, going by the constant deliveries she gets weekly.
Joey immediately left me, sprinting across the street to fix this new problem Karma had shoved at him, and I watched in a daze as he sprinted barefoot, not even seeming to care that it snowed only a few days earlier, or that he was only wearing sweats and a loose hoodie.
The hoodie wasn’t easy to see through, but his sweats molded to his ass nicely. I spent a disturbing amount of time admiring his full ass as he first ran, then bent over to grab Karma’s wayward leash, and then attempted to defuse the situation when Ms. Asher found them on her front step.
Since then, Karma has pounced on me many times. Usually, now it’s in greeting, not attack mode. It’s still just as terrifying since she is a huge German Shepherd and, I swear, part horse. Her bark is bigger than her bite, though, and whoever trained her made sure she learned to never bite down when she has a piece of you in her mouth.
In fact, I discovered if you say the word “kisses,” she suddenly puts her sharp teeth away and licks you all over, no matter how wound up she is.
I blink myself out of the past and back to the problem at hand.
Carefully and slowly opening the door, I am faced with a black shadow charging at me.
There is also another way to defuse Karma when she is seconds from pouncing.
“You hungry?” I call out.
She immediately shifts gears, skidding along the floor and almost landing at my feet as she tries to pull on the brakes. Then she turns and scrambles down the hall and into the laundry room where her bowl is kept.
Karma can always be bribed with food.
Stepping into Joey’s house is a shock. I have been inside a handful of times, each one to feed Karma and grab her leash, but none of those times have been so shocking.
Joey lives in an obvious bachelor pad. Generally, there are always dishes scattered throughout the living area, dining area, and kitchen. Clothes are thrown around and not put away, and even when it is weeks between my visits, some of the clothes haven’t moved. The coffee table is often buried under takeout containers, newspapers, and empty beer bottles. The curtains are almost always closed, and while I have never ventured into other rooms in the house, I assume they are in a similar state of disarray. However, none of those previous visits prepare me for the mess I walk into this time.
The couch has been shoved across the room and left close to the rarely used fireplace, while the cushions are sprawled all over the floor. The coffee table is turned on its side, the entire contents scattered across the floor. A painting Joey had on the wall, one that’s just a random swirl of colors that drew the eye yet didn’t seem much like Joey’s thing, is barely hanging on its hook. I imagine things would be much worse if I could see properly.
My only current light source is the open front door, but the cold air is getting in and I’m shivering enough in my fluffy pajama onesie and warm Ugg boots that I want to hurry this up and get back to bed. The last thing I want is for Joey to discover me not only uninvited in his home, but also in this ridiculous getup.
I flick the light switch on, but unfortunately, no lights turn on. I glance up to see the light bulb doesn’t even seem to be in the slot anymore.
What has Joey done to his house? Is this how he usually lives? Do I even have room to judge when I’m technically not supposed to be here?
He’s always seemed private when I am over. I have even seen him locking his spare room, as if I might snoop. I know I am in the wrong here, even if I did try to call ahead to get his permission. However, no matter how noble I pretend my intentions are, the sudden urge to find out what is in that spare room prods me.
I need help. I have obviously hit my next rock bottom, this one maybe not as humiliating as my divorce, but still just as deflating.
Regardless, once my curiosity has been lit, it’s almost impossible to switch it off.
Joey has remained a mystery to me since I met him, which might explain why I find him so fascinating. I question if there is a secret kept in that spare room, one that might shine a light onto why there is a string of near constant women coming in and out of his house.
I shake away my thoughts, hearing Karma whine loudly and indignantly from the laundry room. I am already toeing the line of what is acceptable. No need to leap over it.
I make my way down the hall as my eyes adjust to the darkness, noting that the rest of the house appears to be in a similar state as the living room. Like how every drawer in the kitchen is open. Joey must clean up when he knows I’m coming over.
While the place is messy, I have seen worse on TV shows like Hoarders, or those renters from hell specials.
I turn on light switches as I go, shivering from the coldness of the house, but nothing works, even the ones that have light bulbs.
Did Joey get his power turned off?
A feeling of unease slips through me. If I didn’t see Joey leave earlier, I would fear something bad happened here. But Karma is fine, although she appears to think she’s starving, and whereas the house is messy, it isn’t completely trashed. Surely, I would have noticed if someone broke in. Besides, Joey’s TV and stereo are still untouched, so it doesn’t seem like anything monetary has been stolen.
Karma keeps whining, sticking her head out of the laundry room to glare at me, conveying to me that I need to get a move on.
I grab a cup out of the huge bag of Karma’s kibble, a product Karma seems to think is a five-star meal going by the drool dripping from her mouth, and drop the contents into her bowl. I barely make it out in time before she eats my hand.
Placing another half a cup in there, because I’m a sucker and don’t believe one cup of kibble is enough, and because I like being Karma’s favorite since I always give in, I leave her to her scoffing, shifting my gaze toward the closed doors down the hall.
I shouldn’t go snooping.
It would be wrong.
In fact, as I was entering Joey�
��s house, I was justifying this by thinking how I wasn’t going to do anything illegal or dodgy. Yet, instead of following my head, my legs lead me to the closest door and my hands grab my cell phone from my one pocket, so I can use the torch app.
The door is unlocked. It isn’t until I’m about to walk in that I realize it’s actually broken. Someone has cut around the lock in a circular incision to bypass it.
That’s weird, right?
That wasn’t always like that … was it?
Then again, I haven’t ever been down this end of the house. I know Joey has locked this door in the past, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t lock himself out and decided a drastic way to get into this room was the way to go.
I peek inside, finding a boring, plain room. There is just a desk, a chair, and a few charging cords. The walls are bare, and I very much doubt this has much to do with the women Joey brings home.
I have no idea why Joey would lock it.
I check out the next two rooms, discovering an ordinary bathroom and a bedroom. Surprisingly, given the state of his house, and most guys in general, the bathroom is probably the cleanest room. The bedroom is a mess, but since the bedsheets are tangled in the middle of the bed, the drawers are flung open with the contents spilling out, and the floor is littered with unopened condoms, I assume the condition is due to a recent tryst.
Feeling like a creep for peeking where I know I shouldn’t, I close the door then make my way back out into the living room.
The house is freezing, and since the electricity appears to be off, turning on the heat isn’t likely going to do much.
I eye the fireplace. Wood is already piled behind the grate and a box of matches sit atop the mantel, telling me Joey must use it sometimes. There does seem to be a faint smoke smell attached to the room. I’m also almost positive I have seen smoke coming out of the chimney once or twice throughout the winter.
Joey might have zero electricity, but that doesn’t mean he has to come home to a cold house.
I pull out a long matchstick and swipe it across the side, watching it light up before I crouch down over the fireplace.
I Burned Down His House (Love at First Crime Book 3) Page 1
