Watching You

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Now he was trying to give up something else. But she wasn’t a job. She would fight to hold on to what they had.

  “You are decent, Reece. You are noble. You did things other people would never have the strength or courage to do. Maybe they weren’t always the right things, but you did them because you need to protect the people you love. You don’t need my approval, you don’t need my forgiveness, but I’m telling you, I loved you before I heard what you said out there. And I love you even more now.”

  He finally looked at her, studying her face, his golden eyes darkening to the amber shade she loved so much. His expression was filled with emotion—want, regret, tenderness. Maybe a little bit of hope.

  And then, just when she thought she had gotten through, she saw self-recrimination.

  “You get hurt around me,” he said. “People have hurt you, and that’s my fault.”

  Still holding his hand tightly, she shoved the bedding away, rising to her knees.

  “Do you think I’m weak?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then stop acting like I am.” A jaded laugh escaped her lips. “My life hasn’t much resembled a TV family sitcom either, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m not going to play a game of ‘let’s compare childhood trauma’ with you, but you do realize you don’t have a monopoly on shitty memories, right?”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  She finally released his hand, only to slide her own up his arm. Lifting the other, she cupped his face, holding him still, and making him look at her. Making him listen.

  “Bad things can happen. People can be hateful. Parents can die. Buildings can burn. Ex-boyfriends can terrorize. Madwomen can throw bleach.”

  She brushed her thumbs over his mouth and stroked his jaw, feeling the five o’clock shadow that emphasized his face, a face she now saw as so much more than just handsome. It was simply a cover, the surface of a man so deep, so wounded, but always able to rise.

  God, she was crazy about that man. Head over heels for him. She never wanted to let him go.

  “Nobody can ever predict when life will throw something awful at you—be it a disease or the death of someone you love. So all you can do is live it and trust that the happiness you find each and every day is worth the risk.”

  For an agonizingly long moment, he remained silent, looking at her, searching her eyes to make sure she meant what she said.

  Silly man. Of course she did.

  He was on the verge, but there was one more thing to say, and it didn’t come as a surprise.

  “I have to find out the truth.”

  “About Steve’s father?”

  He nodded.

  “Of course you do.”

  “It might get ugly. I might be in legal trouble.”

  She didn’t make light of it or toss off a joke. She had watched enough episodes of Law & Order to know he was probably right. He and his twin brother had broken the law. Perhaps it had been for reasons they had been able to justify to themselves, but the court rarely saw it that way. She didn’t even want to think of the headlines, the speculation about his sister, and Harry Baker, and all the awful things that had happened to the Winchesters. She already ached for him, and for his family, knowing the pain they faced.

  But he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

  “I’m there, Reece. Whatever happens, I am there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. You’re keeping me. And I’m keeping you. Even if I have to bake a file in a cake and go on the run with you, I am keeping you.”

  “So you’d break me out of jail?”

  “Or I’ll break in. As long as we’re together, I won’t be too picky.”

  Finally she saw it. It came slowly, but grew, that crooked, only-real-for-her smile.

  She smiled back.

  He leaned down, and she leaned up, and their mouths met in a kiss as soft and lovely as the brush of a cool breeze on a warm afternoon.

  “Every day of my life,” he murmured. “Every day I have you, I swear I will make you happy, Jess.”

  She drew him down to the bed, wanting to curl up beside him and hold him close until she could get out of this place and go home with him. Home…wherever that was.

  “No, Reece. We will make each other happy.”

  For as long as life let them.

  Epilogue

  The Winchester brothers sat outside, drinking beer and looking at the sky. It was late, and lots of stars were shining, but they couldn’t really compete with the lights of the city far below. Each had its own kind of beauty.

  They didn’t talk much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though.

  Dinner had been good, a much-needed family gathering. It had been Jessica’s idea to have everyone over. Since she’d been out of the hospital only for a few days, Reece tried to talk her out of it, but she had insisted. As soon as they were all together around the table—him, Rowan and Raine, plus their dad, Aunt Sharon, and, of course Jess—he’d felt a strange sensation. It had taken him a second, but then he’d recognized it as contentment.

  At that moment, he wasn’t thinking about the past, or worrying if it would catch up to them. Looking around the table at his family, even if it was missing a few long-gone members, Reece was happy. More, he was looking forward to a future with the beautiful woman who had burst into his life with her bouncy ponytail all those weeks ago.

  “Hold on to her,” Rowan said, as if reading his mind. “She’s special.”

  He smiled and lifted his beer. “You have no idea.”

  The three of them clinked bottles, the only sound in the quiet night. His dad and Aunt Sharon had left. Jessica had gone to bed. Now it was just the three of them.

  It was time.

  He hadn’t stopped thinking about what Steve had said and what brilliant Jessica had recognized as so critically important. He was on the porch, calling after him. He was fine.

  It had been six long years. All three of them had kept their secrets, not even sharing them with each other. Reece and Rowan had thought their brother was a killer, and had covered for him anyway. They’d done him a disservice, and they both needed to apologize to him. And Raine had absolutely no idea.

  So yes, it was time. Everything had to come out. The brothers had to be honest with each other at last. After that, working together, they would find out the truth about the past.

  “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together over his chest. “Let’s talk about the night Harry Baker died.”

  Dying for a sneak peek of the next book in the exciting Hollywood Heat series?

  Detective Rowan Winchester has his hands full protecting brilliant true-crime writer Evie Fleming. She’s in town researching old Hollywood mysteries…some of which hit a little too close to home for the family.

  Rowan desperately wants to keep the sexy writer safe. But he also wants to keep her in the dark.

  Because Evie Fleming might be the one who exposes the truth about everything the Winchester brothers are trying to hide.

  Keep reading for a preview of

  Wanting You

  Available summer 2018.

  Did Former Child Star Steve Baker Really Fall?

  Hollywood Tattletale Reporter J. Federer

  November 14, 2018 | Reporting from Los Angeles

  Although actor Steve Baker’s cause of death was listed as death by misadventure, questions remain about the tragedy.

  Baker’s body was found in June at the base of a cliff directly below the home of actor-turned-director Reece Winchester. Though the famed director was questioned, police say he was not suspected of any crime and called the death an accident. But some Hollywood insiders aren’t convinced. Whispers of suicide, or even worse, still surround the case.

  Baker, who starred in the sitcom Dear Family, was once a household name. Part of a teen supercouple, his career took a nosedive after his girlfriend, actress Rachel Winchester—sister to famed director Reece Winchester�
�fell to her death from a hotel balcony.

  A little over six years ago, the actor’s father, superstar agent Harry Baker, was brutally murdered in his home. The case remains unsolved to this day.

  Did the series of tragedies prove too much for Steve Baker, making the former TV star decide to follow his long-lost love in a fast fall from a high place?

  Or is something darker at work?

  Some wonder if his fall was part of a revenge plot by a family known for carrying grudges…especially against those somehow involved in the life and death of Rachel Winchester.

  With one brother owning the house where the incident occurred, another a former Army Ranger and professional bodyguard, and a third a renowned detective within the LAPD itself, who knows how deep the conspiracy might go…or what else the powerful but secretive Winchester brothers might be concealing?

  Chapter 1

  Anyone interested in the many infamous murders that had occurred in Los Angeles knew the Hotel Cecil—now known as the Stay on Main—was worth a visit. More than one violent killer had called the building home, and brutal crimes had been committed within its walls. The place showed up on the city’s murder tours, and had even landed its own TV series on a cable network.

  For Evie Fleming, however, going to the Cecil wasn’t about morbid curiosity. She made her living—a very good one—writing in-depth exposés about infamous crimes. As far as she was concerned, there was no better place to begin her research on the city’s most brutal killers than at the hotel connected to some of the worst.

  Right now, though, she wondered if that visit might have been a big mistake.

  Because a man was following her down Seventh Street.

  “Shit,” she whispered as she heard his hard footsteps behind her.

  If she’d seen his hulking figure in the shadows of a doorway, she probably would have gone back to the hotel. But she’d been halfway down the block when he emerged behind her.

  She walked a little faster toward the parking garage where she’d left her rental car, wishing the neighborhood wasn’t so quiet. When she’d arrived this afternoon, it had been crowded with people who worked in the surrounding businesses. There were few shops, though, and the restaurants catered to daytime workers who’d left long ago.

  She should have left, too. But her conversation with a talkative old maintenance man at the hotel had been fascinating, and she’d spent hours in his small office. Hours during which the night had grown late, the air had grown cold, and the street had grown menacing.

  Knowing she was within a block of the garage didn’t offer much relief. The narrow entrance ramp was tucked in between two tiny stores. Even from here she could see they were dark and shuttered with security gates.

  She’d parked on the third level. The elevator was in the back. The stairs were completely enclosed—a vertical tunnel of privacy for anyone with crime in mind. None of this looked promising.

  Maybe there’s a twenty-four-hour cashier at the exit gate.

  Or maybe it was entirely electronic.

  There’s probably a security guard.

  But there might not be.

  Damn it. She’d seen the movie P2. Walking into it that garage could be like entering a boxed canyon. She might be trapping herself with no way to get out.

  The heavy footsteps on the sidewalk were getting louder. He was closing in.

  Maybe he was totally innocent, on an errand or meeting a friend. But she didn’t think so. A creepy-crawly sensation danced up her spine, the one every woman felt when she thought she was being followed by danger. Her job—the constant immersion in the world of violent crime—made her more suspicious than most. She knew awful things could happen to anyone. At any time.

  Should’ve Uber’d it.

  Yes, she should have. But it hadn’t seemed necessary. The LAPD headquarters building was only six or seven blocks from the Cecil. She’d walked to the station that afternoon, hitting the hotel on her way back. The neighborhood was a busy, commercial one. She just hadn’t seen the nighttime potential. Big mistake.

  “Okay, what are you going to do?” she whispered.

  Did she go into the garage and call herself a paranoid fool when the stranger kept walking up the street? Did she turn around and confront him, knowing some guys would back off if they were aware they’d been looked at and could be identified?

  Identified. Another possibility flared in her mind.

  Without missing a stride, she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Tapping the screen and thumbing for the camera app, she was prepared to swing around and take the guy’s picture. Just in case.

  The footsteps pounded harder. The guy who’d been lurking in the doorway, as if just watching for a potential victim, either was closer or was speeding up. Maybe he’d seen the flash of light from the camera screen. Or maybe he’d realized they’d reached the darkest center of the street.

  “Damn it,” she snapped as she fumbled with the phone. Not even wanting to stop long enough to turn around, she lifted the camera high. She snapped what might have been a picture of her own shoulder, or the street in the opposite direction, and forwarded it in response to the last text message she’d received. Although she knew she should take another—one that might actually show the guy—her tension had quadrupled. Her heart thudded, her pulse roared, and her brain ordered her to move. Now. Go now.

  Sensing she didn’t have time for the picture idea, she obeyed her inner voice and took off toward the next intersection. Broadway. It was seventy yards, maybe. She just hoped she got there safely to give it her regards.

  She ran. No, she flew, her long legs eating the sidewalk, her feet steady in her block-heeled leather boots.

  Although she’d anticipated it, the attack still shocked her. A hard body slammed into her, a powerful arm encircling her waist, a hand yanking her hair.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Of course she screamed.

  He let go of her hair, slamming his thick hand over her mouth. Even as she twisted and struggled, he began to drag her toward a narrow service alley between two tall office buildings.

  Evie wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t helpless. She couldn’t let him get her back there, away from any potential passersby. Getting into the car or going into the back alley or into the strange building was a common mistakes victims made when confronted by an attacker. Because once he got you—them—out of sight and sound of anyone else, the battle was already lost.

  She fought with all her strength, elbows hitting his gut, eliciting a grunt. Her nails clawed the hand over her mouth. Swinging her leg back, she caught his shin with the heel of her boot.

  He winced, but tightened his grip around her. “Stop struggling, bitch.”

  As if. So far he hadn’t produced a weapon. That was fortunate. She just had to get away from him, or at least turn around to give herself a real fighting chance. Anything to prevent him from getting her in that alley.

  Suddenly, she remembered a trick from a self-defense class she’d taken.

  Evie picked up her feet.

  Surprised at having to bear her entire weight, the attacker dropped her onto the ground. She rolled away quickly, knowing he would lunge after her, and that he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. Leaping to her feet, she swung around, preparing to jab her nails into his eyes, her fist into his throat, her knee into his crotch.

  But he wasn’t there. Rather than the attacker charging at her, something had come at him. A dark shape, powerful and broad, slammed into the other man, sending him flying.

  Her ridiculous first thought was that Batman was real. Her second was that she was going to start carrying pepper spray. Her third was sheer, utter relief.

  The attacker landed on the hard corner of a cement step and howled in pain.

  “Police. Don’t you even move,” a deep voice growled.

  The deep voice was accompanied by a tall man who moved toward the thug and pushed him onto his stomach. A gleam of moonlight on metal, and a
clanking sound, told her he was putting handcuffs on her attacker.

  “This is police brutality! I think you broke my arm.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck. You think I don’t know what you had in store for this woman?”

  The words being thrown right out there made Evie shiver. So far, she’d held herself together. Only the adrenaline roaring through her kept her from the emotional reaction that was sure to follow.

  She might have been able to fight the guy back. But she might not. And if she hadn’t, she would probably, right now, be in that alley being robbed, beaten…maybe worse. Jesus.

  Once the handcuffs were in place, her savior looked up at her. His face was washed in shadow, only the dark eyes gleaming. “Are you all right, Miss…?”

  “Fleming. Evie Fleming. And yes, I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

  She would undoubtedly have aches, pains, and bruises tomorrow because of her impromptu drop to the sidewalk. But all of those things were far better than what she might have endured had the broad man with the intense eyes not come onto the scene.

  Just like something out of a crime TV show, he sat the handcuffed creep up on a cement step and read him his rights. Pointing an index finger in the guy’s face, he said, “You move for anything other than to breathe, and you’ll regret it.”

  The would-be mugger—rapist?—groaned. But he didn’t move a muscle.

  Pulling a radio off his belt, the police officer called in the crime. After he’d made the call, requesting assistance, he refocused his attention on Evie. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? Do you want me to have them send an ambulance?”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” she said, meaning it. Everything—from her noticing she was being followed, to the jerk being put in handcuffs—had taken no more than five minutes. She might be a bit banged up because of her own maneuvers, but really, the only thing she could feel was relief.