Watch Me (Dangerously Intertwined Book 2)

by Kimberly Knight

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, any places, events or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity, explicit sexual situations, and alcohol consumption.

  Watch Me

  Copyright © 2019 Kimberly Knight

  Ebook Editions

  Published by Kimberly Knight

  Cover art © Kimberly Knight

  Book Formatted by Cristiane Saavedra

  All rights reserved.

  Dear Reader,

  If you read the short story version that was featured in the Cop Tales Anthology for a Cause or the one given to new newsletter subscribers, please know that I had to change a few things to make this a full-length novel.

  Please also keep in mind that I am not a cop. My background is in law, but working for attorneys and not law enforcement. I was a paralegal before I began my writing career, but I’m also a true crime addict. I’ve tried my best, done my research, and asked wives of police officers for help, but there’s a chance we got something wrong. Each city, state, and district seems to do something slightly different from the others. But remember this is fiction and from the voices in my head.

  Hope you enjoy Watch Me.

  Happy reading!

  XOXO,

  Kimberly

  Contents

  COVER

  COPYRIGHT

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE Nineteen Years Old

  Present Day

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN Unknown

  Ethan

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE Unknown

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Ethan

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Ethan

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY Unknown

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO One week later…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Unknown

  Reagan

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Ethan

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BOOKS BY KIMBERLY KNIGHT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I never thought I would be forty-two and divorced with two kids.

  But I was.

  My father was a retired Chicago police chief, and one day, I hoped to follow in his footsteps and become chief before I retire. I was quickly working my way up in the ranks, and in the last two years, I had gone from detective to sergeant. One of the reasons for my promotion was my involvement in a situation that involved my sister.

  Three years ago, I’d walked into her condo and found her drugged unconscious by a stalker trying to kidnap her. The fucker had a gun pointed at her boyfriend—who was trying to stop him—and before the perp could fire, I did. I shot the asshole square in the forehead and killed him.

  It was the job.

  It was in my blood to protect.

  It was my sister.

  Needing a place to live, I moved into the condo where I’d killed him. To some, it might be creepy, but it made me smile every time I walked over the spot where he died because it was a reminder that I had saved my sister and my future brother-in-law’s lives.

  And I’d do it again.

  Since my divorce a year ago, I worked as much as possible unless it was my night or weekend with my sons. Those times were for them and only them. The case I’d been working on was closed, and I had no kids waiting for me. In fact, I had no one waiting for me. So, I did what my sister and her husband used to do when they were single.

  I walked down the street to Judy’s, the neighborhood bar.

  Start living your life fearlessly. This is the beginning of anything you want.

  Two months ago, I’d read those words on a sticky note next to my laptop over and over before hitting the submit button on my school application. Class started last week, and it would take me ten short weeks to get my crime scene investigation certification.

  I’d always been interested in solving crimes. When I went off to college after high school, I obtained my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice. I never worked in the field because I got married right after college, and then about a year later, I had my daughter. But, when I hit the submit button, it felt good to make a decision to do what I wanted to do after so many years of putting others before me.

  Two years after the divorce, I was still living in Denver and my daughter was starting her freshman year at the University of Michigan. Since I was born and raised in the Windy City, and Chicago was a lot closer to her school than Denver, I made the move back a few months ago. That way I could help her if she needed it but still be far enough away that she was on her own doing her thing, which meant I needed to do my own thing, too.

  For the last twenty or so years, I worked as a wife and mother, but had a come-to-Jesus moment after a bottle of wine by myself and decided to take back my life, find out who I was at age forty-one, and get certified in a field I’d always had an interest in. I needed excitement in my life, and what better way than to help put criminals behind bars? Even though the certification was the bare minimum in the CSI field, I was okay with that. It was like dipping my toe in the pool to test the waters. If, after getting a job in the field, I loved it, then I would look into becoming an analyst or senior analyst. Plus, since I’d never actually worked in criminal justice since I earned my degree, I needed a refresher on current techniques and procedures.

  With the wine still coursing through my veins, I’d had another a-ha moment. I’d tended bar when I was in college and knew it was a great way to make extra money, so I decided to become a bartender again while pursuing my CSI certification. I needed to make a little bit of an income while in school despite getting spousal support from my ex. By taking a forty-hour online course, I freshened up my bartending skills and found a job at the local bar.

  Because of my school schedule, I worked the mid-shift at Judy’s Thursday through Sunday from four to midnight. It was good hours, and I would still be able to get my classwork done during the week.

  “Hey, Tommy,” I greeted as I stepped behind the bar. “Busy afternoon?”

  “No more than usual. After work crowd should be here soon.” He filled a pint glass with beer as he spoke.

  “Perfect,” I replied and grabbed a towel to wipe the bartop.

  “Oh, and a new barback should be here soon too,” Tommy advised.

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  A few minutes later, Judy came from the back with a guy in tow. “Tommy, Reagan, this is Derrick, your new barback.” We all shook hands, and then Judy left to work in her office while Derrick shadowed Levi, the other barback.

  People started to trickle in, and the bar was humming with laughter and conversations. I tried to keep up wi
th all the orders, and I was proud of myself for doing so well after only a week. It felt good to be back behind the bar—despite my aching feet—and I knew I’d made the right decision to do something for me even if it was working behind a bar. It was fun.

  Throughout the next few hours, Tommy would ask if I needed help, but I didn’t. I was in the zone. Whiskey sours, margaritas, Negronis—they weren’t a challenge for me. At seven, our closing bartender, Frank, and his barback arrived.

  The crowd was steady, and the drinks were flowing. The atmosphere of Judy’s was amazing because this was just what I’d wanted when I came back to bartending—working with people again, feeling useful and making money. What I hadn’t expected was being hit on by patrons. It used to happen when I tended bar in college, but I’d assumed it wouldn’t happen to me this time since I was over forty.

  I was wrong.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” a guy with slicked-back gray hair and a mustache asked. He was dressed in a suit, which gave me the impression he’d come straight from work.

  I leaned on the bar, already knowing where this was going, and decided to play into it because I knew I could get more tips if I flirted. “Reagan.”

  “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

  I chuckled. “I’m not a girl.”

  His gray eyes moved to my breasts, and I instantly felt as though he could see them through my black T-shirt. “No, you’re not. I bet you could teach me a few things.”

  I stood quickly so he could no longer look down my shirt. Before I could respond, Derrick poured ice into the ice bin next to me. I jumped slightly at the noise. His brown eyes flicked up at me, and he smiled. “Did I scare you?”

  I held my hand over my chest. “Just a little.”

  “Sorry about that,” he replied.

  “No worries.” I was actually grateful for the commotion. It had been years since a man had flirted with me, and I wasn’t sure how to go about it, even if it was harmless.

  I turned back to the gray-haired man. “Can I get you another whiskey sour?”

  “You can get me your phone number,” he countered.

  My gaze flicked to Derrick, who was still standing next to me. He looked at me, silently asking if I needed him to step in, but I smiled warmly to let him know I was okay. We were in a packed bar, and this guy was only flirting.

  My attention moved back to the customer. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “Why’s that? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I noticed that Derrick was pretending to wash glasses in the sink under the bar—glasses I’d already washed. “Doesn’t matter if I do or not. I’m here to make you drinks, so if you’d like another one, let me know.”

  I turned and walked to a new customer, not letting the guy respond. By the time I went on my dinner break, the guy had left, settling his tab with Frank.

  “How’s your first night going?” I asked Derrick. He had walked into the break room just as I was clocking back in.

  He sat down at the small, round wooden table and opened his sack lunch, taking out a sandwich. “Good.”

  “Is this your first job in a bar?”

  He took a bite of what looked like a PB & J. “Yeah.”

  “It’s exhausting, but you meet interesting people.”

  He nodded and bit into his sandwich again. “Yeah, my friends are going to want to come in for free drinks.”

  I chuckled. “Lucky for Judy, you aren’t a bartender then.”

  He took another bite of his sandwich. “True, but we’ll make good tips once I tell my friends from school how hot the bartender is.”

  I snorted and ignored the part about my looks. “You’re in school?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “Undecided.”

  Of course, it was. Even though I was starting school again, I didn’t bother to tell him that I was in college too. “Well, I’ll see you back out there.” I turned to leave.

  “Hey, Reagan?”

  I stopped and turned back to him. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I chuckled, remembering he was there when the customer had asked. “No.”

  He bobbed his head again and smirked. “Good to know.”

  I balked because he looked young enough that I probably could have been the kid’s mother. “Not looking for one either.”

  “Good to know that, too.”

  Before the conversation turned any more awkward, I turned and left. What I had told Derrick was true. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I needed to find out who I was before I tied myself to a man again. Though, when I came around the corner and saw the man sitting at the bar, I wanted to change my mind.

  He still had the short, dirty blond hair I remembered from many moons ago, but flecks of gray dotted the sides now. I couldn’t see most of his body because he was seated behind the wooden bartop, but I figured he was still in great shape given his shoulders were broader than I remembered, and his arms pulled against the fabric of his long-sleeved, black shirt as he rested his hand against the glass of his beer.

  With a smile plastered across my face, I stepped behind the bar and moved in front of the blast from my past. “Well, as I live and breathe, Ethan Valor.”

  Ethan’s deep blue eyes looked up from his amber-colored beer and met my green stare. A smile curved his lips, one I hadn’t seen in over two decades. “Reagan Hunter, is that you?”

  I ran around to where he was sitting and threw my arms around his neck as he stood to greet me. “How are you?” I asked. My last name changed when I got married, but I didn’t bother correcting him because I never changed it back after my divorce.

  “Better now.” He squeezed me one more time before we broke apart.

  “What are you drinking? Let me get you a refill.” I went back around to the other side of the bar.

  “Just what’s on draft. Doesn’t matter,” Ethan replied as he slid back onto the barstool. “If I’d known you were a bartender here, I’d have come in sooner.”

  I grinned and grabbed a clean pint glass to fill for him. This was my high school boyfriend in front of me, and even though I had only worked at Judy’s for a week and had never given free alcohol away before, I wanted to give the man I’d first loved a beer on the house.

  Plus, I’d noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either.

  Nineteen Years Old

  I didn’t want to let her go.

  For the past two years, we had been inseparable. It didn’t matter that I was a year older and had already graduated. I didn’t go away to college after my graduation, opting instead to attend a local school to obtain my bachelor’s degree in law enforcement. I’d always wanted to be a police officer like my father, so I knew what my future held.

  I was destined to be Chicago PD.

  Reagan, on the other hand, was leaving to go across the country because she’d gotten into Stanford. Summer was over, and the day we’d dreaded had arrived. We’d known it was coming for a long time, but neither of us had wanted to admit it would actually happen. She was leaving. As the girl I loved stood in my arms, crying because in five minutes her family would drive her to the airport so she could catch her flight to California, time seemed to speed up when all we wanted was for it to stop.

  “We’ll talk on the phone every night,” I reminded her.

  “It’s not the same,” she sobbed into my chest, her tears soaking through my T-shirt as we stood in her driveway.

  I knew talking on the phone wasn’t the same, but we had no choice. “Winter break will be here before we know it, and then we’ll spend every day together once you’re back home.”

  “But I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you too, Buttercup.” I squeezed her tighter.

  “Reagan, get in the car. You have a flight to catch,” her father ordered.

  Reagan looked up at me. Her emerald eyes were rimmed red with tears running d
own her cheeks, and it was killing me.

  “One second,” I called back, held up a finger, and took Reagan’s hand, leading her around to the back of her house and away from her parents’ eyes.

  “What if I don’t go?” she questioned.

  “You have to. You got into Stanford.” I knew Reagan was smart—getting into one of the most prestigious colleges in America proved it. She had to go.

  “I know.” She sighed. “But I don’t want to be apart.”

  I lifted her chin with my fingers, making her look into my eyes again. “I’ll save up and come visit you before winter break.”

  Reagan sucked in a quick breath. “Really?”

  “I’d do anything for you, Buttercup, and the time apart is going to kill me too.” I leaned down and captured her lips with mine. It would be months before I could taste her again. Months before I could hold her, touch her, see her.

  “Reagan!” her father shouted. “Let’s go!”

  We broke apart, and I laced her fingers with mine. Without another word, we walked back to the driveway. I nodded to her father, and he stepped into the car where Reagan’s mother was already waiting.

  “I love you,” I admitted and brought her against my body again.

  “I love you too.”

  We let go of each other a final time, and Reagan slipped into the car. I watched her tear-stained face as she waved goodbye from the backseat, not knowing that twenty-three years would pass before I’d see her again.

  Present Day

  I watched Reagan move behind the bar, talking to customers and making drinks. She wasn’t the eighteen-year-old I’d last seen. No, she was a woman. A fucking beautiful woman. Her hair was still long, dark, and luscious, and her eyes were still the familiar deep emerald color I’d stared into so many nights when we were younger. But her body ...

  Fuck.

  She was curvier in all the right places. Her breasts were larger than I remembered, and so was her ass, but not in a bad way. She’d filled out nicely.