I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2) Read online

  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

  Epilogue

  Note to Readers

  Where To Find Author

  More Works by Author

  I Knocked Him Out

  (Love at First Crime #2)

  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

  Dedicated to Amara,

  Thank you for being my biggest supporter,

  I hope I have done you justice.

  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

  Epilogue

  Note to Readers

  Where To Find Author

  More Works by Author

  I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime, #2)

  She knocked him out, so he knocked down her walls…

  He has irritated me ever since we were kids.

  He is overprotective.

  Controlling.

  A complete jerk.

  So, I knocked him out.

  It was an accident.

  I felt terrible … mostly.

  It changed things between us.

  Life for us both got more complicated.

  Add in a stalker who has decided to take an interest in me,

  And suddenly our worlds are turned upside-down.

  Can things really change between us so fast?

  Or are we just making a bigger mess than what we started with?

  I think that hit to the head might have knocked things loose for both of us.

  Because, from the moment I knocked him out, we saw each other differently.

  As some people say, there is nothing quite like love at first … crime.

  Chapter 1

  I glance at the large oval clock hanging on the wall, noting I only have five minutes left before I need to finish up here. I’m currently sweating in the office gym that I often use. And I fully admit, it usually has something to do with the hot waiters who work across the street at the overpriced restaurant.

  They are made to wear ridiculously tight uniforms, which are also muscle shirts, of course. The female owner of the establishment said, if women can be exploited, then so can men. I’m not sure exactly what the merits are of that statement, but I can’t argue. I get a great view, since the place is all windows.

  I find it interesting to people watch. I have seen several marriage proposals and breakups happen.

  Plus, it’s a much better view than the strip joint we used to work across from. It was always the same there: men either appearing guilty or eager as they approached the entrance. Obviously, I couldn’t see inside it, so it was less exciting.

  Our old building blew up when some stalker creep, who was after my boss Zander and his fiancée Ava, detonated a bomb. Therefore, we needed new digs. This office is still in the same neighborhood, yet we are closer to nicer areas.

  We also saw our workload double after our recent move. We received good publicity after all the drama from three years ago. Add in our move, and people aren’t as worried about the seedy area we were working in, since we are close to a Macy’s. When we are dealing with a lot of rich clients who are worried about cheating spouses, this tends to matter.

  Once Zander gets back from his honeymoon, they are going to have to hire some new investigators to deal with the workload. As it is, we hired Cynthia to help Jerry out with our I.T. needs.

  Jerry, a recluse who only Zander has met in person, deals with our more … not entirely legal needs. Meanwhile, Cynthia gains access to the easier bank statements, internet history, cell phone traces, and things like that. Which is often … also not entirely legal.

  However, our company isn’t run by money.

  Once, a husband came to us because he was sure his wife was stealing money from him. When Joey discovered this was the case, he also found out that the husband beat his wife on a regular basis. She was trying to escape him. Therefore, we dropped him as a client and helped her get away from him. We then gave her all the evidence we had that proved his own criminal actions, and she got a very quick divorce while he ended up in prison.

  We are known in our industry for our moral compass, so we tend to not get shady people asking for help. It also helps that the contract they sign becomes null if they are found committing any criminal acts.

  I wipe my forehead against the sweatbands on my wrist, and then use my gloved hands to adjust my now soaked sweatband over my forehead. It’s bright pink and matches my all-pink outfit completely. I might be playing into the stereotypical view of a girl, but I just love the pink. I also look great in bright pink. My dark skin works it.

  I may take this opportunity to ogle the men across the street, but when I’m working out, I tend to find a lot of eyes coming my way, too. A few have even come over to ask if they can join the gym, not realizing it isn’t commercial. The front entrance for Jameson P.I. is at the other end, so this looks like a separate business.

  My heavy breathing echoes around me as I pelt the punching bag with quick jabs. I’m not usually one to have tough workouts, but today, I have a lot of aggression I need to work out. Not that it’s a surprise, given who I am about to see.

  Everyone at the office left hours ago to get home, pack their bags, and get ready to fly out for Zander and Ava’s wedding. Everyone except me, since I already have my bags packed and in the trunk of my car.

  Since I helped organize the location of Zander and Ava’s wedding, which meant speaking to my mom for the first time in three years, I have been anxious. It’s one thing to have to call my parents to ask for a favor after so long, but for Mom to turn around and say they will be turning up at the wedding, too? That they will be bringing a few of their closest friends? Yeah, I have some serious aggression to work out.

  And because my mind has shifted to my parents, I hit the punching bag a little harder while adding in a few knee jabs just to be thorough.

  I’m in the zone, so I don’t hear anyone come in. And since my vision is seeing the face of my mom as I add in a kick to the side of the punching bag, I don’t expect to feel hands touch my shoulder.

  Fight and defensive modes kicks in, causing me to automatically swing around and attack the intruder behind me. A woman, alone and stupidly distracted, while half-naked, isn’t a situation where you want to be caught off guard.

 
; When I pivot with my punch, I see I hit someone familiar.

  Annoyingly familiar.

  I feel awful for a split-second, until I see Declan’s shocked face, before his eyes close and he falls unconscious to the floor. Then I just feel a little bad.

  “Shit, Dec, are you okay?” I gasp, my breath still huffing out of me.

  I kneel beside him, jolting his shoulders, but he remains passed out.

  I didn’t hit him that hard, did I?

  I guess my workouts are really paying off!

  Wrong moment to get excited over that.

  I stare down over him for another moment, having a rare opportunity to look Declan over.

  We might have known each other for eighteen years, but he’s also disliked me for that entire time. I haven’t exactly been able to stand him, either. So, while I can tell you exactly what Declan looks like, seeing his face this close, with no time limit, is something I have never been able to do before.

  I take it, scrutinizing him.

  His eyes are still shut, but I already know they are a deep blue. His hair is usually scruffy, but right now, it’s cut shorter on the sides and a little thicker up top. His beard is gone, replaced with smooth skin that I don’t remember him having since he was a senior in high school. It’s strange to see him without the scruff, but also sort of hot.

  I sigh heavily. Why does Declan always have to look so good? Even passed out with his mouth slightly open and his features slack, he still looks hot. It’s a shame it is just a disguise for the asshole who lives inside him.

  Declan’s skin is pale, his hair a dark shade of brown, and his bruise, which is slowly starting to come up in a red shade right now, mars his clean-shaven face.

  I reach over and lightly caress it, feeling the tiniest bit of satisfaction that I got him good, and largely annoyed that I have likely ruined Ava and Zander’s wedding photos. Having the best man with a giant bruise over his jaw isn’t going to look great in photos.

  My dark skin stands out over his light one, another thing that makes our differences obvious. I wonder if things would have been different if I wasn’t so different from him.

  While Declan definitely doesn’t care about my skin color, there is clearly something about me he doesn’t like. I know part of it is my parents’ money. Many times in my life, he’s made jabs at me about it. I don’t understand why he judges me on what they have. I have often wondered if there isn’t more to his dislike of me.

  I’m a good person. Well, I think I am. I give back to the community with my time and money when I can afford it. I am usually nice to people, unless they deserve otherwise. And I have never been one for dramatics. I have a good life, good friends, and generally a good attitude, so why does Declan hold so much contempt for me?

  He’s always goading me; always quick to judge and snap at me. The others notice it, but they have never had an answer as to why he won’t let go of whatever his problem is. We are nearing our thirties. Well, actually, Declan just turned thirty. I’m three years behind him. Why is he still holding on to whatever he has against me?

  I’m not saying we are a love match, but we should at the very least be a friend match.

  With one last touch over his jaw, I lean back and reach over to where I left my water bottle. Then I empty the entire contents over Declan’s face.

  It’s enough to jolt him awake, and after a groan and both hands reaching for his head, one hand skating gently over the now red blotch, he narrows his eyes on me.

  “You hit me!” he accuses.

  “You sneaked up on me!” I snap back.

  This is always the way between Declan and me, ever since we were kids. He never speaks to me normally or casually. He’s always angry, aggravated, or annoyed. The three As.

  “I was calling your name; you just weren’t paying attention.” He says this like I’m the only person in the world to ever be lost in my thoughts.

  “Well then, good call on coming up close to me while I was punching the shit out of this stupid bag,” I retort, already sensing any warm feelings that had started to work their way up from a guilty conscience disappearing.

  “God, you’re annoying.” He shakes his head now, wiping his wet face with his T-shirt. My eyes betray me by peeking at Declan’s toned abs.

  Stupid, smoking hot jerk.

  “Ditto. Now, is there a reason you’re annoying me right now? Or are you just trying to fill your quota for the day and we’re a little behind?” I ask, shaking my head to get myself back in the game. Getting distracted while Declan is in one of these moods just means more insults with me looking like a fish out of water in response.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you’re going to be late if you don’t leave soon.”

  “Is that all?” I roll my eyes at him, something I’m aware annoys him to extremes. “I do know how to read a clock, you know.”

  He narrows his eyes on me. Their blue color might be an exact match for a sunny, blue sky, yet I only ever see storm clouds directed at me.

  “And let me guess, you’re flying first-class on a private jet, so it can wait for you, right?”

  I sigh from his obvious jab. There goes Declan’s weird obsession with how much money my family is worth. It doesn’t matter that I want nothing to do with them, or that I haven’t taken a cent from them since I finished college. To him, I’m just some rich, spoiled idiot.

  Glancing at the clock, I do realize I’m a few minutes behind on my own schedule, so it is time to go.

  Without so much as a goodbye to Declan, I get up, grab my empty water bottle and towel that I threw over the weight bar next to where I was punching, and make my way to the showers.

  By the time I finish, I hope Declan has left, but my luck sucks today.

  “Did my knock make you forget that you’re running late, too?” I ask as I come out of the showers, swinging my gym bag around my shoulder.

  Declan looks up from his phone. For a few brief seconds, he stares at me. I’m not sure what his expression means. I wasn’t kidding when I said he mostly only ever displays the three As at me. The best look I can hope for directed my way from Declan is indifference. But this one is different. I’m just not sure how, and it doesn’t last long enough for me to figure it out.

  “Your car has a flat. You need me to change it before I go?” he asks, surprising me that he cares enough to stay and ask. Not that Declan is a bad person. If I ever truly need him, I know I can count on him. Without a second thought, he came to my rescue when I had a creepy stalker in college. But a flat tire is hardly an emergency.

  “I don’t have a spare,” I admit, groaning internally that I still haven’t gotten a new one in the months since using my backup.

  “You don’t have a spare tire? Who doesn’t keep a spare tire?” The lecture I see written over his face is not one I want to hear or have time to listen to.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just call a taxi and leave my car here. It’ll be just as safe here than locked up in the airport parking lot.” And parking here is free, so that’s a bonus.

  We have our own private underground staff parking, which can only be accessed with a keycard and a five-digit code. The clients use the one in front of the building.

  It seemed like a perk to have such secure parking for us, but I think a small part of Zander liked the idea of his car being locked up tightly, since Ava stole his car from our last office. Not that this secured parking has prevented her from taking it a few more times.

  “You got your stuff with you, ready for the plane?” he asks disbelievingly.

  “In my car. Why?”

  He sighs now, like he’s just come to some awful conclusion. “I can take you. I was going to leave my car at the airport.”

  My eyes widen. “No, I can get a taxi—”

  “Seriously, Sash, just let me fucking take you to the airport,” he snaps.

  I purse my lips to stop myself snapping back. “Fine. Thank you,” I tell him tersely, adjusting the strap on my
gym bag and leading the way out of the office.

  We are the last two here, so I double-check that our new message on the answering machine is set up, and then lock up behind us.

  Declan and I walk in silence to my car, where I exchange my gym bag for my suitcase. And after an awkward tug of war where I refuse to give up my bag, I am forcibly relieved of it while Declan carries it to his car.

  I have seen his beloved Chevy Silverado many times in the years Declan has owned it, but this is the first time I will be inside.

  As Declan walks a little in front of me, I take notice of him again. I don’t know why I even care to do this, but there is something about his gait that glues my eyes momentarily to his ass.

  Okay, I can look, even if I won’t ever touch him with a ten-foot pole.

  His jeans hug his ass. They are loose, but there is no denying his powerful thighs. His T-shirt sticks to his back, the muscle definition obvious there.

  Who knew back muscles could look so hot?

  Add in the bulging arm muscle from holding my suitcase, even though the thing has wheels and any normal person would roll it, and Declan is the full body package. His charming and handsome face is the cherry on top.

  If only he didn’t have to ever open his mouth to speak.

  “What are you staring at?”

  I look up to see he has stopped at his car and is facing me.

  “I’m not staring!” I deny far too quickly. “I’m just thinking about your jaw. It’s probably going to bruise.”

  He grunts in response before throwing my suitcase, not at all gently, into the back next to a large duffle bag. “Got shit in the backseat, so you gotta ride up front. Is that going to be too hard for you?” he sarcastically asks.

  I slam his passenger door perhaps a little too hard in response. “I think I’ll manage.”

  The small cab is stuffy and too hot as we make our way to the airport. The slow traffic doesn’t do much to defuse the tension in the car.

  I’m almost ready to ask Declan about the weather just to break the awkward silence when he speaks up.

  “I’ll just grow it back.”