Watch Me

by Knight, Kimberly

  Buttercup,

  You’re still cute when you snore.

  Key is by your purse. Lock up when you leave, and I’ll stop by Judy’s tonight to get it.

  -E

  I did not snore. Okay, I did, but only when I was really tired.

  It finally made sense why I couldn’t remember falling asleep in Ethan’s bed. Usually, after work, I’d go home, take a shower, and be in bed by one, not reminiscing with my high school boyfriend until whatever hour it was that I’d finally fell asleep. I must have fallen asleep during the movie and didn’t wake when he—did he carry me to bed?

  I didn’t regret staying.

  Ethan’s bed was fucking comfortable.

  Every time the front door of Judy’s opened, I looked for Ethan. I really wanted to see him again. He was currently my only friend in Chicago, and honestly, I was okay with that.

  The night before had been nice. He hadn’t grilled me about why I’d broken up with him all those years ago, and I didn’t pry and ask how long he’d been divorced. I wanted it to be a long time so I wasn’t his rebound—if anything happened. It was as if we were starting over in a sense, putting our childhood in the past and moving forward as adults.

  And that excited me.

  The door opened again, and I glanced up. Two women entered, and I turned my attention back to the beer I was pouring from the tap. The door opened once more, but again, it wasn’t the person who I wanted to see.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  I looked over at Derrick, who was standing next to me, refilling the limes and lemons. We were the only ones on the floor because Frank was on break and the other barback had left for the night.

  “Yeah, my friend’s stopping by to grab something from me.”

  “The guy from last night?”

  I wrinkled my eyebrows, confused, but then realized he must have noticed I left with Ethan. “Yeah, him.” I slid the beer in front of the customer and grabbed his money to ring him up.

  “Thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?” Derrick asked, moving to stack empty glasses under the bar top.

  I huffed. “I don’t.”

  “But you left with him last night.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Why do you care who I left with?”

  “Just making small talk.”

  I stopped pressing the buttons on the POS system and turned to face him. “We just met last night”—I waved my hand between him and me—“and I get that we’re going to work together, but I don’t need you questioning my personal life.”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa, I’m just trying to make conversation and get to know you.”

  “Getting to know me is asking me what my favorite color is. Or my favorite flower. Not grilling me about a guy I left with last night.” I wasn’t sure why I was so put off by his questioning, but I was a forty-one-year-old woman, and if I wanted to go home with a man, that was my decision. Granted, nothing had happened with Ethan.

  Derrick leaned a hip on the cabinets that held extra bottles of alcohol behind the bar and faced me. “Okay, what’s your favorite color?”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Purple.”

  “And your favorite flower?”

  I paused. Not because I didn’t know, but because I remembered the note Ethan had left me in the morning, and it gave me hope that he and I could become a ‘we’ again. A part of me felt as though we weren’t done. My teenage heart had thought I would hurt him more if I told him the truth all those years ago, so I’d set him free.

  “Buttercups.”

  Derrick balked as though he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Buttercups? That’s a thing?”

  I laughed and returned to the POS system, finishing the transaction and grabbing the customer’s change. “Yes, and specifically the Parisian ones.”

  He lifted off the counter and turned to grab the overflowing garbage bag. “I’m going to have to Google them and see what they look like.”

  “You do that.”

  I hadn’t had time to check my phone after my dinner break for any missed calls from Ethan because it was Friday night and we were slammed.

  Walking to my locker before I called it a night, I fished my phone from my back pocket and hoped he had sent a text.

  He had: Caught a case. I’ll try to stop by before you get off at 12, but if not, keep the key.

  I texted him back as I leaned on the lockers with a grin on my face: Just getting off now. Should I wait?

  I removed my purse from my locker as I waited for his reply.

  Ethan: Sorry, Buttercup. I’m at the station. Meet for lunch?

  As I walked out the back door toward my parked car, I replied: Sure. Just tell me the place, and I’ll meet you there.

  “Have a good night, Reagan.”

  I started slightly and turned to see Derrick leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. “Thanks, you too.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  I didn’t know what that meant exactly, and I wasn’t going to ask and encourage whatever game he was playing. I got the feeling he had a crush on me or something, and if anything, I wanted to be with a man like Ethan and not a boy like Derrick.

  “Vic is female. Appears to be in her twenties and has multiple stab wounds,” Officer Moore, the responding officer, stated as we walked up to the apartment on the second story.

  My partner Shawn Jones and I nodded. After putting shoe protectors on, we entered the home. In all my years on the force, I’d never seen a stabbing like this one, and I’d seen some fucked up shit.

  The flashing red and blue lights came in through the front windows as we looked down at the naked body on the couch. Her brown hair was darkened with blood, her brown eyes stuck open and lifeless, and I was certain the couch cushions were soaked with more of the crimson fluid. I looked around the small living room, which had already been cordoned off as evidence was gathered, pictures taken, and prints dusted for.

  “Did you find the murder weapon?” I asked.

  Officer Moore shook his head. “Haven’t found it yet.”

  I stepped closer to the victim, crouching down to be eye level with her body, and noticed her skin was already turning gray. “Who called it in?”

  “Neighbor. The roommate ran next door after finding the body when she got home tonight. Said she usually stays at her boyfriend’s Thursday through Saturday, but she forgot her makeup bag or something.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was gray because of how long she’d been dead or because she was lying in a pool of what appeared to be all of her blood. There was no way to know until we talked to the medical examiner.

  “Where’s the roommate now?” Shawn asked.

  “The bus took her to med,” Moore stated, referring to an ambulance. “She was hyperventilating after finding the body.”

  I nodded as I shared a look with my partner. We weren’t ruling out the roommate yet.

  Shawn and I walked around the apartment, looking for anything and everything while we waited for the medical examiner to arrive and give us an estimated time of death. There were no signs of a struggle, and nothing appeared to be missing or stolen.

  The victim’s purse was in her bedroom. I took out her wallet and got her name: Amy Kenny. I noted everything about the young woman. She seemed happy and had a promising future. The pictures on the wall showed how much fun she had in her life. There were photos of her and her friends at clubs, bars, and concerts, and she even had one of those heart-shaped wood plaques, likely from a fair, with her name carved in it.

  At least this young lady had lived a good life before she was brutally murdered in her own home.

  My smile hadn’t faltered as I watched the cops coming and going through the webcam of the computer I’d purposely left open on the dining room table. It also gave me a view of Amy’s lifeless body, where I’d left her on her couch. I hadn’t expected anyone to find her so soon, but then again, I didn’t expect the roommate to come home early because she usually spent the weekend
away. I thought I had another day to watch Amy’s lifeless body on her couch. But I had to admit that seeing Chicago PD move around the small living room, not knowing that I was watching them, was giving me another high, a high that was similar to the one I got when I’d watched the bitch take her last gasp of air.

  I’d never felt more alive than I had at that moment. Especially when my rage took over and I got the redemption I was after.

  Watching Amy had been a sport at first. She was only supposed to be a player in my little game that no one knew about. That was how they all were as I watched the female students of Lakeshore University through their webcams.

  But Amy was different.

  I’d first come across her at the end of the last year school year, I’d kept tabs on her, watching her every chance I got into the summer break. I knew her favorite song, her favorite drink of choice, what she liked to eat when she thought she was alone and no one could see the Snickers she had to have at least one night a week. I also knew what kind of porn she liked, how long it took her to come, and how many times she could get herself off with her pink vibrator. Three, if you’d like to know.

  God, she was beautiful.

  I’d wanted to touch her, smell her, taste her. I’d wanted to look into her eyes and tell her I knew all of her secrets. Knew what got her off. I’d wanted to bury my face between her legs and have her ride my face for hours. Be the one who fucked her hard. Make her come over and over and over.

  That was until she came back to school and I asked her on a date. She’d laughed and told me, “I don’t think so.”

  Those four words had fueled my fire.

  I’d continued to watch her through her webcam because, like most stupid girls, she left the laptop open in her room. I kept tabs on her so my new plan could come to fruition. If Amy didn’t want me, no one could have her. I would be the last one to speak to her, to hear her voice, to taste her.

  When I knew she was alone, I entered her apartment with the key I’d made with my 3D printer. A picture of her house key and a high-tech printer was all it took to create a copy. Since she left her computer open 24/7, I was able to zoom in on the keys she’d left near her purse. After I’d created the 3D CAD file, I pressed the start button and watched the plastic key form right before my eyes.

  While Amy was in the shower, I knew I had just enough time to drive to her apartment and let myself in with my key. When I got to her room, I slipped a pill into her red wine next to hear laptop, knowing she’d drink the rest of her glass before pouring another one. The drug was my first gift to her. I didn’t want her to put up a fight, and having her high and out of it would be easier for both of us. My other gift was a wood plaque with her name on it. I was leaving my mark—my signature. Sadly, she’d never know about that gift.

  After she drank the wine, I waited for the drug to kick in.

  And then I made my move.

  I yawned, leaning back in my desk chair. Catching a new case was what I lived for, but the first forty-eight hours were brutal.

  We’d just gotten an update from the ME that the victim had been stabbed sixty-eight times. I’d never seen such hatred in all my life, and that was saying something considering I lived in Chicago where there were, on average, around seven hundred murders a year.

  This murder screamed hate, passion, and rage, and I wanted to solve the case as soon as possible, but I also wanted to see Reagan again. There was no way I’d be able to meet her before midnight, so I’d texted her to meet for lunch at a restaurant near my place. I would have said breakfast, but I also knew that she needed sleep—and so did I.

  Fuck, what I would do to have her in my bed again.

  The night before, I’d heard her quiet snores over the movie. After making sure she was in a deep sleep, I carried her to my bed. If she and I were an us, I wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl in beside her, pull her close, and sleep with my arms around her until I had to go into work. Instead, I took a quick shower and slept on my couch. I left before she woke, hoping I could put in my ten hours and then meet her at Judy’s. Instead, some asshole had brutally murdered a woman in the dead of night.

  The ME told us the estimated time of death was around three the previous morning. Since it was now after midnight, we were coming up on the twenty-four-hour mark since the time of death, and we had no leads except the roommate, who we hadn’t interviewed yet because she was at the hospital. The neighbor had heard nothing unusual, either. Our cybercrime unit was looking into Amy’s computer, and Shawn and I had already sent in a subpoena for her cell phone and credit card records.

  “I’m going to head home. Want to talk to the roommate first thing?” I asked Shawn. We’d gotten word that the roommate would be released from the hospital after a few hours, and her boyfriend was taking her back to his place.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  We both left, and I went directly home. I crawled into my bed, which still smelled like Reagan, like marshmallows by a campfire, and quickly fell asleep, dreaming about her like I usually did.

  The next morning, as planned, I met Shawn at the roommate’s boyfriend’s apartment where she’d gone after she was released from the hospital. Usually, I’d meet him at the station, and we’d drive over together, but because I had a lunch date, we had to take two cars.

  We walked to the door and knocked. After a moment, it opened. Shawn and I held up our badges. “I’m Sergeant Valor, and this is Detective Jones. Is Heather Northland here?”

  The guy who opened the door nodded and motioned for us to enter. A young lady was sitting on the couch. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, probably from lack of sleep or crying all night, and her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.

  “Mind if we ask you a few questions about last night?” I asked. We already knew some of the answers to our questions because Officer Moore had briefed us the night before, but we’d ask her the same questions again to make sure her story stayed the same.

  “Sure,” she replied.

  Shawn sat next to her on the only couch, and I took a seat in the chair across from them. The man who we confirmed was the boyfriend went to the kitchen to get us water.

  “How long were you and Amy roommates?” I asked.

  Heather took a deep breath, tears starting to form in her swollen eyes. “About eight or nine months. I moved in at the start of the school year.”

  “Did you know her prior to moving in with her?”

  She shook her head. “No. She had an ad on Craigslist, and I’d answered it.”

  The guy came back and handed me a glass. Shawn stood and walked with him out the front door, leaving me to finish and for him to get some info from the boyfriend.

  “Was Amy dating anyone?” I questioned.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Amy didn’t date?”

  “She did, but I don’t think she had a serious boyfriend.”

  “When was the last time you saw her alive?”

  Heather sniffed. “Friday.”

  “What time was that?”

  She shrugged. “Around five.”

  “Did you notice anything missing?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but I wasn’t in there long. I walked in and saw …” She took a deep breath, tears streaming down her face. “I saw her lying on the couch covered in blood and then I ran next door. I was scared to death.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the apartment?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. Do you think the killer was still there?”

  I didn’t, given that Amy was already turning gray by the time we’d arrived, but I’d asked Heather to gauge her reaction. “It’s possible.”

  “Oh my god.” She covered her mouth and started to cry harder.

  I asked Heather more questions about her alibi and how close she was to Amy, but nothing gave me any indication she had killed Amy and no insight into who might have done it. There was no murder weapon found at the scene, there was no forced entry, and it was noted Heather didn
’t have blood on her when she was transported to the hospital.

  Nothing was found in the apartment except Amy in a pool of her blood.

  After we finished, I drove to meet Reagan at Big Jones, a rustic restaurant that served southern food. I needed something that was going to keep me full longer than a measly sandwich would, so I could focus on the case. Plus, their fried chicken was award-winning.

  When I rounded the corner toward the front door of the restaurant, I saw Reagan waiting outside. She was in jeans, knee-high boots, and a blouse that showed off her assets. Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted her so bad I was salivating. I remembered what it was like to be inside of her, and I wanted to have that again. Have her again.

  Our gazes met as I walked closer, and she smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.”

  I chuckled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. “You’ve seen me in a tux at prom.”

  Her grin widened. “True, but not grown-up Ethan.”

  “No, and a lot has changed since I wore that tux to prom.” I winked. I was referring to her body as well, but I didn’t elaborate. Instead, I opened the door of the restaurant and guided her inside.

  Seeing Ethan in a suit was doing things to my belly and between my legs. He was gorgeous with the scruff around his face from not shaving for a few days, his piercing blue eyes that reminded me of the sea, and those muscles that I wanted to feel wrapped around me as our bodies slid skin on skin.

  “Have you been here before?” Ethan asked after we were seated.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve only been back a few months and haven’t had a chance to explore it all.”

  “I can show you some time,” he offered.

  I grinned. “I’d like that.”

  Ethan paused, reading the menu briefly. “I’m getting the chicken,” he said, setting the menu down. “That and the shrimp and grits are amazing.”

  I bobbed my head, still scanning the menu. In the end, I decided to take him up on his suggestion of fried chicken. It had been a long time since I’d had good southern fried chicken. I set the menu down and sipped the water on the table. “Did you solve the case?”