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

by Jessica Frances

  We smile at each other, and I get the feeling time passes, but at the same time, it feels as though no time passes at all. Like we are stuck together in a moment, a beautiful one that I wish we could stay in a little longer. However, we both have jobs to do.

  “I’m going to look over the security footage from lunch; see what I can get from the florist who delivered the flowers. Once I have a lock on ass-wipe’s details, we’ll call him together in my office.”

  “Okay.”

  It’s nice to know that Declan is going to be with me every step of the way.

  ***

  “Were you able to find out anything from the florist?” I ask with exactly zero hope of any sort of result.

  “Actually, yes. It took a while for the owner to call me back, but she remembered the woman who purchased the flowers,” he tells me, leaning heavily back against his chair.

  “Woman?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t have security footage, and I wasn’t able to find anything close to the area to get our own image. However, she said a black woman, described as early to late twenties, purchased the flowers. She organized it all and paid with her credit card early last week, so I got Jerry pulling up the files. If we can link this woman to ass-wipe, we might have a case for the police to take this seriously.”

  I slowly nod, hoping this is finally good news. But again, this was organized before Bowen was in the picture. Could it not be him? Could this be someone else?

  “Any word from Jerry about the email or anything else he’s doing to Bowen to distract him?”

  “Not yet. But I do have his phone number, so I think we need to get this over with.”

  I nod again, this time even less enthusiastically and plonk myself down into the seat in front of Declan’s desk.

  He grabs his office phone, sets up a trace, and hits the record button before connecting the call to Bowen.

  It takes only one ring before Bowen answers.

  “Pizor,” he snaps.

  Hearing his voice creeps me out. I almost chicken out of speaking until Declan reaches out and grabs my hand.

  I’m not alone, and knowing he is with me helps me speak up.

  “Hey, this is Sasha.”

  “Who?” He sounds genuinely puzzled, which completely throws me off.

  “Sasha Jennings.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, I’ve been a little busy. Your mother said you would be calling me, though I had no idea you had my private number. How did you get this number, exactly?”

  Again, this is not the way I imagined this call going. I assumed I would have creepy comments, declarations of overconfidence, and cocky words thrown at me. Not surprise, indifference, and forgetting who the hell I am.

  “I have my ways.” I don’t want Declan to get into trouble, not that it will be hard to figure out if he really wanted to. “Look, I just wanted to say that, while I’m sure you think showering me with flowers is flattering, I’m not interested. I want you to stop sending them and to never contact me in any way again.”

  Declan nods, liking my words, or perhaps the confident way I speak.

  “Flowers? I’m not sure I follow you. But listen, while I have you on the phone, I do need to set this straight.” There is a shuffling noise, as if he’s going over papers on his end. Is he even giving me his full attention? “Your mother mentioned that you stated your interest in a relationship with me, but I’m afraid my short offer ended already. I was only interested in something short-term, and though I do find you attractive, I’m not looking for a wife. So, I’m sorry, but what you’re hoping for is not going to happen.”

  My mouth drops open as I attempt to take this in.

  Is my stalker breaking up with me? Is he for real? Or do we have this completely wrong? Was Bowen just a creepy dude, and not a stalker? Is someone else out there, sending me flowers and creepy messages?

  “Sasha? You got me? I don’t want trouble, and I also don’t want the hassle of changing this number. Delete it, please.” His voice is stern and no-nonsense.

  “Umm … sure?” I sound less sure of myself and more like an idiot.

  “Much appreciated.” He sounds distracted as he ends the call, and I am slow to give the receiver back to Declan.

  “Did that just happen?”

  Before Declan can answer me, his phone rings again. He picks it up, his stern expression not changing as he listens to whoever is on the other end.

  Minutes pass in silence from Declan before he finally thanks whoever he’s talking to and hangs up. Then he stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, not saying a word as his mind clearly works something out.

  “What is it? Who was on the phone?” I finally demand.

  “That was Jerry,” he replies slowly.

  “What did he have to say?” I wave my hand to hurry him along when he doesn’t speak right away.

  “He was able to trace the credit card purchase,” Declan says, not sounding relieved, but hesitant and thoughtful.

  “And …?” I sit up straighter in my chair. This is good news, right?

  “Well, the card came back to you.”

  His answer shocks me so much that I jolt back like his words hit me. “Me? What?”

  “The card used was yours,” he repeats, still sounding like he’s trying to work through this in his head.

  “My credit card has been stolen?” I gasp, my legs moving into action as I race to my desk and unlock my top drawer to pull out my bag. Inside my purse sits all of my credit cards. Not a single one missing.

  “I don’t understand,” I murmur, checking over them again before I look to Declan who followed me out.

  “It’s a credit card that was only approved a month ago.”

  “Someone stole my identity?” My heart pounds in my chest. You hear about this type of thing happening to other people, but I can’t believe it’s happening to me.

  “I would guess that someone has used your details to gain access to their own card under your name.”

  “Fuck, so this is someone other than Bowen, then?”

  Who was the woman who bought the flowers? Is she my stalker?

  “Jerry wasn’t able to pull up the email, just your search history where you googled the poem. It was three and a half weeks ago.”

  “Sounds about right.” I shrug, but it doesn’t hide my body shaking. “So, what do we do now?”

  Declan takes a deep breath, and I follow suit, even if mine doesn’t feel all that calming.

  “We keep searching, but we look deeper. If this isn’t ass-wipe, which I’m still not convinced about, then maybe it could be someone from your past. Or, as scary as it sounds, a disturbed person you don’t even know. Someone could have zeroed in on you and you don’t even realize.”

  Shivers coat my skin as I wonder just how long someone has been obsessed with me.

  Declan quickly steps toward me and ushers me back over to my desk chair before crouching in front of me once I’m seated, keeping my hands wrapped in his.

  “It’s not Jordan Yorke, is it?” My college stalker. After Declan dealt with him, I never heard from him again. I barely even saw him around campus. He seemed to just disappear, not that I cared. But what if this is him? What if he’s holding a grudge?

  “No, I looked into him yesterday, just to be thorough. He was in a car accident six years ago; hasn’t been released from a psychiatric ward ever since.”

  His words are a shock to me, purely because I haven’t thought of him. I threw him from my mind and just hoped he learned his lesson and didn’t cause problems to someone else. To know he’s been in a psychiatric ward almost this whole time feels weird.

  “I don’t know of anyone else it could be. If it’s not Bowen, then it must be a stranger.” I want to throw my hands in the air in despair, but Declan doesn’t let me budge them an inch from his hold.

  “It’s surprising how many enemies a person can make without realizing it.”

  “What do you mean?” I bark, not in the mood fo
r him to not be straight with me right now.

  “For example, that bartender back in California was angry,” he points out before his eyes gaze to a spot over my shoulder and he frowns. “Although, he is likely more pissed at me than you.”

  “What bartender?”

  Declan focuses back on me, his eyes soft and his tone gentle. “The one who spiked your drink.”

  This is not someone I expected him to bring up. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “Well, he will definitely know who I am. I called his boss and got him fired the next day.”

  My mouth gapes open for several embarrassing moments before I slam it shut. “For real?”

  “Of course. That asshole was willing to spike your drink, knowing what that would mean for you. Who the fuck knows how many other times he’s done it or allowed it to happen? His boss assured me he would be blacklisted from being hired in any bar in California.”

  “Shit!” I huff, feeling bad that I hadn’t even given much thought to what that bastard did. How could I have forgotten about his involvement? How could I just let that go like it’s a hazard of life?

  “It was too late to press charges against him and likely impossible to prove it was him, even if there were still traces of the drug in my system the next day. I doubt he went out the back just for fun. He needed away from the cameras.” Declan caresses my wrist with his thumb, most likely seeing my agitation.

  Unfortunately, I’m just as annoyed at myself than I am at the bartender. We should have taken Declan to a hospital and had him tested immediately.

  Sure, that guy might find it difficult to get a bartending job, but that doesn’t mean that punishment is just. Especially if he has done this type of thing before.

  “So, you think this could be him?” I finally ground out, my voice rough since a lump of emotions has built up painfully in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

  “An out of work asshole who lives on the other side of the country? No. No way can he afford even a fifth of the flowers being showered over you. Plus, this started before we left for the wedding.”

  “But that just shows that this being Bowen is just as unlikely,” I point out, hoping I don’t sound like I’m whining.

  “Perhaps, or I could be right about him knowing of you earlier. I still have a bad feeling about him. Something just doesn’t sit right with me. For now, he stays on as prime suspect.” Declan grips my hands hard, tenseness rolling off his body again.

  Being reminded of the spiking incident also means I recall that I didn’t trust Declan then. I told him his instincts meant nothing to me. But I was wrong. They do mean something to me, and my own instincts mirror his. Bowen might not make sense, but he is definitely a suspect.

  We are both silent for a moment, taking in his words while I also consider if anyone else might hate me. I can’t think of anyone. I never made waves at college, and lately, I live a quiet life. Who could want to hurt me? Or be obsessed with me to this extreme?

  “Can we circle back to something?” Declan finally asks, shifting on his feet. I’m sure his crouched position isn’t that comfortable.

  “Sure,” I answer with a nod. My mind has drifted back to Jordan Yorke. There is something niggling me about him. Something just out of my grasp, but it feels relevant.

  “Ass-wipe mentioned your mother. What was that about?” Declan’s sharp voice takes me away from my thoughts, and I stare over him carefully, noticing his look of concern.

  “Oh.” I roll my eyes, hoping my carelessness over this eases his mind. “She called me earlier. Asked about how serious I was with you.”

  His eyes widen before they quickly narrow. “And what did you tell her?” He is watching me carefully. I wonder why he seems nervous.

  “Well …” I begin with sarcasm in my voice, “I obviously told her we were incredibly serious and she took that to mean that I was definitely open to giving Bowen a chance.”

  Declan shakes his head with a soft snort. “So, I guess winning over the parents isn’t likely to be in my future.”

  “Unless you win the lottery, inherit some serious cash, or the P.I. business suddenly takes off and you begin to make six figures, then no, not likely.”

  “Does that matter to you?” And suddenly, his nerves make more sense.

  “What, that you don’t make six figures, or that my parents won’t approve of you?” I ask. Neither matter to me. It just surprises me that, after the past few days, Declan thinks they would affect me or my feelings.

  “Either.”

  I open my mouth to give him the short answer, but there is something about his tense body, his grinding teeth, and worried eyes that encourages me to elaborate.

  “I know roughly what you earn here, and it isn’t anything to look down on. However, even if you didn’t make that amount of money, I still wouldn’t have a problem. If you were aimless, jobless, and enjoyed days spent sitting on the couch doing nothing, then I might get judgy. But you have a job you love, and it affords you to pay your bills and be happy. That is all I would ever want in a partner.

  “As for my parents,” I say, using his grip on my hands to pull him closer until I can get a good grip on his shirt, which I use to hold him in place where our noses brush each other. I want him to hear my words and see the truth in my eyes when I say them. “I think it might be a little scary how much I love how much they disapprove of you. If they—money-hungry, status whores, shallow assholes—don’t like you, then there must be something seriously right with you.”

  He stands from his crouched position, but remains leaning so he is in front of me. He smiles down at me, cupping my face, and then he moves the rest of the way so our lips touch and he is kissing me.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, shifting forward on my seat to force our kiss to delve deeper, but a loud groan breaks us apart before I can even enjoy it.

  “Didn’t you guys just spend all of lunch mooning over each other? There is only another couple hours of work left; I’m sure Zander would love you to be spending it this way.”

  I glare daggers at Cynthia when those words immediately cause Declan to put distance between us.

  She is my fourth cockblocker in the past week.

  “I’m sure you can resist each other until five,” Cynthia continues, and I poke my tongue out at her, which she returns as she passes my desk, rounding her way into Joey’s office.

  “Your friends are charming,” Declan jokes.

  I snort. “You have Joey as a best friend, so whatever you think, I definitely win.”

  “Technically, Joey is your friend, too.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “Bro-code means he’s more yours than mine. But she’s right; Zander would be pissed if he saw us.”

  My words are meant to be light, but they seem to further put a damper on Declan, who almost instantly takes another small step away from me.

  “Are you worried about Zander?” I finally voice, concerned. If he’s worried, then that will mean my hopes for an easy conversation with Zander might be improbable and definitely wishful thinking.

  “Honestly? I am a little,” he admits, worrying his lip.

  “So am I. I think he’ll see this as a good thing. However, he might need a minute or two to come to terms with it,” I say confidently, praying to whoever is listening that my luck with this hope will hold true.

  Declan nods, gazing off, going somewhere distant in his mind for a moment, before he focuses back on me. “I’ll just be in my office if you need me.” He squeezes my hand gently before walking away, and I reluctantly go back to work.

  I can’t help glancing around the office, seeing the flowers littering the area and shifting back to my previous thoughts.

  What is happening here? Is this Bowen or someone else? And what is their endgame?

  From the notes being left, it sounds like it’s a possible love obsession. Then why steal my identity just to get a credit card? And why choose a florist with zero surveillance, but then use a credi
t card that will be traced back to me? Is it just a way of scaring me? A way of trying to become me? Or am I being set up?

  Set up for what?

  And on a groan, I wonder how annoying cancelling this fake credit card is going to be,

  ***

  Declan’s cooking is as amazing as I hoped. I set the table while he commandeers the kitchen. The smells make my stomach grumble, and as we eat, conversation is a mix between remembering the past, reeducating each other on wrong assumptions, and speaking of our hopes for the future. It’s easy, natural, and brings to mind our lunch earlier today.

  “It’s sort of nuts to think how quickly things have changed between us,” I tell him as he places the last cleaned dish away and drops the towel onto the counter.

  “You mean, because we haven’t had an ugly fight with each other for a couple of days?” He smirks, and I wonder what he is recalling that gives him that smirk.

  “You have hated me since I was nine,” I remind him.

  “Hate is a strong word. I prefer disliked. I now like to think I have been an idiot since I was twelve.”

  “I like to think that, too,” I jest as he takes my hand and walks me over to his couch.

  “I wish I had a better explanation for the way I’ve acted around you than the one I gave you yesterday, but it wasn’t always your money that made me act the way I did.”

  “Really?” I hold my breath, wondering if I am about to find out whatever he’s kept from me. I have had no reason to think this, other than my instincts. However, I have always thought there was more to Declan’s annoyance of me than just money.

  “I know things changed a little for me when you became a freshman.”

  “It did?” His constant whining that I was “always in the way” and “such a girl” never seemed to stop, no matter how old we were when we were kids.

  “Well, yeah. I remember you walked into the cafeteria with a couple of your friends, and you usually always wore a hoodie or sweater. But that day, you just had on a tight, little T-shirt, and I realized you had tits.” He says this in such a matter of fact way that I almost miss it.