The Knock Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Emme Burton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the e-book from one of its many distributors.

  Disclaimer: This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The following products/entities along with others mentioned in The Knock are trademarked: iPhone ®, Five Guys

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  Emme Burton Books, LLC

  St. Louis, MO 63122

  www.emmeburton.com

  Edited by Janine Savage, Write Divas, LLC

  Formatting by Jason Anderson, Polgarus Studio

  Cover by Teresa Conner of Wolfsparrow Publishing

  Dedicated to my amazing fellow authors of Juniper Court: Isabelle, Phoebe, Sylvie, Lainie, Jennifer, and Vicki.

  And to my Mom, Beth. The O.G. Cougar

  Table of Contents

  The Knock Playlist

  Introduction

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Other Books in the Juniper Court Series

  More Books by Emme Burton

  The Knock Playlist

  Who Knew-P!nk

  Whole Lotta Love-Led Zeppelin

  Castle on the Hill-Ed Sheeran

  Perfect-Ed Sheeran

  Breakdown-Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers

  Our House-Crosby, Stills and Nash

  Today My Life Begins-Bruno Mars

  Foo Fighters-Everlong

  Introduction

  Welcome to Juniper Court.

  In the summer of 2017, Isabelle Peterson came up with this kooky idea to have a series of books with each house having its own very different story. The characters would have shared scenes, giving readers glimpses into the lives of the various neighbors. She could have written the whole series on her own, but she was looking for more. She wanted a variety of flavors in the neighborhood. What better way to do that than have different authors ‘adopt’ a house on the block!

  So, she got busy digging into her connections and considered her various author friends strengths. She had Indie Author friends who write such diverse topics and with different styles, the scope of the project, Juniper Court, more dynamic and exciting. You’ll encounter authors who specialize in various sub-genre within the Romance World.

  Over the past several months, the authors of Juniper court have come together, each in charge of her own home on this quiet suburban cul-de-sac where everyone seems to have secrets.

  There are several things about this series that make it unique. Each book on Juniper Court can stand alone. They don’t have to be read in order.

  As you read, you’ll see interactions with neighbors, and some of those interactions you’ll find in other books, from the other perspective. Enjoy these glimpses behind the doors of the neighbors and then, click on their books and get the full story.

  From Sweet to Swingers…

  from LGBT to BDSM…

  It's happening behind the doors of

  —Juniper Court.

  Learn more about all the books and the authors on our website:

  www.junipercourtseries.com

  “I’m not afraid of you running away, baby. I get the feeling you won’t.”

  “Breakdown,” Tom Petty

  Chapter 1

  I’m in my usual morning spot in the dining room, curled up with a cup of coffee between my hands in the sole club chair that Donnie bought me. I’m looking out the bay window of the house that Donnie bought me and over the large yard that Donnie bought me.

  Donovan Garrett didn’t select the chair or the house or pick out the landscaping in the yard. He couldn’t. He was gone, but the money he left behind, or rather the insurance policy and settlement from the wrongful death lawsuit, paid for all of it.

  Donovan was my husband. He was also a police detective. An undercover one. In vice. He lived through countless embeds and two bullet wounds—once, very gravely, in the upper left shoulder near his heart while undercover in a stalker-near-kidnapping case, a few years ago.

  He was never supposed to buy me a house on Juniper Court in the warm, idyllic town of Sunview. No, we were supposed to raise our kids and grow old together in St. Louis. Live through each blazing humid summer and frigid ice-storm-ridden winter together.

  I wasn’t supposed to be here alone.

  I’d always known the day could come, but on that day, “the knock” on the door took me by surprise.

  Donnie was supposed to be home soon. I knew he had just completed his last ever undercover assignment. He was moving on to an administrative desk job and I was thrilled. I wouldn’t have to worry anymore about where he was for weeks at a time. I wouldn’t have to hear information through a secure line to the police department. I would have him at my dinner table and in my bed every night. We had survived ten years of danger and probably more peril than Donnie was allowed to divulge to me, and now it would be our time. Our time to enjoy our now ten- and eight-year-old sons, Donovan “Van” Jr. and Shane.

  I never got my nightly family dinners or my nightly kiss good-night.

  I never got my husband back from his undercover life. Not because of a bullet or a knife—but because of an accident.

  Knock, knock!

  Why in the world would Donovan knock? Did he forget his key? I don’t even think I locked the door because I told him I’d wait up for him after his text half an hour ago.

  POSEY, BABE, I’m done. It’s over. I’m out forever. The arrests are happening right now. Tomorrow starts a whole new life.

  He would never know how prophetic his words were.

  I padded to the door, sleepy-headed and confused, after dozing off while I waited for Donnie.

  I opened the door, expecting the love of my life, but it wasn’t Donnie. It was one of his fellow detectives, Aaron, in street clothes, flanked by a couple of uniformed officers. My heart fell.

  “Hello, Posey.” Aaron’s voice was stiff and formal.

  “Aaron?” I moved side to side, peering behind him to find Donnie. Where was Donnie? This had happened before—officers at my door—when Donnie had been shot.

  “Posey.” Aaron’s head dropped, and he sniffed and swallowed. I grabbed the doorframe. This was not good. Not good at all. Aaron lifted his head and pinned me in his gaze. His eyes were rimmed red and filled with tears.

  “NO!” I tried to scream, but it came out as a choked, dysphonic plea.

  Aaron stepped toward me and wrapped an arm around me to keep me from falling.

  “Let’s go inside. Off the porch. We need privacy.”

  Somehow, I found myself sitting on the couch. An officer on either side of me, with an arm around me. Aaron sat on the coffee table in front of me, holding both my hands.

  “Posey, Donovan is dead.”

  The words ricocheted around the room, and in my head, and fi
nally slammed into my chest and I gasped for air.

  The only word I seemed to be able to form was NO. Over and over in my consciousness and on my lips.

  Aaron gave me a bit of time but then gently brought me back. “Posey, listen to me, look at me.”

  I found his eyes, which held all the pain I was feeling.

  A wet film formed over my own eyes and blurred my vision.

  “Donovan finished the assignment. He was on his way to the station to change and debrief. A drunk driver came into his lane and forced him into the guardrail. Posey, Donnie’s car flipped over the guardrail and impacted in the ravine below. It became engulfed in flames before anyone could reach him.”

  Every cell in my body felt like it was screaming and shaking, but I was stock-still. Unable to move, breathe, focus. My lips and nose started to tingle. I turned my face away from Aaron and the room spun. Then I stood and ran.

  To the kitchen.

  To the sink.

  Where I vomited, while gripping the thick edge of the farm sink. That was right before my legs crumpled beneath me. I felt an excruciating pain on my cheek as I went down. I felt like I was dying. I wished I had died.

  When I came to, Aaron and the other guys’ faces were above me. I reached up and felt something hot and sticky on my face and could taste metal in my mouth. I moved to stand up.

  “No, Posey, stay down. You slammed your face on the sink when you fainted.”

  “I fainted?”

  “Yes, you ran in here and vomited in the sink.”

  I remembered that part.

  “And then you collapsed and connected pretty hard on the way down.”

  That I did not remember.

  “Mom!” A cracking preteen voice stops my journey through that painful memory.

  “Momma?”

  I shake myself out of the past and look up from my coffee cup. My boys—my loves—Van and Shane stand in front of me with puzzled looks on their faces.

  “Hi! Hi, guys!” I stand up, set my coffee cup on the end table, place an arm around each of their shoulders and bring them in for a group hug. I hold on a little too long.

  Shane squirms out of my embrace. “Mooom!”

  “OK, OK.” I let them both loose.

  They move toward the front door. “Did you eat breakfast?” I ask, my parenting mode finally kicking in.

  Backs to me, they both hold up Nutri-Grain bars as they leave the house. The door slams loudly behind them. It no sooner crashes against the doorjamb than it opens again and Van’s head peers around. “Mom, don’t forget, that guy is coming tonight.”

  What guy? “What guy?” my lips mimic my thought.

  “That guitar guy. The one you called for me? He’s coming over for my first lesson after school.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

  I barely recognize myself. Who is this laissez-faire parent? This barely attentive, lost in her own grief person? Mornings are bad. Nights are worse. Even though I spent many, many days without Donnie when he was undercover, it’s just knowing I won’t ever see him or hear him again that makes it so excruciating. Some days I go a few hours without thinking of him. When I do, I admonish myself for letting his memory slip away.

  Grief reminds me of a crazy, sad amusement park ride. You never know when a turn or spin will come that makes you sick to your stomach and wrenches tears from your eyes. Oh, and there’s no way to get off the ride.

  If I have a faraway look at times, it’s because I’m imagining how soft his hair felt when I bent down to kiss it, the last time I saw him.

  Someday, I’ll stop counting the days since he left, but not yet.

  Chapter 2

  Since it’s Tuesday, I work from home. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my days to get my designs done. The opposite days, office days, are filled with meetings and lunches and sometimes too much “people time.” But every other day I get up, have my giant cup of coffee, throw on a T-shirt, my favorite cutoff sweats and work in my bare feet. When I started at Two-Shot Graphics, I set it up so I could work from home part of the time. I don’t need to work, I want to, and Two-Shot works perfectly.

  My design space is a quiet retreat. I can come in here, shut the door and create. Currently, Two-Shot is responsible for the graphics on a large campaign for the album and tour of the hugely popular group, #coolNerd, fronted by songwriter-guitarist Sid Cooper. If my boys knew, they would freak. He’s one of their favorite artists. There’s a possibility of seeing him in concert when he comes to town. I won’t tell them until the job is over because I’d hate to disappoint them if it didn’t pan out. I hate to disappoint anyone. I hate to do anything wrong, even if unintentional. It’s that very quality that led me to Donovan.

  “Oh my God, we narrowly avoided that ticket.” The police car pulled over the car behind me even though I clearly ran the red light, too.

  I turned to the passenger seated next to me. “I’m going back.”

  “Argh, Posey, you can’t go back. Besides, the cop is busy.” Drew, my boyfriend at the time, moaned loudly.

  “Well, I’m just gonna… I’m just gonna stop and call the police department.”

  “Really, Posey, most people run away from getting a ticket.”

  “But, Drew, I need to do the right thing, and I clearly ran that light.”

  “Whatever.” Drew huffed and started frantically swiping at the screen on his phone.

  I pulled into a parking lot and called the City of St. Louis Police Department. I explained that I ran a red light at Kingshighway and Manchester and I wanted to tell the police officer I was sorry.

  “Uh, uhm… really? Like, who does that?” the dispatcher stuttered.

  “Me, I guess. I don’t like the feeling of being… wrong.”

  “OK, one moment.” The phone went quiet before it clicked over.

  “Hello? Hello?” I squeaked into the phone. “This is Posey…”

  “This is Officer Garrett. How can I help you?” The dispatcher put me through to the actual police officer.

  “Hi, I’m so sorry. We ran a red light at Kingshighway and Manchester, and… uhm… we’ll come back and pay, get the ticket. My name is Posey—”

  “Spence,” the officer interjected.

  “Yes, that’s right, Posey Spence. How did you know?”

  “I ran your plates after you ran the red light.”

  “Well, we’ll come back and pay because you snagged the guy behind us and not us.”

  “Yeah, I had to choose between the two of you and he was closer. He ran it after you did, so he’s slightly guiltier. Don’t worry, he’s one of the hockey players for the Blues. He can afford the fine. Hell, his attorney will probably get the ticket thrown out. Just wondering why you keep saying ‘we’ and ‘us’?”

  “There’s another person in the car with me.”

  “Don’t involve me in this,” Drew complained loudly.

  “Your boyfriend?” the officer asked.

  I liked his deep, scratchy voice. I liked that he was curious about who I was with.

  “Sorta,” I whispered. I didn’t know why I whispered. Drew wasn’t paying attention to me.

  “Listen, Posey. We’ll let it go. Next time you’re in this part of town, drive more carefully.”

  “Where are you?” I blurted out, thoughtlessly. I had an overwhelming desire to meet this polite, pardoning, rough-voiced man.

  “What?”

  “Where are you? I want to meet you. To thank you.”

  “But you’re—”

  “Yeah, I’m… in the parking lot of the donut shop by the intersection where I ran the light.” It was my turn to cut him off.

  “For someone who ran a light, you didn’t get very far.”

  “I felt bad.”

  “Funny, most people feel victorious after getting out of a ticket.”

  “Not me. I’m… different.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I’m a rule follower.”

  “Pos
ey?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m parked next to you.”

  I turned. There was a police cruiser right next to me. The officer in it was on the phone and he waved at me. He was a handsome ginger.

  “Hi,” I said on the phone as I waved back in person.

  “Why don’t you get out of your car and meet me by mine.”

  “OK.”

  I hung up and looked at Drew. “I’ll be right back.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, Pose. Really?”

  “Yes, really. He was nice. I should thank him.” I checked my makeup and hair in the mirror before I hopped out of the car.

  When I rounded the back of the cruiser, Officer Garrett was already out of his vehicle, standing with one hand on the door handle. For some reason, I was stopped in my tracks by his presence. He was tall, broad-chested with a strong jaw. He stepped forward until he was about a foot away from me.

  “Hello, Posey,” He pulled off his mirrored aviators, slipped one of the earpieces into a hole in his shirt and locked me with his gaze. Then he took out his ticket book. “Can you confirm your address and phone number?”

  I told him both automatically.

  “So, you’re giving me a ticket?” I asked, a strange panicky sound infusing my voice.

  “No, a verbal warning.” He took the ticket and put it in his breast pocket.

  I released the breath I didn’t even know I was holding with a big sigh. “Thank you.”

  He patted his breast pocket. “I’d like to call you, if that’s OK. I like that whole ‘rule follower’ thing.”

  He wanted to call me? Yes, please! I nodded my head eagerly and he grinned. A huge, genuine grin.

  When he handed me his card, his finger grazed mine. A flash of excitement moved through me. I read the card—Officer Donovan Garrett. City of St. Louis Police—and then I turned to go.

  “You drive carefully, Posey. No more risk-taking.”

  “Yes, Officer Garrett.” I looked at the card and then corrected myself, “Yes, Donovan.”