I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series by K.A. Richardson Read Free Book Online Page A

falter as the throbbing in his leg increased.
    He turned the machine off, gingerly stepping down and testing the strength as he reached for his stick. His leg was burning; the fall had definitely set him back. It had been six months since his last surgery, when the surgeon had advised him that this was ‘as good as it would get.’ The four hour operation had tightened the muscles around the tissue and tendon damage, ultimately giving him more support. But he still needed the stick, always would.
    His back had healed, the shrapnel left behind melding to muscle and becoming part of him.
    But not his leg.
    He remembered TJ at his side at the hospital, holding his arm as he struggled out of the wheelchair for the first time after being flown back from Afghanistan. She’d been by his side, supporting his weight as he had walked the required number of steps before collapsing at the end.
    The first surgery had helped give him back the ability to bend and straighten his leg, though at that point they figured the chair was a permanent addition to his life. The second was designed to strengthen his tendons but he had overdone the physiotherapy, over stretching as his body tried its best to heal. Dogged determination had seen him through the next two surgeries. 
    Jacob paused by the full length mirror, normally used by people sparring or completing their self-defence and take down courses. The gym was empty apart from him. Everyone else either progressing onto their shift or home after.
    Slowly, he lowered the waist of his track suit bottoms, past his shorts to his knees and turned, the back of his leg now visible over his shoulder. His mouth straightened as he took in the first long ragged scar. It was ugly, winding up his leg like a snake. Some of his muscle mass had been removed, either by the original shrapnel shards or by the subsequent surgeries, leaving his leg deformed and looking more like the twisted trunk of a tree. Secondary and tertiary scarring marred the surrounding areas and for a moment he almost felt sick.
    It was so much a part of him that he rarely looked at it any more, hating it with all his heart. It wasn't a war wound. It wasn't a survivor wound. It was only proof that he had survived when half of his team hadn't.
    Proof he’d led them into a situation that had ended with three of them dying.
    Proof that he shouldn’t be alive today.
    The medal they had given him on his return sat at the bottom of a drawer hidden in the dark. He was no damn hero. He didn't deserve any medals.
    What he did deserve though was the pain. It forced him to remember. Not a day passed when he didn't feel guilty for being there. TJ had helped turn that guilt into something else. Though even she knew it was still there, lingering beneath the surface. She had pushed him into digital forensics, knowing that whilst his hands were suited to war, his brain was suited to a more technical path.
    And he’d done a lot of good, he knew that. Through examining computers, laptops and phones, he’d been responsible for bringing down murderers and paedophiles alike, but knowing it just helped stop the guilt from taking over. It didn’t make it go away.
    He sighed as he pulled the waistband back up. It was how it was.
    He didn't have to like it. But he was damn sure he would learn to accept it.
    One day.
    Focussing on his own eyes in the mirror, he slowed his breathing, seeing past his exterior like the therapist had taught him to. He allowed himself to see his vulnerability, his humanity.
    It was OK to feel guilty. It was OK to still hurt. It was normal to feel the things he was feeling.
    Calmer now, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial.
    ‘Hey sis, it's me. Long day - you wanna meet for Mexican? My treat?’
     
    1 st June, 2000 hours – Desperado’s Restaurant, Sunderland City Centre
    ‘So what’s been so tough about today?’ TJ asked, reaching for nacho’s just placed down by the waitress.
    ‘I dunno. I’m