He also became aware of the crowd outside being forced off the sidewalk by the yellow tape. Even from where he stood, he saw the concern on the faces he recognized outside. People he knew growing up. His high school principal was there. The lady who owned the flower shop a few blocks down. Even the receptionist from the doctor’s office was in the crowd.
Stoney Creek was a small town. Everyone knew each other. And from experience, Boone knew that as soon as word got out that there was a murder, calls would start coming in about neighbors, old boyfriends, and enemies ratting each other out. But he also knew fear would run rampant in the town he loved and served to protect.
Reminding himself of the job he needed to do, he gave Peyton one last look as she rubbed Kinsley’s back. His sister was sitting on the floor next to Peyton. Her head was over a bucket, her long chocolate-brown hair hanging over the sides. All of which didn’t surprise him. His baby sister had a weak stomach on the best of days. “Catch me up,” he said to Rhett.
“Peyton opened the shop this morning. Kinsley was with her,” Rhett reported. “That’s when they found the body.”
Boone turned his attention to the matter at hand. A few inches away from his boots lay a blond woman in a pool of her own blood. She looked in her mid-twenties, and by her body position, Boone suspected she had no idea the shot was coming. He couldn’t see any defensive wounds on her hands. Her clothes were all in place, making him believe the murder wasn’t sexually motivated.
Doing what he did best, he surveyed the scene. The lingerie shop was narrow and long and set into one of the historic buildings on Main Street. The walls were painted hot pink, with blood spatter now. In the front of the store was a sales counter and white tables set out with the lacy garments, but the victim lay in the back storage room, where a small desk sat with a computer monitor on top. The back building door was closed, and nothing seemed out of place, except for the deceased woman.
Behind the woman, the crime scene technicians were already processing the murder. “First thoughts?” Boone asked no one in particular.
“I’d say it’s a robbery gone wrong,” the third member of their rat pack growing up, Detective Asher Sullivan, said as he walked in through the back door from the parking lot with latex gloves on his hands. His blond hair was styled and gelled, and his eyes were a bright green.
They’d all become best friends in grade school—the three troublemakers back then, who all ended up in law enforcement one way or another, and now tended to work together often.
Asher stopped near the body and gestured at the safe not far from the victim. “Broken into and emptied.”
Boone squatted down, getting closer to the woman’s lifeless body. He kept his hands on his thighs, careful not to touch her, knowing full well if he did even with gloves, the medical examiner would serve him up for dinner. “A shot to the back of the head doesn’t shout robbery.” No, a shot where the victim wasn’t looking at the killer typically meant the shooter felt guilt, not wanting to look at the victim when the life faded from her eyes.
Rhett peered into the safe, then turned around. “Why hit a lingerie shop? The petty cash can’t be worth killing someone over.”
Boone agreed with a firm nod. He’d moved to New York City in his twenties and worked for the New York City PD for ten years. In those years, he’d seen crimes in the city that would always haunt him. A small, coastal Maine town like Stoney Creek didn’t have the gang violence or murders like New York City. Murders were few and far between here, with most being domestic, or resulting from organized crime in surrounding areas. Rapes were even less common. Minor robberies, thefts, and burglaries tended to be what Boone spent his days investigating. Which was a far cry from his time in the NYPD. The blood, the cruelty, the hate—Boone had seen enough death to last him a lifetime. He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And why hit this shop with a busy club next door?” Kinsley’s jazz club, Whiskey Blues, would have cash on hand, and a lot of it, compared to what the lingerie shop had.
Asher made a note on his pad, then clicked his pen closed. “I agree. Something about this one feels odd.”
Anything odd was never a good thing, and the tension spilling out from Rhett and Asher mirrored what Boone felt too.
The back door didn’t appear broken into, but the residents in Stoney Creek didn’t lock their doors. Boone couldn’t pinpoint what bothered him about what he was seeing here, but something made his skin crawl. And that sensation he trusted, telling him there was more going on here than first appearances.
He parted his lips to say as such, when a high voice snapped, “Stop right where you are.” Marissa, the five-foot-one, short-haired brunette fireball medical examiner entered the back room. “You better not have touched a single thing.”
With a smirk, Boone leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. Marissa believed in protocol with a capital P. Her compulsive disorder had served her well and made her one hell of an ME.
“Is this still enough for you?” Rhett mused, grinning from ear to ear.
She studied him, her thin lips pinching tight. “Your mouth is moving, so no.”
Rhett laughed softly.
Marissa placed her bag down near Boone, then waved them out of the back room. “Get gone.” She believed in spirts, in energies, and she needed quiet when she worked to allow the victims to speak to her.
Boone never questioned her method, no matter that more than once he questioned her sanity. Marissa never missed a damn thing, and he’d seen her attention to detail send criminals to jail. “You’ll be in touch when you have your findings?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Marissa flicked her hand at him again, solely focused on the victim now.
Boone went to turn away, when the air in the room shifted slightly, becoming thicker, harder to inhale. It came as no surprise after a quick look back, he found Peyton staring at him. When they met that first night in the club, he’d been curious about the gorgeous woman who’d walked through the doors looking a little lost and edgy. But lately, for reasons he couldn’t figure out, his curiosity had gone from mild to hard-core all too quickly. She had this hold over him he couldn’t explain, even to himself.
Needing answers that only she could give him, Boone headed Peyton’s way. She wasn’t the typical blond bombshell. There was an undeniable softness about her. A sweetness, even. Her long hair resembled the color of honey, and his fingers twitched to tangle in their strands. But the ghosts in the depths of her rich hazel eyes were what held him tight. Heartbreak was a pain he understood. And any sort of sadness on her pretty face made him damn near clamor to make her smile.
When he finally reached her, he studied her calmness, surprised she didn’t look more rattled at finding a woman murdered in her shop this morning. “All right?” he asked.
Peyton’s pink lips parted.
“Hell no, I’m not all right,” his sister snapped, still sitting on the floor, head still in the bucket. “I just barfed my brains out.” She finally lifted her head, soft eyes meeting Boone’s. Her skin went sheet white and she smacked her hand over her mouth. “Nope. Not ready to talk yet. It’ll happen again.”
Peyton knelt next to Kinsley, rubbing her back, and said in a soothing voice, “Remember, think about something else—like that funny story you were telling me about earlier.”
Boone watched the exchange closely. Every time he saw Peyton, she’d reveal a little more about herself. Which admittedly wasn’t much. All he’d gotten out of her was that she lived in Seattle before moving to Stoney Creek. But right now, he’d bet money that in Seattle she’d been in the medical field. She had the touch.
A touch he desperately wanted.
When Kinsley gagged, he glanced at his baby sister, and his chest tightened. Last night, Kinsley had been working behind the bar at Whiskey Blues. Far too close to this murder for his liking. “You’ll need to give your statements, but feel free to wait outside until then,” he said.
“Thank fucking God.” Kin
sley stood up, white faced, her dark hair a wild mess, and beelined for the door. One foot outside, she looked back at him. “I don’t know how you do this as a job. Seriously, Boone, it’s gross.”
He snorted at his sister. Law enforcement was in his blood. Boone was a cop, so were his father and grandfather. Kinsley seemed to have skipped that gene.
Peyton watched Kinsley leave. She finally turned to Boone and gave him the sweet playful smile she’d given him for a month now. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She turned.
Yeah, right.
Boone snagged her wrist gently and watched her closely. Like every time he got close, she inhaled sharply, an obvious shiver running down her spine. Her pretty eyes flicked to his. And held.
He was blinded by the heat between them, wanting desperately to give her everything she wanted and more. Because he wanted all those same things.
She finally blinked and those eyes became haunted. Instincts were 90 percent of being a good detective. Boone had honed his instincts through the ten years he’d spent with the NYPD—five as a beat cop and five more as a detective—and the last two years he’d worked in Stoney Creek as a detective. Those instincts told him now that this death had brought a memory of another death in her life. “Before you head out,” he murmured, unable to let her wrist go, “were there any signs of a break-in when you came in this morning?”
She shook her head and licked her lips, taking a step toward him.
Damn, he ached to close the distance. He stared at that pretty mouth, and he realized he stroked the inside of her wrist, earning him another shiver. He couldn’t fight his slight grin. If he could do that by a soft swipe of his finger, he knew he could make her shiver even deeper once he really touched her. Then he’d make her scream. His name, preferably.
But like a vault door slamming shut, she took a step back, all the heat vanishing from her expression. “The front door was locked, nothing seemed out of place. I don’t know about the back door.”
Boone gently released her wrist and shoved his hands into his pockets to ensure he didn’t reach for her again. “Do you know the victim?”
Peyton shook her head. “I don’t know her personally. I think she works for DX Industrial Cleaning. They always come after I close up, so I never meet the person they send.”
“Do they have a key?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, I gave them a copy when I first hired the company.”
“That’s good to know.” He took a mental note to ensure someone talked with the cleaning agency before moving along. “Have you seen anyone strange hanging around the shop or anything like that?”
“No one. Nothing.” She dropped her head and sighed before addressing him again. “Do you think whoever did this will come back?”
Boone considered. He didn’t want her to worry, but he never believed in sugarcoating things either. “Honestly, we won’t know anything until we investigate further.” Yeah, that was his bullshit standard cop answer, and she knew it, giving him a frown. To ease her worries, he added, “Right now, this looks like a botched robbery. It could very well be that, unless you have enemies—”
“God, of course I don’t,” she sputtered. “I don’t even have people who dislike me. Seriously, my life in Seattle was boring as hell.”
He doubted anything about Peyton Kerr was boring. “All right,” he said, glancing back at the blood beneath the victim. “The crime techs should wrap up everything by tonight. I’ll arrange for a cleaning crew to come in and get you back open tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” she said with clear gratitude and gave him that sexy smile again.
Christ. His cock twitched. What inappropriate timing. But that smile unraveled him. Every damn time.
“Come on, Peyton.” Asher suddenly sidled up next to Boone. “Let’s go make sure Kinsley isn’t puking in your flowerpots. I’ll drive you both back to her place and take your statements there.”
“Great,” Peyton said, all too calmly.
At that, Asher’s brows furrowed. Boone understood perfectly. Her calmness wasn’t typical and that raised questions that needed answering. While he was pretty sure that Peyton had nothing to do with this murder, there was a dead body in her shop, and her reactions were unusual.
She turned her smile onto Boone again. “Bye.”
He nodded his goodbye, watching her carefully as she strode away, leaving a trail of her sugary-scented perfume. That scent. That ass. Those damn pretty eyes had him itching to slide one hand along her back and yank her tight to him, while the other tangled into her hair as he kissed her, until she went all soft against him. All of which was entirely inappropriate.
When she reached the door, she turned and gave him a loaded look. Then she was gone, with Asher walking behind her.
Peyton had secrets. Whether those secrets related to the murdered victim on the floor of her shop or not was something he would find out.
Boone hadn’t had a cold case for over two years. He didn’t intend to break his record now.
Chapter 2
Three hours later, with her hair dripping wet against her back, Peyton got out of the claw-foot bathtub after washing off the horror of the morning. Asher had driven them back to Kinsley’s house in his big, loud truck, and took Peyton’s statement while they sat in the living room of Kinsley’s home. He’d spent a good half hour asking questions that got him “I don’t know” answers. He obviously realized Peyton knew nothing and he sent her on her way. After that, he began interviewing Kinsley, taping the entire thing and taking notes, probably getting more “I don’t know” answers. Poor guy.
Dressed, and wishing her sundress were comfy pajamas, Peyton strode down the narrow hallway full of old century charm. The soft yellow paint on the walls led to white baseboards and worn hardwood floors. There were photographs on the walls of the Knight family, both Kinsley’s and Boone’s faces adorning the hallway. Peyton didn’t know much about their parents, but she got the feeling this was originally their house, not Kinsley’s.
Moving on down the hallway, Peyton passed a bedroom with a white metal-framed headboard with a flower-patterned duvet. The bed was set in between two large windows with white sheer curtains on either side. When she came to the next room, curiosity led her inside. Against the far wall was a newel post bed and on the opposite were awards resting on shelves.
BOONE KNIGHT
MVP
An award for baseball. Another one for football. She ran her fingers over the gold plaque on each award and smiled. Boone had apparently been quite the athlete as a kid. Which she supposed wasn’t too shocking with that hot bod of his. The man was a six-foot-two gorgeous distraction.
He also happened to be the man Peyton had been neatly avoiding.
Not because she didn’t want him. God, did she want him. The attraction was there and strong, and for reasons unknown to her, she couldn’t seem to help herself where it came to him. But, still, Adam had only been gone a year. The last thing she wanted to do was lead anyone on. She couldn’t be the girlfriend, the future wife, or the mother of anyone’s children. She wasn’t ready to move on, not by a long shot.
Therefore, she did what any sane woman would do—avoided him. That seemed to work for the last month.
Until today, of course.
She sighed, hoping to expel all the confusion that Boone brought to her head and body. Then she left the bedroom and moved down the hallway. When she reached the dark wood-stained staircase, she heard the soft voices drifting up from downstairs.
“How well do you know Peyton?” Asher asked.
Peyton froze on the stairs, her breath catching in her throat, heart nearly jumping out of her chest.
“We met the first night she moved here,” Kinsley answered.
That night seemed like a lifetime ago. Peyton had arrived to town feeling unsure and unsteady, but now—even after her moment of craziness where she kissed a complete stranger—life had settled. Kinsley had been instrumental in making the grand
opening of Uptown Girl a success. The girl knew business—after all, she’d turned Whiskey Blues into the favorite watering hole in Stoney Creek. Because of her kindness, and having businesses next to each other, they’d been inseparable since that day.
Kinsley paused, then added, “But it’s like I’ve known her forever, if that makes any sense.”
Peyton smiled, the strands of her broken heart knitting back together. She felt the same way. Maybe even more so after today, once again reminded how fragile life was. She’d taken Adam for granted before, thinking she’d have forever with him. She’d never take anything or anyone for granted again.
Asher hesitated, maybe taking a note, then asked, “Has she talked to you about her past at all?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Kinsley responded.
Peyton’s stomach sank as she stared down the dark wooden staircase. All morning she’d fought to keep her expressions neutral, but seeing that poor murdered woman brought back her own feelings of grief about Adam’s passing.
“What would you say?” Asher asked Kinsley.
“I’d say that she seems like a very nice woman who has recently gone through a heartbreak. And don’t ask me what kind of heartbreak. I don’t know. What I do know is that today was like watching Mary Poppins discover a murder at her shop.”
“All right,” Asher drawled. “If you think of anything else, call.”
“You know I will,” Kinsley said.
There was rustling indicating they both rose from the couch before Asher asked, a little softer this time, “And you? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks,” Kinsley answered.
That’s when Peyton continued to move down the stairs. Better to interrupt now than to have them find her standing on the staircase like an idiot.
When she reentered the modest-sized living room, Kinsley had more color to her face. Asher stood near the fireplace with the white mantel. “All done?” she asked Asher.
Naughty Stranger (A Dangerous Love Book 1) Page 2
