Naughty Stranger

by Stacey Kennedy

  “Okay, great,” Peyton said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

  Asher inclined his head and smiled before heading for the door. He seemed nice, really maybe the softest one out of the three guys.

  Kinsley followed him, and after their goodbyes, she shut the door and locked it. When Kinsley turned around, she was frowning. “I guess you heard all that?”

  “The last bit, yeah.” Peyton nodded.

  “Thought so.” Kinsley smiled gently, dropping her head back against the door. “So, listen, I had to answer his question honestly for the investigation and all, but your life before this one isn’t anything we need to talk about if you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

  “I do now.” Peyton smiled back. God, she liked Kinsley. This is what she wanted back in Seattle. To live happily in the moment. Being a lonely widow who lost everything because of a tragic car accident was something she left behind. This was her fresh start, and she was taking it.

  “All right, so that awfulness is over,” said Kinsley, pushing away from the door. “I’ll grab us some glasses and a bottle of wine. We deserve it. Wanna go find us something mind-numbing to watch on Netflix?”

  “On it.” Peyton turned to do just that, when a picture on the table near the bay window caught her eye. Boone was in his teens in this photograph, obviously on the football field. Damn, he was hot back then too. Something in his eyes was different, though. They looked a little warmer in the picture. Less jaded, maybe. Hell, hers probably looked just as jaded now.

  “He was—”

  Peyton screamed and jumped a foot off the floor, clutching at her chest. “Oh, my God, don’t do that, Kinsley.”

  Kinsley burst out laughing, holding two glasses and a bottle of chardonnay. “Sorry. My bad. I thought you heard me come in. I guess we’ll be on edge for a couple days.”

  Peyton nodded, pressing her hands to her racing heart. “No horror flicks for a while.”

  Kinsley continued to laugh as she sidled up next to Peyton. “Before I almost gave you a heart attack, I was going to say that Boone could have gone into the NFL if he’d wanted, but he followed our father into law enforcement instead.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” Kinsley pointed to another frame on the table. “Around here, law enforcement is a way of life. My dad’s a cop. His dad was a cop. And since we lived here at my grandparents’ house, Boone lived and breathed police life.”

  Peyton glanced around, reassessing. “Oh, this is your grandparents’ house?” Maybe that explained the choice of flowered wallpaper instead of paint, and the older-style furnishings. Not that the house and design weren’t cute; they just weren’t Kinsley.

  “The house has been in the family for years,” Kinsley explained, moving farther into the living room. “When Grandpa passed a few years ago, Dad moved out and gave this house to Boone and me.” She sat down on the dark gray couch, placing the bottle and glasses on the table. “Boone was living in New York City then, but he moved back a couple years ago. He stayed with me for a year and then moved out. So now this beauty is all mine.”

  “Lucky you; it’s so charming.”

  “And don’t I know it.” Kinsley uncorked the wine. “It needs new paint, new furniture, but it’s also my grandparents, so I have a hard time changing any of it.”

  “I get that.” Peyton couldn’t change anything after Adam died. She had to actually leave the state for a fresh start.

  Kinsley began pouring the wine into a glass. “Boone was super close to our grandpa. He acts a lot like him. You know, calm, cool, collected, just taking everything in stride like nothing ever bothers him.”

  Peyton gave Boone’s childhood pictures one last look before dropping down next to Kinsley on the couch, pulling her legs up. “He does seem pretty steady.”

  “He’s even more so since he moved back from New York City and left his ex-wife, Chelsea, behind.” Kinsley offered Peyton a glass.

  Divorced? “I didn’t know he was divorced.”

  “Boone’s past is a sore spot. No one likes to talk about it,” Kinsley said, watching Peyton closely and sipping her wine. She finally lowered her glass to her leg and added, “Boone and Chelsea were high school sweethearts, together since the first month of her junior year. Her brother Scott was Boone’s friend, so feathers were ruffled for a bit, but that all got smoothed over eventually. They were married here, then moved out to New York City because Chelsea wanted a life in the Big Apple.”

  Interesting. And maybe explained the jaded look in his eyes. “What happened between them?” Peyton asked, before regretting it, considering Kinsley grinned at her blatant interest.

  Kinsley paused to examine Peyton and then lifted a shoulder. “I feel weird talking about it because it’s not my story to tell, so I’ll just say my brother left as one guy and came back another. What happened between them was bad. Really bad.” She took a long sip of her wine, then added, “He’s better now. You’ve seen that. He’s just…”—she shrugged—“different. He once loved love. Now I can’t imagine him ever wanting to have another serious relationship.”

  “I can understand that.” Peyton looked down at her glass, understanding that completely. Love hurt. Really hurt. She wasn’t looking to relive that pain ever again. Hell, she was only recently able to do more than just breathe and force herself out of bed. Her heart clenched, threatening to flip to expose all the weak spots. She eased the tension with a long sip of her wine.

  She knew a big part of feeling better was the town of Stoney Creek. The friendly people, the fresh ocean air, the stunning views, the town itself made you want to live again and face each day with a smile. And everyone in town had welcomed her in, all showing up at the grand opening with pies, cookies, and buying items to support her.

  “Yeah, sometimes love isn’t always flowers and sunshine,” Kinsley agreed, giving a soft understanding smile. A telling one that she knew something was brewing there with Peyton and Boone. She’d already given her approval the day she found Peyton kissing Boone.

  “Yes, I know my brother is hot to every woman but me,” Kinsley said outside the bar. “You can date him. Sleep with him. Do whatever with him. Because, the thing is, if he hurts you, since I’m his sister that means I have the right to hurt him back. And believe me, I have honed my kick-him-in-the-nuts skills.”

  That night they’d laughed. Peyton hadn’t thought about it much since a relationship was the last thing on her mind. But now…well, now it seemed Boone had been hurt too. And the H-O-T detective that made her belly flip flop seemed like the perfect Mr. Right Now. She couldn’t do love. The idea of sex—with Boone—didn’t make her cringe and want to hide. And anything that felt good lately was welcome a thousand times over.

  “All right,” Kinsley said, breaking into Peyton’s thoughts. “We’ve had a terribly sad morning we need to forget.” She picked up the remote control and her wineglass. “To watching Friends and getting drunk.”

  Peyton clinked her glass and laughed. “I like this plan already.”

  Today would certainly end differently than she expected. But wasn’t that life?

  * * *

  Late into the afternoon, Boone entered Flaming Pie, a family-run diner that had the best pie in Maine but also served a perfect cup of coffee. The place was basically a long rectangle with a thin free-standing black table resting over metal stools. Typically, Boone found students and people using the space as their personal office. Today, he found the shop quiet, only a few people working on their laptops, when he reached the glass counter full of every pie known to man, and some that Danny, the owners’ twenty-year-old son, created. The peanut butter and s’mores pie was a town favorite.

  “Solve the murder yet?” Danny asked as Boone reached him.

  “Not yet.” He gestured behind him. “Has it been this quiet all day?”

  “Yeah.” Danny sighed. “My mom refuses to leave the house. She didn’t want me coming in, but you know I can’t
stay away.”

  Boone nodded. “And I’m sure as hell glad you can’t. I need coffee.”

  “The usual?”

  “Yeah.”

  Danny turned, fetching the coffees that the team came in every day and ordered.

  Boone hoped to hell this murder didn’t affect businesses in town. He glanced out the big window at the front of the store watching people hurrying down the street. No one seemed to be taking in the scenery today, which of course he understood. His thoughts kept circling back to the murder scene, trying to find anything he missed. They needed the crime scene techs to report on their findings. This part in the case, the waiting for all the evidence to get processed, was frustrating.

  “Today is on the house,” Danny said. “Get that murder solved, all right?”

  Boone gave a firm nod and accepted the coffees. “Thanks. We’re on it.”

  With a final goodbye, he left the coffee shop then crossed the road. He held the tray of coffees steady and approached the brown-bricked police station on the corner of Main Street, right in the heart of Stoney Creek’s downtown. He basked in the sunny day, glad to get out in the fresh air for a few moments.

  “Boone. Boone.”

  He sighed and shut his eyes, silently cursing in his head. MaryJane Abbott, the woman who made it a habit of getting into people’s business. “Good afternoon, MaryJane,” he said, turning to her with a smile.

  “It is not a good afternoon at all,” MaryJane said. She was all curly purple hair, bright red lipstick, and wrinkles. “This murder is just awful.” She leaned in and said, “It’s that new girl, isn’t it? Peyton, that’s her name.”

  “No, ma’am,” Boone countered, understanding that her worry came from fear. “Peyton is a lovely woman. She’s not involved in any way with this murder. Besides that, the shop belongs to her.” Of course, Boone only suspected the murder had nothing to do with Peyton, but he’d bet all he had that Peyton didn’t have a bad bone in her sexy as hell body. Besides, if Peyton’s image needed protecting, it was from MaryJane. The woman would crush Peyton with gossip.

  MaryJane frowned. “This is just terrible, so bad for our community.”

  “You don’t need to worry.” Boone cupped her shoulder, hoping to reassure her. “You’re safe. We’re on the case and we’ll solve it as quick as we can. You can trust in that, can’t you?”

  “Yes.” MaryJane nodded. “Yes, of course.” She reached into her huge purse and took out a container. “I made cookies and wanted to drop them by for all the hard work you boys do. You’ll bring them in?”

  “That’s awfully kind of you, ma’am.” He took the container. “Thank you. The guys will sure appreciate it.”

  “Okay, yes, work hard, then. Goodbye.” She turned and used her walker to cross the street as efficiently as she stopped Boone to get her questions answered.

  Now with cookies in addition to the coffees, Boone hurried toward the station, not wanting to get stopped again. In a few long strides, he entered Stoney Creek Police Department. The interior of the station lacked the warmth found outside with its historic architecture. The walls were a pale blue, and the air was stuffy and dry. Cubicles were to the left and right with two jail cells and the processing unit at the back of the building. Stoney Creek PD was used primarily as a drunk tank, or if anyone needed time to cool off before being sent on their way. Anything more serious, they booked the criminal and sent him or her to Whitby Falls, the neighboring city with the larger jail, to await his or her time before the judge. Offices lined the outside walls. One of those belonged to Boone, with Asher’s and Rhett’s offices on either side of his. But Boone turned left and headed into the command center, where any complex investigation happened.

  When he entered the long rectangular room, Asher had already set up the whiteboards for photographic evidence. On the top of the whiteboard read: LAUREN FRANCIS. Standing alongside Asher was Stoney Creek’s chief of police, and Boone’s father, Hank Knight. His father had the Knights’ signature blue eyes that most times looked gray, brown hair cut military style, and wide shoulders.

  “Is that our victim?” Boone asked, gesturing at the board.

  Asher reached for one of the coffees. “Yeah, we heard from her employer today that her parents had called them looking for her.” He pointed at the container. “What’s that?”

  “Cookies from MaryJane for our hard work.” Boone set them down on the meeting room table.

  “She might be nosy as hell, but she can bake a mean cookie,” his father said, opening the container to take one.

  Asher grabbed one too and then he opened the flip on his coffee cup. “Back to the victim, she’s twenty-five years old. New resident. She’s lived here six months, renting one of the condos not far from the lingerie shop.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee, then handed Boone a photograph. “Notice anything?”

  Boone leaned against the table and examined the photograph and then he blinked to ensure he was seeing things correctly. Sadly, he was. “She looks like Peyton.” He handed the photo to his father.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Asher. “Could be a coincidence, but—”

  “We hate coincidences,” Boone finished, not liking that particular thought.

  “What do we know about Peyton?” Hank asked, reaching for another cookie. His father wasn’t working the case, but as the leader of their small station, he’d want to stay in the know. “Other than that she’s from Seattle, of course.”

  “That’s about as much as I know,” Boone stated. And he hated that fact too. He wanted to find out all the places that made her squirm.

  Hank cocked his head, examining Boone in a fatherly way. “I thought you two had something going on.”

  Boone hadn’t been quiet about his intent toward Peyton. He let both Rhett and Asher know to keep their hands off her that night he met her in Kinsley’s bar. His father must have heard the guys razzing him at the station for the past month about her shutting him out. Or Kinsley told him. Either way, Boone said, “That’s not relevant toward this case.” He turned to Asher, ignoring his father’s chuckle, and asked, “Did Peyton give you anything when you interviewed her?”

  Asher slowly shook his head, then pinned the victim’s photograph onto the whiteboard. “Negative. She knew nothing of the victim or about the victim.”

  Soon this board would be filled with crime scene photos and suspects. “And you believed her?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah,” Asher said. “My gut tells me she’s not involved in any way.”

  Sure, Boone felt that way, but his lines were blurred when it came to that woman. He knew that. And that’s why he also knew he wouldn’t take lead on this case.

  “All right then,” said Hank, crossing his arms over his plaid button-up, tapping his boot-covered foot against the hard floor. His tell for deep thinking. “What else have we got so far?”

  Asher handed the thin file to Hank. “Absolute shit. I couldn’t find much about our victim. She grew up here, moved away, and then came back. Been working as a cleaning lady since she moved back into town because a friend of her parents owns the business. Rhett’s there with her family now, delivering the news to them.”

  Rhett always delivered the news. Rhett could be hard when needed. So could Boone. Didn’t mean the process wasn’t shit.

  Hank flipped the file open and looked through the documents for a moment. “Let me make sure I’ve got this all right. We’ve got a young woman found dead in a lingerie shop. The owner of that shop has no connection to the victim. We’ve got a safe broken into and emptied. Have I got that right?”

  Asher finished the sip of coffee he’d taken and nodded. “Sounds right.”

  Hank closed the file and handed it to Boone. “That’s a start. Keep me updated on this one.” To Asher, he said, “I’ve got something else for you to do this afternoon, if you can get away.” In other words, that meant that the chief had something sensitive. Asher was good with the sensitive matters. His father glanced sideways a
t Boone. “Stay on the sideline, all right? Let Rhett take the lead in case we go to trial.”

  Boone nodded, fully aware of the conflict of interest. If it were up to him, the conflict of interest would become even greater soon.

  Hank glanced at the victim again, sighed, then looked at Boone. “The newspaper is going to be all over this one. Keep your personal relationship out of it. No mistakes. A nice, clean investigation.”

  Bonne accepted the order with a firm nod. Once, he’d allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment, a mistake he’d never let happen again. As his father left the office, Boone’s mind drifted back to the memory he kept close to ensure he never forgot to keep his head on right during an investigation.

  The call came in at nine o’clock on Boone’s day off. The chief of police required a meeting immediately. Already on edge, Boone suspected something was up. But when he arrived at the station late in the morning, and no one would look him in the eye, Boone was convinced—trouble was brewing. He followed the chief of police into the interrogation room, locking eyes with the man leaning against the wall, arms folded over his fancy suit.

  “Boone Knight?” the man asked.

  Boone nodded, looking for any sign in the room of why he got called in. All he found was a file folder resting on the rectangular table screwed into the floor. “That’s right. And you are?”

  The man moved forward, resting his hands against the back of the steel chair. “I’m FBI agent Nicolas Lomax. Take a seat.”

  Boone glanced at the chief again, and he avoided Boone’s gaze, moving to the other wall, leaning against it, head bowed.

  Suddenly the cold room with the gray painted walls and long one-way mirror seemed ever colder. “What’s this all about?” Boone asked, his jaw muscles twitching as he took a seat on the cool metal chair.

  The Fed opened a file and placed a paper in front of Boone, pointing to a name. “Do you recognize the name?”

  Scott Lovett. “Yeah, Scott’s my brother-in-law.” Boone glanced up, staring into the Fed’s eyes, not liking the way he looked at him like he was some two-bit criminal. “How about we skip the games and you tell me why you’ve brought me in here?” he demanded.