Naughty Stranger

by Stacey Kennedy

  Peyton laughed. “Bye.”

  “Later,” Kinsley said.

  When Remy left the room, Peyton turned to Kinsley and asked, “She truly thinks that tea leaves can predict what’s going to happen to me today?”

  “Yes,” Kinsley said firmly. “Most of the time I think she’s lost it, but I’ve seen those teas do crazy things, so just roll with it.”

  Peyton smiled. “Rolling away.”

  * * *

  With a tray full of coffees from Flaming Pie in hand, Boone entered the station a little after nine in the morning, determined to find answers to all the questions filling up his head. He hadn’t slept a wink last night with Peyton’s safety swirling in his mind. He’d kept his weapon on the nightstand, ready if needed, and he hated that his gut had him becoming this protective.

  That was never a good sign.

  And that’s why he’d called Kinsley over to the house to stay with Peyton this morning. He’d made sure all the windows and doors were locked before he left. Boone had also suggested Kinsley bring her registered small handgun with her, and she arrived with the weapon tucked into her purse. But he was even happier when Remy showed up too. Having them both there could let him focus on what he needed to do. Protect Peyton.

  The station around him was a flurry of activity while he strode past the cubicles. When he entered the command center, he wished he didn’t have to come in today. He wanted to stay home, with Peyton, keeping her next to him where he could ensure no one got to her, but that was just his ego talking. To help her, he needed to solve this case, and find out who was driving that SUV.

  Asher and Rhett were already sitting at the long desk next to the whiteboard with all the evidence they had gathered up until this point. Photographs, leads, dead ends; it was all there like a storyboard—only there were missing pieces. And those pieces were the only thing driving Boone today. “Mornin’,” he said, handing out the coffees.

  “Morning,” Rhett said. He had dark circles under his eyes, indicating that he’d had as long a night as Boone had, though Boone suspected his lack of sleep was due to everything Boone had told him and Asher about Peyton’s past. Boone had no doubt Rhett had stayed up searching into Peyton’s life in Seattle. He should have been there with Rhett, but he wouldn’t have left her last night. Not after the story she’d told him. Before, he’d thought she was strong. Now knowing what she’d been through with Adam’s passing, he realized she was incredible. To survive such a tragedy, and still be brave enough to find happiness again…damn, she blew his mind apart with her strength.

  Asher reached for his paper cup. “Come to me, my pretty.”

  Boone took note of Asher’s even darker eyes and pale skin before taking the first seat next to Rhett. “Updates?”

  Rhett slid the lid off his coffee cup and reported, “The crime techs couldn’t lift any prints; the truck had been scrubbed clean. I took another hard look at the Francis file last night. I didn’t find anything new that we missed, leading me to believe you might be onto something with your suspicions that this has nothing to do with Lauren Francis and everything to do with Peyton.”

  Boone nodded, not surprised by any of that, and then turned to Asher, finding his friend looking back to his usual solid self, even if he looked tired. The thought came as a relief. Remy’s engagement could very well put Asher into a tailspin. The fact that it wasn’t told Boone one thing: Asher had made a decision. What that decision was, Boone didn’t know, but Asher didn’t look like a man who had lost the woman he loved. He looked determined. “Anything on your end?” he asked Asher, staying on task.

  Asher shook his head, opening the little flip of his plastic cup. “I finished sorting through the tip line last night. There’s nothing there, just your regular citizen who suspects his neighbor is a killer.”

  Boone took a sip of his piping hot black coffee before he pressed on. “What have you found about Peyton’s life in Seattle?”

  Rhett snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Not a damn thing. She’s clean. Her late husband is clean. Friends, business partners, coworkers, family, they’re all clean. I’ll need to look deeper, but neither she nor her late husband is connected to anyone with a criminal record.”

  Boone’s gut told him otherwise. “The way I see it,” he said, relaying all the thoughts that had been hammering his mind last night while Peyton slept soundly in his arms, “we’re either looking at a potential serial killer who targeted Peyton, but accidentally killed the look-alike cleaner instead, and now he’s determined to right his wrong.”

  “That is a good possibility,” Asher agreed.

  Rhett finished his sip of coffee and returned his paper cup to the table. “Or she’s brought someone here with her from Seattle.”

  “Exactly,” Boone said, then put a voice to where his instincts took his mind last night. “We need to look deeper into Peyton’s late husband’s accident.”

  Surprise lifted Rhett’s eyebrows. “You think this was a hit?”

  Boone pondered that. A hit. Fuck, he hoped not, but his gut was taking him there. “If we go with logic here, what are the chances of two incidents, with fatalities, involving Peyton?”

  “Low,” Asher said.

  Rhett pondered, then gave a slow nod. “It does seem like she’s had a run of bad luck.”

  “It’s too coincidental.”

  Rhett moved to the board, staring at the evidence ahead of him. “All right,” he finally said after a loaded moment. “I’ll go with the serial killer angle and see if we’ve had any other similar murders in the area.”

  “Good,” Boone said. “I’ll reach out to the Seattle PD and talk with the responding officer to Adam Kerr’s accident. Perhaps he knows something we don’t.”

  Asher rose. “I’ll look deeper into Peyton’s late husband. See if anything shows up there.”

  Boone stopped to consider. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Not now. Not with Peyton’s safety on his mind. “I think it’s wise to look deeper into Peyton’s friend Justin, who’s come into town. Peyton says there’s nothing to worry about there, but—”

  “You don’t want to be wrong,” Rhett said. “Yeah, I’ll go ask around and see where he was when the accident happened.”

  “Great.” Boone stood, feeling like at least they had a new direction, and that brought hope. Right as Asher turned away, Boone said, “Everything okay?”

  Asher didn’t even pretend he didn’t know what Boone was talking about. He shrugged. “I’m dealing with it.”

  Boone exchanged a long look with Rhett, who frowned at Asher. “What do you mean, dealing with it?”

  “I’m looking into Damon Lane,” Asher said with no remorse in his voice.

  Now Asher’s determination that Boone had noted earlier made sense. “You think there’s something to look into?” Boone asked gently.

  “You’re damn right I do,” Asher bit off. “Kinsley hates him. You can’t stand him. There’s something not right there. I smell it.”

  Boone had no plans on doubting Asher, especially considering he was depending on his own instincts now. “Be very, very careful. If Remy finds this out, she’ll never forgive you.”

  Asher snorted dryly. “How can I hurt her more than I already have?” Something dark and haunted crossed his face. “I promised myself that I would never see her hurt again. This is me keeping that promise.”

  Rhett gave a slow whistle. “I’m with Boone on this one, buddy. Remy is going to kill you.”

  Asher’s eyes narrowed. “Then that’s the fate that awaits me.” He turned and left the office, as determined as he’d walked into the building this morning.

  “This is going to get messy,” Rhett said, grabbing his coffee.

  “Yeah,” was all Boone could think to reply as he left the command center. He trusted Asher. And there was a part of Boone that didn’t trust Damon. Maybe Asher’s idea wasn’t so bad after all, as long as he didn’t fuck up in some epic way, which, given his and Remy’s history, was enti
rely possible.

  He gave a few of the officers a nod on his way down the hallway and then headed into his office, shutting the door behind him. After placing his coffee down, he pulled up Adam’s car accident report on his computer. Finding the name and phone number he needed, he grabbed his phone off the desk and dialed the number reported on the document.

  It rang twice. “Seattle Police Department, how may I direct your call?” a woman answered.

  “This is Detective Boone Knight from Stoney Creek PD, could you pass me along to Detective Karl Armstrong.”

  “Yes, I’ll transfer you. Please hold.”

  Elevator music came on followed by two more rings before a low, gravelly voice said, “Detective Armstrong.”

  “Good morning, this is Detective Boone Knight calling from the Stoney Creek PD.”

  “Hey,” Armstrong said. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re working a homicide here in Stoney Creek, and I believe it might relate to a car accident that you worked a year back.”

  “Give me the name.”

  “Adam Kerr.”

  Through the phone line, Boone could hear Armstrong typing on his keyboard. “Ah, I remember this one,” he eventually said. “Nasty accident.” A pause. “How does this accident connect to a homicide out there with you?”

  “That’s actually why I’m calling you,” Boone explained. “When you investigated Kerr’s accident, did you have any suspicions of foul play?”

  “On my end, none,” Armstrong confirmed. “The skid marks suggested that Kerr drove too fast and lost control, slamming into a tree.”

  Maybe he’d been driving too fast for a reason. Boone kept the thought to himself, getting the facts he needed. “Was there an independent investigator brought in?”

  “Yeah. Harold Malty did this one, I believe.”

  Boone considered his next steps. Over the years, he’d become less trusting, he knew that. But when it came to Peyton, he wouldn’t overlook a damn thing. And he didn’t trust anyone’s eyes besides Rhett’s, Asher’s, his father’s, and his own. “Would it be possible to see the case file myself? I can send a formal request from our chief of police here in Stoney Creek, if that works.” He had no doubt his father would agree.

  “Sure,” Armstrong said. “Once you send that request, I’ll scan the file over. What’s your email address there?”

  Boone rambled off the address, then said, “I appreciate this. Thank you.”

  “If you find anything that relates to your case, let us know if we need to reopen the case on our end,” Armstrong said.

  “Yeah, I’ll be in touch with our findings.” Boone ended the call, staring at the initial police report. High-speed crash. Wondering at that, he pulled up more on Adam Kerr. His driver’s license photograph popped up on the screen. Dark haired, dark eyed; Adam looked sophisticated and educated.

  Boone looked at the other information about Adam Kerr. No arrests. Not even a speeding ticket. Not the type of guy who’d speed to the point where he lost control. He drove an Audi, but a sedan, nothing sporty or flashy that indicated he liked speed.

  Boone clicked the mouse, returning to Adam’s photograph. Boone wasn’t religious, and he never believed in all the ghost shit Remy did, but an odd flush settled over him. He thought of Adam’s warning in Peyton’s dream. “She’s safe with me,” he declared, staring at Adam’s photo. “You’ve got my word on that.”

  Chapter 13

  Late in the afternoon, after spending the day lazing around in the sun and swimming in the lake, Peyton inhaled the fresh air, catching the scents of freshly cut grass. The reason she bought this property definitely wasn’t for the work-in-progress house; it was for the freshwater view, and the cove the lake house rested on. “You know,” she said to Kinsley, “after the past couple days, this is exactly what I needed.” She lifted her wineglass to her lips and finished off the final sip of red wine, tasting the hints of cherry, not feeling so bad about keeping the shop closed.

  “No kidding,” Kinsley said with her head tipped back, basking in the final few rays of the sun before it set. “We need to come and do this more often.” She jumped up, wearing her red bikini, grabbing Peyton’s wineglass, as well as her own. “I’ll go top us off.”

  “Thanks.” Peyton sighed, leaning back on her arms, her legs stretched out in front of her, as Kinsley hurried off.

  God, she loved it out here. She’d always been a city girl, but there was something to be said about nature. Now having lived there, she wasn’t sure she could ever go back to living in a condominium, where people were all around her. The closest neighbor was a half mile down the lake, and the quiet…yeah, she needed that quiet. Especially now.

  Minutes clicked by, and Peyton glanced back at the house. Kinsley should’ve been back by now. Curious about the holdup, Peyton jumped to her feet and headed for the house, her toes squishing in the soft grass. She went through the back door that led to the kitchen, and the moment she made it inside, she froze. The sight on the floor was a mirror image to something she’d seen before, and her mind returned to the day in her store she’d tried very hard to forget.

  The hot morning sun beamed down on Peyton as she slid the key into the lock and opened the door, as Kinsley said behind her, “You seriously should just date my brother.”

  Peyton sighed and strode into her shop, sending the chime above the door ringing. “I’ll say it again: Where I come from, he’s your brother, and we’re friends, and that makes him off-limits.”

  Kinsley followed Peyton inside with a huff. “Where you come from sounds stupid. Around here, we like seeing people happy.” She shut the door behind her and then grinned at Peyton. “Besides, you get all gooey around him.”

  “I do not,” Peyton defended.

  Kinsley raised her brows.

  Peyton rolled her eyes, heading toward the register to power it up. “Moving on, please.”

  Kinsley laughed.

  Peyton finished logging into her computer and then approached the back room. When she slid the black curtain aside, she tripped over something hard and fell face-first to the floor. “Oomph.” She gasped.

  “You okay?” Kinsley asked.

  Peyton stared at the scene in front of her, unable to make sense out of what she was seeing.

  Until her brain accepted the truth.

  She scrambled off the cold body with a scream but slipped on the blood. There on the floor was a woman. An obvious gunshot wound to the back of her head, blood drenching the floor beneath her.

  Kinsley was there in second. “Holy fuck. Oh, my God.” She reached for Peyton, dragging her back and helping her to her feet. “Oh, my God. I’m going to be sick.” She beelined it for the bucket.

  Peyton slid into nurse mode. One where the mind centered on the situation instead of the emotions running through her. She pressed her finger against the woman’s neck. There was no pulse. Her body was cold. Dead.

  Peyton had seen death many times as a nurse. This time was different. A cold chill ran down her spine, a sudden realization hitting her…same hair color…same body type…maybe even the same eye color…

  She blinked out of the memory, her mind trying to understand the scene in front of her. Kinsley lay on the kitchen floor, blood dripping from her head and landing on the ceramic. “Kinsley.” She gasped, rushing forward, leaving the door behind her open. “Jesus. Kinsley.” She dropped to her knees, grabbing Kinsley’s arm, touching warm skin. “Kinsley. God, no.” She turned her over, her training locking into place, and pressed her fingers against Kinsley’s neck. A pulse. Good. That’s good. She turned Kinsley gently, her hands now soaked in Kinsley’s blood. No gunshot wound.

  She gently returned Kinsley to her back, searching for the reason for the blood. She thrust her fingers in Kinsley’s hair, then found the head injury on the side of her head. “Kinsley!”

  Kinsley groaned.

  Peyton took in a steady breath, wondering if maybe the wine and heat had been too much and she had
fainted. She exhaled slowly, then rose to call 911, when something caught her eye. Not just a something, someone.

  A man stood against the far wall, wearing all black, and a black ski mask. Peyton froze in fear, staring into cold, lifeless eyes. A familiar chill ran up her spine, making her wonder if these were the eyes that Lauren Francis had looked into when she took her last breath.

  Suddenly, Peyton’s fear turned into desperation. She screamed and turned, but the man lurched forward, slammed the door shut, and caught her around the middle. God, he was strong. So strong. The world blurred a little as he threw her to the side, smashing her against the cabinets, sending the dirty lunch dishes scattering to the floor. She grabbed the first thing she saw, a ceramic bowl, and threw it at him. The man still kept coming, the bowl hitting his chest and smashing into pieces by his boots.

  “Help,” she screamed, scrambling to get away.

  The man lurched forward, grabbed her foot, and began reaching for the other. No. No. No. Peyton knew she couldn’t let him get on top of her. He was too big and too strong. He’d kill her.

  Using all her might, she kicked out, knowing if she didn’t, there was no way this guy was going to let her live. That truth was there in his cold, dead eyes. “Help,” she screamed, louder, kicking harder, fighting harder, knowing she needed desperately to get away.

  “Not this time,” he growled.

  She didn’t recognize his voice, and somehow that made this all more confusing. Who was this man who sought to end her life?

  He kept her ankle in his hand, squeezing so tight. She kicked out again, hitting his shin, sending him back, and she scrambled to get away. A few feet away was Kinsley’s purse, and the weapon that Kinsley showed Peyton after Remy left, making her feel that much safer. Get the gun, her mind screamed at her, and Peyton pushed up, slipping on Kinsley’s blood. The fumble gave the man the few seconds he needed to grab her leg again.

  Peyton turned around and kicked him in the knee as hard as she could muster. He grunted and dropped to the ground. She grabbed a dirty pot on the floor next to her and flung it at him.