The man dodged the pot and then charged at her, a growl sounding more animal than human escaping his mouth. Then he was there, wrapping his arms around her and taking them both down. She hit the floor and darkness crept into her vision. His hands gripped her legs as he attempted to straddle her. That would be the end of her. There’d be no fighting back after that, and she knew it.
A power she hadn’t really known existed in her rose up, and she flipped him over, his hand slipping on Kinsley’s blood. She kicked him in the gut, desperation having her kicking and kicking, hoping to hell she hit anything. Then she reached for anything she could find, anything that could hurt him, knowing that was her only shot. She grabbed the colander that they’d used to make spaghetti for lunch and threw it at him. The steel bounced off his shoulder and hit the ground with a clang. She heard her breathlessness, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, and felt the sweat against her skin as she grabbed a knife from the counter and then threw the entire knife block at him.
“You missed.”
He sounded…amused.
“Fuck you,” she spat.
The man’s eyes heated, like he got off on this fight, and Peyton’s stomach rolled with that truth. He charged her, and she thrust the large knife out, desperate to hurt him, when he grabbed her wrist, painfully twisting until she dropped the blade. She cried out as he spun her, holding her tight against him, his arms locking around her. Doing all she could do, she dipped her head, found his arm and bit. Hard.
“Fucking bitch,” he bit off, and let go for a second, and that’s all she needed. She charged forward to get Kinsley’s purse and the weapon, when suddenly his hand clenched her nape and he slammed her against the ground before sending her flying over the kitchen table to land in a heap on the floor.
Her breath whooshed out as the world spun around her. She felt heavy, far too heavy to get off the floor. She sensed him moving around the table, his footsteps coming closer. In her line of vision, she spotted a large kitchen knife. She’d only have one chance.
That’s it.
If she failed, she’d die, and so would Kinsley.
She held her breath, waiting…listening to his footsteps getting closer. One. Then another. And another. Every second feeling like a lifetime as she let him get closer.
And closer yet.
His boots squeaked softly against the floor. His heavy breathing sounded louder as the seconds drew on.
She waited. Held her breath. And the moment he knelt to grab her, she flipped over and sliced his arm.
The man roared, stumbling back, blood pouring from the wound.
This time, when he charged again, rage filling his eyes, she leaped up, remembering the car accident and the injury on the man’s leg, and she stabbed the knife into his femoral artery. The man screamed, the worst sound she’d ever heard, itching somewhere deep in her soul. She never hurt people. She saved them.
“Stupid cunt.” He charged once more, grabbing her head and smashing it against the floor. Darkness crept into her vision. She sensed herself tumbling into a place she couldn’t pull herself away from. She lay in blood—maybe hers, maybe this stranger’s, or maybe Kinsley’s—but she yearned for warmth.
Boone.
She blinked, slowly, fighting to remain conscious. Everything was hazy, hard to catch, but then she spotted the man standing there with the knife stuck in his leg, inspecting his wound. Darkness trickled in but then she noticed the man was gone. She took an inventory of herself. She had no pain, only coldness rushing through her veins.
I should be hurting. Get up!
She blinked, her eyes wanting to close, desperate to sleep. Help. She tried to focus, her kitchen beginning to blur around her. We need help. She squinted, trying to fight through the haze. She slid along the blood toward Kinsley, spotting Kinsley’s cell phone on the floor next to her.
Peyton caught sight of her blood-soaked hands when she grabbed the phone and hit the power button. The screen came to life, and she dialed 911. But Peyton couldn’t fight the heaviness.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
Then, and only then, did she let the darkness take her.
Chapter 14
Boone left the station, frustrated to have no answers to bring to Peyton, but itching to see her. He walked to his motorcycle in the back parking lot, feeling restless. He had a case to solve and a woman to protect. Both of which he felt like he was failing to achieve. He slid a leg over his bike, thinking maybe later today he’d give his motorcycle a wash at Peyton’s place. The moist salty air and sunny sky made the day perfect for such a task.
He slid the key into the ignition and nearly turned it when a familiar voice said, “Boone.” His heart promptly landed in his gut. He shut his eyes, not believing this could be happening right now. He breathed deeply before he glanced up.
Chelsea looked exactly the same as she did the last time he’d seen her. A flower-patterned dress covered her athletic frame. Her light blond hair sat right at her shoulders. Her green eyes were surrounded by dark makeup, and his mind took him to the last time he’d stared into their depths.
Boone stood against the wall in the police station, arms crossed, staring at his sobbing wife with a disturbing coldness he’d never had for her. “Answer me one thing: Did you know what Scott used the information for?”
“Boone,” Chelsea whispered softly, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.
He took the two steps forward to close the distance and slammed his hands down on the table. “Tell me, Chelsea. Now.”
She flinched, glancing up with red-rimmed green eyes and bright red cheeks. “You know Scott, he owes money. He needed help. I couldn’t watch his life fall apart.”
“Say it, Chelsea,” Boone said through clenched teeth.
“I wanted to help him. He was going to kill himself if this didn’t turn around.”
“So you saved him, but destroyed me?” Boone shot back, knowing his career would never recover. No one would look at him the same. He was damn lucky they weren’t pressing charges against him, and he could still be a cop. But that only happened because Boone had a record of being a good cop. Still didn’t mean he’d ever be a cop with the NYPD again. He knew they’d want him gone.
Chelsea’s voice hitched, her hands reached for him, but he leaned away. “I love you, Boone,” she cried. “I never would have done something to hurt you. I needed to help Scott. That’s all. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
Boone leaned in close to the woman he loved even now…even after she burned him, and growled, “Whatever love we had is gone, Chelsea,” he said, making himself believe that. He glanced to the Fed and nodded.
Her eyes widened. “What’s happening? Boone?” She gasped when the Fed took her by the arm, forcing her to her feet. “Boone!”
He turned away as the Fed said, “Chelsea Knight, you’re under arrest…”
Boone blinked, pulling himself out the cold memory that he’d tried so damn hard to forget but never could. “Chelsea,” he said, feeling numb at seeing her.
“You must be surprised that I’m here,” she said, holding on to the purse around her shoulder.
“That’s an understatement,” was his tight reply.
She swayed from side to side, nibbling her lip, avoiding his gaze. “I wasn’t sure if I would see you.” She finally looked at him. “I needed to come into town to sign the closing documents on Uncle Jeremy’s house.”
Her uncle passed about a year ago. He supposed everything was only finalizing now. “You flew all the way here for that?”
“I don’t live in New York City anymore.” Something very close to hurt crossed her expression. She glanced at her feet, obviously pained that he clearly didn’t look into her life these past two years. “I’ve actually lived in Whitby Falls since…”
Since I got out of jail. She’d spent a couple weeks in jail since she couldn’t bail herself out, then once her case went to trial, she got community service. But he was momentarily struck that
she lived only an hour away all this time.
Her eyes searched his, but the soul in their depths was unrecognizable to him now. “Do I have any right to ask how you’re doing?” she asked softly.
The raw sadness bled in her expression. Pain he recognized, pain that had stared back at him in the mirror for years. Thing was, he began to pity her. He’d regained his strength and his life. It became blindly clear she hadn’t. “Things are good. Kinsley and Dad are also good.”
“Good. Yeah, great to hear.” She gave him a small smile that never reached her eyes, while her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip.
Boone’s two feet were planted against the pavement, his bike a welcome weight beneath him. His fingers were tight resting on his thighs. He stayed silent, not helping her, not even sure he had anything to say to her.
She finally looked up again through her lashes. “I know you must hate me.”
Maybe it was the shakiness in her voice, her curled shoulders, or maybe it was all because of Peyton and this incredible thing he had going on now, but he wasn’t the guy who left Chelsea at the station two years ago. “I don’t hate you,” he told her, surprised by how easily he said those words.
Her eyes widened.
Knowing this was his shot to say all the things he never said before, he admitted, “You wanted to save your brother, I get that now, even though I didn’t back then.”
She took a step closer, softening and reminding him of the Chelsea he cared about for a very long time. “I’m sorry, Boone.” Her voice cracked; her eyes got teary. “I’m sorry that what I did hurt you. I’m sorry for all of it. And I’m sorry it’s taken me two years to show up and say all that to you.”
Something in his chest splintered and instead of hurting like it once did, warmth filled him. Because through Peyton, he saw now that life was short, too short. She’d lost everything and fought for her happiness. Just because one life ended, didn’t mean one another one couldn’t begin. “We both did things we weren’t proud of back then.” And leaving Chelsea there in the station alone and scared, no matter how much he’d been hurt, would never make him proud.
She snorted, wiping a tear quickly off her cheek. “Yeah, but the things I did were just a little bit more illegal than yours.”
“But still equally as damaging.” He paused, knowing he had to get this right. “I should have cared more, done better, regardless of what unfolded. Not all of this is on you, Chelsea.”
Another tear spilled down her cheek. “I should have picked you, not Scott.”
And there it was, he felt it right there in the parking lot, years of heartbreak were suddenly gone. Once there was a deep love there between them. Then there was only pain. And now there was just the realization that they had their moment, but that moment wasn’t meant to last. There were a thousand what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, but there was one truth that remained steady and strong.
Peyton.
She was all that mattered now.
He drew in a long, deep breath, then said all that needed to be said. “Be happy, Chelsea. I am.”
Relief crossed her face, bringing a warm smile, but in that exact moment, Rhett and Asher charged out of the station running toward Rhett’s car.
“Peyton’s. Now!” Asher roared, opening the car’s door.
Dread sank deep into Boone’s chest. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t wait around to say goodbye to the woman who had his heart in the past. He only looked to the future and turned his bike on, his motorcycle moving about as fast as a bullet.
It took him five minutes to arrive at Peyton’s house, which typically was a fifteen-minute drive, and he sensed Rhett and Asher in Rhett’s truck right on his heels. When he pulled into the driveway, he slowed the bike and jumped off, sending the bike sliding along the driveway, and charged toward the house, reaching for his weapon.
The front door was closed and locked. He lifted his weapon, taking aim at the deadbolt, and stood off to the side so he didn’t get hit by the ricochet, then fired. The lock broke apart and with a kick, he made it inside.
Gun aimed, he surveyed the living room, finding it empty. He breathed slowly to steady the race of his heart and keep his hand from trembling, and he moved carefully into the kitchen, then his heart broke apart. Peyton lay unresponsive on her stomach, her hand near a cell phone, blood covering nearly every surface, including her. So much fucking blood. One step closer revealed Kinsley, lying in a pool of blood under her head. Desperation had him nearly lurching forward to protect them both, but he stayed ready, cautious, looking for threats.
A creak behind Boone spun him around, his gun aimed at Asher. “Clear upstairs,” Boone ordered.
Asher nodded and moved quickly and efficiently up the stairs while Rhett entered through the front door. “Outside is clear.”
“Check Kinsley,” Boone said, dropping to his knees, unable to accept what his eyes were showing him. Both Peyton and his sister were unmoving.
Boone could barely breathe when he reached for Peyton, gently turning her over. Her eyes were shut, the side of her creamy flesh stained in dark red. She looked so fragile, so hurt, and his hand trembled when he pressed his fingers against her pulse, finding her steady heartbeat.
With a sigh of relief, he glanced up at Rhett, who was next to Kinsley, his hand gripping her wrist. “She’s either knocked out or drugged,” Rhett said. “But she’s okay.”
“Thank fucking God,” Boone breathed.
“And Peyton?”
“She’s hurt, but alive.” But whoever did this shouldn’t be. Someone hurt her. Put his hands on her. Tried to kill her, and Kinsley…Boone felt on the edge, ready to unleash anger in ways he never had before.
Trying to keep it together, he surveyed the kitchen, desperate to understand what happened here. There was a blood spatter that led to the open back door, telling him that someone had been stabbed. “Any knife wounds on Kinsley?” he asked Rhett.
Rhett gently examined Boone’s baby sister. “No.” He grabbed a tea towel off the stove, then pressed it to Kinsley’s head. “She has a laceration on the side of her head; doubtful it’s from a knife.”
A sudden terrified gasp jerked Boone’s gaze back to Peyton. Her eyes were huge, terrified, far away. She clawed at Boone, trying to free herself, slipping on the blood beneath her. “Peyton,” Boone said, firmly and calmly, holding on to her arms. “You’re safe.”
She blinked once, then her chin quivered. “Boone.”
“Yes, fuck. I’m here.” He pulled her into his arms, wanting her to stay right there where he knew no one would touch her. She trembled in his arms, clung to him, and he clung right back, not ever wanting to let go. “Jesus. Peyton, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
She dropped her head onto his chest and cried.
“You need to let me look at her,” Emmanuel, one of Stoney Creek’s paramedics, said.
When Boone leaned away, he realized that in the passing minutes he’d held her, the kitchen had filled with four paramedics, all there to do their jobs. “You’re okay,” he told Peyton, spotting the raging fear in her eyes.
He fucking hated that fear.
Boone forced himself to release her, even though he knew she didn’t want him to. When Emmanuel took his place, Boone crossed the floor to Kinsley. He squatted as the paramedics began working on her and placed his hand on her forehead. Christ, he thought he’d lost them both. The adrenaline pumping in his body made his hand tremble against her cool skin. “Is she all right?” he asked.
“Not sure why she’s not waking up,” Evelyn, another paramedic, said. “We gotta get her to the hospital.”
Boone rose then, grabbed the tea towel from the floor, and wiped the blood off his hands, his heart hammering in his chest, sweat coating his flesh. He stood back, watching the paramedics work, feeling slightly disconnected from the scene. He’d been at scenes far bloodier than this, but those victims were not people he cared for. Kinsley’s blood, Peyton’s blood…it was o
n his hands.
“They’re going to be okay.”
Boone found Rhett sidling up to him. Boone nodded, unable to find words to explain the shit going on inside him. He turned to see Peyton being put on the stretcher. Her eyes were closed now. Whether that was from the drugs the paramedics gave her or exhaustion, Boone didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anyway. She looked peaceful…safe…and fuck, that’s all he wanted for her. His chest tightened at the pain they had endured. The fear they must have suffered. His fists clenched as he watched the paramedics wrap up Kinsley’s head wound.
“Jesus,” said Asher, entering the kitchen as the paramedics wheeled Peyton out of the kitchen. “Please tell me they’re all right.”
“They look to be,” Rhett explained, examining the floor. “But this blood spatter suggests otherwise.” He moved closer to the blood and squatted. “Someone was stabbed for sure, and since it’s not Peyton or Kinsley, it might be the perp.”
“Looks that way to me,” Boone said, moving next to Rhett, examining the direction of the blood. “Either Peyton or Kinsley got him right where it mattered.” An artery, for sure.
“Damn good hit,” said Rhett, taking his phone from his pocket and dialing. “It’s West,” he said. “We need crime techs out here.”
Boone stopped listening then. He left the kitchen, moving through the house, wanting to get to the hospital. He always believed in black and white, never wanting to take the law into his own hands. Until someone hurt her.
* * *
An hour had ticked by while Boone waited outside the hospital room, pacing the hallway, his rage shifting to an all-consuming guilt. He should have been there with them. Had he not left, they wouldn’t be hurt.
“Detective Knight?”
Boone glanced up, finding the young doctor wearing a white coat standing there. “Yes.” He moved closer. “How are they?”
“Peyton is just fine,” the doctor said, oblivious to how much pressure that took off Boone’s chest. “And your sister is recovering. She needed a dozen or so stitches to her head, but she’ll be fine, just sleeping off whatever drug she’s been given.”
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