Naughty Stranger (A Dangerous Love Book 1)

by Stacey Kennedy

  “Could you—”

  The bar’s front door slammed open, and Kinsley charged in, wild-eyed.

  “Oh, my fucking God,” she screamed, her hair an unruly mess. “Why is your damn phone turned off?”

  Boone lifted an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware it is.” Maybe he’d accidentally hit the power button when he sat down?

  He went to reach for his phone, when Kinsley closed in and grabbed his arm. “No, come on, you gotta go.”

  Now that she was near him, he noticed tears in her eyes, her ashen face. “What’s happened?” He leaped off the stool.

  “It’s Peyton,” Kinsley said, breathless. “I was on the phone with her…she got in an accident. It sounded bad, Boone. So bad.”

  “Oh, my God, is she okay?” Remy gasped.

  Boone didn’t wait to find out. He kept his sister’s arm in his grip, tugging her toward the door. “Where?”

  “I don’t know.” Tears rolled down Kinsley’s cheeks. “I just heard the crash. Her scream, Boone. I heard her scream, then the screaming stopped.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder at Rhett. “Get the location.”

  “On it.” Rhett grabbed his phone, placing it to his ear. “It’s Rhett. Any accidents called in?”

  Boone didn’t look back. He took off running for the station, toward his motorcycle, with the worst thoughts going through his head.

  When he reached the station’s back parking lot and spotted his motorcycle, his cell rang. “Where?” he asked, breathless.

  “Accident just came in. Route 182,” Rhett said.

  Boone shoved his phone in his pocket and hopped on his bike. The engine roared beneath him and the tires squealed as he sped away.

  Peyton.

  Chapter 9

  The summer sun rested over the mountains, white fluffy clouds spreading across the blue sky, in sharp contrast to the carnage on the ground. Peyton placed a 911 call and then exited her car. “Please be alive,” she said beneath her breath. The accident had played out before her, and she’d been helpless to stop anything while the semi spun, hitting the car that had been driving ahead of it. That hit had sent the semi in a different direction, barely missing Peyton’s car when she slammed on her brakes, staying out of the collision.

  Metal and glass scattered the roadway. Steam hissed from the front of a crushed white sports car.

  With shaky hands, she gathered her hair waving around her face, and then peered inside the car. Or what once was a car. The semi was resting sideways across the road. It had obviously hit the car that had been in front of it with incredible force. The steering wheel was now where the back passenger should be sitting, and she could see that blood soaked the cream-colored leather seats. The only evidence anyone had been driving was a leg sticking up from behind the engine, the foot covered in a bright red high heel.

  Peyton called on her nursing knowledge and reached into the smashed window, grasping the woman’s ankle, searching for a pulse. She couldn’t see any evidence the driver had a passenger. If there had been another person in this car, they were most definitely dead—as was the woman belonging to this foot.

  Ice coursed through Peyton’s body, a familiar numbness settling into her core. Her hands shook as she forced herself to carry on, moving toward the semi. A turkey vulture soared overhead, like the bird knew death had come. The warm wind was calming against the coldness of her skin as she pushed on, knowing someone likely needed her help.

  Smoke billowed from the truck’s hood when she climbed onto the running board, grabbing on to the handle to pull herself up to the driver’s-side window. There, she discovered a man in his mid-fifties wearing a Detroit Tigers baseball cap, his expression twisted in pain.

  “Sir, can you move?” she asked.

  “No.” He grunted. “I think my leg is broken.”

  While Peyton recognized that being this close to vehicles that might burst into flames was precarious, the man’s face worried her most. His skin was pale, ghostly even. “I’m a nurse,” she said, feeling like her nursing career ended a lifetime ago, “and I’ve already called 911. Help’s coming, but I should still take a look.” She moved out of the way and opened the door to a flood of blood. “Was something stuck in your leg?” she asked quickly.

  “Yes,” he hissed. “A piece of metal. I yanked it out.”

  Big mistake, she wanted to say. Instead of worrying him, she focused on the blood again, taking in the sheer amount of it, now realizing the reason for his gray skin. “Do you have any head or neck pain?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Back pain? Loss of sensation anywhere?”

  “No, it’s just my leg,” the man grunted.

  “Okay, sir, I’m sorry, but I need to see your wound.” She slid her hand behind his back. “I have to get you out of here.” Taking in his height and weight, she added, “You’re going to have to help me.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” His thick bloody arm slid across her neck and she grabbed his sides and tugged. His screams sent birds scattering into the sky. “Goddammit,” he roared when she finally managed to help him lie down a few steps away from the truck.

  “I know that hurts. I’m sorry.” She dropped to her knees, finding his ankle crushed. She reached for the hole in his jeans edged with dark crimson and stretched the dense fabric open, finding exactly what she didn’t want to see.

  “Is it okay?” the man asked, voice fraught with worry.

  “Yes. Yes. You’re fine,” Peyton lied, yanking her white T-shirt over her head, revealing her lace bra. Blood spurted from the man’s femoral artery with the beat of his heart at such a rate that Peyton knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost his life. She quickly made a makeshift tourniquet with her T-shirt, tying the fabric as tight as she could manage around his thigh. “I’m sorry, please forgive me, but this is going to hurt.” She pressed her hand down against the wound on his leg, and his screams blasted like a firecracker through the air, until either pain or blood loss sent him into unconsciousness. “You cannot die today. Do you hear me?”

  No moans. No screams. Nothing.

  No, this couldn’t happen again. Her skin flushed hot, the world spinning around her. She pressed harder, trying to keep herself in the present, feeling disconnected. Like she was there, but not there too.

  Time seemed to slow, a second feeling like an hour when the roar of a motorcycle came closer. Boone.

  Then he was there, his powerful gaze boring into hers, and somehow, she no longer felt alone. “You’re hurt,” he stated.

  “I’m fine. It’s not my blood,” she said, pressing harder against the man’s leg. But she wasn’t fine at all. Don’t die. Please don’t die.

  Maybe Boone heard the desperation in her voice, since he asked, “What can I help you with?”

  “You can get me an ambulance. He needs a surgeon.” She squinted against the sun’s rays to catch his smoky blue eyes. “He doesn’t have long—”

  Sirens suddenly cut through the sunny day, and Peyton said a silent thank-you to whoever was listening. “Do you hear that, sir? They’re coming for you,” she said to the man. “You’re going to go home after this, to wherever that might be, to whoever you love.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she could do nothing to stop them. He would live another day, and she helped that happen. Relief eased the tension in her chest, time returning to normal speed, making her more aware of her surroundings. She pressed harder against the wound, seeing that the tourniquet was slowing the bleeding a little, and hoped that gave him the minute he needed to get to the hospital. The ambulance came to a stop behind them, the flashing lights still on, the siren now silent. Two men were out a second later, wearing blue uniforms and carrying bags of gear on top of a stretcher.

  Boone stepped back out of the way.

  “What have you got?” the paramedic on her right asked when they reached her.

  “Two patients,” she began, sliding right into emergency nurse mode. “One fatality. Crushed and pinn
ed in the vehicle. Vital signs absent. One patient with injuries to his leg with arterial bleeding. I suspect he’s already lost close to three liters.”

  “All right,” the other paramedic said, pressing his hand over Peyton’s. “I’ve got him now.”

  Peyton slid her hand out from between blood and clothing while she watched the other paramedic apply a proper tourniquet, tossing her blood-soaked T-shirt onto the road.

  She glanced down at herself. Blood covered every inch of her skin, but she knew none of that was hers. She glanced behind her, surveying the scene and wondered if this was what Adam’s accident had looked like. Wreckage everywhere, the scent of burning metal, of blood and death; it was so rich in the air Peyton could barely breathe.

  “Here, let’s get this on you.”

  Boone’s voice was a warm comfort as he removed his T-shirt and slipped it over her head before squatting next to her.

  She stared at her hands, covered in blood. “My hands won’t stop shaking.” No, wait not just her hands—everywhere.

  “It’s the adrenaline. You’re going into shock,” Boone said, gathering her in his arms and holding her close. “I’ve got you.”

  She kept her arms tight against her chest, leaning into his warmth. “I’ve never had this happen before.” Even her voice shook. Though she knew she wasn’t the same nurse she’d been. She might have saved a life today—maybe…hopefully—but she wanted to run from the scene the whole time, not stay. Her mind had been blurry, not sharp.

  His arms only tightened. “You did a damn good job, Peyton.”

  She blinked, realizing Rhett was sidling up to them. He tossed a navy-blue T-shirt at Boone.

  Boone released her to throw it on, and the shirt had STONEY CREEK PD on the front. She felt cold and tired when Boone turned his attention onto her again and cupped her face. “What happened?”

  It took a moment to remember. Sirens filled the air as more police and the fire department arrived, and she just couldn’t stop shaking. “An SUV had been following me.” Yeah, she remembered that. “He’d been close.” Boone wiped her cheeks, and she hadn’t realized she was crying. “Then he passed me and hit the truck, sending it spinning.”

  Boone glanced up at Rhett, who shook his head. “No SUV here.”

  “You sure it was an SUV?” Boone asked Peyton.

  She nodded. “Without a doubt. A black SUV. There was a single driver.”

  Boone exchanged a long look with Rhett, who finally gave a nod. “I’ll look into it.” He was off in the opposite direction of the accident.

  The sun bore down on them, and Peyton became acutely aware that she was freezing cold and that the warm rays did nothing to heat her up.

  Boone gathered her in his arms again, rubbing her back. “Are you hurt at all?”

  “No.” She leaned away, hugging herself, and glanced at her car. “I didn’t get hit.” When she looked back at Boone, she realized he was covered in blood now too, meaning she was more soaking wet than she knew. “I thought I was going to hit the truck.” Her voice came out strangled, not even sounding like her own. “But the SUV suddenly hit the truck. I think it hit the car in front of it and that changed its spin…I stopped, and the cab barely missed me.”

  Boone swiped a hand across her cheek, and she felt the warm wetness of her tears between them. “Someone’s looking out for you. There’s no other way to understand this.” Boone turned her slightly and whispered in her ear, “Look at what you survived, Peyton, and your car doesn’t have a scratch on it.”

  She scanned the area and heard a choked sob escape her mouth. What once was a car was now pieces of metal. What once was a truck was broken into shards along the road. “I shouldn’t have survived this,” she whispered.

  “But you did.” Boone’s arms came around her so tight. “Thank God, you did.”

  Peyton sank into his hold, shutting her eyes. Adam. Had he been there keeping her safe? She liked to think so. Against Boone’s chest, and in his strong arms, she heard the message the universe sent her.

  She wasn’t meant to die just yet. She needed to live.

  * * *

  Back at Peyton’s house, the warm water rushed across Boone’s finger as he tested the shower in her small four-piece bathroom. He glanced over his shoulder, saw his T-shirt hit the floor, then looked away. He hoped bringing Peyton home would comfort her. Something fierce had stormed through him when Kinsley ran into the bar. Now something warm and protective rushed through his veins as he hurried to remove his clothes and offered his hand to an already naked Peyton. “Let me help you.”

  She stayed silent, but she didn’t need to say a word. Her emotional eyes told him everything—she needed him. She trembled uncontrollably, completely covered in blood. He understood this now. Death brought her back to Adam’s death. Seeing her now, trembling and unable to stop it, he had a sinking suspicion Adam’s passing was the reason she gave up nursing. But now was not the time to find out.

  Instead, staying silent, and using slow, gentle hands, he washed her hair, then used the facecloth to wash her body until none of the accident remained on her.

  Once finished, he turned off the shower, then grabbed a towel from a hook on the back of the door, wrapping it around her shoulders. He tucked a finger under her chin. “Better?”

  She nodded and gave him a small smile. “Much.” She looked at her hands. “I’m not shaking anymore.”

  Yeah, he noticed that too, and he liked that he could calm her down. He reached for another towel on the cabinet next to the sink and wrapped it around his waist. “Are you all right to get dressed so I can get an update?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.” She took a step closer. “Thank you…for being here.”

  “There is absolutely nowhere else I’d want to be, Peyton.” He gathered her in his arms, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “You scared me today.”

  “I scared myself.”

  He leaned back and she placed a sweet kiss on his lips before letting herself out of the bathroom. Boone began drying off, when a knock came at the bathroom door.

  “Got your clothes,” Asher said on the other side of the door.

  Boone had called Asher on the way to Peyton’s to stop by his place for him. He opened the door and Asher tossed him a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. “Thanks.” In quick time, Boone got dressed and hung up his towel and left the bathroom.

  When he moved into Peyton’s living room, he found Asher on the chair and Rhett sitting across from him, his eyes glued to his phone. “Anything?” Boone asked, moving toward the couch.

  “Nothing.” Rhett glanced up, shaking his head. “The crash victim is still in surgery. Nothing from Jerry yet.”

  Jerry Hoyt was an independent accident investigator who had arrived on the scene as Boone was leaving with Peyton in Rhett’s truck, while Rhett drove Boone’s motorcycle back. Jerry had the experience to look at all the evidence today to give Boone a clearer picture of what in the hell happened out there. Sure, accidents happened all the time, but this accident didn’t feel like an accident. “Anything on the SUV?”

  Asher shook his head. “Nope.”

  Boone bit off the curse words building from his frustration. He knew that SUV would give them some sort of clue or fill in a missing piece. He felt it in his gut. That’s not all he felt, and he didn’t like where his thoughts took him.

  Whatever crossed his face had Asher’s eyebrows winging up. “I know that look. You plan on telling us what you’re thinking?”

  Boone leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, glancing between his closest friends. “We’ve been coming up on dead end after dead end working the Francis angle on this case. Originally, we thought Lauren Francis and Peyton looked alike.”

  Rhett nodded his head. “You think we’ve been focusing on the wrong person.”

  Boone’s mind wanted to refuse that thought. His gut told him he was right. And the thought only solidified during the shower. “In a year, Peyton has lost her
husband, had a murder at her shop, and now been involved in a fatal car accident.” He paused, scrubbed his tired eyes. “It’s a lot of tragedy around one person.”

  Asher sat back against the chair and exhaled deeply. “It is.”

  “And yet,” Boone continued, putting a voice to the thoughts running in his head, “Peyton is good and kind, so why in the hell would someone want to hurt her?” That’s what bothered him the most now. Did Peyton have some sordid past that had gotten by him?

  It wouldn’t be the first time that his feelings toward a woman jumbled up his instincts.

  Asher watched Boone closely, studying him intently, then nodded. “You’re right—she seems an unlikely candidate to gather enemies.” He tapped an impatient finger against the wood armrest of his chair. “What do you know about her past?”

  “I imagine I know about as much as you do from the investigation,” Boone grumbled, not realizing how much that bugged him until now.

  “Is that your choice or hers?” Rhett asked.

  Boone gave Rhett a side eye. “Meaning?”

  “Hey, listen…” Rhett raised his hands in surrender, giving an easy shrug. “I’m just saying that a woman tends not to share much if you don’t share much with her.”

  Boone looked away. Peyton knew more than most, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about the sore spot in his life that took him a year to overcome. Especially since he wondered how Peyton would see him if she knew everything about his past. He turned his head and stared out her front window, spying the leaves dancing in the wind, going back into his mind to the day where his old life ended.

  In the cold, dark gray interrogation room, Boone sat at the metal table and the Fed leaned in a little closer. “The evidence we’ve got on your brother-in-law shows that the stock he bought up was SKF2/5, a class of drugs.”

  Boone knew of it. The drug had been recently approved to treat cancers. Results had been amazing. The drug had shown to halt the growth of tumors, and in some cases, shrink them altogether.