by Ranae Rose
PAST MIDNIGHT
SOUTH ISLAND PD, #2
RANAE ROSE
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are products of the author’s imagination and are in no way real. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Past Midnight
Copyright © 2016 Ranae Rose
Cover model photo by: Mosaic Stock
Background photo by: Zacarias Damata
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Past Midnight
South Island PD, #2
Peyton knows better than to get involved with a cop. When Officer Elijah Bennett responds to the robbery of her island boutique, she couldn’t care less what he looks like in uniform, let alone out of it. In fact, she can’t wait for him to leave and doesn’t bother to hide it. So why does he come back to help her when no one else will?
Protecting and serving paradise isn’t easy... When helping an independent woman caught in a tough situation sparks a smoldering attraction, Elijah can’t get her out of his head. He can’t get her to trust him, either – at least, not at first. And when her walls finally come down, the truth they reveal is staggering.
She has every reason to hate him. He has every reason to walk away. It’s still not enough to keep them apart, but when the unexpected strikes it threatens everything he’s ever wanted, including his connection with her.
CHAPTER 1
Normally, Peyton was a fan of things that glittered. Today, she was anything but charmed by the dusting of sparkling grit spread over the sidewalk in front of her store.
The remains of her display window caught the late April sunlight, brilliant and broken.
“Damn it.” She curled her hands into fists and shoved them beneath her biceps, crossing her arms over her chest. Part of her was angry, and part of her had grown numb to shit hitting the fan. Crouching, she peered at the pieces of her broken boutique window, as if the shattered glass might magically reassemble.
“Miss Argent.” A familiar male voice rang down the sidewalk, followed by a gust of lamb-kebab-scented wind.
She looked up to where Mr. Pavlis was poking his head out of his own storefront, the door wide open beneath the blue and white awning.
She ignored the tempting scent of Greek food. “Morning, Mr. Pavlis.”
“Is everything okay?” The older man’s bushy eyebrows threatened to merge with his ever-receding hairline.
“I think my store was broken into. The window’s busted.” She stood, experiencing the slightest wave of vertigo. Why her store, and why now?
Her gut knotted as her frustration reached breaking point, transforming into anger. Had someone stolen her merchandise? Trashed her building? She was almost afraid to look past the gaping hole where the display window had been.
“Ah, damn. Hold on – I’ll call the police.” Mr. Pavlis disappeared back into his restaurant with surprising speed.
“Wait, no—”
She hurried toward The Greek Connection, tiny bits of glass crunching beneath her sandals.
“Mr. Pavlis, don’t worry about it.” She stopped halfway through the doorway, her purse swinging from her shoulder.
He leaned over the counter, talking to his wife, who was already cradling her phone against her ear, her Greek accent thickening as she breathlessly explained that they needed law enforcement.
Peyton’s stomach dropped.
“There’s no need to bother the police.” She raised her voice, willing Mrs. Pavlis to put down the phone. “The broken window might’ve been an accident – I haven’t even looked inside yet.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute, but her morning had started off crappily enough – the last thing she needed was a cop poking around, asking pointless questions and delaying her from cleaning up and calling in a repair company.
With her luck, it’d be a miracle if she got the window fixed before a spring rain storm rolled over the island and soaked her boutique from the inside out.
Mrs. Pavlis whirled to face her, her cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink. The woman relished even the smallest scraps of crisis, seizing them as opportunities to go into mother hen mode. Clearly, she wasn’t about to let this pass her by. “Don’t you dare step foot inside that shop until the police have gone in. Someone might still be in there.”
If Peyton had believed that, she would’ve marched straight over and given the intruder a black eye. She’d never punched anyone before, but for the first time in her twenty-nine years on Earth, she honestly thought she was angry enough to do so.
“Stay for coffee,” Mrs. Pavlis said. “I just made a fresh pot.”
“I’m sure it happened overnight.” Peyton turned for the door, but Mr. Pavlis laid a hand gently on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee with Dimitra and me? You’re shaking.”
Peyton was about to protest when she realized what he’d said was true. At some point, she’d unfurled her fists, freeing her fingers to tremble.
Jesus. She let out a harsh breath. She had to stop being so pathetic.
“Thank you, but I had a couple cups already this morning.”
Mrs. Pavlis shot a meaningful glance at Peyton. “Don’t worry, honey, the police are sending someone. You just sit tight with us for now.” She smiled and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I might just have some extra baklava in the kitchen.”
Peyton grimaced. If it’d been anyone other than Mrs. Pavlis who’d called the police, she would’ve let them know in no uncertain terms how little she appreciated it.
But Mr. and Mrs. Pavlis had been far too kind to her over the past few years for her to utter so much as a single rude word. They were always asking about her sister and nephew, and had come over to her boutique with enough boxed up ‘extras’ to feed an army more times than she could count.
And besides, The Greek Connection’s baklava was worth its weight in gold. Her stomach betrayed her, yielding to a fierce hunger pang. She could barely remember the yogurt she’d had for breakfast.
Damn her sweet tooth.
“Thank you,” she said, swallowing the bitter taste that’d filled her mouth.
“Of course.” Mrs. Pavlis turned to a rack of chunky, hand-painted mugs and selected three. “What are neighbors for?”
They were only neighbors in a business sense. Still, Peyton spent so much time at her store, working to make up for the fact that it was permanently short-staffed, that it might as well have been her home.
Minutes slipped by slowly as Mrs. Pavlis brought a fresh pot of coffee and a generous serving of baklava out and set the nearest table. Meanwhile, Peyton squirmed in her chair, aware that she was the only one eating.
Despite everything, the baklava was sweet, honeyed heaven.
Just as she set down her coffee, preparing to thank Mrs. Pavlis again, Mrs. Pavlis pushed back her chair and stood. “They’re here!”
Peyton’s stomach clenched around the dessert she’d wolfed down, and she regretted every delicious bite. Suddenly queasy, she stood and pushed back her own chair, then marched for the door.
Sure enough, a South Island PD cruiser was parked close to the curb just a few yards past The Greek Connection.
Peyton grimaced and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Her stomach was still protesting, but her spine was a steel rod. She didn’t wan
t to deal with the police, but there was no way she was going to let an officer snoop around the source of her livelihood unsupervised.
The cruiser door swung open as she approached, and an officer stepped out.
The sight of the tall, masculine form in blue wound her nerves even tighter. His six foot plus frame made her feel small at 5’6”, even from a distance. She could practically feel the hair on the back of her neck rise as she forced herself to continue approaching.
When he turned to face her, her heart stuttered and she nearly stopped in her tracks.
He was so handsome it was ridiculous. With shoulders broader than the bridge that connected the island to the mainland, smooth brown skin and a perfectly sculpted face, he looked more like he belonged on the cover of GQ than stuffed into a beat cop’s uniform.
Not that he didn’t look good in the uniform – a fact she acknowledged begrudgingly and refused to dwell on. His beauty necessitated that she heighten her resentment in order to keep her guard from dropping. She didn’t bother to soften her expression as his gaze locked with hers and his hazel eyes caught the light.
When the sun hit them just right, they looked almost golden, just like a certain precious stone. What was it called?
Topaz. Not that she cared.
They reverted back to a darker prism of color a second later anyway: a muted rainbow of green and brown.
“Are you the owner of Charmed?” he asked.
“Co-owner – my sister and I are in it together.”
“Is she here?”
“No, it’s just me.” Her stomach clenched even tighter, a hard ball beneath her sinking heart.
He rounded the cruiser, his gaze shifting to her violated storefront. “I’m Officer Bennett. Someone broke your display window?”
Obviously. “Uh-huh.”
“Have you been inside?”
“No, a friend called the police before I had a chance.”
“Good. I’ll go in and check things out. Can you wait inside the restaurant you just came out of?”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’d prefer to come with you.”
“It’d be better for you to let me make sure it’s safe first.”
“It’s my store – my livelihood. I want to see what the damage is.”
“I hear you; I’d want the same thing if I were in your shoes. Let me make sure no one’s in there first.”
She narrowed her gaze, but he was already moving toward her store.
She drifted in his wake, a couple yards behind. She was not going to wait inside The Greek Connection where she wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.
He approached the door, which was painted lavender to match the overhead sign that read Charmed in bold script and Fine Lingerie beneath in smaller lettering.
He stopped at the door, one hand wrapped around the knob.
“I’ll have to unlock it for you.” She dug her keys out of her purse and marched forward.
Instead of stepping aside to let her through, Officer Bennett held out his hand. It was big, the span of his palm in perfect proportion to the rest of him.
She gripped her keys until they dug into her closed fist, filling her with regret. She considered arguing, but more than anything she wanted to get rid of him – quickly – so she dropped the keys into his hand.
“It’s the one with the pink marker.”
He thanked her and instructed her to stand back.
She took the tiniest of backward steps and crossed her arms over her chest, tipping her head in an effort to see past him and into her shop.
He took up the whole damn doorway, blocking her view.
Little pieces of broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he entered.
She looked down at her glittering, purple-polished toes peeking from her sandals and hung back, shifting her gaze between the doorway and the busted window.
The shop was steeped in shadow this time of morning; the buildings on the opposite side of the street blocked the sun from shining directly in. Still, now that she peered through the gaping hole where the window had been, she could see that whatever had happened to her store, it hadn’t been totally stripped or trashed.
Bras and panties still lined the walls, and she could see a mannequin looming atop the tiered display table where she’d carefully arranged merchandise for the sale of the week. This week, sport panties were discounted – invisible under tights and perfect for the gym.
On her way to work that morning, she’d been ruminating on ideas for promoting the weekly sale on social media. Now, promoting panty-line-less, sweat-wicking underwear was the least of her concerns.
Just because the merchandise she could see was still there didn’t mean nothing had been stolen or damaged. Even the insurance deductible for the window repair would cost her a chunk of cash she couldn’t afford to spare. At least she was good about emptying the cash register every evening before closing.
“Ma’am.” Officer Bennett appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Does the door behind the counter lead to the second story?”
“Yes, but I keep it locked. We only use it for storage.”
“It’s still locked, and there are no signs of tampering.”
“Good. What about everything else?”
He tipped his head toward the door. “No obvious damage. Come on in and tell me if anything’s missing.”
Her heart racing, she followed him over the threshold and into her own store, looking past him and around the precious space she busted her ass to keep open. There was more broken glass on the carpet than there had been outside on the sidewalk, but that was the most obvious sign of what’d happened.
Her initial fear had been that her shop had fallen victim to an epic panty raid – that she’d walk in and find it empty. That wasn’t the case at all. None of the merchandise looked disturbed. However…
“The credit card reader…” It was gone. So was the laptop she kept on top of the cash drawer, equipped with register software, and the receipt printer. She said so to Officer Bennett, who nodded.
She approached the counter and frowned. The cash box was still there, probably because it was bolted to the counter.
Altogether, the stolen items were worth several thousand dollars. Still, she had a back-up card reader that plugged into her phone she could use for now. The window was her biggest problem.
“Do you have any surveillance equipment that might have footage of the robbery?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
She sensed his disapproval.
“I recommend that you consider investing in some as soon as possible.”
As if she could afford to invest in anything, right now. Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts again. “Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
“What’s done is done, but it’d be smart to protect yourself that way in the future. Meanwhile, it’s possible that the thief may’ve been caught on a neighboring business’ surveillance camera. I’ll check that possibility out.”
Peyton bit down on her inner lip. “Have there been any other robberies like this in the neighborhood lately?”
Since a cop was there whether she liked it or not, she might as well get some information out of him.
“Not that I’m aware of. I know a vehicle was stolen from this street a couple weeks ago, but I doubt that was related to this.”
She nodded. Most likely, she’d fallen victim to a random crime – simple bad luck. It was an easy explanation to accept, at least as far as she was concerned.
“If you encounter any more trouble, you can always call us back,” he added.
Why would she do that when he hadn’t done anything to help this time around? She bit her tongue before she could ask that out loud.
“For now, you’ll want to get in touch with your insurance carrier regarding compensation for the stolen items.”
“I plan to.” Her gaze drifted to the door.
“And a contractor for the window – I hear they’re calling for rain this week.”
Great. Crossing her arms a little tighter, she nodded. “Well, I’ve got a lot on my plate, so unless you need me to answer any more questions…”
She made no effort to redirect her gaze from the exit.
“I’ll need some information from you in order to file a report.” He pulled a small writing pad from a uniform shirt pocket. “Starting with your name…”
“Peyton Argent.”
“And you said your sister co-owns this place with you. What’s her name?”
“Madison Brandt.” She fought not to cringe as she imagined how she’d break news of the robbery to Madison. That kind of stress was the last thing her sister needed right now. And Peyton had already been padding the truth about her struggles to keep the shop out of the red…
She answered the rest of his questions as quickly as she could, ignoring the way his hazel eyes met hers every time he waited for her to answer a question. He really had the whole false concern thing down pat – if he hadn’t been in uniform, she might’ve believed he cared.
But she knew better. What was a broken window and a couple stolen electronics to a cop? Something he’d forget about by lunchtime, probably.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Argent,” he eventually concluded. “Best of luck getting your window patched up.”
“Thanks.” Her tone rang hollow, along with her heart.
“Goodbye.” He nodded and turned for the door. As he exited, he had to turn his broad shoulders at a slight angle to pass through the old-fashioned, narrow doorway.
It was a stupid thing to notice, especially given everything she had on her plate.
She was glad to see him go.
* * * * *
Elijah was used to getting hostile vibes from the people he’d sworn to protect and serve. Still, whenever he thought back to that morning’s call at Charmed, he felt frost on the back of his neck.
Peyton Argent hadn’t said much, but she’d looked at him like he’d kicked her favorite puppy. For some reason, it’d bothered him more than those looks usually did.