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“Yeah. Yeah.” Marissa flicked her hand at him again, solely focused on the victim now.
Boone went to turn away, when the air in the room shifted slightly, becoming thicker, harder to inhale. It came as no surprise after a quick look back, he found Peyton staring at him. When they met that first night in the club, he’d been curious about the gorgeous woman who’d walked through the doors looking a little lost and edgy. But lately, for reasons he couldn’t figure out, his curiosity had gone from mild to hard-core all too quickly. She had this hold over him he couldn’t explain, even to himself.
Needing answers that only she could give him, Boone headed Peyton’s way. She wasn’t the typical blond bombshell. There was an undeniable softness about her. A sweetness, even. Her long hair resembled the color of honey, and his fingers twitched to tangle in their strands. But the ghosts in the depths of her rich hazel eyes were what held him tight. Heartbreak was a pain he understood. And any sort of sadness on her pretty face made him damn near clamor to make her smile.
When he finally reached her, he studied her calmness, surprised she didn’t look more rattled at finding a woman murdered in her shop this morning. “All right?” he asked.
Peyton’s pink lips parted.
“Hell no, I’m not all right,” his sister snapped, still sitting on the floor, head still in the bucket. “I just barfed my brains out.” She finally lifted her head, soft eyes meeting Boone’s. Her skin went sheet white and she smacked her hand over her mouth. “Nope. Not ready to talk yet. It’ll happen again.”
Peyton knelt next to Kinsley, rubbing her back, and said in a soothing voice, “Remember, think about something else—like that funny story you were telling me about earlier.”
Boone watched the exchange closely. Every time he saw Peyton, she’d reveal a little more about herself. Which admittedly wasn’t much. All he’d gotten out of her was that she lived in Seattle before moving to Stoney Creek. But right now, he’d bet money that in Seattle she’d been in the medical field. She had the touch.
A touch he desperately wanted.
When Kinsley gagged, he glanced at his baby sister, and his chest tightened. Last night, Kinsley had been working behind the bar at Whiskey Blues. Far too close to this murder for his liking. “You’ll need to give your statements, but feel free to wait outside until then,” he said.
“Thank fucking God.” Kinsley stood up, white faced, her dark hair a wild mess, and beelined for the door. One foot outside, she looked back at him. “I don’t know how you do this as a job. Seriously, Boone, it’s gross.”
He snorted at his sister. Law enforcement was in his blood. Boone was a cop, so were his father and grandfather. Kinsley seemed to have skipped that gene.
Peyton watched Kinsley leave. She finally turned to Boone and gave him the sweet playful smile she’d given him for a month now. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She turned.
Yeah, right.
Boone snagged her wrist gently and watched her closely. Like every time he got close, she inhaled sharply, an obvious shiver running down her spine. Her pretty eyes flicked to his. And held.
He was blinded by the heat between them, wanting desperately to give her everything she wanted and more. Because he wanted all those same things.
She finally blinked and those eyes became haunted. Instincts were 90 percent of being a good detective. Boone had honed his instincts through the ten years he’d spent with the NYPD—five as a beat cop and five more as a detective—and the last two years he’d worked in Stoney Creek as a detective. Those instincts told him now that this death had brought a memory of another death in her life. “Before you head out,” he murmured, unable to let her wrist go, “were there any signs of a break-in when you came in this morning?”
She shook her head and licked her lips, taking a step toward him.
Damn, he ached to close the distance. He stared at that pretty mouth, and he realized he stroked the inside of her wrist, earning him another shiver. He couldn’t fight his slight grin. If he could do that by a soft swipe of his finger, he knew he could make her shiver even deeper once he really touched her. Then he’d make her scream. His name, preferably.
But like a vault door slamming shut, she took a step back, all the heat vanishing from her expression. “The front door was locked, nothing seemed out of place. I don’t know about the back door.”
Boone gently released her wrist and shoved his hands into his pockets to ensure he didn’t reach for her again. “Do you know the victim?”
Peyton shook her head. “I don’t know her personally. I think she works for DX Industrial Cleaning. They always come after I close up, so I never meet the person they send.”
“Do they have a key?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, I gave them a copy when I first hired the company.”
“That’s good to know.” He took a mental note to ensure someone talked with the cleaning agency before moving along. “Have you seen anyone strange hanging around the shop or anything like that?”
“No one. Nothing.” She dropped her head and sighed before addressing him again. “Do you think whoever did this will come back?”
Boone considered. He didn’t want her to worry, but he never believed in sugarcoating things either. “Honestly, we won’t know anything until we investigate further.” Yeah, that was his bullshit standard cop answer, and she knew it, giving him a frown. To ease her worries, he added, “Right now, this looks like a botched robbery. It could very well be that, unless you have enemies—”
“God, of course I don’t,” she sputtered. “I don’t even have people who dislike me. Seriously, my life in Seattle was boring as hell.”
He doubted anything about Peyton Kerr was boring. “All right,” he said, glancing back at the blood beneath the victim. “The crime techs should wrap up everything by tonight. I’ll arrange for a cleaning crew to come in and get you back open tomorrow morning.”
