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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.
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.”
