Authors: Beth Andrews
Awareness, feminine and powerful, entered her light brown eyes
as she drew closer. If they’d been anywhere else but the police station—a bar,
the grocery store…hell…a car wash—he would’ve tried to get her number, her name,
her interest. An invitation into her bed.
But they weren’t somewhere else. So he gave her his most
intimidating scowl.
Her smile amped up a few degrees, her walk turned into an
out-and-out slink, the movements sensual and, if he wasn’t mistaken,
practiced.
She knew what effect she had, knew what men thought of when
they saw her.
It wasn’t sex. Or at least, not just sex. It was something
darker, more dangerous. She brought out a man’s natural instincts to mate, to
possess a woman in the most heated, basic and elemental way possible.
“Hail, hail,” she murmured, her tone smoky and seductive, her
features too similar to those of Captain Sullivan to be anyone other than the
missing sister, Tori Mott, “the gang’s all here.”
He felt Taylor watching him, judging his reaction. Deliberately
turning away from the brunette, he met the chief’s gaze coolly. To prove he was
in charge, of this case and his body.
“You’re late,” the assistant chief said in a brusque,
disapproving tone.
Mrs. Mott lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug that caused
her sister’s lips to thin. “Am I?” she asked. She sat next to Nora Sullivan and
crossed her legs, her skirt sliding up, exposing her thighs. “So sorry.”
Captain Sullivan balanced her weight on the balls of her feet.
“No one is checking out your legs, so tone down the sex kitten act.”
“I don’t have an act. Although it really is a pity about no one
noticing my legs. I’ve always considered them my best feature.”
“God, Tori, do you have to antagonize her?” Nora asked, sending
Walker a nervous glance.
“A girl has to find her fun somewhere.” She glanced at Walker,
her lips curved as if inviting him in on the joke, but her eyes were watchful.
Guarded. Hiding secrets and her true intentions.
And he realized her legs weren’t her best feature, not by a
long shot. Those eyes were.
Leaning forward, she held out her hand. “I’m Tori Mott. And you
are…?”
“Satan,” Captain Sullivan said under her breath.
Chief Taylor sighed heavily. Nora Sullivan made a choking
sound. And still, Mrs. Mott held her hand out to Walker, her eyebrows raised in
question. In challenge.
“Detective Bertrand,” he said, taking her hand.
He maintained eye contact as he held on for the proper amount
of time. She pressed her lips together as if fighting a smile. Because of her
sister’s comment? Or because he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction, not
completely, at the sharp sting of desire that had accompanied the contact of her
soft skin against his?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I thought Satan was your special pet name just for me,”
Griffin York, the dark-haired man next to the blonde, said to Captain Sullivan.
“I’m hurt.”
Sullivan didn’t blush. Didn’t squirm in abject embarrassment or
worry over retribution. The set of her shoulders, the tightness of her mouth,
told Walker she didn’t respect his authority or the job he was there to do.
So be it. There was nothing he liked more than a challenge.
If Sullivan thought she could intimidate him with her bad
attitude and sharp tongue, she was way off base. Hostility, both blatant and
subtle, came with the job description. Most cops weren’t thrilled at having an
outsider come into their department, digging into their lives, jeopardizing
their careers and reputations.
Then again, he wouldn’t be here if Taylor and Sullivan had
followed the rules.
“Bertrand is from the state attorney general’s office,” Taylor
said, linking his hands together on top of the desk. “He asked us to call you
all together for this meeting.”
Asked. Demanded. Walker gave a mental shrug. As long as he got
the result he wanted—a jump start on his investigation—he wouldn’t quibble with
the chief’s word choice.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Mott asked, scrutinizing him as if there was
more going on in her head than which skirt would best showcase that top-notch
ass of hers. But then she blinked and her expression turned sultry again. “And
why would a detective from such a grand and lofty state office be interested in
the five of us?”
“Things like conflict of interest, mishandling of cases,
corruption, misconduct and, of course, murder always interest the state.”
The blonde Sullivan slid to the edge of her seat, her knees
pressed together. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Captain Sullivan.
“What is he talking about?”
The captain opened her mouth but Taylor held up his hand.
“There have been several complaints made against Assistant
Chief Sullivan and me,” Taylor said as calmly as if he was discussing the score
of last night’s Red Sox game. Either he had that much confidence the charges
were unfounded or he put up one hell of a front. “Bertrand is here to launch a
formal investigation into those allegations.”
The blonde’s eyes widened and Walker wondered if they were
going to pop out of her pretty head and roll across the floor. She leaped to her
feet. Walker stood as well, his hand hovering over his gun.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sullivan said wearily, “that’s hardly
necessary. Look at her—” She waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “Does she
really look violent?”
“Don’t let the angel face fool you,” York told Walker. “If she
ever gets her hands on a crowbar, you’d better watch out.”
“Not helping,” Nora Sullivan said as she dug into her purse.
She pulled out a cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Captain Sullivan asked.
Nora pressed a button, held the phone to her ear. “Calling
Uncle Kenny. You need legal representation in order to fight these charges.” She
met Walker’s eyes, lifted her chin. “These
bogus,
inflammatory charges.”
That’s right. She was an attorney, worked for her uncle who
had, at one point, been the county’s D.A. Tangled web and all that. Christ but
this investigation was going to be a pain in his ass.
But at least he wouldn’t be bored.
“It’s an investigation,” Captain Sullivan said, taking the
phone from her sister and shutting it off. “And Ross and I are scheduled to meet
with an attorney from the union this afternoon.” She touched the blonde’s arm.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”
“You’re in trouble,” Nora said, her voice thick.
Walker hoped she didn’t let loose with the waterworks. Crying
was one of the many ways women manipulated men. Growing up, his sisters often
used tears to get what they wanted from their father and, later, him.
It was Walker’s own damn fault such a low-down, rotten, dirty
trick still managed to work on him.
Captain Sullivan shook her head. “The truth will come out.
Isn’t that what you always say?”
The blonde glanced over her shoulder at York, who tugged her
back to her seat.
But not before Walker noticed how Nora blanched, the color
leaking out of her face.
Seemed Tori Mott wasn’t the only Sullivan woman with
secrets.
“Is that why you dragged me away from work?” Mrs. Mott asked.
“So you could tell us you’re getting your hand slapped?”
“It’s more than a hand slap,” the blonde said heatedly. “This
is serious, Tori.”
“Ah, but Tori’s never serious,” Captain Sullivan said. “Isn’t
that right?”
Mrs. Mott studied her nails. “Why should I be? You’re serious
enough for both of us.”
“We asked you here,” Taylor said, obviously having dealt with
these three enough times to know when to intervene before things got out of
hand, “because the toxicology reports on Dale York came back.”
Mrs. Mott frowned. “It’s been what…two months? The autopsy was
done the day after he died.”
Taylor stood and rounded his desk, handing the report Walker
had given him earlier to Nora. “Toxicology reports take anywhere from six to
eight weeks to complete.”
“His heart gave out,” Mrs. Mott said. “It was fitting, though
I’d sort of hoped he would suffer more before kicking it. Either way, it was no
big loss to humanity.” She glanced at York, her mouth a thin line. “No
offense.”
York flicked his green gaze at her. There was no love lost
between them, that was for sure. Something to take into account.
Nora held the report out, her hand trembling. “This can’t be
right.”
Taylor sat on the edge of his immaculate desk. “It’s right. The
coroner was wrong. A heart attack wasn’t what killed Dale.”
“So what did?” the younger York asked.
“Cyanide.”
“Cyanide?” Mrs. Mott repeated, snatching the report from Nora.
“That makes no sense.”
Walker crossed his arms, wished he could take off his suit
jacket, loosen his tie. “It makes perfect sense. Mr. York was poisoned. Besides
being here to look into the issues regarding the chief and assistant chief, I’m
also in charge of Mr. York’s murder case.”
Letting that sink in, Walker let his gaze shift from one person
to the next. “And I can’t help but wonder if the person who killed him is in
this room.”
CHAPTER THREE
F
EAR
TURNED
T
ORI
’
S
blood to
ice, tightened her throat. Through the roaring in her head she could barely make
out Layne’s gruff—and no doubt, pithy—reaction to the detective’s words. Nora’s
indignant cry. Bertrand’s rumbling response. Then they were all talking, Layne
letting Bertrand know he couldn’t intimidate them, Nora threatening legal
action, Griffin trying to calm Nora down. But it was all muted, as if Tori heard
it through a filter. Only one thought filled her head, demanded her full
attention.
Someone had murdered Dale.
The nightmare that had started at the beginning of summer when
Ross’s niece drunkenly stumbled upon their mother’s remains wasn’t over. It was
getting worse. With the news of the true cause of Dale’s death, talk about
Tori’s family would only grow. Once again, the Sullivans would be the subject of
rumors and speculation. Of suspicions and doubts.
She could handle it, she assured herself, as could Layne—hadn’t
they endured it their entire lives? But Nora didn’t deserve to have her name
dragged through the mud. And Brandon…God…her son was only twelve. Still so much
a child despite a recent growth spurt and a bad attitude that rivaled any
teenager’s. He shouldn’t have to be subjected to the nasty gossip, the whispered
innuendos. She had to protect him. Had to get him out of Mystic Point.
The back of her neck prickled with unease and she raised her
eyes to the man towering over her, his gaze discerning, his mouth unsmiling.
Dale had been killed and this man—an outsider who knew nothing of them, of what
they’d been through—wanted to pin the blame on one of them.
Anger, denial, flowed through her, caused the mask she wore as
easily as a second skin to slip. Only for a moment, but she must’ve given her
true thoughts away because in his eyes, she saw a flicker of triumph. As if he’d
somehow won their silent battle of wills.
She smirked. Had the satisfaction of seeing his expression
darken.
No one beat her at her own game.
“So someone killed Dale,” she said, her tone loud enough to get
everyone’s attention. She tossed the paper onto Ross’s desk, fluffed her bangs
with her fingers. “It’s not like his death is a big loss to society.”
“Tori,” Nora warned, watching Detective Bertrand nervously, her
hand gripping Griffin’s.
“What? I’m not going to sit here and pretend to grieve over a
bastard like Dale York.”
She resented the implication that she should act as if she was
anything less than thrilled that he no longer walked the earth. That she should
feel guilty.
Bertrand pulled a small notebook out of his suit pocket. “Mrs.
Mott, are you saying you’re happy Dale York is dead?”
“Don’t answer that,” Nora and Layne both ordered quickly.
They had her back. Always. Just as she had theirs.
Instead of feeling trapped by the bond between her and her
sisters as she usually did, Tori felt…relieved. Their sisterly ties were tenuous
at best, but they held strong when it mattered.
Tori sent Bertrand a look from underneath her lashes, one she’d
perfected at the age of twelve when she’d realized her looks would take her a
hell of a lot further than her brains ever could. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m
afraid my legal counsel has advised me against answering that question.”
His lips thinned. Obviously he hadn’t liked her remark. Not her
problem. Despite what most guys seemed to hope, she hadn’t been put on this
earth for the sole reason of making men happy. Oh, she knew what they wanted
from her. For her to lie on her back and make their little hearts flutter.
They could just keep wanting.
Because while she had no qualms about using their desire for
her, their attraction to her against them if it suited her purpose, she didn’t
sleep around. Never had.
But that hadn’t stopped the rumors in high school from
circulating. Hadn’t stopped men from hitting on her, from trying to charm her
into their beds even when she’d worn another man’s ring.
He didn’t seem the least bit affected by her charms. But she’d
felt the heat arc between them when their eyes had first met. He wasn’t as
immune to her as he’d like her to believe.
As for her, well, sure she’d felt a slight…zing…upon first
seeing him. She was only human after all and he was tall, broad-shouldered and
blond, his handsome face sharply planed, his bottom lip thicker than the
top.
Then again, she felt the same zing when she saw a picture of a
shirtless David Beckham so she wasn’t about to take any reaction to the
detective’s good looks seriously.
“I’d like to ask you all some questions regarding your
whereabouts the night Dale York died,” Bertrand said.
“None of us are answering any questions without legal counsel
present,” Nora said, standing and staring down the enigmatic detective as if she
could put a chink in his armor with just the force of her will.
God bless her little sister’s confidence but Tori could’ve told
her not to bother. Someone like Bertrand couldn’t be intimidated. No, if a woman
wanted to get underneath the detective’s steely exterior, shake that air of
superiority he wore as easily as his dark, expensive-looking suit, she had to be
clever. Manipulative.
She had to be willing to use her body, her looks, to get what
she wanted. Like their mother. Like Tori.
“That’s fine,” Bertrand told Nora as if he expected no less
than them all dragging attorneys in here before saying another word. “I’d like
to set up times to speak with you all—individually.”
“Divide and conquer, eh?” Tori asked.
He slid an unreadable glance her way.
“My secretary can set up interview times,” Ross said,
straightening.
“Griffin has to get back to work,” Nora blurted, her fingers
twisting together.
Griffin, in the act of getting to his feet, stilled. “I
do?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes on his. “Yes. You do. You have that
car coming in at ten for that thing. Remember?”
Griffin may be sex on a stick, but he wasn’t dumb. Then again,
a blind person could see what Nora was pulling. “Right,” Griffin said. “The car
with the thing. Important customer.”
“Yes,” Nora said in a rush. “Very important.” She blinked
innocently at Bertrand—no one did innocent like Nora. “Do you think Griffin
could set up his interview time first?”
Before Bertrand could call her on her bullshit, Ross stepped
in. “After we’ve set up Mr. York’s interview, I’ll show you to the office you
can use while you’re here,” he told Bertrand.
The detective looked ready to argue but Griffin was already
walking away. They all watched him leave and Ross crossed to the door, stopped
and sent Bertrand a raised brow look.
Bertrand nodded stiffly at Tori and her sisters. He had to be
pissed, but he gave nothing away, kept his expression clear, his movements easy
as he joined Ross.
She wrapped her arms around herself, chewed on her lower lip
thoughtfully as she watched his back. A man who could hide his emotions so well
was dangerous. Best to keep that in mind.
“What the hell was that about?” Layne asked Nora after the door
closed behind the cops.
“I wanted to talk to you both alone.”
“Next time,” Tori said, “just hold up a sign saying Trying to
Get Rid of You! It would’ve been more subtle.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Nora turned to Layne. “Okay, no bull,
no sugarcoating, just give us the truth, the unequivocal truth. How bad is
it?”
Layne swallowed and wiped her palms down the front of her
uniform. “It’s bad. But nothing I can’t handle,” she added quickly.
Tori’s stomach dropped. Layne was worried. Scared. Neither of
which Tori was used to seeing on her sister’s face. Couldn’t say she liked
seeing them now.
“How bad is ‘bad’?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.
“Ross and I are suspended,” she said, as if forcing the words
out.
“What?” Nora slapped her hands onto her hips, her cheeks flush
with anger. “The mayor suspended you? What is he thinking?”
Layne took the band from around her hair and slid it onto her
wrist, then combed her fingers through the long strands, her movements jerky and
agitated. “He’s thinking there are questions that need to be answered. Charges
of wrongdoing that need to be investigated.”
Tori shook her head. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Layne always played by the rules. Plus she’d never do anything
to jeopardize the career she loved so much.
“Neither one of us did anything wrong.” Layne smoothed her hair
back, wrapped the band around it again before letting her arms drop to her
sides. “But it doesn’t look good,” she admitted flatly as if she didn’t care her
entire life was blowing up in front of her. Tori knew better. “It looks like
Ross and I used our positions to cover up facts about Dale’s death—even though
we didn’t know he was murdered until an hour ago.”
“Why bring in someone?” Tori asked. “Why not let another
officer from Mystic Point investigate Dale’s murder? Someone from the county to
look into the accusations against you and Ross?”
Layne shook her head but it was Nora who answered. “Too big a
risk of an investigator from the county having a connection to someone here.
Plus, it’s no secret Jack Pomeroy and Uncle Kenny are good friends. Pomeroy even
worked under Ken when he was D.A.”
“It’s better this way,” Layne said, somehow sounding as if she
really meant it. “There will be no questions about the validity of the
investigation when our names are cleared.”
Okay, Tori could understand that. But it didn’t mean she had to
be happy that Bertrand was going to be around for a while, dredging up the past
when she’d finally thought they could all move forward.
“What can we do to help?” Tori asked.
Gratitude entered Layne’s hazel eyes, softened her expression.
“Just cooperate with Bertrand. Tell the truth.”
“I don’t trust him,” Nora said, her arms crossed, her shoulders
hunched. “You heard what he said. He thinks one of us killed Dale.”
“It’s his job to suspect everyone.” Layne’s soothing tone
couldn’t disguise the apprehension beneath her words. “But we have nothing to
hide so we have nothing to worry about.”
“Well,
we
may have nothing to
hide,” Tori said, “but what about Griffin?”
Nora whirled on her. “Don’t. Start.”
“Griffin was with Nora the night Dale died,” Layne pointed out,
all logical and coplike. “But Tori’s right, he’s going to be looked at,” she
told Nora. “We’re all going to be looked at—even Ross because of his
relationship with me. We all had motive for wanting Dale dead.”
Nora went white. Swayed. Tori held her arm, ready to catch her
in case she passed out. “Hey, you okay? Honey, you don’t look so good. Sit
down.”
Nora shook her off, stumbled a few feet away. Her eyes were
wide and bleak, her lips trembling. “No. Thanks, I’m fine, I’m just… It’s
all…crazy. I just…I have to go.”
“What?” Tori watched, her mouth open, as Nora grabbed her purse
and jacket.
Layne reached out to their younger sister. “Nora—”
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away from them both, her purse
clutched to her chest. “I’m really sorry.”
Nora slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind
her.
Tori turned to Layne. “We need to hold an intervention. Your
place or mine?”
“An intervention for what?”
“To get Nora to tell us what’s going on with her. She’s
obviously keeping something from us.”
“I know, but she’ll come to us when she’s ready.”
Tori wasn’t so sure. What if they lost her? “You don’t think
whatever it is it has anything to do with Dale’s death. Do you?”
“Of course not. And that’s just what Bertrand wants. Us
doubting each other, turning against each other.”
“You cops are a sneaky breed, you know that?”
“Look, I don’t know much about Bertrand but if he works for the
A.G.’s office, it means he’s good. Really good. We have to be careful.” She
searched Tori’s eyes. “We have to be able to trust each other and count on each
other no matter what happens. We have to stick together. It’s the only way we’ll
get through this.”
Like they’d done when their mom disappeared and so many other
times. No matter the differences between them, her love for her sisters, her
commitment to them, was a blessing. And a burden. And she couldn’t break
free.
“No matter what,” Tori repeated, squeezing Layne’s hand.
“Together.”
* * *
W
ALKER
’
S
GAZE
SWEPT
the Ludlow Street Café’s dining room as he headed
toward a booth in the back. Busy place. Busier than he would’ve thought given
that it was midafternoon on a Tuesday. Then again, his quick research told him
it did a brisk business, one that increased during the summer months when
tourists came in droves to the small town.
Sliding into the booth so that he faced the door, he noted the
other two visible exits before he turned his coffee cup over. He inspected it
and, finding no lipstick smudges, set it on the saucer and waited.
He tapped his fingers against the top of the table. Searched
the room again. Rolled his shoulders back and finally gave in and took off his
suit coat and laid it on the seat next to him. Christ, but he hated waiting.
Much preferred doing to sitting, though so far today he’d done a hell of a lot
of the latter.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be patient when need be. It
took time to gather evidence, to sift through facts and unearth the truth.
That’s what he’d done for the past four hours. Read reports—thoroughly,
patiently—anything and everything that had to do with Valerie Sullivan’s
disappearance and Dale York’s background. Dale’s criminal record alone had taken
up almost an hour of Walker’s time, encompassing the years from when Dale
legally became an adult until he, too, disappeared from Mystic Point eighteen
years ago.