Книга - Unraveling the Past

Unraveling the Past
Beth Andrews


How do you work for a guy who took the job you wanted? Every time Captain Layne Sullivan runs into Chief Ross Taylor, she struggles with that issue. It doesn't help that he's a by-the-book cop who expects everything done his way. It also doesn't help that he's hot. Ignoring that little fact is impossible–she's tried!Then Layne's world is turned upside down when human remains are discovered…and the case has a personal connection. Suddenly she's glad Ross is so thorough, because he'll get to the truth. And his search brings them closer, fueling the attraction that's out of control. As secrets and lies from the past surface, Layne's biggest challenge is fighting for a future–with Ross in it.







A life built on lies?

How do you work for a guy who took the job you wanted? Every time Captain Layne Sullivan runs into Chief Ross Taylor, she struggles with that issue. It doesn’t help that he’s a by-the-book cop who expects everything done his way. It also doesn’t help that he’s hot. Ignoring that little fact is impossible—she’s tried!

Then Layne’s world is turned upside down when human remains are discovered…and the case has a personal connection. Suddenly she’s glad Ross is so thorough, because he’ll get to the truth. And his search brings them closer, fueling the attraction that’s out of control. As secrets and lies from the past surface, Layne’s biggest challenge is fighting for a future—with Ross in it.


She resented his control even as she envied it

“I take it you and your mother aren’t close?” Ross asked.

“If you were from here, you wouldn’t even have to ask that.” And Layne wasn’t about to fill him in.

“You haven’t spoken to your mother in almost a year?”

“September twentieth. Nineteen ninety-three.”

If he was surprised, she couldn’t tell. Couldn’t read him in the best of times, let alone when her emotions were jumbled, her thoughts confused.

She prided herself on her ability to see situations…people…clearly. Being unable to do so with him only served to infuriate and, yes, intrigue her. Damn him.

What if her mother had changed her mind and hadn’t wanted to leave her family? What if Layne hadn’t said those things to her that night? What if she’d tried to stop her mother from leaving instead of telling her to go and not come back?

Dear God, what if her mother was dead? And it was all her fault?


Dear Reader,

Writers are often asked where we get our ideas. The truth is, I have no clue how I come up with my stories. Sometimes it’s from something I see on TV, others it’s a line or two from a newspaper article or even lyrics from a song. All I know is that my books usually start with a character, one who grabs my attention, who has some fatal flaw to get past or an emotional wound that needs healing. Once I have that character in mind, I focus on writing a story that pushes them to grow and change and earn their Happily Ever After.

It wasn’t that way with The Truth about the Sullivans trilogy. As a matter of fact, the premise for all three stories came from one simple quote: The truth will set you free.

It’s a simple concept, but also one that can be very powerful. At least, that’s what I found out when I wrote these stories. I had to know what would happen if three sisters discovered that their mother, the woman they’d thought had abandoned them, had actually been murdered.

The answers surprised me. For Layne Sullivan, the eldest daughter and heroine of Unraveling the Past, discovering what had really happened to her mother meant a complete reevaluation of everything she’d always believed. It also meant facing some hard truths about herself, the resentments she’d held on to all these years and her ability to forgive—others and herself.

I had a great time writing Layne and Ross’s story and I hope you enjoy it, as well! I love to hear from my readers. Please visit my website, www.bethandrews.net (http://www.bethandrews.net), or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net or P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701.

Happy reading!

Beth Andrews

P.S. Look for book two of The Truth about the Sullivans series, On Her Side, available in August 2012.




Unraveling the Past

Beth Andrews







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews lives with her husband and three children in northwestern Pennsylvania far from the ocean, Boston accents and New England Patriots fans. The middle of three daughters, she knows a thing or two about the

dynamics between sisters—a skill that came in handy while writing The Truth about the Sullivans. When not writing, Beth spends too much time in the kitchen and too little time on the treadmill. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net (http://www.BethAndrews.net).


For Montgomry

Acknowledgment

Special thanks to Assistant Chief Mike Ward of the Bradford, PA, Police Department.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#uf180fd6f-72c8-5791-b900-669fefd582a7)

CHAPTER TWO (#ufe708e66-e403-50f0-8f91-cce02a83c361)

CHAPTER THREE (#u541de5ee-a43a-564f-82a0-b0205d0b34bc)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ua4f5421e-0b74-57f6-a26a-a5618fb7a911)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

WHEN JESSICA TAYLOR lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.

She hadn’t made that mistake again.

Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.

But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.

Yeah, he was a real prince.

A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.

She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.

That she wasn’t letting him use her.

Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.

Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.

She was in control.

Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.

Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the clearing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.

Thank God.

He collapsed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for a guy who looked as if he’d never heard of carbs, let alone ate any. His heart beat frantically against her chest, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder. They had connected in the most elemental way. And still she felt alone. Always alone.

Her throat closed. Without a word, without a kiss or a murmured endearment or even an outright lie about how fantastic it’d been, how fantastic she was, Nate climbed to his feet. He turned his back and adjusted his clothes.

The cool night air washed over her bare skin. She shivered but couldn’t find the energy or the care to cover herself. After she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking college freshman, she’d stopped believing guys’ lines. Had quickly learned they’d do and say anything to get into a girl’s pants.

Yeah, she’d learned. But she hadn’t stopped hoping, couldn’t stop wishing that each time would be different. That, when it was all over, the guy she’d been with would think she was…special. Instead, once she gave them what they wanted, they all thought she was trash.

She was starting to wonder if they were right.

As she yanked up her jeans, shouts of excitement from the party still going strong reached them. The bonfire illuminated the colorful graffiti on the huge rocks that formed a barrier between the woods and what passed for civilization around here. Flames shot high into the air—probably from someone tossing gasoline onto the fire.

What a bunch of idiots.

“Come on,” Nate said, facing her as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Let’s go. Sounds like the party’s getting wicked wild.”

Jess snorted. “Yeah.” She lurched to her feet and swayed. He held out a hand to steady her but she slapped him away. She didn’t want him touching her again. “I’m sure it’s a crazy wild time,” she continued, her words slurring. “At least by this town’s standards.”

“Mystic Point not good enough for you?”

Okay, so she’d pissed him off, either with her comment or her slap. Good.

She rolled her eyes—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she almost tipped over. “Relax. God, why is everyone so defensive about this place?”

“Maybe we don’t like outsiders slamming our town.”

Outsider. That was her. And she was glad. She didn’t want to belong here. She just wanted to go home.

“There’s a whole big world out there,” she said, waving her arms. “Places where parties are held in actual houses instead of in the middle of nowhere surrounded by some stupid rocks.”

She’d much preferred last week’s party at the secluded part of the beach. The one and only thing she liked about Mystic Point was its proximity to the water. She loved the sound of the waves crashing on shore, the smell of salt water, the power of the ocean. But word had spread that the local cops had gotten wind of the underage drinking going on there and were going to increase their patrols of that area.

Which is how she ended up at some old quarry at the edge of town.

“If you hate it here so much, why don’t you go back to Boston?” Nate’s tone was snide, superior, as if he knew damn well why she was stuck here.

He thought he was better than her because he had a normal family, a mom who didn’t spend all her time so strung out she barely remembered she even had a kid. A dad who not only acknowledged him, but spent time with him.

Jess’s mom couldn’t even say for sure which of her lowlife boyfriends had knocked her up.

Her hands curled. He was right. She did hate it here. And she hated Nate, too. Him and all his friends with their small-town attitudes and stupid cliques. They’d all heard about her past—nothing was sacred in a small town, after all. They’d discussed her. Judged her. And found her lacking. Even if she’d wanted to fit in, she’d never had the chance.

Several car headlights flashed twice then remained on, the brightness cutting through the trees. Jess squinted against the glare.

“What’s the matter, Nate?” a male voice called. “Having problems…performing?”

“Dude, I bet she knows all sorts of tricks to help with that,” another guy yelled.

“She should,” a girl added gleefully, “she’s had enough practice. She spends more time on her back than her feet.”

Laughter erupted and a moment later, the lights shut off. But not before she saw the grin on Nate’s face. Saw how little he really thought of her.

Bastard.

With a low growl that, if she wasn’t careful, could easily turn into a sob, Jess picked up his sweatshirt and threw it at his face.

He caught it before it could make contact. “What’s your problem?” he asked. “They’re just joking around.”

“I don’t have a problem.” But everyone else did. They were too small-town boring and uptight. She started walking deeper into the woods.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her so fast, the entire world tilted. She clamped down on the urge to vomit.

“The party’s this way,” he said.

Once the trees stopped spinning, she jerked away. “Get off me.” No one touched her unless she wanted them to, and he’d lost that right. “I’m leaving.”

Her voice broke and she prayed he didn’t notice.

“All right,” he said slowly, as if trying to calm her down, “if that’s what you want.” This time, he reached for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

He sighed heavily and glanced back at the party. “Because you’re drunk and shouldn’t be wandering around the woods at night.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll die of exposure or get attacked by a wild animal and you’ll be blamed?” Though she gave him plenty of time to deny it, he didn’t. All he cared about was getting into trouble if something happened to her. “Go back to the party. I’m sure you’re dying to tell everyone what a stud you are.” She raised her voice. “But you might want to leave out the part about how it lasted a whole five minutes.”

“Everyone was right about you,” he said. “You really are a bitch.”

Bitch. Slut. Loser. All names she’d been called before. Whoever said words couldn’t cause pain had obviously never gone to high school.

“And don’t you forget it,” she said with her patented sneer. And she walked away.

This time, he let her go.

Good. She didn’t want him chasing after her pretending he cared about whether she made it home safely or not. Oh, sure, he’d been all charm when he’d called and invited her to the party, had layered it on even more when she got there, flirting and joking around, but it’d all been an act. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with: him for not being different, for not living up to her hopeful standards.

Or herself for sleeping with him anyway.

She squinted at the narrow path cutting through the woods. If she kept walking, she’d end up in the clearing near the quarry’s entrance.

She hoped.

Too bad the farther she got from the clearing and the fire, the darker it got, the trees seeming to have multiplied to cut off any and all light from the moon. But it still beat going back the way she and Nate had come. She knew what would happen if she rejoined the party. The girls would freeze her out with their bitchy comments and accusing glares, blaming her for giving the boys what they were too frigid to. The guys would exchange smirks and elbow nudges and Nate would end up avoiding her the rest of the night.

And she was too wasted, too emotionally messed up at the moment to pretend it didn’t bother her.

She took out her phone and pressed the speed dial for Marissa, her best friend back in Boston. Holding it to her ear, she began making her way through the woods again, her steps unsteady, her head spinning.

“Come on,” she muttered when Marissa didn’t pick up. “Where are you?”

Despite her best efforts, tears streamed down her face. She angrily wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her toe caught on a tree root and she pitched forward. Her phone flew from her grip and she landed hard on the ground on her hands and knees.

Tears and snot dripped from her face as she fought to catch her breath. To not puke. Her palms stung, her head swam. She straightened her leg, felt material rubbing against her knee and realized she’d ripped a hole in her favorite jeans.

God, but this place sucked. She hated it here.

Patting the ground around her for her phone, she crawled forward. Something rustled behind her. She froze, holding her breath as she listened. When only silence surrounded her, she continued her search, inching forward along the forest floor, the sharp twigs scratching her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“You can say that again.”

Her head jerked up and she fell onto her rear, squinted against the harsh glare of a flashlight. But she didn’t need to see who had spoken, didn’t need a light to know a cop stood before her. No, not just a cop, but Mystic Point’s new chief of police.

“Hi, Uncle Ross,” Jess said. Then she reared forward and threw up at his feet.

* * *

POLICE CHIEF ROSS TAYLOR couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare move. If he so much as blinked, he might lose all control. And that wouldn’t be good. Not when his instincts screamed at him to wrap his hands around the puny neck of the kid he and Assistant Chief Sullivan had dragged into the woods to help search for Jessica.

The kid who’d admitted he’d let her go stumbling off by herself in the dark. The kid who hadn’t had to admit what he and Jess had been doing while the rest of their delinquent friends drank and whooped it up in the clearing. The empty cups and the used condom Ross had walked past had made it all too clear they hadn’t been stargazing.

He exhaled heavily. Son of a bitch.

Ross knelt next to his niece. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, well aware Layne Sullivan and the kid made a rapt audience to this little family drama.

Jessica stared up at him, her face illuminated by the flashlight Sullivan shined in their direction. Jess’s eyes—light blue like her mother’s—were huge. And unfocused, the pupils dilated. “No.”

Then she threw up again.

Behind him, the kid gagged. Ross pointed his flashlight on him and, sure enough, the boy’s face was pale. “Don’t even think about it,” Ross said harshly.

The kid swallowed hard. “Yes…yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Ross turned back to Jess. She sat back and wiped her hand across her mouth.

“Finished?” he asked.

“I hope so.” Her voice shook.

He helped her to her feet, keeping a firm hold of her upper arm so she didn’t fall. And so she couldn’t take off should the idea enter her head. Her pale, shoulder-length hair was matted and tangled, her clothes wrinkled and stained with puke and dirt. Tears leaked unchecked from her eyes, leaving trails of mascara down her cheeks.

She looked like every other underage drunk girl he’d ever arrested. He had to remind himself that she was just a kid. A rebellious, self-destructive kid. She was also his responsibility.

One he wasn’t sure he wanted. Wasn’t sure he could handle.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.

What was she doing getting drunk, rolling around with some pimply faced kid, when she was supposed to be safely tucked away in her bedroom? Damn, he really wasn’t cut out for this guardian stuff.

She wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You’re the one who told me I needed to give Mystic Point a chance. That I should put myself out there and make friends. Nate and I got very friendly. Didn’t we, Nate?”

Her tone was spiteful, almost…gleeful. But her eyes… When he searched her eyes he saw the truth. Anger. Regret. And such pain, he wasn’t sure he could fix it. Could fix her.

“We weren’t…” the kid blurted. “I mean…we didn’t…”

Ross glanced over his shoulder, his quick glare shutting the kid up.

“Sullivan,” Ross said quietly, “would you please escort this young man back to the fire?”

Three years younger than Ross’s thirty-five, Layne Sullivan was ambitious, levelheaded and had been the front-runner for the position of chief until Ross threw his hat into the ring. He had no doubt she’d enjoy spreading around the tale about how he couldn’t even control his niece. How inept he was when it came to dealing with a rebellious teenager.

“Yes, sir.” But she didn’t move.

“Is there a problem?” Ross asked.

“No…no problem. But what do you want us to do with the kids?”

When Ross, Sullivan and patrol officer Evan Campbell had pulled up to the bonfire, most of the kids had taken off into the woods. But a half dozen had been corralled and were being watched by Campbell—a rookie cop barely old enough to drink himself.

“I want you to do your job,” Ross managed to reply in what he considered a highly reasonable tone. “Check IDs. Those under the legal drinking age—” and from what he’d seen, they were all underage “—will be cited. If they’re under eighteen, take them back to the station and hold them there until they can be released into their parents’ custody.”

“You’re going to call our parents?” Nate asked, his voice hitching on the last word. “Oh, man, my dad is going to kill me.”

Ross’s flat gaze had him hunching his shoulders.

“Can I have a word with you, Chief?” Sullivan asked. “In private.”

Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the trail, the light from her flashlight bobbing on the worn path.

Ross jabbed a finger at Jess. “Don’t. Move.” She saluted him—her middle finger clearly visible. He ground his back teeth together. “You,” he barked at Nate, “sit.”

The kid collapsed into a sitting position as if Ross had swept his feet out from under him. Ross glanced from Sullivan’s back to Jessica. If only everyone could take orders so well.

Sullivan waited for him a good twenty feet from the kids. She was tall. Long-legged. Sleek and sexy even in uniform, her face more interesting than beautiful, her dark hair pulled back into a long tail that reached the middle of her back. Attraction flared, quick and hot in his gut.

He ruthlessly squelched it.

She was surly, defensive and wore her resentment toward him as blatantly as she wore the badge on her chest. More important, she was his subordinate. Which put her so far off-limits, she may as well have been on another planet.

“What is it, Captain?” he said, stressing her rank. No crime reminding her who the superior officer was. Especially when she clearly needed that reminder.

“Usually, in situations like this, we make sure no one who’s been drinking is driving then let them go with a warning.”

“And how many warnings do they get before they’re held accountable for breaking the law?”

“Chief Gorham always thought it was in everyone’s best interest to let this type of thing slide.”

“Gorham is no longer chief of police—”

“Believe me,” she murmured, “we all know that.”

“Therefore, we will no longer be doing things the way he did them. Or letting his actions as chief dictate the decisions I make.”

She flipped her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder. “We can certainly do things your way—”

“I appreciate the permission.”

Her face was hidden by shadows but he’d bet a year’s pay she rolled her eyes. “But if you cite those kids, you’ll rile up a bunch of parents.”

“Part of the hazards of the job.”

Sullivan stepped closer, holding the flashlight between them so it illuminated the lower half of her face. “I realize you don’t understand how things work in a small town,” she said softly, as if imparting some hard-won wisdom, “but believe me, you’re not going to win any points for hauling these kids in. What’ll happen is they’ll all get slapped with fines, lose their licenses—if they have them yet—and be ordered to perform community service. Fines,” she continued pointedly, “that their parents will more than likely have to pay for. Community service that their parents will have to take time off of work to take them to. Just like they’ll have to drive them to every practice, school function and social event until they get their driving privileges restored.”

Ross fought for patience. For the past month he’d been careful not to step on any toes, to be respectful of the veterans of his department who were less than thrilled at being ordered around by an outsider who’d taken the position from one of their own.

He’d been especially cautious around Sullivan. She’d had her fellow officers’ support in her bid for the position of chief, she had their respect. She was also, as far as Ross could tell, a damn fine cop.

But it was past time they all realized he was in charge now.

“I appreciate your input.” He kept his tone mild, not giving away the frustration eating at him. “While I may not have much experience with small-town living, I do know that it’s illegal for a person under the age of twenty-one to purchase or consume alcoholic beverages in the state of Massachusetts. It’s not up to us to interpret the law or decide when and where to enforce it. It’s black and white.”

“A good cop knows there are always shades of gray. sir,” Sullivan added, making the sign of respect sound like anything but.

“Not on my watch. Not in my department. There’s right and there’s wrong.” She didn’t have to agree. She just had to do as he said. “Give anyone eighteen or older the choice to take a Breathalyzer test. If they pass, they’re free to go. The rest get cited.”

“Even your niece?”

He ignored the skepticism in the captain’s husky voice. “She broke the law. She’ll have to face the consequences like everyone else.”

And if that made him the bad guy then so be it. Over the past three months he’d gotten used to playing that role with her. Just as he’d played it with her mother—his younger sister—his entire life. He glanced at Sullivan, noted her disdain for him in the twist of her mouth.

Hell, now he got to be the bad guy at home and at work.

Funny how doing the right thing could be such a pain in the ass.

“It’s quite a coincidence,” Sullivan said, “you showing up right as Evan and I pulled in.”

“I heard the call.”

“Well, aren’t we lucky you just happened to be listening to the police radio at one-thirty in the morning.”

Hard not to listen to it since he’d been driving around looking for Jess after discovering she’d snuck out. Which Sullivan must suspect or else she wouldn’t be taking this little fishing trip. “Glad I could offer my assistance.”

Her mouth flattened. “Come on, Nate,” she called and the kid scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go.”

They walked away. Ross checked on Jess and found her back on her hands and knees.

“Get up.” He crossed to stand over her. Jess, of course, didn’t so much as glance at him. She excelled at doing the opposite of what she should. “I said—” he took a hold of her elbow and tugged “—get up.”

Once on her feet, she pulled away from him, the effect ruined when he had to reach out to keep her from falling flat on her face.

“I have to sit down,” she said. “I don’t feel well.”

And for a moment, Ross got sucked in. Sucked in by her pale face and big eyes, by the trembling of her voice. By how young and scared and…alone she looked.

He gave his head one quick, hard shake. She didn’t need coddling. She needed a swift kick in the ass. It was the only way to get her to straighten out. He was pissed and embarrassed and at the end of his rope with her. Just thinking about what she and Nate had been doing made him want to rail on that boy, shake some sense into her and then send her to a convent for the next twenty years or so.

“You can sit in the back of my squad car,” he told her, taking her by the elbow again and leading her—carefully—back to the path. “And if you puke in there, you’re cleaning it up.”

She stopped, forcing him to halt midstride. “My phone.”

“What about it?”

“I dropped it.” With her free hand she gestured vaguely behind them. “Over there.”

He started walking again, dragging her along. “Too bad.”

She dug in her heels, tried peeling his fingers from her arm. “I have to find it! I need it.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have dropped it in the middle of the woods at night.”

“Ow!” Jess cried suddenly. “Uncle Ross, stop. You’re hurting me.”

What the hell? “I’m barely touching—”

“I’m sorry.” She started sobbing. Loudly. Loud enough for everyone in the clearing to hear. “I won’t do it again. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to play games with me now?”

The radio at Ross’s hip crackled to life. “Everything okay, Chief?” Sullivan asked.

With a sigh, Ross unhooked the radio, pressed the button to speak. “Everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” she asked, humor evident in her tone. “You need backup?”

“Negative,” he ground out. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He put it back, never taking his eyes off Jess. “You should join drama club when school starts again. Put those acting skills to good use.”

She lifted a shoulder, her expression smug. “I’m not leaving without my phone.”

She was stubborn. Sneaky. Manipulative. And until she turned eighteen, she was his problem. His responsibility. And he had no idea how to handle her. Damn it.

“You have three minutes.” He held out the flashlight so that it shone up, lighting their faces. She grabbed the bottom but he held on. “At the end of those three minutes, you’re going to accompany me out of these woods willingly and, most important, quietly. Whether or not you’ve found your phone. Understand me?”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

He let go of the flashlight and she staggered back toward where he’d first found her. And it hit him. He’d given in. She needed rules and discipline and to learn how to obey orders and he’d let her get her way because she’d caused a scene. Because it was easier than dealing with the drama she created.

He tapped his fingers against his radio. Glanced toward the clearing. Not that he could see anything other than the faint glow from the fire. He trusted Sullivan had the situation there under control. And was handling it how he wanted it.

“Time’s up,” Ross called. Jess had her head bent as she searched the area by a large evergreen. “Let’s go.”

“That wasn’t three minutes.”

“Sure it was. Come on.” She didn’t move, just held the flashlight so its beam was on the ground, her eyes downcast. Probably plotting other ways she could make his life difficult. “Jess. Now.”

Still staring down, she slowly crouched and reached out her free hand only to snatch it back as if something had snapped at her. Made a sound like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“Damn it, Jessica,” he growled, picking his way through the thick undergrowth to stand over her. “Don’t make me handcuff you and haul you out of here.”

“Loo—look,” she said in a strangled voice.

He followed her trembling, pointing finger to the end of the beam of light.

And the human skull half-hidden under a fallen log.


CHAPTER TWO

“KATY PERRY, HUH?” Layne asked, her pen poised over her notepad as she took in the petite blonde in front of her. “That really what you’re going with? You don’t want to try something a little more…oh, I don’t know…creative? Like Amelia Earhart or Bette Davis or maybe Carly Simon?”

And by the blank look in the teen’s eyes, she had no idea who any of those women were.

What did they teach kids in school these days?

“My name is Katy Perry,” the girl insisted, lifting her adorable, turned-up nose.

“Have any proof of that?”

She shrugged, a bored expression on her pretty face. “I left my license at home.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I did.” She added a foot stomp to go with her pouty tone. “I don’t even care if you believe me or not. I’m telling the truth. I’m Katy Perry. Katy,” she said, stretching the name out as if speaking to someone who’d recently been hit on the head with a rock. She looked pointedly at Layne’s notebook. “Like…do you need some help spelling it? It’s K-A-T—”

“Thanks, but I think I can sound the rest out.”

Layne wrote the name down and put the notepad into her back pocket. A light breeze blew smoke into her eyes and picked up a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She smoothed them back. The wood pallets in the fire behind her crackled. Sparks shot into the night sky.

Chances were, the elderly gentlemen who’d called the station to report suspicious activity never would’ve known the kids were partying out here if they hadn’t had flames reaching thirty feet high.

She glanced toward her squad car. Evan, his brown hair cropped close to his head, his dark blue uniform hanging on his thin shoulders, tried to calm down the pudgy brunette who’d been sobbing since they’d pulled into the clearing. Out of the six kids they’d corralled, only two had proof they were eighteen and both had passed the Breathalyzer, leaving the brunette, Nate and the other boy—with longish hair, baggy jeans and a T-shirt advertising the store where it’d been bought—standing in a row illuminated by her car’s headlights. While the girl bawled, the boys wore similar smirks, Nate having found his cocky bluster upon returning to the company of his buddy.

Layne rubbed at the headache brewing behind her temple. Ah, the joys of youth. Rebellion. Recklessness. The certainty that nothing bad could ever happen. And the arrogance to believe that if, by some crazy coincidence you did get busted, an endless supply of smart-ass comments or, better yet, copious tears and hysteria, would get you out of trouble. All you had to do was stick with it long enough to wear down the dumb adult trying to force you to obey their archaic rules.

She and Evan were stuck dealing with two of the little darlings each—while their intrepid leader only had to take care of his niece.

“You know,” she said conversationally to the blonde, “being a police officer means being able to read people and situations. For example, see that Audi over there? The red one?”

“What about it?” faux-Katy said in a snotty tone that reminded Layne of when her sister Tori had been sixteen. Come to think of it, Tori still used that tone with Layne.

“Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that car belongs to you.”

“I never said that,” the teenager said quickly.

“No, you didn’t. But this is where my detecting skills come in real handy. You see, a car like that? It has ‘you’ written all over it.” If only because it went so well with the girl’s expensive, dark jeans, silk top—silk, at a bonfire in a quarry—and expertly applied highlights. But really, that silver Princess vanity plate gave it away most. “Which means that, since I’ve already written down the license plate number of every vehicle parked here, all I have to do is plug those numbers into my computer to find out who, exactly each vehicle is registered to. Katy.”

The girl paled, her expression no longer quite so confident that she’d put one over on some stupid cop.

Layne bit back a smile. “You can rejoin your friends.”

She did, but not before glaring at Layne as if she could incinerate her on the spot. Such was one of the consequences of being on the side of law and order.

Evan divided the teens, putting the girls into the back of Layne’s cruiser, the boys in his, then walked toward Layne, his short hair sticking up on the side as if he’d run his fingers through it. Repeatedly.

“I didn’t know someone could cry that much,” he muttered, the fire casting shadows on his round cheeks. “At least not without becoming dehydrated or passing out from lack of oxygen.”

“The human body is capable of many amazing and wondrous feats. Especially when helped along with massive quantities of alcohol.”

“Do you think you should search for the chief? He’s been gone awhile now. Maybe he got lost.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” she said. “And how could he be lost? All he has to do is walk toward the lights.”

“Maybe…” Evan ducked his head toward her. “Maybe something happened. You heard his niece scream. Maybe the chief…snapped.”

Layne snorted. “He has too much control to snap. Besides, she’s just messing with him.”

But Evan was completely serious. Nervous. God, had she ever been that young? That earnest?

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“Let me explain it to you, grasshopper. Once, many moons ago, I was a teenage girl myself. Plus I raised my younger sisters who, at one time or another, were also teenage girls.” And thank the dear Lord those years were over. “Believe me, that scream wasn’t real.”

It was a cry for help, though. One she doubted Chief Ross Taylor would heed.

Not her problem, she assured herself. She’d raised her sisters, had taken care of her family. She’d done her time.

“Captain?” Taylor’s voice came through her radio as clearly as if he stood beside her.

“See?” she said to Evan as she unhooked the radio. She lifted it and clicked the talk button. “Yes, Chief?”

“Turn them loose.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“The kids. Give them a warning and let them go.”

“And here I thought we were going by the precept of the law being black and white.”

“Let. Them. Loose. Have Campbell escort anyone you suspect of drinking home. They are not to drive. Am I clear on that, Captain?”

“Crystal,” she managed to say. As if either she or Evan would let some kid—or anyone else—get behind the wheel after they’d been drinking. “Anything else? Sir.”

“I want Campbell to walk each child to their doors and make sure they are remanded into the custody of their parents. As soon as you’ve given him his orders, get back out here with me. Bring some flares, a blanket and a camera.”

Flares? A blanket and camera? She could feel Evan watching her curiously. She flicked the radio’s button. “Uh, Chief, I’m not sure what you think you and I are going to do with a blanket and a camera—”

He growled. The man literally growled at her. “Get out here. Now.”

Yet one more item to add to his growing list of faults. No sense of humor.

When the radio remained silent for three heartbeats, she clipped it back to her belt. “You heard him,” she told Evan. “We have our orders.”

She helped Evan transfer the girls into his car, the brunette still sniffling. Poor Evan. Layne didn’t envy his job, dealing with four teens and their parents.

But she did thank God—and Chief Taylor—she didn’t have to do it.

She returned to her cruiser for a blanket, flares and the camera she kept in the trunk. Looping the camera’s strap around her neck, she tucked the blanket under her arm, turned on her flashlight and headed back into the woods.

Whatever had happened must be big for “there’s right and there’s wrong” Chief Taylor to let those kids go with a warning. Or maybe Evan had it right. Maybe spending so much time in a town so small it didn’t even have a Starbucks, combined with his niece’s wild ways and running a department of officers who didn’t want him there, had finally gotten to Taylor and he’d cracked. At least enough to dislodge that stick he had up his ass.

Or maybe he decided to listen to her good sense on this one.

And that was as likely as Layne handing in her badge to follow in her father’s footsteps. Or, even more impossible, her mother’s.

Okay, maybe there had been plenty of times when she’d thought Chief Gorham should’ve been less…flexible…with the law. It was a danger having kids partying and then getting behind the wheel of whatever car mommy and daddy had bought for them.

So, no, she couldn’t honestly say she didn’t back Chief Taylor. She just wouldn’t. Say it, that was. To him or anyone else. Not when she should be the one calling the shots, not some hotshot detective from Boston.

Twigs and dead leaves crunched under her boots as she approached the spot where she’d left the chief and his niece. Still a good fifty yards away, she heard them before she saw the glow of the chief’s flashlight.

“—found it in the first place,” the girl was saying, her words not quite as slurred as they’d been earlier.

“For the last time, you’re not getting a reward,” Taylor said gruffly. Impatiently. “Drop it.”

“You suck,” the girl snapped but underneath the bite in her tone, Layne heard the threat of tears. And wouldn’t it be interesting to see how Taylor handled an angry, drunk, weeping teenager?

But he didn’t handle it. He didn’t make any response at all. No attempt to either reprimand or soothe the girl. He continued searching the ground by the end of a fallen tree as if his niece hadn’t even spoken. As if she wasn’t even there.

No chance of this guy winning Uncle of the Year.

He must’ve heard Layne’s approach because he turned, the light from his flashlight skimming over her before he lowered it. “We have a situation.”

“I gathered.” She stepped over a rock and handed him the flares. “What’s up?”

He aimed his flashlight so the beam hit the ground at the end of the log. Illuminating a dirt-encrusted skull.

Layne’s eyes widened. “Yes, I’d say that is definitely a situation.” And not what she’d expected. Not in Mystic Point.

She knelt next to the skull, discerned it was human and, as far as she could tell in the dark, very real. Chills broke out on her forearms. “How’d you even see it?”

“Jess stumbled upon it looking for her phone.”

“Which he’s holding hostage,” the girl—Jess—said, slouched on the far end of the log.

Taylor didn’t even glance her way. “Not the time, Jessica.”

Layne pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll contact the state forensics lab…have them send a team out here.”

“Already have one on the way. I’ve also contacted all available officers. We’ll get some lights out here and start a search for the rest of the remains.”

“I’m not staying while you hunt for more bones.” Jess wrapped her arms around her legs, her entire body shaking. “I want to go.”

“We will,” Taylor said. “Soon.”

“I’m cold,” Jess whined in a tone guaranteed to make dogs howl. “And I don’t feel good.”

Taylor’s jaw moved, as if he was grinding his teeth to powder. “Then I guess you shouldn’t have been drinking.” But he took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Surprise, surprise. Maybe he wasn’t a heartless cyborg after all.

Jess shrugged him off, the blanket sliding to the ground. “I want to go home.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her eyes shimmered with tears she tried to blink back. “Could you tell him to let me go home?” she asked Layne. “Please?”

Layne couldn’t help it, though Jess had no one else to blame for the vomit on her clothes, the dirt in her hair, the drying blood on her knees—Layne’s heart went out to the kid. She seemed so…lost.

Layne remembered that feeling entirely too well.

“I’m sure the chief will get you home as soon as he’s finished here,” Layne said, having no idea if that was true or not. God knew the new chief was an enigma. A frustrating one.

Jess’s smirk was more sad than cocky as she laid her cheek on her knees. “Yeah, right.”

Layne inclined her head meaningfully at Taylor then walked away, stopping next to a scraggly pine tree.

“Another problem, Captain?” he asked in the flat Boston accent that grated on her last nerve.

Though it was past midnight he was, as always, clean-shaven, his flat stomach a testament to his refusal to indulge when one of their coworkers brought in doughnuts. His dark blond hair was clipped close to the sides and back of his head, the top just long enough to start to curl. He had a high forehead, thick eyebrows and eyes the color of fog over the water.

The private, female part of her admitted he was attractive—in an earthy, overtly male way.

The cop in her resented the hell out of him for it.

“If you want to run her home,” she said quietly, “I can get things moving here.”

“She doesn’t want to go home—to the house we’re renting. She wants to go back to Boston.”

“Oh.” She had nothing else to add to that. Didn’t want to get involved in his family problems. “Still, I have this under control if you want to get her out of here.”

“You ever handle a case like this?”

She rolled her shoulders back like a fighter preparing to enter the ring. “Not exactly like this. No.”

“You get a lot of missing persons’ cases in Mystic Point?”

“People don’t go missing from Mystic Point.” Although plenty of them left. “But this isn’t some Utopia. We have our share of crime, including battery, burglary, rape and occasionally, murder. All of which I have investigated.”

“Still, I think I’ll take the lead on this one.”

And then he walked away.

Layne curled her fingers into her palms and followed, her steps jerky, the camera bouncing against her chest. “Is it because I’m a woman?” she called.

He picked up a flare, lit it then stuck it in the ground, his back to her the entire time. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

She stopped behind him, her fists on her hips. “You want specific, sir, how about this. Is the reason you’re not handing this case over to me—the only detective on third shift, your second-in-command and the person who should be assigned it—because I don’t have a penis?”

“He’s a total misogynist,” Jess said with the exaggerated seriousness only the inebriated could pull off.

They both ignored her.

Taylor straightened slowly, the flare casting an orange glow over the hard lines of his face. “Tread carefully, Captain, or you might overstep.”

But she’d never been one to play it safe. Bad enough he’d come into her town and taken the position she was meant to have, now he wanted to screw with how she did her job?

“I don’t think it’s overstepping to clear the air, Chief. So let’s lay it on the line, right here, right now. You have something against having a woman on your force? Or maybe it’s just me you have a problem with?”

Lights flashed, bounced off the trees as a car drove toward the quarry but Taylor didn’t take his attention off her. She wanted to say having his cool gray eyes watching her so intently didn’t unnerve her but she’d never been a good liar.

“The decisions I make as chief aren’t personal.” She didn’t doubt he used that placid tone because it made her seem out of control in comparison. “I assign cases based on experience and expertise.” He stepped closer. “You don’t have to like how I run this police department,” he added softly. “You don’t even have to agree with me, but if you feel the need to question every decision I make, perhaps the Mystic Point Police Department is no longer the right place for you.”

Her vision blurred, her throat burned. “Is that your oh-so-subtle way of threatening my job?”

He moved closer, so close she picked up a hint of his spicy aftershave, felt the warmth from his big body. “For over a month you’ve fought me, skated the line of insubordination—”

“Hey now—”

“And have generally been nothing but a pain in my ass.” How he kept any and all emotion from his voice, she had no idea. But she almost respected him for his control. Almost. “Now, you can continue along that path and force me to take action. Or you can accept that I’m now in charge and start working with me. So, no, I’m not making threats against your job.” He tipped his head close to hers, his breath caressing her cheek. “I’m giving you the choice of what happens next.”

* * *

BY 5:00 A.M., ROSS’S EYES were gritty, his fingers tingling with cold and his head aching. He walked toward his cruiser, the rising sun’s rays reflecting off the large rocks surrounding the water, turning the sky pink and gold. The damp air smelled of burned wood and dirt.

Once the forensics unit from the state had arrived on scene around 2:00 a.m., Ross had coordinated the search for more remains. It hadn’t taken long and by three, they’d found badly decomposed bones near the area where Jess had discovered the skull.

Now, the remains were on their way to the state’s lab for testing while Campbell and Patrick Forbes, one of the department’s part-time officers, packed up the spotlights. Sergeant James Meade, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a perpetual jovial expression that hid what Ross had already deduced was a keen cop’s mind, stood talking with Sullivan by the still-smoldering ashes of last night’s fire.

Ross lifted his hand, indicating he was leaving. Meade, taking a sip from his take-out cup of coffee, nodded. Sullivan kept her gaze on the ground. With his free hand, Ross pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit speed dial. Jess’s phone rang. And rang. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and opened his car door, tossed the evidence bag onto the seat.

His call went to voice mail. “It’s me,” he said. “Call me.”

Not that she would. Ever since he’d been granted custody of his niece, she’d been nothing if not steadfast in her determination to do anything and everything in her power to make his life more difficult.

He glanced back at Sullivan. Sort of like someone else he knew.

He just hoped neither one ever figured out what a good job they were doing of it.

He tried the house phone. No answer. Damn it. He needed to get the necklace they’d found near the body—the one piece of concrete evidence they had—back to the station so it could be processed. He could ask Meade to do it. Or, he could bite the bullet and do what he should’ve done in the first place.

“Sullivan?” he called. “Do you have a minute?”

“Can it wait until we get back to the station, Chief?”

Christ, but nothing was easy with her. Not even a simple request. “No, Captain, it can’t.”

Her mouth thinned but after saying something to Meade, she started toward Ross, taking her sweet time getting there. He bit back on his impatience. His edginess. Edginess she caused with her constant antagonism and smart-ass mouth. With her slow, saunter and the determined, confrontational glint in her hazel eyes.

Her dark ponytail swung behind her, the light blue, MPPD-issued windbreaker she’d put on at some point during the past four hours blowing open over her uniform. Showing the sway of her hips, how her breasts bounced under the loose material.

Interest, male and elemental, stirred. He hissed out a breath through his teeth. Shit. He must be more tired than he thought.

“Yes?” she said when she finally reached him, her tone belligerent, dark circles under her eyes.

“Jessica’s not answering her phone.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You let her have her phone back?”

Warmth crawled up his neck. He refused to call it embarrassment. “So I could get ahold of her. Yes.”

“Uh-huh. And how’s that working out for you?”

His jaw tightened. He was tired, cold and hungry. And in no mood to, once again, get into it with his most abrasive officer. “You took her home?”

“As per your orders.”

“And you saw her go inside?”

“No. I pushed her out of the car as I drove past,” Sullivan said dryly. “But don’t worry, I told her to tuck and roll when she hit the ground.” When he just stared, she sighed. “I walked her inside myself. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably sleeping it off. Besides, from what I saw, she threw up most of what she’d had to drink. And possibly a kidney.”

He stiffened. “I fail to see the humor in that particular situation.”

Sullivan waved at Meade as the sergeant drove away. “Yeah, well, a sense of humor comes in awfully handy when dealing with teenagers. Keeps you from losing your mind. And it has the added benefit of pissing them off. Win-win.”

He tipped his head side to side but the tension in his neck remained. “All I have to do is talk to Jess and she gets pissed at me.”

Why the hell had he admitted that? He didn’t share his thoughts easily, especially with a subordinate officer. Better to keep work and his personal life separate.

“I realize your shift is over in—” He checked his watch. “Less than five minutes, but I need you to take the evidence to the station to be processed.”

“If you’re really worried about her, I can call a friend of mine who’s an EMT. I’m sure he’d be happy to stop by and check on Jess.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “Besides, I’m not worried she’s slipped into an alcohol-induced coma or succumbed to alcohol poisoning. I want to make sure she hasn’t taken off again resulting in me wasting time going after her, not to mention pulling my concentration from this case.”

Like she was doing now.

Sullivan’s mouth turned down. “Wow. That’s really…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

He almost asked her to finish her sentence. But he could easily guess what she’d been about to say and he didn’t need to hear her low opinion on his guardianship skills. Not when his parents had warned him he’d be in over his head if he took Jessica on.

But she needed him. He had to save her. Somehow.

If he didn’t end up strangling her first.

“After you drop off the evidence,” he told Sullivan, “I’d like you to check the missing persons’ files, see if any are still open.”

She smiled tightly. “And here I thought you’d stick me behind a desk so I could field more questions from the press for the duration of this investigation.”

In Boston, the press meant reporters from various media outlets: TV, newspapers, radio and magazines. All vying for a quote, a new side to the story they could run with, the more sensational the better.

Fortunately the Mystic Times had only sent one reporter out to the quarry last night. And he’d seemed more than happy to hang around all night, flirting with Sullivan instead of digging for information about the human remains found outside of town.

Because the paper went to press shortly after midnight and printed a morning edition, the story wouldn’t break until tomorrow. Although Sullivan had warned him—in her you-don’t-know-anything-about-small-towns-and-don’t-belong-here way—that everyone in Mystic Point would hear about it by lunchtime anyway.

“As I understand it,” he said mildly, “you’ve been MPPD’s liaison to the press and the public since you were first hired.”

She held Ross’s gaze, her hip cocked to the side. “Been studying my personnel records, Chief?”

“Just doing things the way Chief Gorham did them. Isn’t that what you want?” While he paused to let that sink in, her mouth opened. Then shut.

And if the sight of her finally being rendered momentarily speechless gave him a strong sense of satisfaction, no one had to know.

“Okay, you got me. Things weren’t perfect under Chief Gorham. But at least he trusted us to do our jobs.”

Damn, but she was stubborn. And, in this instance, possibly right.

Besides, he’d made his point. No need to drive it home with a hammer over her head.

“Fair enough,” he said, earning himself one of her suspicious glares. “After you drop off the evidence, why don’t you take a few hours, grab a nap and a bite to eat. We’ll meet back at the station at eleven for a debriefing.”

“A debriefing?” Sullivan asked as if Ross had told her to bring a bikini, a case of whipped cream and her handcuffs and meet him at a motel. “What type of debriefing?”

“The kind that will give me a chance to present the facts—as we know them now—about this case to the detective working on it with me.” Now she looked shocked. Good.

“Let me get this straight. You’re putting me on this case?” He nodded. “Why?”

“Because you were right. You should be in charge of it.” He’d let his animosity and irritation toward her goad him into letting his personal feelings dictate his professional decisions.

And personal feelings had no place on the job. Ever.

He leaned into the car, reaching across the seat for the box of plastic gloves. He put one on and straightened, the evidence bag in his other hand. “The sooner we’re on the same page, the sooner we can start investigating who this person was, how she—or he—died and came to be out here. And hopefully this will point us in the right direction.”

This being a tarnished, dirty silver chain that could’ve belonged to anyone, which wasn’t going to make their job any easier. Using his gloved hand, he pulled it from the bag. The charms—three small, intricately scrolled hearts, one in the center of a larger, open heart, the other two on either side—glinted in the sun.

Sullivan made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, her hand going to her chest before she lowered it again, her fingers curled into her palm.

“Something wrong?” Ross asked, frowning.

“No.” But her face was white, her voice thin. Uncertain. She cleared her throat. “It just…hit me. What we’re dealing with. We’ve had homicides before, usually related to bar fights or occasionally domestic violence but…” She shook her head slowly. “Nothing like this. Where…where did you say the necklace was found?”

“Close to the skull.”

“But it could be that it doesn’t actually belong to our victim. Maybe the victim stole it or someone lost it. Someone not connected to the victim.”

“Anything’s possible but it’s highly doubtful. Besides, at the moment this—” he dropped the necklace back into the bag before handing it to her “—is our only clue to our victim’s identity. And once we discover who she was, we can focus on finding out who killed her.”

* * *

LAYNE’S HEAD SNAPPED BACK as if Taylor had slapped her. His eyes, always watchful, never missing a freaking beat, narrowed. Studied her. Trying to figure out what she was hiding from him. What she hadn’t told him.

Oh, God.

“You sure you’re all right, Captain?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just tired. I’ll head back to the station. Get this processed.” And because she didn’t want to sound as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him, she didn’t move. “Unless there was something else you need me to do?”

“No. That should cover it.” He took off the glove and tossed it onto the seat. “If you need me before eleven, call my cell.”

“Yes, sir.” Keeping her stride unhurried, she walked toward her cruiser, her pulse drumming in her ears. She kept the bag pressed against her chest with both hands, the plastic slippery against her damp palms.

“Sullivan?”

Her breath caught. Fear enveloped her, coated her skin in a thin sheen of sweat. She licked her lips and faced him, her eyebrows raised in question.

She prayed he couldn’t see how unsteady her hands were.

He jingled the keys in his hand. “Good job last night.”

The air left her lungs making speech impossible so she nodded. She’d overheard him say the same thing to the other officers who’d worked the scene but having him say it to her stunned her.

Almost as much as it scared her.

She didn’t want to care what he thought of her or how she did her job. Couldn’t afford to change her mind about him. Not now.

She went around to the trunk and pretended to organize the items back there. Chief Taylor sat behind the wheel of his patrol car, his head bent. The engine was running but he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

It was all Layne could do not to press herself against his back bumper and start pushing.

Finally, thankfully, he pulled away.

She lurched to the open passenger-side door of her car and collapsed onto the seat. Lowering her head between her knees, she breathed deeply, battling the sense of urgency, of panic spiking in her blood. She squeezed the top of the bag, her nails digging into her palm through the plastic.

Tears blurred her vision but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t afford that weakness or that luxury. She had a case to solve.

Her head still down, she stared at the necklace.

And wished she didn’t recognize it.


CHAPTER THREE

“I DON’T KNOW HOW the Boston P.D. does things,” Ross’s secretary Donna Holliday said in her precise tone, “but in Mystic Point we tend to start our workday at 8:00 a.m. Sharp.”

Ross tucked his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he climbed out of his car and shut the door. Donna, like the car, the beat-up metal desk in his office and the animosity from his entire department, had come with the police-chief position.

He’d love nothing more than to give all of them back.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he told Donna, deciding not to mention how he’d been working all night—which she damn well knew—because she’d probably point out how most of the department had been up all night and were already at work. “Twenty, tops.”

“Better stick with fifteen. Between that body popping up and you busting a kiddie party, we’ve been inundated with calls and visitors. We’ve had everyone from conspiracy theorists who are certain the bones belong to Jimmy Hoffa, to parents calling for your badge for having their little darlings brought home in a police car. And if that’s not enough to light a fire under your rear—”

“As always, I’m astounded by your professionalism,” he said dryly.

“The mayor’s assistant called,” she continued, ignoring him—nothing new there, “to say His Honor will be gracing us with his presence at nine sharp.”

“Fine. Fifteen minutes.”

He ended the call, slid the phone into his pocket and jogged up the steps to the back door, the bushy, overgrown shrubs on either side of the stairs scratching his arms. Inside, he tossed his keys on the counter and headed straight to the refrigerator. Mustard, ketchup, a carton of eggs he didn’t remember buying, milk and leftover pizza from two nights ago. Or was it three?

With a shrug, he pulled out the box, grabbed the slice inside and bit into it. And almost ripped his teeth out in the process. Definitely three nights ago.

He took another bite as he hurried upstairs to his bedroom. Holding the pizza in his mouth, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it toward the open hamper in the corner of the room where it landed on the edge to dangle by a sleeve. He took out the last uniform shirt in his closet and shoved his arms in, leaving it hanging open while he finished his breakfast.

He needed groceries. And to throw a couple of loads of laundry in the washing machine. The yard hadn’t been mowed in two weeks. He threw the pizza crust into the plastic garbage can next to his bed and buttoned his shirt. He’d put them all on his To-Do List, right after Identify Remains, Solve Mystery of Yet Unknown Person’s Death and Straighten Out Rebellious Niece.

At least he could cross one item off this morning—though it was the last thing on the list he wanted to tackle.

Tucking in his shirt, he went out into the hall. Jessica’s bedroom door, as usual, was closed, the whiteboard hanging off it sporting her flowing script in red: Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Ross squeezed the back of his neck. Guess a Keep Out sign would be too subtle.

He knocked. “Jess?” Nothing. No sound of any kind from the room. He tapped his forehead against the door several times. He really didn’t have time for his niece’s games. Lifting his head, he used the side of his fist to pound against the wood. “Jess! Open the door.”

Still nothing. Trying the lock, he raised his eyebrows when it turned easily. As with it usually being closed, the door was also often locked. He opened it wide enough to see inside. Sunlight filtered through the slats of the blinds covering the two windows, illuminating a lump on the single bed.

“Get up,” he said, flipping on the overhead light. Jess stirred then snuggled deeper into her pillow. Ross shoved the door open. It hit the wall with a resounding bang.

Jessica jackknifed into a sitting position with a gasp. Breathing heavily she twisted from side to side as if to locate what had woken her. She shoved her tangled, dirty hair from her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Ross leaned against the doorjamb. “Good morning, sunshine.”

She hit the bed with both hands. “What is wrong with you? Were you raised by psychopaths or something?”

“Is that any way to talk about your papa and Grammy?” And if his active, sixty-year-old mother ever heard him call her Grammy, she’d hit him upside the head with her tennis racket. “It’s time to get up.”

“It’s not even nine!”

“From now on, you’ll be up and out of bed each morning by eight,” he said, kicking clothes out of his way as he crossed the floor to one of the windows. He opened the blinds. “Which shouldn’t be a problem since your new bedtime is 9:00 p.m.”

“You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

“Not even a little.” He opened the second set of blinds and she winced, holding her hands up like some vampire trying to ward off the brightness.

Going by how many times she’d puked last night, she probably had one hell of a hangover. She groaned and flopped back onto the bed, one arm covering her eyes, her face pale. Sweat dotted her upper lip, dampened the hair along her forehead. Sympathy stirred. If he was a good uncle, a more caring guardian, he wouldn’t want her to suffer. Would offer her pain meds to stop the pounding in her head. Ginger ale to soothe the dryness of her mouth and ease the churning in her stomach.

A good uncle wouldn’t think she’d gotten exactly what she deserved for not only disobeying him and breaking the law, but following in her mother’s footsteps.

He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands on the curved wooden footboard. “You have piss-poor decision-making skills, no sense of right and wrong and way too much unstructured free time.”

She lowered the arm from her face. “Go. Away.”

“And while I can’t do anything about the first two, I’m taking control of the third.” He checked his watch, saw he had less than ten minutes to get to the station. If he used his lights and siren, he could make it there in three. “Which is why today you will mow the grass, sweep and mop the kitchen floor and do the laundry. And since all that shouldn’t take long, you can also clean out the garage.”

“Screw you,” she spat. “I’m not your servant.”

“This isn’t about servitude. It’s about taking responsibility and doing your fair share around your home.”

“This isn’t a home. It’s a prison!”

Ross scratched the side of his neck. Sweet God but she was as dramatic and rebellious as her mother had been at that age. And he was as clueless now as he’d been then as an eighteen-year-old watching his kid sister spiral out of control.

“Fine.” You couldn’t argue with certain segments of people. Stoners, sociopaths and teenagers. None of them listened to reason. “It’s a prison. And after today it’s going to be a clean prison with a neatly mowed yard.”

“That’s why you took me in, isn’t it? So you could have someone to clean up after you.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t expect much from her. Obedience. Respect. Maybe a bit of gratitude for how he’d rearranged his entire life for her.

He’d settle for one out of three, and at this point, he didn’t even care which one it was.

“I took you in,” he pointed out, “because it was the right thing to do. And because you had nowhere else to go.”

Her lower lip trembled. Great. What the hell had he said now?

Before he could figure it out, her mouth flattened and she went back to glaring at him as if she wanted to carve his heart out with a spoon.

“After you’re done with the chores I’ve assigned you,” he said, “you are to spend the afternoon pounding the pavement.”

She pressed both hands against her head. Probably trying to keep it from exploding. “What?”

He headed toward the door. “Get a job.”

She scrambled onto her knees, tugging the material of her oversize T-shirt out from under her. “It’s summer vacation.”

“It’s summer,” he agreed, his hand on the handle as he stood in the doorway, “but vacation time for you is over. Working will help you realize what it’s like out there in the real world. Plus, last night’s little adventure proved how much you need some structure to your life.”

“You should be thanking me instead of being such a di—”

“Careful,” he warned darkly.

“—douche bag,” she spat. Not exactly a term of respect but better than what she’d started to call him. “I found that body,” she pointed out. “If it wasn’t for me, you never would’ve even known it was out there.”

This must be why some animals ate their young. So they didn’t turn into teenagers.

“Part of the reason we moved here was so you could get a fresh start. Instead you snuck out of the house and disobeyed my direct order not to engage in any reckless or criminal activity.” Though his hand tensed on the handle, he kept his voice mild. “But you’re right about one thing. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t know about the body. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be in Boston, not trying so damned hard to make things work for us here.”

She looked so stricken he immediately wished he could take his words back. That he could tell her he didn’t mean them. But while Jessica was rebellious and mouthy, she was also bright and had a way of seeing through people’s bullshit. No way she’d buy an apology from him. One he wasn’t even sure he’d mean.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be home for dinner at six. Seven,” he amended, figuring he’d have to put in a hellishly long day. “Be here.”

He stepped into the hall and had no sooner closed the door when something hit the other side of it with a loud crash. He tipped his head back and blew out a heavy breath. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get through to her. If he’d ever be able to save her from herself.

Some days he wondered why he even bothered trying.

* * *

LAYNE BACKED INTO HER SPOT in the police station’s paved parking lot. She stepped out of her cruiser only to reach back in for her aviators. The dark lenses hiding her eyes, she shut them long enough for the edginess in her stomach to smooth out. For her nerves to calm and her scattered thoughts to settle.

She doubted herself, the decisions she’d made, which she’d never done before. Couldn’t afford to do now. So she stood there, the bright, midmorning sun warming the top of her head as she inhaled deeply, the familiar briny scent of the sea filling her senses. She held her breath. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes and strode toward the entrance as if her moment of weakness had never happened.

She didn’t do weak. She had too many people depending on her. Counting on her to take care of them.

Sure, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to worry only about herself. To put her own needs first without thought or care for anyone else. To be manipulative and selfish and egocentric.

Like her mother.

But she was so much stronger than Valerie Sullivan had ever been. So much better.

And if she kept telling herself that, if she pretended that this morning had never happened, that she’d never seen that necklace, maybe she’d actually start believing it.

For the first time in her life, she had no idea what was real and what was fiction. What if her suspicions were right? What if the past eighteen years were nothing but a lie? Worse, what if she was to blame?

She pressed her lips together and yanked open the door so she could step into the dimly lit, cool hallway. No. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was. The blame lay with one and only one person—Valerie. All Layne had ever done was keep her family from falling apart.

She’d keep doing it. No matter what.

Before turning the corner that would take her to the squad room, Layne stopped long enough to crack the knuckles of each finger then shook her hands out. Her expression composed so none of her doubts, her guilt, showed, she entered the room and went straight to the desk she’d kept despite her promotion a year ago.

Across from her, Jimmy Meade glanced up from where he pecked at the keyboard of his computer. He frowned. “I thought you were going home to get cleaned up.”

“I got sidetracked,” she said, hooking her foot around her chair leg and pulling it out. As she sat, she felt him watching her. “What?”

He leaned back in his chair, linked his hands together on his protruding stomach—now half the size it had been thanks to his wife insisting he cut back on the sweets in case the new chief decided to fire anyone who could no longer fit into their uniform. “You have something on your mind?”

Her throat clogged. Jimmy had always been on her side, from the moment she’d first been hired. One of her uncle Kenny’s old school buddies, he’d kept an eye out for her, mentored her. And she was about to look him in the eye and lie.

God, she hated this.

“Nope.” She booted up her computer, watched the monitor as if her next breath depended on her wallpaper—a picture of her nephew Brandon in his baseball uniform—loading properly. “Any new developments in the case?”

“Haven’t heard of anything.” He straightened and reached for his favorite coffee cup. “Chief’s been in a meeting with the mayor for almost an hour now.”

Whatever happened in town, Mayor Seagren wanted to be involved.

“It must be my birthday,” Evan breathed as he came in from the break room—obviously the chief had him working overtime, too. “Because I’m about to get a present.” He nodded toward the double glass doors that overlooked the foyer.

The foyer where Layne’s sister Tori laughed at something Officer Wilber—currently manning the booth—said, her head back. All the better to show off her long, graceful neck.

“Oh, I am not in the mood for this,” Layne muttered as Tori sort of…slinked…toward the squad room, a plastic take-out box in her hand. Then again, her black skirt was so tight—and short—normal walking was probably out of the question. And how she waited tables all day in those strappy, high-heeled sandals, Layne had no idea.

Thankfully Tori’s bad attitude and questionable fashion sense weren’t Layne’s problems anymore.

Just a few of the many crosses she had to bear.

“For God’s sake, have some pride,” Layne told Evan. The kid was practically drooling. “And you—” She turned to Jimmy. “You’re a happily married man. And a grandfather.”

He didn’t even have the grace to look abashed that he’d been caught gawking. “Carrie and I have an agreement. I can look all I want. And she pretends I have a chance in hell of letting some beautiful young woman steal me away from her.”

Evan scrambled off his desk and practically tripped over his own feet to open the door. “Morning, Tori,” he said, sounding like a chipmunk going through puberty.

“Good morning,” Tori said, all bright and shiny as a new penny. “Hey, was that you I saw out on Old Boat Road a few days ago?” she asked Evan. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

“It’s not a bike,” Jimmy and Layne said together, repeating what Evan had told them repeatedly. “It’s a Harley.”

“And his mom bought it for him,” Jimmy added.

Evan flushed. “She loaned me the down payment. That’s all.”

“A Harley?” Tori asked, seemingly impressed. Though with her, you never knew what was truth and what was for show. She shook back her dark, chin-length hair and winked at him. “Moving up to the big leagues, huh? Who knows what you’ll be ready to tackle next.”

“Okay,” Layne said, pushing her chair back and standing, “I just threw up in my mouth a little, so if you don’t mind could you please play Cougar and Innocent Cub somewhere else? We’re trying to work here.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard you pulled an all-nighter out at the quarry.” She raised the take-out container. “Thought you all could use some sugar to help get you through the rest of the morning.”

Layne picked up a pencil from her desk. Squeezed it. “You heard about that?”

“About the body?” Tori set the box on Layne’s desk and flipped up the top exposing neatly packaged blueberry scones and cinnamon rolls. “Sure. It’s all everyone’s been able to talk about.”

Tori worked as a waitress at the Ludlow Street Café, Mystic Point’s most popular restaurant.

Layne scraped at the paint on the pencil with her thumbnail. “Really?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral. “I figured it’d take at least until lunchtime for word to get around.”

Tori stepped aside while Jimmy helped himself to both a scone and cinnamon roll. “In this town? Please. People are already taking bets about who it is.”

Jimmy harrumphed but Layne’s blood ran cold.

“Who…who do they think it is?” she couldn’t help asking.

Jimmy shot her a questioning look but she ignored it, watching her sister’s face, so similar to her own, carefully. If Tori suspected, Layne couldn’t tell. Then again, her sister had always been excellent at hiding her true feelings.

“Most people think it’s that hiker that went missing a few years back,” Tori said, picking up Layne’s nameplate then setting it back down. “A couple people insist it’s the gangbanger who escaped prison back in ’08. Me, I have ten bucks on the hiker theory.”

“It wasn’t a hiker,” Evan said around a mouthful of scone. He swallowed. “The body was found—”

“I hadn’t realized we were at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation,” Layne snapped.

Evan looking at her as if she’d slashed the tires of his new Harley only made her feel crappier. Perfect. She sighed. “What do you want?” she asked Tori.

Her sister laid a hand over her heart. “Can’t a grateful citizen bring a few treats to Mystic Point’s finest without being accused of wanting something in return?”

“A grateful citizen can, sure. But you? No.”

“That hurts.” She hitched a hip onto Layne’s desk, causing her skirt to rise up, showing several more inches of her toned, tanned thigh.

“Get your ass off my desk before I’m forced to arrest you for indecent exposure,” Layne said. “And if that’s what you wear to work, Celeste needs to seriously consider instituting a dress code at the café. It is a family restaurant after all.”

Tori slowly slid to her feet, her grin razor-sharp. “Funny, but no one else complains about my clothing.” She looked down at Layne—only because those stupid shoes of hers added several inches to her height—and sneered. “At least mine are clean.”

Layne didn’t have to glance down at herself to know she had a streak of dried mud running from her right shoulder to her left hip. Or that her shirt was wrinkled and she had still-damp mud stains on both knees. “Yes, well, searching for human remains is a messy job. Unlike pouring coffee.”

“You have a dead leaf in your hair.”

Layne reached up and…yep…sure enough, found a leaf. She picked it out of her hair and let it float into the trash can. “Well, since you’ve done your good deed for the day and all, I guess you’ll be wanting to get on your way. I’m getting a soda.” She’d kill for some sugar and caffeine and she was afraid Tori would end up being her victim. “You want anything?” she asked Jimmy.

He lifted the last bite of his cinnamon roll. “I’m good.”

She picked out a scone. “Thanks for dropping by,” she said to Tori.

She circled her desk and walked down the short hallway to the break room. She’d no sooner popped the tab on her Coke when Tori came in.

She should’ve known her sister wouldn’t get the hint and go on her merry way. Tori was nothing if not stubborn. One of the few traits they shared.

“Can we expect the pleasure of your company tonight?” Tori asked. “Or are you planning on skipping it like you did last year?”

Crap. Now was probably not the time to admit she’d been so caught up in the investigation and the necklace that she’d forgotten today was Brandon’s twelfth birthday.

“I didn’t skip anything,” she said, adding ice to a plastic cup and pouring in half the soda. Took a long drink. “I was working. Just like I’ll be working tonight.” But she hated missing her nephew’s party. “Tell Brandon we’ll head into Boston sometime next month.” When, hopefully, her life would be settled again. When any and all investigation into the remains would be long completed. “Catch a Red Sox game.”

“I’ll do that. You know,” Tori said, one hand on her cocked hip, the other gesturing to Layne’s hair. “It wouldn’t kill you to use a brush once in a while. Especially since you have a new boss to impress and all.”

She bit into the scone. “I’m not out to impress anyone.”

“Obviously,” Tori drawled, staring pointedly at the crumbs collecting on Layne’s shirt.

Layne brushed them away. “What. Do. You. Want.”

Tori fluttered her eyelashes. “Your black boots.”

Layne slowly set her cup on the table. “You want my black boots? My designer, over-the-knee, cost-me-an-entire-paycheck black boots?”

“Just for tomorrow night. Randy Parker’s taking me out to dinner and your boots would be perfect with this great little black dress I—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“How about because it’s the middle of summer? Or hey, how about because you shouldn’t be dating already. The ink on your divorce papers is barely dry.”

Tori inhaled sharply. “First of all, I hardly think I’m going to take fashion advice from a woman who hasn’t worn lipstick in over ten years and usually dresses like a man.”

“I don’t dress like a man. I dress like a cop.” As the only woman on the force, she had to work twice as hard to be accepted. To be treated as an equal. To prove herself. And if that meant forgoing makeup and jewelry, then so be it. She’d gladly shove beauty off a steep cliff if it meant she’d be taken seriously at her job.

“Secondly,” Tori continued as if Layne hadn’t spoken—she’d always been good at ignoring things she didn’t want to hear, “my divorce was final six months ago. Six months. And obviously Greg didn’t get your little memo about the proper amount of time between divorcing and dating since he’s been seeing Colleen Gibbs for over a month now.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who let him go.”

Tori edged closer until they were toe-to-toe. “My marriage, my divorce and my decisions, are just that. Mine.”

“Maybe, but you aren’t the only one affected by your decisions. Or did you plan on taking Brandon along on your date?”

“Brandon will be at his father’s house tomorrow night. God! What is your problem?”

“You want to know what my problem is?” Layne asked, her voice rising despite her best effort to keep her rioting emotions under control. She tried to hold back but the words poured out of her, fueled by her anger and resentment. Her fears. “You, Tori. You’re my problem. You and your selfish attitude. All you care about, all you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You were tired of being married so you got a divorce. You want to date so you leave your son with his father so you can go out and have a good time.”

Tori’s eyes, light brown like their mother’s, narrowed dangerously. “I’m not leaving him on the side of the highway sixty miles outside of town. It’s Greg’s weekend to have him. Why shouldn’t I go out and enjoy myself?”

“Because you’re a mother,” Layne cried, tossing her hands into the air. “You need to think about what’s best for Brandon, do what’s right for him.”

“Don’t you ever—” Tori jabbed her finger at Layne, stopping a hairbreadth from drilling a hole into her chest “—ever accuse me of not putting my son first.”

Layne laughed harshly. “You’ve never put anyone first but yourself. Your wants. Your needs. I mean, a prime example is how you were with Evan. Flirting with a kid who’s ten years younger than you, all for what? So you can feel good about yourself? So you can pretend you’re special? The way you dress…how you act… You’re…” She snapped her lips shut and shook her head in disgust.

“I’m what? A tramp? A slut?” Tori’s voice was low. Shaky. But under the tremble, Layne heard the resolve that told her to step carefully.

She heard it. She just chose to ignore it.

She was terrified. Scared of what the next few days would bring and while she and Tori weren’t exactly close in the best of circumstances, their snarky spats rarely took on this edge. She should shut up. Better yet, she needed to apologize. Blame the stress and her going over twenty-four hours without sleep for making her so bitchy.

But she couldn’t. Not when Tori stood there pushing Layne’s buttons simply by wearing her snug, revealing clothes and a bring-it-on smirk.

“Worse,” she said, meeting her sister’s eyes unflinchingly. “You’re just like our mother.”


CHAPTER FOUR

THE ARGUMENT IN THE break room grew louder and, from what Ross could tell as he stormed toward the room, more heated.

Meade stood. “Chief, I don’t think—”

Ross didn’t even slow, just held up a hand. The other man shut his mouth and sat back down.

Smart call.

As he opened the door, Ross heard the unmistakable sound of a splash and a gasp.

Then Sullivan said in her husky voice, “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Go to hell,” a woman snapped as he stepped inside.

After a beat of stunned silence, Sullivan—wiping liquid from her face with both hands—noticed him. “Perfect,” she snapped. “Just freaking perfect.”

“Ladies.” Behind him, he heard the scrape of chairs and then footsteps as Meade and Campbell maneuvered closer in the hopes of catching part of the upcoming conversation. Ross shut the door and spoke quietly, hoping it would encourage the women to do the same. “Is there a problem here?”

Sullivan used her inner forearm to wipe soda from her chin. Her shoulders were rigid, her face white except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Damp hair clung to the sides of her neck and the front of her shirt was soaked.

“Everything’s dandy,” she said stiffly.

Ross glanced from her to the life-size brunette Barbie, and back to Sullivan again. The resemblance between them was striking. Though Sullivan’s face was clean of any paint and the other woman’s features were made up—smoky eyes, slick red lips—the shade of their dark hair, the shapes of their mouths and the sharp angle of their jaws were the same. They were both tall and had legs that went on forever. And they were both seriously pissed off, with neither showing any sign of backing down.

He inclined his head toward the other woman. “Your sister?”

Sullivan’s mouth pinched. “One of them.”

“Tell me, Captain, how is it you thought having a family argument in my police department was a good idea?”

Sullivan pulled her shoulders back causing the damp material of her top to hug the curve of her breasts. “We weren’t arguing. Sir.”

“No? Because not five minutes ago I was three doors down in my office with Mayor Seagren discussing the department’s—” he flicked a gaze at the civilian “—current investigation—”

“Is ‘current investigation’ official cop code for the body discovered out at the quarry?” the sister asked. “Because half the town already knows about it.”

Another similarity between the women. Their smart mouths.

“—when we were interrupted by shouting coming from this room. Care to explain that?”

She pursed her lips for a moment, as if considering his question. “No, sir, I don’t.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Turned his attention to her sister. “And you are…?”

“Leaving.” But when she stepped toward the door, he shifted to block her exit. She jammed her fists onto her hips. “Really?”

“Ma’am, are you aware of what the penalty is for assaulting a police officer?” he asked.

She shook her hair back. “Nope. But say…how long do they send you away for tossing a carbonated beverage in a cop’s face? Five years? Ten?” She waved her hand as if wiping it all away. “Whatever it is, it was worth it.”

“There was no assault,” Sullivan said, shooting her sister a warning glare. “I apologize for our behavior and any embarrassment it may have caused the department.”

Not the most sincere apology he’d ever heard but it would do. “Next time you decide to have a family disagreement, do so outside of work. Being a good cop means being able to keep your personal life and professional one separate.”

If looks could kill, Layne Sullivan wouldn’t need to carry a sidearm. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He opened the door and gestured for Sullivan’s sister to precede him. “Ma’am. Let me walk you out.”

She smiled, but it didn’t hide the calculating gleam in her eyes. “Thank you, Chief Taylor. You’re not nearly the asshole Layne said you were.”

Behind him, Sullivan snarled.

Ross fought a grin. “I appreciate that, ma’am,” he told the sister.

He also appreciated that when he glanced back at Sullivan as he stepped out of the room, she held his gaze. She didn’t try to make excuses or claim she’d never said any such thing.

He respected that.

Besides, he didn’t need her or any of the other officers below him to like him. He just needed them to obey him.

Walking beside Sullivan’s sister through the squad room, he couldn’t help but notice the changes in her demeanor. Her expression softened, her body lost its stiffness as she crossed the floor in a hip-swaying walk too rehearsed to ever be called natural. And enticing enough for most men not to care.

“Bye, Jimmy,” she said to Meade, giving him a little finger wave. A finger wave Meade started to return only to freeze when Ross glanced at him. “Evan, you be careful on that new Harley.”

Ross held the door for her and she went into the lobby where Officer Wilber shoved the hunting magazine he’d been reading under the counter. “Chief,” he said in greeting as the phone rang. He slid the clipboard holding the sign in/out sheet to Sullivan’s sister. “All set, Tori?”

“You bet.” She wrote the time next to her name—Tori Mott—while Wilber answered the phone. “So nice of you to walk me all the way out here,” she said, shooting Ross a glance from underneath her thick lashes.

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

This time when she grinned, it was less sultry, more genuine. “Oh, I doubt that.” She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “We both know you only did so you could make sure I left without causing more trouble.”

“If that was the case, I would’ve had to escort your sister out, too.”

“Please. Layne’s the original good girl. She spends all her time making sure everyone else is keeping their noses clean.”

“Including you?”

“Well, I do try… .” She skimmed her gaze over him, her meaning, and invitation, clear. “But somehow Old Man Trouble always comes along and nudges me off that straight and narrow path.” She stepped close enough for him to notice her eyes were a shade darker than Sullivan’s, her forehead wider. “You interested in walking down that road with me sometime?”

Her voice was throaty, and as smoky and sexy as classic jazz. But beyond the seductive act, he saw glimpses of humor and intelligence. She was mysterious and smart and hot enough to melt a man’s brains—and his good intentions—in her painted-on black skirt and snug, white top, the top three buttons undone. And she knew it.

She could bring a man to his knees with a single look. She also knew the score, knew exactly what men wanted from her. A few hours of dark pleasure. Nothing more.

If they’d been back in Boston, he might have been tempted enough not to care that she was a magnet for mayhem and heartbreak. He would’ve walked her to her car. Asked if she’d be interested in going to dinner. But this was Mystic Point and he had Jess to think of, had an example to set for her.

Plus, he wasn’t kidding about keeping his professional life separate from his personal one. And while asking out the sister of one of his officers didn’t necessarily step over that line, it blurred it.

He liked things—rules and his own moral code—to be crystal clear.

And when he looked at her, he saw Sullivan. Compared her blatant sexuality, her coyness with the captain’s blunt, what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude. In that comparison, Tori came out lacking.

He deliberately stepped back. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

She didn’t seem disappointed by his lack of response toward her. Which made him wonder if she really had been interested or if it’d all been part of some show he hadn’t been invited to.

“You do the same,” she said. “And good luck solving your first big case as chief.” She picked up the set of keys from the plastic bin provided for visitors’ keys, cell phones and other devices that would set off the metal detector they needed to pass through before entering the squad room.

Her key ring was a plastic frame with a picture of a dark-haired boy in his baseball uniform, a bat over his shoulder as he smiled for the camera. A member’s benefit card for a local grocery store was hooked onto the frame along with a small, silver heart hanging from a thin chain.

A small, silver heart that looked very familiar.

Son of a bitch.

“Those are yours?” he asked abruptly. “That’s your key ring?”

“Yes and yes.” She frowned. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Though his brain screamed at him to haul her ass back inside and toss her into a holding cell until he got to the bottom of what was going on, his instincts told him otherwise. Tori may have a missing piece of the puzzle but she couldn’t answer the questions running through his head. The growing suspicions.

“No. No problem. Have a good day, ma’am.”

He went back into the squad room. Sullivan was on her phone while Meade and Campbell both worked on their computers. Ross crossed to her desk. “I need to speak to you in my office.”

She held up a finger for him to wait then spoke into the receiver. “Yes, this is Assistant Chief—”

Ross snatched the phone from her hand and handed it to Meade in one smooth motion.

She reached for the phone. “Wha—”

“My office,” Ross said, leaning down, both hands on her desk as he crowded her against her chair. “Now.”

He straightened and stepped back far enough to give her room to stand. Her expression set, her movements stilted, she rose and walked ahead of him out of the room and down the short hallway.

“Take a coffee break,” he ordered Donna as he passed her desk.

She looked from him to Layne then took her purse out of the bottom desk drawer. “Sure thing. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Ross followed Sullivan into his office and closed the door.

No sooner had the latch clicked shut when she whirled on him. “I’ve already apologized for my unprofessional behavior,” she said through barely moving lips. “And I don’t appreciate you treating me with such a lack of respect. Especially in front of my coworkers.”

“Is that so?” he murmured, taking her in. Her arms were straight, her hands clenched. He had to give her credit. She didn’t give anything away. She met his gaze steadily, no guilt, certainly no remorse on her face.

But she would regret lying to him.

“Yes.” She raised her chin, revealing a thin silver chain around her neck. “That’s so.”

He thought of the shorter piece of chain attaching the heart charm to her sister’s key ring. Remembered how, when he’d first shown Layne the necklace found with the remains, her hand had gone to her throat. At the time he’d thought it an innocent gesture.

Fury had him closing the distance between them in two long strides but he didn’t let it rule him. He never let his emotions rule him.

Still, his expression must not have been as calm as he’d thought because her eyes widened. But she held her ground. “What do you think—”

“You don’t appreciate being treated with a lack of respect?” he repeated. “Well, I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

He hooked his forefinger under her necklace and tugged it free of her shirt.

And discovered the same heart Tori had on her key chain.

An exact replica of the smaller hearts from the necklace they’d found with the remains.

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL is going on?” Taylor growled. He smelled of coffee and mint. Her necklace was wrapped around his finger and his knuckles brushed against her collarbone. His skin was warm. His tone cold enough to make her shiver.

To Layne’s horror, tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She found herself wanting to tell him everything. Her fears and suspicions. Not because she was afraid of him or worried about the safety of her job or her professional reputation. Although, she realized with a jolt, she should fear for both.

She wanted to share her burden with someone. Or better yet, let someone else take care of things for her.

Which was so unlike her she almost pinched herself to see if this whole crappy experience wasn’t some nightmare.

She was the strong one. The responsible one. She’d stepped up and taken care of her family when her mother bailed. Had given up her childhood to ensure Tori and their younger sister, Nora, were safe and cared for. She’d protected them. Always protected them.

But, oh, God, she wanted, badly to be the one taken care of. Just one time.

Pressing her lips together, she jerked back and for a second, she didn’t think he’d let go. But then he eased away, letting the charm fall back to bounce once against the top button of her uniform.

“Nothing’s going on.” Her tone betrayed none of her uncertainty, her guilt. “It’s a coincidence.”

At least that’s what she’d been trying to convince herself of all morning.

“You and your sister both have charms identical to the necklace we found with a set of human remains. Remains you and I are both very aware could belong to the victim of a violent crime, and you want me to believe it’s a coincidence?”

“Yes.”

He regarded her intently, trying to get a read on her. Just like a good cop did when talking to a witness.

Or a suspect.

“Then why not mention it earlier?” he asked.

She shrugged, trying to make the gesture casual but figured she looked like she was having a seizure. “I meant to…” Even someone who valued honestly above all else could be forgiven for a little white lie every so often. “But I didn’t see any point.”

“Where is it?”

“Where is…?”

“Captain, what did you do with the evidence I gave you earlier this morning?”

Offended, she narrowed her eyes. “What do you think I did with it?”

But she knew. He wasn’t worried she’d accidentally lost or misplaced it. Oh, no, he thought she’d hid it. Or destroyed it.

“Where is the necklace?” he repeated sharply.

“Processing has it.”

As soon as she’d handed it over the guilt weighing on her shoulders had lightened. Yes, it had taken her a few hours to make the right decision but when push came to shove, she’d done the right thing.

He circled his desk. Picking up his phone, he glanced at her. “Sit down.”

Her mouth went dry. If she had to endure his calm, controlled reprimand accompanied by one of his subzero looks, she’d do it how she did everything in her life. On her own two feet. “I’d rather stand, thanks.”

Except he didn’t go with the iceman routine. Instead his hot stare just about blistered her skin.

She sat. And disliked him even more for being unpredictable.

He dialed a number. “Officer Campbell,” he said into the phone, but kept his eyes on her, “I need you to go down to Processing and check on the status of the evidence found at the quarry.”

Her face burned. Anger and resentment sizzled in her blood. He had no right to treat her this way, as if she couldn’t be trusted. She’d made a mistake. A mistake she planned on correcting at the earliest convenience.

And here she’d thought that, after being chastised for fighting with Tori, she couldn’t possibly be more humiliated.

Man, she hated being wrong.

Hated even more that, like what happened with her sister, this was her own damn fault. She’d dug herself a deep, smelly hole and now she had to figure out how to claw her way out.

Tapping her fingers against her knee, she checked out the office. The furniture—two wooden chairs facing a metal desk, a banged-up, four-drawer filing cabinet and a bookcase—were left from Chief Gorham. The freshly painted beige walls were bare. A lamp, two neatly stacked piles of folders, a mechanical pencil and a coffee cup the only items on his desk. There were no framed commendations or knickknacks. No nameplate. No personal photos, not even a snapshot of the niece who was living with him—and what was up with that?

The room was like Taylor himself. Unreadable. There was nothing to give a person any type of clue as to what—if anything—went on beneath the chief’s starched surface.

Being a good cop means being able to keep your personal life and professional one separate.

Maybe he was a damned good cop. But he obviously had a few things to learn about being an actual human being.

“You’re sure?” Taylor asked Evan. “You saw the necklace? Not just that it had been entered into the evidence logbook?” Pause. “Good.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/beth-andrews/unraveling-the-past/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.