by Beth Andrews
“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.”
And he hung up.
“What did you think I did with it?” she asked, unable to stop herself or keep the bitterness from her voice. “Tossed it into the ocean?”
He linked his hands loosely on top of the desk, his mouth a flat line. “What are you hiding?”
Her breathing quickened. She worked to remain calm—and not hyperventilate. God, she’d been so stupid. She should’ve mentioned, oh-so-casually, how she happened to have a charm like the ones on the necklace.
“I panicked,” she admitted. “I jumped to conclusions without having all the facts.”
And what a dumb, rookie mistake that had been. One that could possibly come back and take a nice-size chunk out of her ass.
Taylor seemingly remained unaffected by her confession. “Do you know who that necklace belonged to?”
Layne ran her damp palms down the front of her thighs. “My mother. She had a necklace similar to the one that was found.”
He watched her out of hooded gray eyes. “How similar?”
“Identical,” she said, as if admitting that didn’t have the possibility of ripping her world apart.
Her father had given it to Valerie for Valentine’s Day the year Layne was twelve. The large heart symbolized their relationship, with three smaller hearts for each daughter. He’d then given Layne and her sisters replicas. She never took hers off.
Mistake number one.
Chief Taylor took a legal notepad out of a drawer and picked up his pencil. “Mother’s name?”
“Valerie. Valerie Sullivan.”
“Does the necklace we found belong to her?” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Just yes or no.”
She shifted, gripping the chair’s arms so tightly, her fingers ached. “I can’t give you a yes or no answer. There could be hundreds…thousands…of those necklaces sold yearly.”
“Have you spoken with your mother recently?”
Her lips were dry but she didn’t lick them. Didn’t want to give anything away, especially nothing that would give him the impression—the wrong impression—that she was nervous. She just hated talking about her mother. Didn’t answer questions about her or let herself wonder what Valerie was doing, where she was. If she regretted her choices.
Didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened to her. That the remains they’d found could be her mother. Not after Layne had spent half her life trying to forget Valerie Sullivan had ever existed.
“No.” A bead of sweat formed and trickled down between her breasts. Reminded her that her uniform was dirty and wrinkled and—thanks to Tori’s temper—wet. Her hair a tangled mess, her face and chest sticky. And there he sat, behind his desk like a king about to send her to the guillotine, all calm and composed and dry.
She resented his control even as she envied it.
He made a note. She craned her neck but they were too far apart for her to see more than the darkness of his neat print. “I take it you and your mother aren’t close?”
“If you were from here, you wouldn’t even have to ask that.”
But he wasn’t from Mystic Point. He hadn’t grown up hearing the rumors, hadn’t been around when Layne’s family had been the subject of gossip and speculation. He didn’t know what her mother had been like.
And Layne wasn’t about to fill him in.
“When,” he asked, “specifically, was the last time you spoke with your mother?”
She inhaled deeply. “September 20. Specifically.”
“You haven’t spoken to your mother in almost a year?”
“September 20. Nineteen ninety-four.”
“That was eighteen years ago.” 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.
“And you didn’t even need a calculator,” she said. “No wonder city council snatched you up for the chief’s position.”
“Your mother hasn’t contacted you at all?” he pressed, ignoring her lame attempt to divert his attention. Or, better yet, make him show some sort of emotion.
Twisting her fingers together in her lap where he couldn’t see the betraying motion, she shook her head. “My mother left when I was fourteen without so much as a goodbye. There were no calls or letters or emails. No birthday cards or presents at Christmas.”
“That must’ve been tough.”
“We survived.” She and her sisters had done fin
e without Valerie in their lives. Probably better than if their mother had stuck around. At least, that’s what she’d always believed, but now…now she didn’t know what to think. Her entire world had been thrown off balance. It was all she could do to keep her footing. To not let herself slide down into a quagmire of doubts and fears and what-if’s.
What if Valerie 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?
Dear God, what if her mother was dead? And it was all her fault?
“Did it ever occur to you,” he asked, “in all that time that something could’ve happened that prevented your mother from contacting you?”
“No. Why would it? Everyone thought she ran off with Dale York, the man she was having an affair with.” Chief Taylor made a note, probably of her mother’s lover’s name. “We had no reason to think there was any other possibility of why we never heard from her again.”
“You’ve admitted your mother had a necklace identical to the one found with the remains. You’ve also stated that you haven’t heard from her in over eighteen years. Do you know of anyone who has been in contact with your mother since she left? Your sister? Or your father?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He tapped his pencil on the desk twice then tossed it aside. “Surely once you saw the necklace you had to have considered the possibility that the remains discovered at the quarry belong to your mother.”
Her scalp prickled. A roaring filled her ears. She slowly shook her head but her thoughts remained jumbled. She had to be careful. Had to stick to the truth as closely as possible without giving him anything that he could twist for his own purposes.
Just like she would if she was questioning someone about what would undoubtedly end up a murder investigation.
“It occurred to me,” she said slowly. “Yes.”
“And yet you didn’t say anything.”
She leaned forward, all earnestness and sincerity. “Because I didn’t want the investigation to start off on the wrong track. Look, there could be any number of explanations for that necklace being there. It might not even be hers. Or, if it is, she could’ve lost it or had it stolen from her. Or, more than likely, she pawned it before she took off.”
