Читать книгу In This Town - Beth Andrews - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

FEAR TURNED TORI’S blood to ice, tightened her throat. Through the roaring in her head she could barely make out Layne’s gruff—and no doubt, pithy—reaction to the detective’s words. Nora’s indignant cry. Bertrand’s rumbling response. Then they were all talking, Layne letting Bertrand know he couldn’t intimidate them, Nora threatening legal action, Griffin trying to calm Nora down. But it was all muted, as if Tori heard it through a filter. Only one thought filled her head, demanded her full attention.

Someone had murdered Dale.

The nightmare that had started at the beginning of summer when Ross’s niece drunkenly stumbled upon their mother’s remains wasn’t over. It was getting worse. With the news of the true cause of Dale’s death, talk about Tori’s family would only grow. Once again, the Sullivans would be the subject of rumors and speculation. Of suspicions and doubts.

She could handle it, she assured herself, as could Layne—hadn’t they endured it their entire lives? But Nora didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud. And Brandon…God…her son was only twelve. Still so much a child despite a recent growth spurt and a bad attitude that rivaled any teenager’s. He shouldn’t have to be subjected to the nasty gossip, the whispered innuendos. She had to protect him. Had to get him out of Mystic Point.

The back of her neck prickled with unease and she raised her eyes to the man towering over her, his gaze discerning, his mouth unsmiling. Dale had been killed and this man—an outsider who knew nothing of them, of what they’d been through—wanted to pin the blame on one of them.

Anger, denial, flowed through her, caused the mask she wore as easily as a second skin to slip. Only for a moment, but she must’ve given her true thoughts away because in his eyes, she saw a flicker of triumph. As if he’d somehow won their silent battle of wills.

She smirked. Had the satisfaction of seeing his expression darken.

No one beat her at her own game.

“So someone killed Dale,” she said, her tone loud enough to get everyone’s attention. She tossed the paper onto Ross’s desk, fluffed her bangs with her fingers. “It’s not like his death is a big loss to society.”

“Tori,” Nora warned, watching Detective Bertrand nervously, her hand gripping Griffin’s.

“What? I’m not going to sit here and pretend to grieve over a bastard like Dale York.”

She resented the implication that she should act as if she was anything less than thrilled that he no longer walked the earth. That she should feel guilty.

Bertrand pulled a small notebook out of his suit pocket. “Mrs. Mott, are you saying you’re happy Dale York is dead?”

“Don’t answer that,” Nora and Layne both ordered quickly.

They had her back. Always. Just as she had theirs.

Instead of feeling trapped by the bond between her and her sisters as she usually did, Tori felt…relieved. Their sisterly ties were tenuous at best, but they held strong when it mattered.

Tori sent Bertrand a look from underneath her lashes, one she’d perfected at the age of twelve when she’d realized her looks would take her a hell of a lot further than her brains ever could. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I’m afraid my legal counsel has advised me against answering that question.”

His lips thinned. Obviously he hadn’t liked her remark. Not her problem. Despite what most guys seemed to hope, she hadn’t been put on this earth for the sole reason of making men happy. Oh, she knew what they wanted from her. For her to lie on her back and make their little hearts flutter.

They could just keep wanting.

Because while she had no qualms about using their desire for her, their attraction to her against them if it suited her purpose, she didn’t sleep around. Never had.

But that hadn’t stopped the rumors in high school from circulating. Hadn’t stopped men from hitting on her, from trying to charm her into their beds even when she’d worn another man’s ring.

He didn’t seem the least bit affected by her charms. But she’d felt the heat arc between them when their eyes had first met. He wasn’t as immune to her as he’d like her to believe.

As for her, well, sure she’d felt a slight…zing…upon first seeing him. She was only human after all and he was tall, broad-shouldered and blond, his handsome face sharply planed, his bottom lip thicker than the top.

Then again, she felt the same zing when she saw a picture of a shirtless David Beckham so she wasn’t about to take any reaction to the detective’s good looks seriously.

“I’d like to ask you all some questions regarding your whereabouts the night Dale York died,” Bertrand said.

“None of us are answering any questions without legal counsel present,” Nora said, standing and staring down the enigmatic detective as if she could put a chink in his armor with just the force of her will.

God bless her little sister’s confidence but Tori could’ve told her not to bother. Someone like Bertrand couldn’t be intimidated. No, if a woman wanted to get underneath the detective’s steely exterior, shake that air of superiority he wore as easily as his dark, expensive-looking suit, she had to be clever. Manipulative.

She had to be willing to use her body, her looks, to get what she wanted. Like their mother. Like Tori.

“That’s fine,” Bertrand told Nora as if he expected no less than them all dragging attorneys in here before saying another word. “I’d like to set up times to speak with you all—individually.”

“Divide and conquer, eh?” Tori asked.

He slid an unreadable glance her way.

“My secretary can set up interview times,” Ross said, straightening.

“Griffin has to get back to work,” Nora blurted, her fingers twisting together.

Griffin, in the act of getting to his feet, stilled. “I do?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes on his. “Yes. You do. You have that car coming in at ten for that thing. Remember?”

Griffin may be sex on a stick, but he wasn’t dumb. Then again, a blind person could see what Nora was pulling. “Right,” Griffin said. “The car with the thing. Important customer.”

“Yes,” Nora said in a rush. “Very important.” She blinked innocently at Bertrand—no one did innocent like Nora. “Do you think Griffin could set up his interview time first?”

Before Bertrand could call her on her bullshit, Ross stepped in. “After we’ve set up Mr. York’s interview, I’ll show you to the office you can use while you’re here,” he told Bertrand.

The detective looked ready to argue but Griffin was already walking away. They all watched him leave and Ross crossed to the door, stopped and sent Bertrand a raised brow look.

Bertrand nodded stiffly at Tori and her sisters. He had to be pissed, but he gave nothing away, kept his expression clear, his movements easy as he joined Ross.

She wrapped her arms around herself, chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully as she watched his back. A man who could hide his emotions so well was dangerous. Best to keep that in mind.

“What the hell was that about?” Layne asked Nora after the door closed behind the cops.

“I wanted to talk to you both alone.”

“Next time,” Tori said, “just hold up a sign saying Trying to Get Rid of You! It would’ve been more subtle.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Nora turned to Layne. “Okay, no bull, no sugarcoating, just give us the truth, the unequivocal truth. How bad is it?”

Layne swallowed and wiped her palms down the front of her uniform. “It’s bad. But nothing I can’t handle,” she added quickly.

Tori’s stomach dropped. Layne was worried. Scared. Neither of which Tori was used to seeing on her sister’s face. Couldn’t say she liked seeing them now.

“How bad is ‘bad’?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

“Ross and I are suspended,” she said, as if forcing the words out.

“What?” Nora slapped her hands onto her hips, her cheeks flush with anger. “The mayor suspended you? What is he thinking?”

Layne took the band from around her hair and slid it onto her wrist, then combed her fingers through the long strands, her movements jerky and agitated. “He’s thinking there are questions that need to be answered. Charges of wrongdoing that need to be investigated.”

Tori shook her head. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Layne always played by the rules. Plus she’d never do anything to jeopardize the career she loved so much.

“Neither one of us did anything wrong.” Layne smoothed her hair back, wrapped the band around it again before letting her arms drop to her sides. “But it doesn’t look good,” she admitted flatly as if she didn’t care her entire life was blowing up in front of her. Tori knew better. “It looks like Ross and I used our positions to cover up facts about Dale’s death—even though we didn’t know he was murdered until an hour ago.”

“Why bring in someone?” Tori asked. “Why not let another officer from Mystic Point investigate Dale’s murder? Someone from the county to look into the accusations against you and Ross?”

Layne shook her head but it was Nora who answered. “Too big a risk of an investigator from the county having a connection to someone here. Plus, it’s no secret Jack Pomeroy and Uncle Kenny are good friends. Pomeroy even worked under Ken when he was D.A.”

“It’s better this way,” Layne said, somehow sounding as if she really meant it. “There will be no questions about the validity of the investigation when our names are cleared.”

Okay, Tori could understand that. But it didn’t mean she had to be happy that Bertrand was going to be around for a while, dredging up the past when she’d finally thought they could all move forward.

“What can we do to help?” Tori asked.

Gratitude entered Layne’s hazel eyes, softened her expression. “Just cooperate with Bertrand. Tell the truth.”

“I don’t trust him,” Nora said, her arms crossed, her shoulders hunched. “You heard what he said. He thinks one of us killed Dale.”

“It’s his job to suspect everyone.” Layne’s soothing tone couldn’t disguise the apprehension beneath her words. “But we have nothing to hide so we have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, we may have nothing to hide,” Tori said, “but what about Griffin?”

Nora whirled on her. “Don’t. Start.”

“Griffin was with Nora the night Dale died,” Layne pointed out, all logical and coplike. “But Tori’s right, he’s going to be looked at,” she told Nora. “We’re all going to be looked at—even Ross because of his relationship with me. We all had motive for wanting Dale dead.”

Nora went white. Swayed. Tori held her arm, ready to catch her in case she passed out. “Hey, you okay? Honey, you don’t look so good. Sit down.”

Nora shook her off, stumbled a few feet away. Her eyes were wide and bleak, her lips trembling. “No. Thanks, I’m fine, I’m just… It’s all…crazy. I just…I have to go.”

“What?” Tori watched, her mouth open, as Nora grabbed her purse and jacket.

Layne reached out to their younger sister. “Nora—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away from them both, her purse clutched to her chest. “I’m really sorry.”

Nora slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Tori turned to Layne. “We need to hold an intervention. Your place or mine?”

“An intervention for what?”

“To get Nora to tell us what’s going on with her. She’s obviously keeping something from us.”

“I know, but she’ll come to us when she’s ready.”

Tori wasn’t so sure. What if they lost her? “You don’t think whatever it is it has anything to do with Dale’s death. Do you?”

“Of course not. And that’s just what Bertrand wants. Us doubting each other, turning against each other.”

“You cops are a sneaky breed, you know that?”

“Look, I don’t know much about Bertrand but if he works for the A.G.’s office, it means he’s good. Really good. We have to be careful.” She searched Tori’s eyes. “We have to be able to trust each other and count on each other no matter what happens. We have to stick together. It’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

Like they’d done when their mom disappeared and so many other times. No matter the differences between them, her love for her sisters, her commitment to them, was a blessing. And a burden. And she couldn’t break free.

“No matter what,” Tori repeated, squeezing Layne’s hand. “Together.”

* * *

WALKER’S GAZE SWEPT the Ludlow Street Café’s dining room as he headed toward a booth in the back. Busy place. Busier than he would’ve thought given that it was midafternoon on a Tuesday. Then again, his quick research told him it did a brisk business, one that increased during the summer months when tourists came in droves to the small town.

Sliding into the booth so that he faced the door, he noted the other two visible exits before he turned his coffee cup over. He inspected it and, finding no lipstick smudges, set it on the saucer and waited.

He tapped his fingers against the top of the table. Searched the room again. Rolled his shoulders back and finally gave in and took off his suit coat and laid it on the seat next to him. Christ, but he hated waiting. Much preferred doing to sitting, though so far today he’d done a hell of a lot of the latter.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be patient when need be. It took time to gather evidence, to sift through facts and unearth the truth. That’s what he’d done for the past four hours. Read reports—thoroughly, patiently—anything and everything that had to do with Valerie Sullivan’s disappearance and Dale York’s background. Dale’s criminal record alone had taken up almost an hour of Walker’s time, encompassing the years from when Dale legally became an adult until he, too, disappeared from Mystic Point eighteen years ago.

Now it was time to move this investigation into the opening stages.

“Well, hello there, Detective.”

Cursing himself for letting her sneak up on him, Walker looked up and met Tori’s eyes. Her lips were curved in a flirtatious smile, a coffeepot in her hand. His stomach did one slow roll even as his instincts kicked in—the ones telling him he was ass-deep in trouble.

“Mrs. Mott,” he said, keeping his tone polite and formal.

“Don’t tell me, you were passing by, minding your business, when you heard one of our famous doughnuts calling your name?”

He liked her voice. The sound of it, all husky and inviting and sexy. The thought, unbidden and unwanted, floated into his brain. He pushed it back out.

“Actually I was hoping to run into you.”

She leaned forward to pour coffee into his cup. Her shirt gaped slightly, giving him an enticing view of creamy skin and the soft swell of her breast. She straightened and he jerked his gaze down to the table. But not before catching sight of the humor lighting her eyes.

She was laughing at him. No doubt she thought he was just another man to be crushed under one of her skyscraper heels.

“Were you, now?” she asked. “And why is that?”

He sipped the coffee to ease the dryness of his throat, realized it was better than expected and took another, longer drink. Just because she was sexy enough to make a man’s hands sweat didn’t mean he had to fall all over himself like some goddamn horny teenager.

It was clear she was used to calling the shots. So was he.

Whether personal or professional, he preferred relationships where he was in charge. Where he was the one to walk away.

He had a feeling no man walked away from her.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” he said.

She shifted her weight to her left leg, causing the material of her skirt to stretch across her hips. “And here I thought that was why we set up my interview. Friday afternoon at three forty-five if I’m not mistaken.”

He could be patient, he reminded himself. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t do whatever it took to hurry up the process. “I’m free now,” he said mildly.

“Well, isn’t that convenient, you coming into this restaurant and sitting in my booth five minutes before my shift ends?”

Walker met her eyes, kept his hands still, didn’t want anything to give him away. “Yes. Very convenient.”

She made a sound, sort of a hum, then she smiled slowly. “Can I get you something to go with your coffee?”

The scents of grilled meat and French fries reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, made his mouth water. But he wouldn’t order food from her, wouldn’t eat in front of her. He couldn’t. If they’d been at the police station, he’d never pull out a sandwich and bite into it during an interview.

And that’s what this was. Just another interview, a way for him to get information out of her. Not some chummy lunch date. No matter how hungry he was.

“I’m good,” he said, lifting his cup for another sip. “Thanks.”

“Let me just put this down and we’ll have ourselves a nice little chat, hmm?”

He watched her walk away. What living, breathing, heterosexual man wouldn’t? Returning a few minutes later, she slid into the seat across from him and set down a bottle of water and a plate with a thick slice of apple pie.

“I hope you don’t mind if I eat while you interrogate me,” she said, unwrapping a napkin from around a set of silverware. “I skipped lunch.”

“This isn’t an interrogation.”

Tori raised her eyebrows, used her fork to break off the point of the pie, releasing the scents of cooked apples and cinnamon. “Isn’t it?”

“Just a few questions.”

“I’m going to be in big trouble, you know,” she told him in that throaty voice of hers right before she slid the bite of pie into her mouth, her glossy red lips wrapping around the fork.

He narrowed his eyes. In trouble? She was trouble. The kind most men had a hard time resisting.

Luckily he wasn’t most men.

“Why would you be in trouble?” he asked.

“Talking to you without a lawyer present?” She shook her head, forked up another bite. “My sisters aren’t going to be too happy with me.”

“That happen often? Your sisters being unhappy with you?”

She sipped her water, eyed him over the top of the bottle. “More often than not.”

That, at least, had the ring of truth to it. But if it bothered her, he couldn’t tell. Which only pissed him off. He read people for a living but with her, he was at a loss. And that made her dangerous. Intriguing.

He drank more coffee to hide his frown. No, not intriguing. She was a means to an end, that was all. The weak link in this case, the one person he figured he had a good shot of using to catch a break in his investigation.

He wouldn’t get far with either Chief Taylor or Layne Sullivan—they were both cops, from all accounts good ones. Or at least they had been before they’d started sleeping together, raising suspicions they had let their personal feelings get in the way of their professional ethics. Nora Sullivan had graduated at the top of her class in law school, was smart and savvier than her angelic looks indicated. Her boyfriend, Griffin York, had been through the system himself as a teenager.

Walker chose Tori because she didn’t know the legal system, not like her sisters. Because he’d guessed she was stubborn enough, arrogant enough, not to listen to her sisters’ warnings about keeping her mouth shut.

She was all flash, no substance, and he wouldn’t have to dig far to get to what was inside of her. She was obvious. Fake. He had no use for her, or her… What had her sister called it?

Her sex kitten act.

No, he had no use and little respect for women like her, who used their looks and their bodies to get what they wanted. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow underestimated her.

Shaking his head, he cleared that crazy thought right out of his mind.

“I have four sisters,” he said, trying to draw her out, ease her into trusting him.

“Four? You have my sympathy.”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“I find that hard to believe. We don’t have a brother but we did torment our younger cousin. When he was little, we used to dress him up in our old clothes, shoes, the works. I think there were even a few times when Nora and his sister put makeup on him and did his nails. Bright pink polish.”

Walker worked to hide a wince. “No painted nails.” At least not that he can remember—thank God. Though there was no way he was telling her about the time Leslie and Kelly, his older sisters, dressed him as Goldilocks for Halloween. Complete with curled hair. “Your cousin, that’s Anthony Sullivan, correct?”

Her hesitation was slight, her gaze thoughtful. “It is. Luckily he turned out okay. So far, anyway.” Her gaze drifted over Walker. “Seems like you turned out all right yourself.”

“So far,” he repeated solemnly.

Her lips twitched and he wondered what it would be like to see her smile. A real smile, not one of the practiced ones she shared so readily.

He cleared his throat. Rotated his coffee cup. “I’m grateful to have had my sisters, actually. They taught me a lot about how females think.”

Tori laughed, the husky, sexy sound washing over him, scraping against his nerve endings.

“I don’t doubt you learned quite a bit about the female psyche during your formative years, but don’t go deluding yourself, Detective.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “No man knows what women think unless a woman wants him to know.”

Then she winked at him, eased back and took another bite of pie.

And he felt as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four.

Damn, but she was good. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I learned that sisters are always arguing. Someone was always mad at someone else, usually two or three against one but every once in a while they’d all just be pissed at each other.”

Finished with her pie, Tori slid the plate away and took a sip of water. “Yes, sisters fight. They argue, yell and hold grudges. But the best part about sisters is no matter what’s been said, the names been called or threats made, if they truly love each other, sisters always have each other’s backs. And that’s despite all the crap, the envy and sibling rivalry, despite knowing each other their entire lives and seeing each other at their best and worst. So if your grand plan here is to create some sort of rift between me and my sisters, don’t bother. We’ve managed that rift all on our own.”

Her eyes glittered, her mouth a thin line. Walker couldn’t help but think this was the first honest reaction he’d seen from her. Unlike her flirting and coy smiles, this—her anger and frustration—was real.

And more appealing than he would’ve liked.

“But it doesn’t matter,” she continued. “Because when it comes to the Sullivan sisters, it’s always been us against them.” Her eyes met his and he noted the truth in them, the challenge. “And that’s how it’ll stay.”

* * *

TORI FORCED HERSELF to sit back, to lower her hands to her lap so Bertrand couldn’t see how her fingers curled. At least she wasn’t the only one whose control had slipped. He looked ready to chew up his coffee cup, his eyebrows drawn, his shoulders rigid. Yet he still gave off a superior air, as if he was better than her, more capable of winning this game they were playing. As if he was so much smarter than her.

He judged her. And found her lacking. She wanted to climb onto the table, loosen his neatly knotted tie, run her fingers through his hair and muss him up, just to prove he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he’d like her to believe.

To prove to them both he was like every other man she’d ever known—easily swayed by a pretty face. Men who only looked skin-deep so that’s all she gave them.

All they deserved.

“Mrs. Mott, I can assure you it was not my intention to try to create problems between you and your sisters,” the good detective said in that way that made him sound as if he was sitting on something rather uncomfortable.

Tori exhaled softly, worked up a small grin, felt her heart rate slow, her anger cool. “Wasn’t it?” And if she believed that, she was an even bigger fool than he thought. “Well, then, let’s just say my advice still stands. In case you change your mind and start thinking you can get me to turn against my sisters.” She twisted the cap back onto her empty water bottle, waved at Sandy, one of the waitresses working the afternoon shift, then started sliding out of the booth. “If that’s all—”

“It’s not.” He indicated the seat.

One foot out of the booth, she stilled. Her fingers tightened on the bottle. She didn’t take well to being told what to do, not even silently. But she’d agreed to speak with him here, on her own instead of having every word she uttered vetted by some lawyer Layne and Nora had chosen, because she had nothing to hide. At least, nothing that had to do with his investigation.

She sat back, stretched her arm across the back of the booth, inhaled deeply and arched her back ever-so-subtly.

His gaze dipped—just for a second—to her breasts.

Looked like he was human after all.

She ignored the way her heart pounded, how her skin warmed from his quick glance. “I’m all yours, Detective Bertrand.”

His eyes stayed flat and so cool she shivered.

“Somehow,” he murmured, “I doubt that.”