Читать книгу Unraveling the Past - Beth Andrews - Страница 12

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.”