She’s on a mission to get out—not get involved

Single mom Tori Sullivan is ready to grab the life she’s always wanted—away from Mystic Point. And initially, newcomer Walker Bertrand seems the ideal partner for her adventure. His appeal makes a girl fantasize about happily-ever-after. That is, until it’s clear this lawman’s strict moral code collides with her knack for bending the rules. Add in his investigation of her sister and that should be a warning that he’s not Tori’s fairy-tale ending, or her ticket out of town.

Yet, Walker seems bent on getting to the bottom of her secrets—something no one has tried to do in a long time. That he wants to know the real Tori, makes resisting him impossible. But being with Walker could be the one thing that holds her here.

There was no good reason to get involved with Tori

Walker knew there was no reason to let her get to him, to believe there could be something between them and a million reasons why he shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t dream about her.

She was caustic and guarded and fake.

She was beautiful and smart and more caring than even she realized.

Hell.

He edged closer. She didn’t back up, didn’t move closer. She simply watched him, that coy half-smile of hers playing on her lips. “Did you want something, Detective?” she asked, all cocky and confident and challenging.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, sliding his hand behind her neck to hold her head. Tugged her hair so her face tipped toward him. Her eyes flashed and widened, her hands went to his chest, laid there, not pushing or pulling, just heating his skin. “I want something.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up a copy of In this Town, the final book in The Truth about the Sullivans trilogy. It’s never easy to say goodbye, and I have to admit that after spending the past year writing about Mystic Point, I’ll miss these characters. While it wasn’t always smooth sailing, I had a great time with the Sullivan sisters as they learned the truth about the past and found hope and love for brighter futures.

But In this Town isn’t just the third book of a trilogy, it’s also my tenth book for Harlequin Superromance!

Wow. Ten books. I can hardly believe it.

It truly is a dream come true, one born years ago when I was a young, stay-at-home mother. Honestly, the idea of writing romances for Harlequin Books hit me out of the blue but when it did, it took hold with an intensity unlike anything I’d ever known.

I wanted to be a writer. That was it. A simple declaration but one that changed the course of my life. Now I’m living that dream but I couldn’t have done it without the support of my family and readers.

So I want to thank you for your part in making my dream come true. Thank you for reading my stories, for sharing in the beliefs that love should be celebrated and that there’s nothing better than a happy ending.

Please visit my website, www.bethandrews.net or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net or P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701. I’d love to hear from you.

Happy reading!

Beth Andrews

In This Town

Beth Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews’s big dream came true when she sold her first book to Harlequin Superromance. Beth and her two teenage daughters outnumber…oops…live with her husband in Northwestern Pennsylvania. When not writing, Beth can be found texting her son at college, video-chatting with her son at college or, her son’s favorite, sending him money. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.bethandrews.net.

To Andy.

Thanks for being my biggest fan.

Acknowledgments

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

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

MASSACHUSETTS STATE POLICE detective Walker Bertrand shifted in the hard seat and drummed his fingers on his thigh. He’d been in the small, coastal tourist trap of Mystic Point for all of forty minutes, the past thirty of those spent in this chair while the district attorney and mayor did their best to tactfully explain to the police chief and his assistant chief why they were in a shitload of trouble.

Though Walker was certain explanations weren’t necessary. Ross Taylor and Layne Sullivan had to know that sleeping together would cause them problems. If not, they deserved to have their badges taken away from them.

Walker leaned forward, let his hands dangle loosely between his knees while silently urging Jack Pomeroy, the long-winded D.A., to wind things the hell up so Walker could get to work. Finally, and with a great deal of reluctance and regret on his puffy face, Pomeroy handed Chief Taylor a paper.

Taylor’s expression remained impassive as he read the allegations against him and Sullivan. To Walker’s right, Mayor Seagren looked as if he’d rather perform dental surgery on himself—minus Novocain—than be the bearer of bad news to his two highest ranking police officers.

Walker let his gaze slide over Assistant Chief Layne Sullivan.

Women were a mystery, one of life’s greatest. But being the only son in a family with four daughters gave Walker a certain edge. He’d been surrounded by females since birth, after all. He understood them. Knew how they worked and could easily read their moods, gauge their thoughts.

Not that he needed a PhD in the psychology of women to know Sullivan’s mood was hostile, her thoughts contemplating murder.

His murder.

Waves of animosity rolled off her, battered Walker with resentment and anger. She didn’t want him here. Not in her town. Not sitting across from the chief in her police department. Not sticking his nose into her professional life and career.

Life was tough that way.

Being a cop meant he often went where he wasn’t wanted.

He didn’t take it personally.

Walker stretched his legs out in front of him and met Sullivan’s heated gaze with a bland one of his own—which only seemed to piss her off more.

“If you fire Chief Taylor,” she said to the mayor, her long, lean body practically vibrating with outrage, her fisted hands on her hips, “then I quit.”

A passionate response, though a bit predictable for his tastes. Had it been brought on by respect for her boss, the man who—from all accounts—had won the position she’d wanted for herself? Devotion to the man she was sleeping with? Or loyalty to her partner in crime?

Taylor set down the paper. “They’re not firing me.”

Not yet.

Maybe not at all. But everyone in the room knew it was a distinct possibility.

“Any matters regarding termination of employment are up to Mystic Point’s city council and mayor,” Pomeroy pointed out. “Not me or Detective Bertrand.”

Sullivan jerked her head in Walker’s direction. “Then why is he here?”

“I’m here to help,” he said easily.

He was there to get to the truth.

Working for the state attorney general’s office, Walker was often tasked with investigating alleged wrongdoings in local government. City council members and mayors and police chiefs who abused their power or took bribes. Police departments accused of everything from cover-ups and mishandled cases to illegally obtaining evidence.

Most cops considered him the enemy. A traitor to the brotherhood, one who tore through the Blue Line and turned his back on his comrades in arms so he’d get promoted, maybe receive a few accolades as he climbed higher and higher in his career.

They could think whatever they wanted. Walker knew he was part of the system, a valuable part that helped maintain a balance. That rid the ranks of dirty cops and politicians. He dug for the truth, a messy, time-consuming, often thankless job.

He was damned good at it.

Sullivan bared her teeth and he wouldn’t be surprised if she leaped at him and took a big chunk out of his hide. “We don’t need your help.”

“The D.A. thinks you do,” William Seagren said, the bald spot on his crown shiny with sweat.

“This is ridiculous,” Sullivan snapped. “Ross didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then he has nothing to worry about,” Walker said before Seagren could respond.

Sullivan snorted. “Nothing except the fact that an investigation like this could ruin his reputation, not to mention have an adverse effect on how he’s viewed by the officers under his command and the community. They’ll question his capabilities, his ethics and morals.”

She was passionate, Walker would give her that. And, if he was being honest, he could see what had tempted Taylor into pursuing a sexual relationship with her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of her back, her features sharp. The uniform she wore accentuated the curves of her hips, her breasts.

Yeah, she was a looker. But Taylor should’ve had more restraint. More control.

Walker would have.

“Maybe Chief Taylor should’ve considered the consequences before he became personally involved with one of those officers under his command,” Walker said, then casually touched the top of his head, just in case the laserlike glare she shot his way had ignited his hair on fire.

Mayor Seagren cleared his throat. “Now, Layne, surely you can understand why we have to look into this matter.”

“Understand that you’re accusing us of—” she grabbed the paper Chief Taylor had set down and skimmed it “—neglect of duty and ethical violations and…corruption?” Her eyes wide, she crumpled the edge of the paper in her fist. “God, Billy, that’s a felony.”

“So is conspiracy to obstruct justice,” Walker pointed out, tired of the bullshit. Of how Pomeroy and Seagren coddled these two. This was why he’d been brought in, because no one in the county could be trusted to do the job. To remain impartial. To not get personally involved with these people, with this town.

“I’m here,” Walker told Sullivan in what he thought was a highly reasonable tone. “There’s going to be an investigation—nothing will change that so you might as well accept it. And you might want to start worrying less about your supervisor and more about how this investigation is going to affect you and your career.”

She growled at him. The woman actually growled.

“Captain,” the chief said mildly. Admonishingly.

Her expression didn’t soften and there was no sign his quiet censure affected her in the least but after sending Walker one more of her “Burn in hell!” looks, Sullivan walked to the wall next to the desk, leaned back and stared straight ahead.

Interesting. Not just her acquiescence, but the entire interaction between her and Taylor. Nothing in their body language gave away the fact that they were lovers. There were no touches, no fleeting, longing glances. Taylor had even addressed her by rank, instead of her name. The smart choice given the circumstances and Walker’s presence.

Then again, maybe the chief and captain always maintained a certain propriety while at work, foolishly believing they could keep their professional and personal lives separate.

They couldn’t. No one could. Sex changed things. Emotions clouded good judgment. Private fights, hurt feelings, even the rush of the good times and the pull of desire eventually leaked out of the bedroom and into the office. Tensions built, resentment simmered within the ranks of the department, causing low morale, bitterness and accusations.

Walker would determine whether those accusations were based on fact, fiction or something in between.

“How does this work?” Taylor asked in his Boston accent. There was no visible anger, no worry in his eyes. His tone was calm, his shoulders relaxed. As if he had nothing to hide, had done nothing wrong despite the evidence to the contrary.

If Walker had been the type of cop to go with his gut, he might believe Taylor was sincere. As honest and honorable as his record with the Boston P.D. indicated.

Instincts were all well and good, and Walker didn’t discount his, but neither did he put all his faith in them, either. He trusted his head, not some nebulous feeling. He gathered the facts, saw his cases from every angle, analyzed everyone and everything and then, and only then, did he come to a conclusion.

Pomeroy shifted forward, his tie caught on the shelf of his round stomach. “Detective Bertrand is in charge of seeing if the accusations against you both have merit.”

“Until he completes that investigation,” Mayor Seagren said, “you will be placed on administrative leave—”

Sullivan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Nazi witch hunt” but Walker couldn’t be sure.

“With pay,” the mayor continued. “Meade will take over in the interim.”

“Meade’s a good choice.” Taylor faced Walker. “You can expect our full cooperation. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

“Of course,” she said as if that never should have even been in doubt despite her obviously wanting to rip out his still-beating heart and chuck it out the window.

Mayor Seagren stood. “Before we get to the rest—”

“There’s more?” Sullivan asked incredulously.

“I just want to state for the record that I fully expect Detective Bertrand’s investigation to discover the allegations against you both to be completely unfounded.”

“They will be,” Taylor said as if anything less was not only unacceptable but unfathomable.

Sullivan shoved away from the wall, offended and irritated. Then again, that seemed to be her standard expression. “Since we’re going on record, I’d like to say that this is a complete waste of time. Chief Taylor and I have done nothing wrong.”

Taylor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Captain Sullivan—”

“No. I will not stand here with my thumbs up my ass while our reputations are dragged through the mud and our ethics questioned.” She began to pace, her long legs eating up the short distance of the office, her ponytail swinging behind her. “We did everything by the book. Everything. And now, months after we reported our personal relationship—as per MPPD’s regulations—there are suddenly questions about how we conduct ourselves and do our jobs? It’s bullshit.”

“Just because there are no departmental rules forbidding relationships within the Mystic Point police department,” Walker said, “doesn’t mean that getting…personal…with your superior officer was a good idea.”

She stepped toward him. “You are seriously starting to piss me off.”

Walker held her gaze. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to add an assault charge to that list of allegations.”

Her grin was cocky with a healthy dose of mean tossed in. “Want to bet? And the next time you address me, make sure you do so properly. Do you understand me, Detective?”

She was pulling rank on him. He couldn’t help but admire her for it.

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” He paused long enough to let her know he couldn’t be intimidated. “Captain.”

Taylor stood. “We’ll leave our badges and service weapons with Lieutenant Meade.”

Pomeroy grunted as he got to his feet. “Before you do, there’s one more thing....”

He nodded at Walker, who reached for the envelope pressed between the arm of the chair and his side, and handed it to Taylor. The chief’s hesitation was so slight, most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

Walker wasn’t most people.

Taylor read the report, his expression darkening, the first sign of emotion he’d shown since being told his professional life was under scrutiny.

Sullivan crossed over to him. “What is it?”

He handed the paperwork to her. Walker had to give her credit, she didn’t give anything away. No shock crossed her face.

No guilt.

“How did you get a hold of this?” Taylor asked, his voice gruff. Demanding. “This report should’ve been sent directly to me.”

“Considering the accusations against you and Captain Sullivan,” Pomeroy said, “I thought it best to have it sent to my office first. And, due to the findings of those reports, the district attorney’s office, along with the state attorney general, think it’d be best if the investigation into Dale York’s death was handled by someone outside the Mystic Point police department.”

“That’s right,” Walker said, in response to the way Taylor’s mouth flattened, the horror in Sullivan’s eyes. He grinned. “I’m taking over.”

* * *

FUNNY TO THINK that once upon a time, Tori Mott had actually believed in fairy tales. Oh, not the ones about glass slippers or mermaids who longed to be human. And don’t even try to tell her that when a beautiful girl shows up at the house of seven miniature men all they want from her is to cook and clean while she sings to a bunch of woodland animals.

Please. Men, no matter their height, all wanted the same thing and there was nothing G-rated about it.

She also never bought into the idea that some handsome prince would ride up and carry her off, far from a mundane life of endless toil. No, Tori used to believe something much more dangerous, much more insidious than poisoned apples and ravenous, transvestite wolves who liked girls in red hoods.

She’d actually bought into the idea that she could escape her small hometown, could go somewhere far away from the rumors, the envy and resentment and, worst of all, the pity she’d lived with her entire life. That she could make her dreams, all her big plans, come true. And that finally, she’d achieve the greatest lie of them all.

A happy ending.

Talk about delusional, Tori thought as she wove her way between tables in the Ludlow Street Café’s dining room. Nothing like life coming along and giving some poor fool dreamer a sharp smack upside the head to knock some much needed sense into her. Getting pregnant at eighteen did that for her. Made her realize that sure, sometimes dreams did come true.

Just not for her.

So she’d stopped wishing and hoping for spectacular and had settled for average. Which had turned out to be a good life.

If good didn’t quite live up to the expectations she’d built for her future when she’d been a teenager, she had no one to blame but herself.

“Here you go,” she said to Mr. Jeffries as she set his usual breakfast—two eggs over easy, white toast and three slices of bacon—in front of him. “Can I get you anything else?”

“More coffee when you get a chance, dear,” he said, smiling at her as innocently as a baby.

The smile, combined with the fact that he looked like a harmless grandfather with his round cheeks, ill-advised comb-over and a seemingly endless supply of blindingly bright bow ties, hid that he was a groper.

Tori wouldn’t have minded if he’d been a better tipper. Or if he had roaming hands with some of the other above-legal-age waitresses at the café. But nope. She, and only she, was lucky enough to get what he deemed a love tap—but was actually more of a hopeful squeeze.

So when she caught sight of his age-spotted hand heading her way, she neatly sidestepped. “No problem. I’ll be back in a second with that coffee,” she said, making sure to sound pleasant and courteous.

Then, because for all his faults, Mr. Jeffries was a regular customer and only a minor nuisance, she amped up the usual amount of wiggle to her hips as she walked away. Just to give him something to look at.

Young, old or in between, men all liked to look. But only she decided who got to touch.

She grabbed the coffeepot and refilled Mr. Jeffries’s cup, leaving another handful of creamers at his table since he always pocketed several before he went home. Half the café’s tables and booths were filled, voices and the occasional laugh mixing with the sounds of silverware scraping plates, of dishes being cleared. The air smelled of strong coffee, toasted bread, bacon and deep fried potatoes, the odors clinging to her hair, the tiny particles of grease permeating her clothes, her skin. By the end of her nine-hour shift, she’d smell like a walking, talking French fry.

The joys of working in the food industry. Smelly clothes, greasy hair and tired, aching feet. But it was the only thing she’d ever known, as she’d been waiting tables here for the past fifteen years. Fifteen years. Literally half her life.

She wasn’t sure whether to be proud she’d stuck with something for so long…

Or depressed as hell.

She exhaled heavily as if she could blow away the tension that question caused. No sense being either. This was her job, her life.

But…God…what if? What if something more, something different was possible?

The thought, the mere idea of leaving Mystic Point, of finally going after the life she’d always wanted, was exhilarating. Empowering.

Scary as hell.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her out of the crazy fantasy of ever leaving Mystic Point. The back door to the café opened and Nora Sullivan stepped into the narrow hallway as Tori checked her phone. Great. Layne was calling. Again. She glanced at Nora.

Stuck between her sisters. The curse of being the middle child.

She clicked Ignore©on her phone and faced Nora. “Well, hello there, stranger,” Tori said, her own black skirt feeling too short, too tight compared to her sister’s orange dress, the hem of which skimmed just above Nora’s knees. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

If Nora noted the censure in Tori’s tone, the light accusation, it didn’t show in her easy smile or blue eyes.

When had her baby sister become so adept at camouflaging her feelings? Or maybe Tori had just lost her ability to read her? Neither thought sat well.

“Good morning,” Nora said cheerfully, as if they’d last seen each other yesterday instead of two weeks ago. As if nothing was wrong.

Tori knew better.

She tossed the old grounds from the coffeepot into the garbage. “It’s a little early to be so chipper. Even for you.”

That was Nora’s thing. Being bright and sunny and optimistic. Hey, whatever got her gears grinding, but honestly, just the thought of being that freaking merry all the time gave Tori a headache.

“Did Layne get a hold of you?” Nora asked, smoothing a hand over her blond hair.

God forbid even a single strand try to escape the tight twist she insisted was professional-looking but was really an affront to stylish hairstyles everywhere.

“She wants us to meet her at the station.”

“I know, she told me. Three times.”

Waving at someone in the dining room, Nora scrunched up her nose. “She called me twice and sent four text messages. She’s nothing if not persistent.”

“Yeah, persistent. Demanding. Bossy. Annoying—my personal favorite. And for the love of God, don’t do that thing with your nose,” Tori continued, adding fresh grounds to the pot. “You look like a rabid bunny ready to tear the heads off innocent children.”

“Please, I’m adorable and you know it.”

“True. But the problem is that you know it. Layne and I shouldn’t have told you you were pretty so often when you were little. We created a monster.”

Nora waved that away. “You created a self-assured, confident, independent woman, but that’s neither here nor there,” she said, sounding like the attorney she was. “What is here and there is that we need to get going or we’ll be late. You can ride with me and Griffin.”

“I won’t be anything,” Tori said, rinsing the coffeepot before filling it with chilled, distilled water, “because I’m not going.”

Nora stared at her as if she’d suddenly declared she was going to shave off her eyebrows. “Of course you’re going.”

“Why? Because Layne wants me to? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working and I will continue to work until my shift ends at two. I’m not about to drop what I’m doing, leave Celeste in a bind and abandon my customers and coworkers just because my older sister decrees it.”

Layne wasn’t the boss of her. A fact her older sister didn’t seem to be aware of.

Tori hated that Layne demanded she drop everything whenever the whim hit her. Tori may not be the assistant chief of police like Layne or an attorney like Nora, but she had a job, one she took seriously. One she couldn’t afford to be away from—literally. Ever since her divorce, she’d barely been able to make ends meet.

No one told her the price of freedom would be so damn high.

“I don’t think Layne would’ve asked you to leave work if she didn’t feel it was important,” Nora said, proving that, despite her angelic face, she could be as stubborn as her sisters. “So, come on.” She clapped her hands lightly, her tone high-pitched as if she was calling a hesitant puppy. If she whistled, Tori might have to hurt her. “Let’s go.”

Tori turned on the machine. “Look, don’t think you can avoid me for weeks—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nora said, her arms crossed, her cheeks pink.

“—and then waltz in here and make demands. I’m not going. Deal with it.”

“First of all,” Nora said, hurrying after Tori as she walked toward the other side of the restaurant, “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

Tori stepped into the large alcove separating the dining room from the kitchen. “Ever since you started sleeping with Griffin York you’ve barely been around. Does he keep you chained to the bed?”

Sharon Cameron’s booming laugh drowned out whatever Nora had been about to say. “He could chain me to the bed,” Sharon said. “I’d even bring my own restraints.”

“Not helping,” Tori called to her coworker as Sharon took several place settings back into the dining room.

Patty Tarcher, a rotund, gray-haired, sixty-year-old grandmother of ten set food-laden plates from the order window onto a tray. “I say enjoy it while you can,” Patty told Nora. “Once they hit fifty, men’s libidos drop like a rock in the ocean. Never to be seen again.” Balancing the tray with one hand, she snagged an extra set of silverware off the long table behind them and peered over the top of her glasses at the sisters. “That’s why God invented those little blue pills. Things are magic, I tell you. Pure magic.”

“Way more information than anyone ever needed to know,” Tori said.

“Thanks, Patty, but Griffin’s and my relationship isn’t based solely on sex,” Nora said, humor underlying her prim tone.

Patty frowned. “Now that’s a shame. Those are the best kind.”

Tori and Nora watched Patty leave. “Oh, my God,” Tori breathed. “I’m going to need to scrub my brain to get rid of the image of Patty and Stan putting that little blue pill to use.”

Nora’s lips twitched. “Isn’t Stan the guy who plays Santa at the annual Christmas party?”

“Ugh. Stop. Now I’m imagining him dressed as a jolly old elf.” At Nora’s laugh, Tori grinned. “I miss you, baby girl.”

For some reason, that comment made Nora look guilty. Tori’s eyes narrowed. No doubt about it, something was going on—she just had no idea what. But she was sure whatever it was, Griffin was to blame.

“I miss you, too,” Nora said, rearranging the stack of wrapped silverware. “I’ve just been busy—”

“Tori,” Celeste Vitello, the café’s owner, called from the other side of the window. “Order up.”

“Busy,” Tori repeated, placing plates onto a tray. “Right. Too busy for your family.”

Nora sighed. “You know it’s not that way between me and Griffin, right?”

“Not what way?”

“Just sex.”

That was Nora’s first problem. She should keep whatever was between her and Griffin purely physical. Keep her heart out of it. “Does it matter?” she asked, lifting the tray and walking into the dining room.

Never one to give up anything easily, Nora caught up with Tori as she set omelets in front of a twenty-something couple.

“Of course it matters,” Nora said when Tori returned the tray to the alcove. “You’re my sister.”

“And yet you continue to ignore my sage advice about Griffin.”

“Because you’re wrong about him.” Her tone gentled. “He’s a good man. I lo—”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Tori covered her ears. “Do not start spouting off about your great love for him. Let me keep believing it’s only physical between you two and will someday soon come to an end. It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep at night.”

Nora crossed her arms. “You know, instead of blaming me for this perceived distance between us lately, you might want to start considering how you’re partly to blame.”

Tori’s eyes widened. “Because I don’t like your boyfriend?”

“Because you don’t respect my ability to make decisions for myself. Most women would be happy to hear their baby sister is in a serious, committed relationship with a man who loves her.”

Tori couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Honey, I’m not most women.”

She may not have Nora’s brains or Layne’s ability to frighten the masses with one scowl—and legally carry a gun—but she did know men. It was one of her greatest strengths. And Griffin York was trouble.

Okay, so he was the best kind of trouble, the kind that came wrapped in a brooding, darkly handsome, super sexy package.

A pretty exterior for sure, but underneath? A cynical, bitter person who only hurt those who tried to get close to him. Who tried to love him.

Took one to know one, after all.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured as she stepped out to check her customers’ drinks and noticed Griffin come in through the front door. The man looked like the poster child for the Bad Boy Club in his work boots, faded jeans and battered leather jacket.

She crossed to the drink station only to be followed by Nora. A moment later, Griffin joined them, making Tori feel cornered.

“Is she coming?” he asked Nora.

“Yes,” Nora said at the same time Tori spoke.

“No.”

He rubbed his thumb along the underside of his jaw. “Glad that’s cleared up.”

Nora took a hold of Tori’s arm and gently tugged her into the hallway. “I’m sorry this is a bad time for you,” Nora said, and Tori knew she meant it. Nora rarely said anything she didn’t mean. Tori almost envied her ability to be so open and honest. So willing to put her true self out there for others to judge. “But we all know this must be about the case.”

The case. Their mother’s murder case. Tori bit the inside of her lower lip. Hard. She was tired of hearing about it, thinking about it. It was over. Done. The man who’d killed their mother eighteen years ago, who’d left Valerie Sullivan’s body to rot and decay like so much garbage in the woods, was dead himself.

As his son stood before her, looking so much like his father, with his dark, tousled hair and slight dimple in his chin, it was all she could do not to throw herself at him, slap and scratch him. Try to inflict some of the pain her mother had suffered at his father’s hands on him.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Tori said, hating that she cast Dale York’s sins onto his only child. Especially when so many people cast her mother’s sins onto her. “No sense rehashing it all. It won’t change anything. Won’t bring Mom back or ensure that Dale is rotting in hell as punishment for what he did.”

“I could carry her out of here for you,” Griffin said to Nora, conveniently pretending Tori hadn’t spoken.

He’d fit in with her family just fine after all. They tended to ignore her, too. Underestimated her.

“We could toss her in the trunk,” he added. “Let Layne deal with her when we get to the station.” He rolled his shoulders as if warming up for some heavy lifting, his focus on Tori, his gaze assessing. “What do you go? About one twenty-five?”

A sound of outrage escaped her even as she sucked in her stomach. “I’ll have you know—” she jabbed a finger at Griffin’s chest, wished it was a fork “—I weigh one-fifteen.”

Give or take…oh…five pounds.

“If you say so.” Then he smirked.

Her hands fisted. God, what she wouldn’t give to knock that stupid grin off his face.

She tossed her hair back, her high heels bringing them almost eye to eye. “Listen, as much as I’m sure you two enjoy playing Bonnie and Clyde in your spare time, leave me out of it. Because if you lay one greasy finger on me, I’ll have Layne arrest you for assault after I’ve taken my hedge clippers to your—”

“Now, now,” Nora said. “No need to get all threatening and violent. It was only an idea.” She patted Griffin’s arm. “A sweet one.”

Tori gaped at her usually levelheaded sister. “There is something seriously wrong with you. What did he do? Perform a lobotomy on you while you were sleeping?”

“We need to go,” Griffin told Nora.

She sighed, as if dealing with Tori taxed the last of her usually limitless energy and patience. Well, it wasn’t exactly a day at the beach on Tori’s side of things, either.

Nora nodded. “I guess we’ll just tell Layne she couldn’t get away.”

It took a moment for Tori to realize she was the “she” Nora was talking about. “Okay, first of all, I’m standing right here and you acting as if I’m not is really irritating. Secondly, I don’t need you or anyone making excuses for me.” Didn’t want anyone doing so. She stood up for herself. Took care of herself.

After she’d realized the hard lesson that no one else was going to take care of her.

Too bad taking care of herself and her son wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it would be.

Nora sent her a beseeching look, one made all the more powerful by her sister’s sweetness. “Layne really wanted us both there. She wants you there.”

Tori’s resolve started dissolving like sugar in hot water. “I guess she’s going to be disappointed, then,” she said lightly before brushing past Griffin and heading back to work.

But guilt nudged her, hard and insistent as a toothache. Damn Nora. Damn Tori’s love for her. That’s what love did. It trapped you. Made you worry all the time about pleasing someone else, about putting your own wants and needs aside.

Love made you weak.

And Tori couldn’t afford to be anything but strong.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” Celeste Vitello asked Tori.

Tori set a stack of dirty dishes into a heavy, plastic bin. “Giving Mr. Jeffries a lap dance,” she said dryly, glancing at her boss. “You?”

“Now that is a horrifying thought.” Celeste’s dark, wildly curly short hair was held back from her face with a wide, black headband making her brown eyes appear larger, her cheekbones more pronounced. A white apron covered her stretchy black pants and orange T-shirt. “And while I admire your clever wit as much as, if not more than, the next person, shouldn’t you get going? Layne wanted you at the station at nine and it’s already eight fifty-five.”

Using the back of her hand, Tori brushed her long bangs aside. “Not you, too.”

“Me, too, what?”

“You’ve joined the Layne Brigade,” Tori said, tossing silverware into the bin with a loud clang. “Bad enough she sent Nora over here to fetch me like I’m some sort of disobedient child, now you’re waving at me from the front seat of the bandwagon? For God’s sake, don’t drink the Kool-Aid, people. Fight the power.”

She wasn’t surprised Celeste knew about Layne’s important meeting. Layne probably called her, too. Or else Nora had swung by the kitchen to tell Celeste Tori was being stubborn.

Nora always had been a little tattletale.

Celeste pressed the tips of her forefingers against her temples as if seeking inner peace or warding off a headache. “Times like this make me wonder if you and Layne will ever outgrow your sibling rivalry.”

“She started it.”

Layne always started it with her judgmental attitude, bossiness and overinflated sense of superiority. As if she had some sort of holy light shining down on her just because she was the firstborn.

Celeste shifted out of the way of a customer, smiled and greeted him before edging closer to Tori and lowering her voice. “I’m officially giving you the time off. Now go be with your sisters.”

Tori didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to fall into line just because Layne demanded it. “Thanks, but I’d rather finish my shift.”

She gathered the crumpled napkins and empty containers of creamer and tossed them into the bin. But she felt Celeste watching her, studying her. It was annoying. Unnerving.

Not that she’d ever let anyone see even the slightest hint of nerves, of doubts. People saw only what she allowed. Her thoughts, her feelings were her own until she decided to share them.

“Patty,” Celeste said to the other waitress as she walked past, “could you cover Tori’s tables? She has a family emergency.”

“Sure thing. Here,” she said to Tori, “I’ll take that back for you.”

But when Patty took a hold of the bin, Tori’s fingers tightened. A subtle tug-of-war ensued, causing the dishes to clank together. Patty’s eyes flashed and she yanked hard. Tori’s grip slipped. She stumbled back, bumping into the table with enough force to knock it against a chair.

With a triumphant grin, Patty tossed her head and walked away.

Tori straightened and stepped toward Patty’s retreating back, ready to…well…she wasn’t sure what exactly but she was afraid it included her lunging at the older woman and taking her down in a headlock.

Knowing Tori all too well, Celeste blocked her path. “Let’s go to my office. We can discuss—”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Fighting her building temper, Tori smoothed her skirt over her hips, tugged down the hem. “I’m not leaving.”

Celeste raised her eyebrows. “My office. Now.”

Damn. Celeste rarely used that no-nonsense tone with anybody, let alone Tori, which only made it that much more effective when she did resort to it.

Aware that they’d drawn several curious glances, Tori forced her lips up into her patented coy smile and sauntered across the dining room. Kept her movements graceful and unhurried even when she reached the empty hallway.

At the end of the hall, she entered the office. Weak sunlight filtered in through the two narrow windows, casting shadows on the dark carpet. Framed photographs of Tori and her sisters, along with one of their father, Tim, and Celeste decorated the wall to her left. Several smaller ones, all of Tori’s son, Brandon, ranging from newborn to last year’s school picture, were scattered on the bookshelf to the right. A huge, ugly cherry desk that had belonged to Celeste’s grandfather took up more than its fair share of space, along with a three-drawer metal filing cabinet and two wooden chairs.

Walking in, Celeste flipped on the overhead lights then shut the door.

Tori crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you played the boss card on me.”

Okay, so technically Celeste was her boss. But in addition to that, she was also her father’s girlfriend and before that she’d been her mother’s best friend. Celeste had been one of the few people who’d seen something valuable in Valerie Sullivan.

And in Tori.

Celeste loved her without expectation, without judgment. Some days Tori thought she was the only person who did.

“I do whatever it takes,” Celeste said as she sat behind the desk. “You know that.”

She did. Tori admired her for it and for what she’d made of her life. Celeste had her own successful business, one she’d built by herself from the ground up. The only thing Tori didn’t understand was why Celeste gave her heart to men whose only real love, their obsession, was the sea.

Maybe it was in her blood. Her grandmother had married a fisherman, and her mother eloped with a navy petty officer, only to be left alone when he chose the sea over his young wife and baby daughter. At nineteen, Celeste lost her fiancé when the fishing boat he’d been on had gone down during a Nor’easter.

And now, for the past eight years, she’d been in a relationship with Tori’s father, another fisherman who always, always, chose the call of the ocean over her. Just as he’d done with his wife and daughters.

Which proved that no man was worth giving your time, your attention and most especially your heart to.

“Sit down,” Celeste said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk, “and tell me what’s going on with you.”

Tori plopped onto the chair. “Nothing’s going on. Since when is wanting to cover my own shift, my full shift, a crime?”

“Honey, you were fighting a woman twice your age over dirty dishes.”

“Patty’s stronger than she looks. Those water aerobics are really working.”

“I’m sure they are.” Opening a drawer to her right, Celeste pulled out a bag of mini chocolate bars. Tori didn’t think it was a coincidence Celeste’s stash of candy and the loaded handgun she kept for protection were housed in the same space.

No one touched Celeste’s chocolates without permission.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking three candies from the bag before sliding it toward Tori.

Her voice was kind, worry clear in her brown eyes. It reminded Tori of when she’d sat in this very same chair as a scared, pregnant teenager. Only they knew Celeste was the first person she’d told. The person who’d held her as she’d cried, more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. So afraid of disappointing her family, of Greg turning his back on her, of being responsible—completely, totally, fully responsible—for the life growing inside her.

Humiliated and angry that she’d ended up just like her mother.

“What’s the point of my going?” Tori asked, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “No matter what evidence they found or new theory Layne has, it won’t change anything.”

She wanted to move forward and forget the past. Not rehash it.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Celeste asked quietly. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

Tori didn’t believe in the truth. It was too easily manipulated, too easily hidden. She should know. Her own life was nothing but smoke and mirrors, shifting and reflecting what she wanted people to see. Giving them only what she wanted them to have.

“The truth is that Dale York killed Mom. And now he’s dead. What else is there?”

She didn’t expect a real answer but the look on Celeste’s face told her the older woman was keeping something from her. See? Everyone lied. Everyone kept secrets. Even someone as good and honest as Celeste.

“What’s going on?” Tori asked, her fingers aching from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly.

Unwrapping a candy, Celeste glanced around as if someone was going to suddenly materialize out of thin air to overhear their conversation. “I think Layne might be in trouble.”

Tori exhaled a short laugh, the tension in her easing. “My big sister doesn’t get into trouble. She gets everyone else out of it.”

Layne had always been there to help Tori and Nora with their homework, made sure they had dinner, lunch money and went to bed at a decent hour. She’d been more of a mother to them than Valerie had ever been.

She never let her sisters forget it.

Tori appreciated the sacrifices Layne had made, how she’d taken care of them. She also resented the hell out of her for not seeing that she and Nora no longer needed her to be their substitute mom. They needed her to be their sister.

“Donna called me,” Celeste said of her good friend and Chief Taylor’s secretary. “She told me Mayor Seagren and the district attorney had an early morning meeting with both Ross and Layne.”

“Ross and the mayor are always huddled up about something.” Billy Seagren loved nothing more than hanging out at the police station. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t asked Ross to make him some sort of unofficial deputy complete with shiny gold star.

“A special investigator sent from the attorney general’s office was there, too. Donna isn’t sure what’s going on but there’s been some sort of complaint against both Ross and Layne. Something is wrong,” Celeste said. “I can feel it. And I think you should go to this meeting, not because Layne told you to, but because she needs you there.”

Her mouth twisting, Tori tucked her hair behind her ear. Layne didn’t need her. No one did. Not her sisters or her father. Not even her own son.

“Can I get back to work now?” she asked, sounding as petulant and defiant as Brandon. That he came by his attitude naturally only irritated her more. Would it kill him to mimic a few of her positive traits?

Celeste sighed, her disappointment clear. Nothing new there. Tori was always disappointing someone. “If that’s what you really want…”

“It is,” Tori said, already walking out of the office. She headed toward the dining room, but stopped at the doorway, her stomach turning. Whirling around, she crossed to the break room, circled the table, her stride short because of her tight skirt.

The guilt was back. As if she didn’t have enough of the useless stuff already. She was a mother, wasn’t she? She’d been dealing with guilt on a daily basis ever since Brandon was born. Was she good enough? Smart enough? Did she have enough patience? Give him enough time and attention and love?

It had only increased since she and Greg had told Brandon they were splitting up a year ago. She’d seen the accusation in her son’s eyes. He’d known she’d instigated the divorce, blamed her for ripping their family apart. He’d yet to forgive her.

So, yeah, full quota of guilt here, thanks just the same. And Layne did not need her. She prided herself on not needing anyone. It was a sentiment—one of very few—she and Tori shared. One learned by watching their parents’ dysfunctional marriage, by having a selfish, vain mother, a father who ran off to sea every chance he got.

It was too risky to count on someone to be there for you. Better, safer, to rely on yourself.

Besides, it shouldn’t matter to Tori what was going on with Layne. They weren’t close, not like Tori and Nora. Or at least, she and Nora had been close until her baby sister decided to hook up with the son of the man who’d killed their mother.

Discovering the truth about their mother should have brought them together, but instead they’d drifted apart. Living their own lives.

Whatever trouble Layne was in was just that. Hers. Tori had enough problems of her own to deal with.

She grabbed her purse from her locker and headed back into the hallway. Celeste stood in the kitchen doorway talking with Joe, the café’s breakfast cook. Tori kept her gaze straight ahead as she passed them.

“Hey,” Celeste called, stopping Tori at the door. “Let me know as soon as you find out what’s going on.”

Tori lifted a hand to indicate she heard then hurried outside. The sun peered through the clouds and a cool breeze lifted the ends of her hair as she clicked the unlock button on her car keys. She slid behind the wheel of her ancient Toyota, cranked the engine and pulled out, heading toward the police station.

Family ties. They bound and choked and twisted and tangled a person up until they couldn’t break free. But if you took on one Sullivan, you took on all of them.

God help you then.

* * *

THE BRUNETTE KNEW how to make an entrance.

She demanded attention. Walker studied the woman gliding into Chief Taylor’s office, her heels tapping against the floor. A lot of it.

A small smile playing on her lips, she slid her gaze around the room before landing on him. Though her expression didn’t change, he had the sense she was sizing him up, trying to figure out how big of a threat he was.

Her eyes met his and attraction, instantaneous and primal, slammed into him, had his next breath lodging itself in his chest with painful intensity. Jesus, but she was like a walking wet dream, all lush curves, long legs and full, slicked red lips. Her hair was chin length, the ends razor sharp, with a heavy fringe of bangs.

Awareness, feminine and powerful, entered her light brown eyes as she drew closer. If they’d been anywhere else but the police station—a bar, the grocery store…hell…a car wash—he would’ve tried to get her number, her name, her interest. An invitation into her bed.

But they weren’t somewhere else. So he gave her his most intimidating scowl.

Her smile amped up a few degrees, her walk turned into an out-and-out slink, the movements sensual and, if he wasn’t mistaken, practiced.

She knew what effect she had, knew what men thought of when they saw her.

It wasn’t sex. Or at least, not just sex. It was something darker, more dangerous. She brought out a man’s natural instincts to mate, to possess a woman in the most heated, basic and elemental way possible.

“Hail, hail,” she murmured, her tone smoky and seductive, her features too similar to those of Captain Sullivan to be anyone other than the missing sister, Tori Mott, “the gang’s all here.”

He felt Taylor watching him, judging his reaction. Deliberately turning away from the brunette, he met the chief’s gaze coolly. To prove he was in charge, of this case and his body.

“You’re late,” the assistant chief said in a brusque, disapproving tone.

Mrs. Mott lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug that caused her sister’s lips to thin. “Am I?” she asked. She sat next to Nora Sullivan and crossed her legs, her skirt sliding up, exposing her thighs. “So sorry.”

Captain Sullivan balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. “No one is checking out your legs, so tone down the sex kitten act.”

“I don’t have an act. Although it really is a pity about no one noticing my legs. I’ve always considered them my best feature.”

“God, Tori, do you have to antagonize her?” Nora asked, sending Walker a nervous glance.

“A girl has to find her fun somewhere.” She glanced at Walker, her lips curved as if inviting him in on the joke, but her eyes were watchful. Guarded. Hiding secrets and her true intentions.

And he realized her legs weren’t her best feature, not by a long shot. Those eyes were.

Leaning forward, she held out her hand. “I’m Tori Mott. And you are…?”

“Satan,” Captain Sullivan said under her breath.

Chief Taylor sighed heavily. Nora Sullivan made a choking sound. And still, Mrs. Mott held her hand out to Walker, her eyebrows raised in question. In challenge.

“Detective Bertrand,” he said, taking her hand.

He maintained eye contact as he held on for the proper amount of time. She pressed her lips together as if fighting a smile. Because of her sister’s comment? Or because he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction, not completely, at the sharp sting of desire that had accompanied the contact of her soft skin against his?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I thought Satan was your special pet name just for me,” Griffin York, the dark-haired man next to the blonde, said to Captain Sullivan. “I’m hurt.”

Sullivan didn’t blush. Didn’t squirm in abject embarrassment or worry over retribution. The set of her shoulders, the tightness of her mouth, told Walker she didn’t respect his authority or the job he was there to do.

So be it. There was nothing he liked more than a challenge.

If Sullivan thought she could intimidate him with her bad attitude and sharp tongue, she was way off base. Hostility, both blatant and subtle, came with the job description. Most cops weren’t thrilled at having an outsider come into their department, digging into their lives, jeopardizing their careers and reputations.

Then again, he wouldn’t be here if Taylor and Sullivan had followed the rules.

“Bertrand is from the state attorney general’s office,” Taylor said, linking his hands together on top of the desk. “He asked us to call you all together for this meeting.”

Asked. Demanded. Walker gave a mental shrug. As long as he got the result he wanted—a jump start on his investigation—he wouldn’t quibble with the chief’s word choice.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Mott asked, scrutinizing him as if there was more going on in her head than which skirt would best showcase that top-notch ass of hers. But then she blinked and her expression turned sultry again. “And why would a detective from such a grand and lofty state office be interested in the five of us?”

“Things like conflict of interest, mishandling of cases, corruption, misconduct and, of course, murder always interest the state.”

The blonde Sullivan slid to the edge of her seat, her knees pressed together. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Captain Sullivan. “What is he talking about?”

The captain opened her mouth but Taylor held up his hand.

“There have been several complaints made against Assistant Chief Sullivan and me,” Taylor said as calmly as if he was discussing the score of last night’s Red Sox game. Either he had that much confidence the charges were unfounded or he put up one hell of a front. “Bertrand is here to launch a formal investigation into those allegations.”

The blonde’s eyes widened and Walker wondered if they were going to pop out of her pretty head and roll across the floor. She leaped to her feet. Walker stood as well, his hand hovering over his gun.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sullivan said wearily, “that’s hardly necessary. Look at her—” She waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “Does she really look violent?”

“Don’t let the angel face fool you,” York told Walker. “If she ever gets her hands on a crowbar, you’d better watch out.”

“Not helping,” Nora Sullivan said as she dug into her purse. She pulled out a cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Captain Sullivan asked.

Nora pressed a button, held the phone to her ear. “Calling Uncle Kenny. You need legal representation in order to fight these charges.” She met Walker’s eyes, lifted her chin. “These bogus, inflammatory charges.”

That’s right. She was an attorney, worked for her uncle who had, at one point, been the county’s D.A. Tangled web and all that. Christ but this investigation was going to be a pain in his ass.

But at least he wouldn’t be bored.

“It’s an investigation,” Captain Sullivan said, taking the phone from her sister and shutting it off. “And Ross and I are scheduled to meet with an attorney from the union this afternoon.” She touched the blonde’s arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

“You’re in trouble,” Nora said, her voice thick.

Walker hoped she didn’t let loose with the waterworks. Crying was one of the many ways women manipulated men. Growing up, his sisters often used tears to get what they wanted from their father and, later, him.

It was Walker’s own damn fault such a low-down, rotten, dirty trick still managed to work on him.

Captain Sullivan shook her head. “The truth will come out. Isn’t that what you always say?”

The blonde glanced over her shoulder at York, who tugged her back to her seat.

But not before Walker noticed how Nora blanched, the color leaking out of her face.

Seemed Tori Mott wasn’t the only Sullivan woman with secrets.

“Is that why you dragged me away from work?” Mrs. Mott asked. “So you could tell us you’re getting your hand slapped?”

“It’s more than a hand slap,” the blonde said heatedly. “This is serious, Tori.”

“Ah, but Tori’s never serious,” Captain Sullivan said. “Isn’t that right?”

Mrs. Mott studied her nails. “Why should I be? You’re serious enough for both of us.”

“We asked you here,” Taylor said, obviously having dealt with these three enough times to know when to intervene before things got out of hand, “because the toxicology reports on Dale York came back.”

Mrs. Mott frowned. “It’s been what…two months? The autopsy was done the day after he died.”

Taylor stood and rounded his desk, handing the report Walker had given him earlier to Nora. “Toxicology reports take anywhere from six to eight weeks to complete.”

“His heart gave out,” Mrs. Mott said. “It was fitting, though I’d sort of hoped he would suffer more before kicking it. Either way, it was no big loss to humanity.” She glanced at York, her mouth a thin line. “No offense.”

York flicked his green gaze at her. There was no love lost between them, that was for sure. Something to take into account.

Nora held the report out, her hand trembling. “This can’t be right.”

Taylor sat on the edge of his immaculate desk. “It’s right. The coroner was wrong. A heart attack wasn’t what killed Dale.”

“So what did?” the younger York asked.

“Cyanide.”

“Cyanide?” Mrs. Mott repeated, snatching the report from Nora. “That makes no sense.”

Walker crossed his arms, wished he could take off his suit jacket, loosen his tie. “It makes perfect sense. Mr. York was poisoned. Besides being here to look into the issues regarding the chief and assistant chief, I’m also in charge of Mr. York’s murder case.”

Letting that sink in, Walker let his gaze shift from one person to the next. “And I can’t help but wonder if the person who killed him is in this room.”

CHAPTER THREE

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.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WORKING TO KEEP her expression unchanged, Tori slid her arm down, pretending she was reaching over to straighten the metal napkin holder. She wished she could cross her arms over her chest, hunch her shoulders and duck her head, but that would be surrendering.

She could handle him; she could handle any man. It was what she did.

Bertrand pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Were you aware that Dale York had arrived in Mystic Point in July of this year?”

“Of course.”

“When did you become aware of Mr. York’s presence in town?” he asked when it became clear she wasn’t about to offer more information.

“I’m not sure of the exact date.”

He wrote something. “You must’ve been surprised he was back.”

“Yes.” Just thinking about it, about Dale walking around her town, made her throat constrict. “Yes, I certainly was surprised.”

Surprised. Furious. More scared than she’d ever been in her life.

When Layne had come into the café that hot July day and told Tori that Dale was in town, Tori’s first instinct had been to grab her son and run. To somehow escape what she’d known would only be more heartache and pain. To try to escape the past.

Her family had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that after all these years, Dale would probably never be found, would never be brought to justice for murdering their mother. The cops had tried to track him down but it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth the night he left town.

Until he waltzed into the Mystic Point police station, hard-eyed and cocky, and claimed he wanted to cooperate with the investigation.

“Did you and Mr. York cross paths during the two weeks he was in Mystic Point?”

“Once,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if their encounter had been of no importance. “But then, I’m guessing you already know that, don’t you?”

Again he waited, giving her a look that said he had one nerve left and she was getting on it.

She blinked innocently at him. Well, as innocently as possible.

He flipped through his notebook. “You were listed as a witness to an assault the night of July 17 at a bar called the Yacht Pub.” He lifted his head, his pen poised over paper. “Is that correct?”

“If it’s in your handy dandy notebook, I’d say it must be.”

He set the notebook aside, laid his hands flat on the table. “Mrs. Mott, police reports indicate you were a witness to an altercation that night between Dale York and his son, Griffin. Your sister Nora also witnessed the event and your other sister, Captain Sullivan, was the arresting officer.”

Tori’s stomach grew queasy. She was starting to see how bad this all looked to someone on the outside. How it could be construed that her family had conspired against the man who killed their mother. “That’s right.”

“You and your sister Nora went to the bar together?”

“No. I was with a group of friends. Nora was there when I arrived.”

“She was alone?”

“She was with Griffin.” Tori tipped her bottle, watched a drop of water slide to the top, then flipped it again. She’d been so upset seeing her sister sitting next to Griffin York at the Yacht Pub, the bar where their mother had tended bar. Where Val and Dale had started their affair.

“You went to school together, you and Griffin York.”

“We did. Although we hardly ran around with the same crowd. I was half of Mystic Point High’s hottest couple and he was the ultimate bad boy, hauling around that chip on his shoulder, a perpetual smirk on his face.”

“You don’t like him,” Bertrand said.

Truth or lie? She had no problem with lies but sensed it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth in this instance. “Those are some seriously well-honed investigating skills, Detective.”

“The police report also indicated that Griffin started the fight.”

She may not like Griffin, wasn’t sure she trusted him, but Nora did. Nora loved him. “Dale instigated it.”

“How?”

“He got grabby with Nora.” An exaggeration, one Tori didn’t regret. As far as she was concerned, Griffin had every reason and every right to have laid into Dale that night. “Griffin punched him. They fought. Layne broke it up—”

“By using her Taser on Dale.”

“He charged at her,” Tori said, straightening. Bertrand was trying to turn things around, make it seem as if Layne had used unnecessary force because they all hated Dale. “She was defending herself and trying to get the situation under control. Besides, it wasn’t like she shot him.”

“This morning at Chief Taylor’s office, you said you were glad Dale York was dead.”

She narrowed her eyes. Wasn’t he clever, trying to trip her up with his lightning-fast questions? “Actually you asked if I was happy Dale was dead. I didn’t answer. But I will now. Yes. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Mrs. Mott, where were you the night Dale York died?”

“You think I killed Dale?” she asked, wondering if she’d made a mistake, a big one, in agreeing to speak with Bertrand here, now, on her own.

“I think you hated him,” Bertrand said, watching her carefully. “That you were angry there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with your mother’s murder.”

“Right on both counts. But I didn’t kill him.”

“Your whereabouts that night?” he asked again.

“I was at the country club with the rest of my family. It was my cousin’s engagement party.”

He jotted that in his damn notebook. She wanted to snatch it up, take it into the kitchen and burn it on the stove.

“What time did you leave the party?”

“Midnight? Maybe a little later.” She tossed the empty bottle aside. It rolled across the table, stopping at the salt and pepper shaker holder. “Look, it was late and—”

“Were you drinking that night?”

“I had a few glasses of wine.” Had needed them considering her ex, Greg, had been there with his new girlfriend. Colleen Gibbs taught at the same school as Tori’s cousin Erin so Tori had spent a tense evening watching them cozy up to each other. Even though Tori knew she’d made the right decision asking Greg for a divorce, seeing him with her, seeing how happy he was with another woman—when she’d failed so miserably at being his wife—hurt.

“Were your sisters there?”

“My sisters, my father and Celeste—”

“Celeste Vitello, your father’s girlfriend and owner of this establishment?”

Nerves tumbled in Tori’s stomach. She hadn’t been far off the mark with her smartass comment about his investigation skills. He was good, better than she’d expected.

Lesson learned.

“Yes,” she ground out, hating that he’d pushed her into being unable to muster up any pretense of indifference. “Ross was there, too, as was Griffin—for an hour or so—not to mention my uncle and his family and around two hundred of my cousin and her fiancé’s closest friends.”

“Where did you go when you left the party?”

“Home.”

“Alone?”

Now she smiled, slow and easy. “I had several men offer me their…company…but yes, I was alone.”

Bertrand looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. “Your son didn’t go home with you?”

Her son. He knew about Brandon. She snorted silently. Of course he did. He probably knew what color panties she had on, what she liked to eat for breakfast and how much money she made in tips last year.

“Brandon went home with his father.” He preferred being at his father’s house. Preferred being with Greg and Colleen over Tori.

She was surprised Bertrand didn’t know that as well.

“So no one can verify your whereabouts during the hours of midnight until Dale York’s body was found at approximately 6:00 a.m.?”

“Nope.”

He leaned forward. “Mrs. Mott, did you kill Dale York?”

She mimicked his stance and tone. “No, Detective Bertrand, I did not. Although as far as I’m concerned, whoever did kill him did the world a favor.”

“There’s no proof Dale York killed your mother,” he said, all emotionally closed off and professional. “What if he was innocent?”

“Just because there’s no proof doesn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. I would’ve thought they’d have taught you that at the police academy.” She slid to her feet, reached back for the water bottle.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking completely confused and irritated.

“This is called leaving. It’s what happens when I get tired of a conversation or am bored. I’m both. And since you’ve asked me all your very important questions, I see no reason for us to have our official meeting Friday afternoon. But before we both go our separate ways, there is one thing I want to say.”

“I can hardly wait,” he muttered.

“This thing with Layne, it’s a load of crap. She doesn’t break the rules…she makes sure the rules are maintained. And Ross? He’s as by-the-book as they come.”

“He’s sleeping with a subordinate officer. Wait,” he said, holding up a hand, “don’t tell me. They’re in love and love trumps everything else, even rules, regulations and law and order?”

“I have no idea if they’re in love or in lust or just scratching an itch until something or someone else comes along. All I know is that they’re two unattached adults and neither one would let their personal relationship interfere with their jobs. And they sure as hell wouldn’t create some sort of grand conspiracy.”

“I guess that’ll be determined. I’ll determine it.”

“You’re an arrogant one, aren’t you?” she asked softly. “Confident. As if your badge gives you the right to look down on the rest of us mere mortals. I thought a good cop waited until he had all the facts before deciding whether someone was guilty, but you…you’ve already judged us. And found us guilty.”

He held her gaze, not the least bit cowed by her sharp words, her acerbic tone. “I’m trying to get to the truth.”

“I hope you find it because it’s going to prove that neither my sister nor Ross have done anything illegal or unethical. It’s also going to show that no one in my family killed Dale York.”

She walked away. And prayed that she was right. Because if Bertrand discovered something, anything, that could be used against her sister or any member of her family, they were screwed.

* * *

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Anthony Sullivan pulled a coffee cup from the dispenser. Ever since his freshman year at Boston University, he stopped at this same store whenever he got back into town. Some habits were hard to break.

The bell on the door rang and he glanced over—and wished he’d attended a twelve-step program for lovers of bad convenience store coffee.

It was her. Jessica Taylor. He knew he should look away, but his eyes locked on her. She held the door, said something to the short redhead who waitressed with her at the café. Then she laughed, the sound seeming to float across the store to wrap around him. Torture him.

Goddamn her.

Ducking his head, he watched the chemically enhanced vanilla-flavored coffee squirt into the takeout cup. His shoulders ached with tension. His chest was tight, as if he’d explode if he took a full breath.

They’d met here, right here at this very spot, well over three months ago. When he’d run in for a coffee, he hadn’t known his entire life was about to change. But then he’d turned and saw her and it was as if he’d been struck by lightning. As if everything out of order in his life had neatly fallen into place.

He’d been such an idiot.

Anthony sensed her approaching, caught sight of her from the corner of his eye. She was close enough he could smell her light perfume. Could reach out and trace his finger down the softness of her cheek like he used to. Longing mixed with the anger in his gut, made it impossible to ignore the memories that rushed into his mind. Ones he’d been fighting ever since he walked away from her.

“Anthony,” she said, her voice breathless. Scared. She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

He should walk away now. He didn’t owe her anything, not even politeness. But he made the mistake of turning, and noticed how nervous she looked, the way she twisted her hands together at her waist.

And his feet froze to the floor.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, all he could give her. All he wanted to give to the girl who’d lied to him, who’d made him look like such a fool.

She’d cut her hair, he realized with a jolt, his fingers twitching with the need to touch it, to see if it was still as soft as he remembered. Instead of falling to her shoulders, the pale, almost white strands barely reached her chin now and her thick, straight bangs skimmed her eyebrows.

She was unique, so different from all the other girls with her light hair and blue eyes, her lush curves and go-to-hell attitude. She was beautiful. Smart. Funny and sarcastic and jaded. It was the combination of her looks and her world-weary attitude—as if she’d seen and done it all and found each experience boring as hell—that made her seem older. More mature.

Except she was neither. She was sixteen.

He’d kissed her, touched her and she was just a kid, five years younger than he was, two years too young for him.

When he looked at her, when his stomach tightened with attraction, he felt like a creep. Like a loser who couldn’t get a girl his own age or worse, some pedophile preying on young girls. He hadn’t known the truth about her age until after they were involved. But he knew now. It should be enough, he thought desperately, her age and the fact that she lied, should be more than enough reason for him to hate her.

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

Anthony turned away. His movements unsteady, he grabbed his full cup with too much force and coffee sloshed over the side and burned his fingers. Swearing under his breath, he jerked his hand back.

Jessica reached for him, frowning in concern. “You okay?”

Wiping his hand on the side of his leg, he stepped back. If she touched him, he’d be lost. Wrapped up in her again, unable to get her out of his head when he’d finally, finally, stopped thinking about her every day. Stopped dreaming about her.

“I’m fine,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.

She dropped her arm. Swallowed and then licked her lips. “Uh, are you on fall break?”

“Brandon’s first game is tomorrow.” Anthony dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “I promised him I’d go.”

“Oh, right. He’s really excited.”

Anthony rubbed his thumb across his wallet with enough force to wear a hole in the soft leather. Brandon was his cousin, his family. Not hers. But she’d managed to infiltrate even that part of his life. Ross Taylor, her uncle and guardian, practically lived with Anthony’s cousin Layne. As long as Layne and Ross were together, Jess would be there, at Brandon’s games, at family celebrations and holidays.

“How’s school?” she asked, just like everybody else who didn’t know what to say to him.

He sipped his coffee, glanced over her head. “Same as always.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

She paused, looking at him expectantly, but he wasn’t about to ask her how she was, what she’d been doing lately. She picked up a candy bar and turned it in her hands.

He’d teased her about the candy bars when they’d first met. Had flirted and practically begged for her number. He didn’t usually go to so much effort. If a girl wasn’t interested, he moved on, no harm, no foul. But he’d seen a vulnerability in her eyes, a softness and hopefulness that intrigued him. He’d wanted to break down her walls, see who she really was behind her cynical smirk.

It’d taken time and patience but he’d done just that. He’d gotten to know her, the intelligent, wounded girl who’d so quickly stolen his heart. He’d trusted her, had told her things he’d never told anyone else. His doubts about going to law school, how pressured he felt to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d thought what they had was real but it was all some sort of joke on her part.

“Well,” she said, sounding disappointed he wasn’t willing to pretend everything was okay between them. That he forgave her. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

He shrugged. Sent her a cool look as he took another sip of his coffee, the hot liquid scalding the roof of his mouth. “Probably.”

Only way he could figure to avoid it was to never set foot in Mystic Point.

It might be worth it just so he’d never have to see her again.

Keira walked up to them, her quizzical gaze going from Jess to him. “Hey, Anthony,” she said, her tone friendly as always, but she linked her arm with Jess’s, a clear sign of whose side she was really on.

He tipped his cup. Message received. “Good to see you, Keira.”

And he walked away. As he paid for his coffee and a pack of gum, he felt Jess watching him. Waiting.

He pocketed his change, dropping a couple of coins in the process. They spun on the dirty floor, but he didn’t bother picking them up, just shoved open the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine and hurried to his Jeep. Only when he was inside, the radio blaring, did he take a full breath, his lungs burning painfully.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. He didn’t owe her anything. Not friendship or whatever she was looking for. She’d used him. Lied to him. Made him look like an idiot. She’d caused him nothing but trouble, brought with her nothing but heartbreak. He was better off without her. Hell, even if none of that was true, he couldn’t be with her—not without going against everything he’d been taught his entire life about how a man was supposed to act. Everything that he knew was right.

So he’d let her go.

But he hadn’t wanted to. Despite everything, despite only being with her for a few weeks, he still felt a connection with her. Still wanted her.

And he had to learn to live with that.

* * *

WALKER STEPPED OUT into the parking lot of the police station and inhaled deeply. The briny scent of the ocean tickled his nose. Made him realize he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out on his sailboat.

He worked too much, he thought, shifting the folders in his arm, his laptop case in his other hand. If he hadn’t known it as fact, his mother and sisters were all too happy to remind him. Every chance they got.

The breeze ruffled his hair as he approached his car. Setting the folders on the roof so he could dig his keys from his front pocket, he glanced up, saw Officer Evan Campbell, with his round cheeks and earnestness, standing by a cruiser. He glared at Walker, his thin arms crossed over his chest. The kid didn’t look old enough to drive, was pathetically easy to read and was about as intimidating as Paisley, Walker’s six-month-old niece. And yet the great state of Massachusetts had seen fit to legally entitle him to carry a firearm.

He was as obvious in his resentment of Walker as the rest of the town’s police department. Hell, anytime Walker set one foot outside of the office he’d been assigned at the station, all sound and most movement ceased. It was actually a pretty cool trick, the way every person in the building went completely still, as if they weren’t even going to breathe in his presence lest he somehow contaminate their air.

Suddenly feeling a hell of a lot older than thirty-six and wearier than he should, Walker took off his sunglasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped his hand and held Campbell’s gaze until the kid shifted and looked away. Then after a moment, walked into the station.

And all was right with the world once again.

“Do you have a minute?”

Walker didn’t jump at the sound of the voice, but it was close. “Any questions or comments about your suspension can be directed at the mayor,” Walker told Taylor as he unlocked his car and set his laptop on the backseat.

“This isn’t about my suspension. It’s about you interviewing Tori Mott without her attorney being present.”

“It wasn’t a formal interview.”

“It was a fishing expedition.”

It was, but Walker wouldn’t admit it. He gathered the folders, put them on top of the laptop before facing Taylor. “Mrs. Mott agreed to speak to me without the presence of legal counsel and was free to go at any time.”

Even if he had indicated otherwise. But she’d left, hadn’t she? Without him stopping her.

It’d been a risk, talking to her outside of the police station without the legality of a formal interview. But he’d seen the opportunity and had taken it.

Just because he helped enforce the rules didn’t mean he was above bending them a bit when it suited his purpose.

“Any judge worth their robe will toss out anything she had to say,” Taylor said.

Undoubtedly. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Taylor stepped forward, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, his mouth a hard line. But his voice remained neutral. “While you’re taking chances, Captain Sullivan and I are fighting for our careers and reputations and a murderer is walking free. Maybe you’d do better to play things by the book instead of playing hotshot.”

“When it comes to solving my cases, I do whatever it takes to get justice for the victims. Whether you get caught in that crossfire, are found innocent or guilty, really doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is finding the truth.”

Walker had the sense that Taylor was studying him behind the dark lenses of his glasses. Trying to see how far he could push, if he could push him at all.

He couldn’t. At least, not without getting shoved in return.

Finally the chief nodded slightly as if coming to a decision. He held out a large mailing envelope. “Here.”

Walker narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“A little light reading for the weekend.”

Walker opened the flap, pulled out the thin sheath of papers and scanned them. They were copies of bank records. “Who is Joel Cannella?”

“Dale York. At least, that’s who he was for the past eighteen years.”

“What? Where did you get these?” A thought occurred to him and he squared himself to Taylor so they were toe-to-toe. The few inches he had on Taylor didn’t make up for the twenty pounds Taylor had over him, but it would make any physical altercation between them interesting. “Did you take these from the station? Do you realize what the penalty is for tampering with an ongoing investigation?”

Taylor kept his hands loose at his sides, his shoulders relaxed. “I’m aware of the consequences of breaking the law. But those papers were never in the station or entered into evidence. They’re something I was working on before your arrival.”

“Covering your tracks, Chief?”

“Doing a little research, Detective.”

Walker didn’t believe it. Taylor was probably trying to make it look as if he’d been investigating Dale’s death as mysterious this entire time. “I was under the impression Dale’s whereabouts for the past eighteen years were unknown and now you’re telling me you discovered he’d been living under the alias of Joel Cannella in—” he checked the address listed on the form “—Corpus Christi all that time?”

“No identification of any kind was found on Dale’s body, in his room or car, not even a credit card. The only thing in his wallet, besides a couple of hundred dollars,” Taylor continued, “was a piece of paper with a nine-digit number. I asked a friend of mine who used to work in the Crime Lab Unit of the Boston P.D. to do some digging for me. After a few false starts, he discovered the number was for Cannella’s bank account. Once I had the name, I was able to track down Cannella’s movements and found a safe-deposit box in a bank in Marblehead rented in his name.” He inclined his head toward the envelope. “You’ll find the contents in there.”

Walker turned the envelope upside down. A driver’s license, social security card and a credit card all bearing the name Joel Cannella slid out. The photo on the license, though, was none other than Dale York.

He squeezed the license, the hard plastic cutting into his fingers. “This should have all been logged into evidence.”

“Yes.”

But it hadn’t been. Walker had seen everything the MPPD had about both Valerie Sullivan’s murder and Dale York’s death. There was no mention of any account numbers or that Dale’s alias had been discovered.

“You’re admitting—to the officer investigating accusations of ethics violations against you—that you withheld evidence?” Walker asked.

“I’m handing over evidence that I believe will be helpful to the officer in charge of Dale’s murder investigation.”

“You want to help me? Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because once I saw those toxicology reports, I would’ve fully investigated Mr. York’s death as a murder.”

“I guess we’ll never know if that’s the truth or not.”

“No, we won’t. But instead of whiling away our time trying to see which one of us can piss farther, I thought it might be in both of our best interests to get these investigations over as soon as possible.”

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