by Beth Andrews
Then she threw up again.
Behind him, the kid gagged. Ross pointed his flashlight on him and, sure enough, the boy’s face was pale. “Don’t even think about it,” Ross said harshly.
The kid swallowed hard. “Yes…yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Ross turned back to Jess. She sat back and wiped her hand across her mouth.
“Finished?” he asked.
“I hope so.” Her voice shook.
He helped her to her feet, keeping a firm hold of her upper arm so she didn’t fall. And so she couldn’t take off should the idea enter her head. Her pale, shoulder-length hair was matted and tangled, her clothes wrinkled and stained with puke and dirt. Tears leaked unchecked from her eyes, leaving trails of mascara down her cheeks.
She looked like every other underage drunk girl he’d ever arrested. He had to remind himself that she was just a kid. A rebellious, self-destructive kid. She was also his responsibility.
One he wasn’t sure he wanted. Wasn’t sure he could handle.
“What in the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.
What was she doing getting drunk, rolling around with some pimply faced kid, when she was supposed to be safely tucked away in her bedroom? Damn, he really wasn’t cut out for this guardian stuff.
She wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You’re the one who told me I needed to give Mystic Point a chance. That I should put myself out there and make friends. Nate and I got very friendly. Didn’t we, Nate?”
Her tone was spiteful, almost…gleeful. But her eyes… When he searched her eyes he saw the truth. Anger. Regret. And such pain, he wasn’t sure he could fix it. Could fix her.
“We weren’t…” the kid blurted. “I mean…we didn’t…”
Ross glanced over his shoulder, his quick glare shutting the kid up.
“Sullivan,” Ross said quietly, “would you please escort this young man back to the fire?”
Three years younger than Ross’s thirty-five, Layne Sullivan was ambitious, levelheaded and had been the front-runner for the position of chief until Ross threw his hat into the ring. He had no doubt she’d enjoy spreading around the tale about how he couldn’t even control his niece. How inept he was when it came to dealing with a rebellious teenager.
“Yes, sir.” But she didn’t move.
“Is there a problem?” Ross asked.
“No…no problem. But what do you want us to do with the kids?”
When Ross, Sullivan and patrol officer Evan Campbell had pulled up to the bonfire, most of the kids had taken off into the woods. But a half dozen had been corralled and were being watched by Campbell—a rookie cop barely old enough to drink himself.
“I want you to do your job,” Ross managed to reply in what he considered a highly reasonable tone. “Check IDs. Those under the legal drinking age—” and from what he’d seen, they were all underage “—will be cited. If they’re under eighteen, take them back to the station and hold them there until they can be released into their parents’ custody.”
“You’re going to call our parents?” Nate asked, his voice hitching on the last word. “Oh, man, my dad is going to kill me.”
Ross’s flat gaze had him hunching his shoulders.
“Can I have a word with you, Chief?” Sullivan asked. “In private.”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the trail, the light from her flashlight bobbing on the worn path.
Ross jabbed a finger at Jess. “Don’t. Move.” She saluted him—her middle finger clearly visible. He ground his back teeth together. “You,” he barked at Nate, “sit.”
The kid collapsed into a sitting position as if Ross had swept his feet out from under him. Ross glanced from Sullivan’s back to Jessica. If only everyone could take orders so well.
Sullivan waited for him a good twenty feet from the kids. She was tall. Long-legged. Sleek and sexy even in uniform, her face more interesting than beautiful, her dark hair pulled back into a long tail that reached the middle of her back. Attraction flared, quick and hot in his gut.
He ruthlessly squelched it.
She was surly, defensive and wore her resentment toward him as blatantly as she wore the badge on her chest. More important, she was his subordinate. Which put her so far off-limits, she may as well have been on another planet.
“What is it, Captain?” he said, stressing her rank. No crime reminding her who the superior officer was. Especially when she clearly needed that reminder.
“Usually, in situations like this, we make sure no one who’s been drinking is driving then let them go with a warning.”
“And how many warnings do they get before they’re held accountable for breaking the law?”
“Chief Gorham always thought it was in everyone’s best interest to let this type of thing slide.”
“Gorham is no longer chief of police—”
“Believe me,” she murmured, “we all know that.”
“Therefore, we will no longer be doing things the way he did them. Or letting his actions as chief dictate the decisions I make.”
She flipped her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder. “We can certainly do things your way—”
“I appreciate the permission.”
Her face was hidden by shadows but he’d bet a year’s pay she rolled her eyes. “But if you cite those kids, you’ll rile up a bunch of parents.”
“Part of the hazards of the job.”
Sullivan stepped closer, holding the flashlight between them so it illuminated the lower half of her face. “I realize you don’t understand how things work in a small town,” she said softly, as if imparting some hard-won wisdom, “but believe me, you’re not going to win any points for hauling these kids in. What’ll happen is they’ll all get slapped with fines, lose their licenses—if they have them yet—and be ordered to perform community service. Fines,” she continued pointedly, “that their parents will more than likely have to pay for. Community service that their parents will have to take time off of work to take them to. Just like they’ll have to drive them to every practice, school function and social event until they get their driving privileges restored.”
Ross fought for patience. For the past month he’d been careful not to step on any toes, to be respectful of the veterans of his department who were less than thrilled at being ordered around by an outsider who’d taken the position from one of their own.
He’d been especially cautious around Sullivan. She’d had her fellow officers’ support in her bid for the position of chief, she had their respect. She was also, as far as Ross could tell, a damn fine cop.
But it was past time they all realized he was in charge now.
“I appreciate your input.” He kept his tone mild, not giving away the frustration eating at him. “While I may not have much experience with small-town living, I do know that it’s illegal for a person under the age of twenty-one to purchase or consume alcoholic beverages in the state of Massachusetts. It’s not up to us to interpret the law or decide when and where to enforce it. It’s black and white.”
“A good cop knows there are always shades of gray. sir,” Sullivan added, making the sign of respect sound like anything but.
“Not on my watch. Not in my department. There’s right and there’s wrong.” She didn’t have to agree. She just had to do as he said. “Give anyone eighteen or older the choice to take a Breathalyzer test. If they pass, they’re free to go. The rest get cited.”
“Even your niece?”
He ignored the skepticism in the captain’s husky voice. “She broke the law. She’ll have to face the consequences like everyone else.”
And if that made him the bad guy then so be it. Over the past three months he’d gotten used to playing that role with her. Just as he’d played it with her mother—his younger sister—his entire life. He glanced at Sullivan, noted her disdain for him in the twist of her mouth.
Hell, now he got to be the bad guy at home and at work.
Funny how doing th
e right thing could be such a pain in the ass.
“It’s quite a coincidence,” Sullivan said, “you showing up right as Evan and I pulled in.”
“I heard the call.”
“Well, aren’t we lucky you just happened to be listening to the police radio at one-thirty in the morning.”
Hard not to listen to it since he’d been driving around looking for Jess after discovering she’d snuck out. Which Sullivan must suspect or else she wouldn’t be taking this little fishing trip. “Glad I could offer my assistance.”
Her mouth flattened. “Come on, Nate,” she called and the kid scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go.”
They walked away. Ross checked on Jess and found her back on her hands and knees.
“Get up.” He crossed to stand over her. Jess, of course, didn’t so much as glance at him. She excelled at doing the opposite of what she should. “I said—” he took a hold of her elbow and tugged “—get up.”
Once on her feet, she pulled away from him, the effect ruined when he had to reach out to keep her from falling flat on her face.
“I have to sit down,” she said. “I don’t feel well.”
And for a moment, Ross got sucked in. Sucked in by her pale face and big eyes, by the trembling of her voice. By how young and scared and…alone she looked.
He gave his head one quick, hard shake. She didn’t need coddling. She needed a swift kick in the ass. It was the only way to get her to straighten out. He was pissed and embarrassed and at the end of his rope with her. Just thinking about what she and Nate had been doing made him want to rail on that boy, shake some sense into her and then send her to a convent for the next twenty years or so.
“You can sit in the back of my squad car,” he told her, taking her by the elbow again and leading her—carefully—back to the path. “And if you puke in there, you’re cleaning it up.”
She stopped, forcing him to halt midstride. “My phone.”
“What about it?”
“I dropped it.” With her free hand she gestured vaguely behind them. “Over there.”
He started walking again, dragging her along. “Too bad.”
She dug in her heels, tried peeling his fingers from her arm. “I have to find it! I need it.”
“Then I guess you shouldn’t have dropped it in the middle of the woods at night.”
“Ow!” Jess cried suddenly. “Uncle Ross, stop. You’re hurting me.”
What the hell? “I’m barely touching—”
“I’m sorry.” She started sobbing. Loudly. Loud enough for everyone in the clearing to hear. “I won’t do it again. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to play games with me now?”
The radio at Ross’s hip crackled to life. “Everything okay, Chief?” Sullivan asked.
With a sigh, Ross unhooked the radio, pressed the button to speak. “Everything’s fine.”
“You sure?” she asked, humor evident in her tone. “You need backup?”
“Negative,” he ground out. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He put it back, never taking his eyes off Jess. “You should join drama club when school starts again. Put those acting skills to good use.”
She lifted a shoulder, her expression smug. “I’m not leaving without my phone.”
She was stubborn. Sneaky. Manipulative. And until she turned eighteen, she was his problem. His responsibility. And he had no idea how to handle her. Damn it.
“You have three minutes.” He held out the flashlight so that it shone up, lighting their faces. She grabbed the bottom but he held on. “At the end of those three minutes, you’re going to accompany me out of these woods willingly and, most important, quietly. Whether or not you’ve found your phone. Understand me?”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
He let go of the flashlight and she staggered back toward where he’d first found her. And it hit him. He’d given in. She needed rules and discipline and to learn how to obey orders and he’d let her get her way because she’d caused a scene. Because it was easier than dealing with the drama she created.
He tapped his fingers against his radio. Glanced toward the clearing. Not that he could see anything other than the faint glow from the fire. He trusted Sullivan had the situation there under control. And was handling it how he wanted it.
“Time’s up,” Ross called. Jess had her head bent as she searched the area by a large evergreen. “Let’s go.”
“That wasn’t three minutes.”
“Sure it was. Come on.” She didn’t move, just held the flashlight so its beam was on the ground, her eyes downcast. Probably plotting other ways she could make his life difficult. “Jess. Now.”
Still staring down, she slowly crouched and reached out her free hand only to snatch it back as if something had snapped at her. Made a sound like she’d been kicked in the stomach.
“Damn it, Jessica,” he growled, picking his way through the thick undergrowth to stand over her. “Don’t make me handcuff you and haul you out of here.”
“Loo—look,” she said in a strangled voice.
He followed her trembling, pointing finger to the end of the beam of light.
And the human skull half-hidden under a fallen log.
CHAPTER TWO
“KATY PERRY, HUH?” Layne asked, her pen poised over her notepad as she took in the petite blonde in front of her. “That really what you’re going with? You don’t want to try something a little more…oh, I don’t know…creative? Like Amelia Earhart or Bette Davis or maybe Carly Simon?”
And by the blank look in the teen’s eyes, she had no idea who any of those women were.
What did they teach kids in school these days?
“My name is Katy Perry,” the girl insisted, lifting her adorable, turned-up nose.
“Have any proof of that?”
She shrugged, a bored expression on her pretty face. “I left my license at home.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I did.” She added a foot stomp to go with her pouty tone. “I don’t even care if you believe me or not. I’m telling the truth. I’m Katy Perry. Katy,” she said, stretching the name out as if speaking to someone who’d recently been hit on the head with a rock. She looked pointedly at Layne’s notebook. “Like…do you need some help spelling it? It’s K-A-T—”
“Thanks, but I think I can sound the rest out.”
Layne wrote the name down and put the notepad into her back pocket. A light breeze blew smoke into her eyes and picked up a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She smoothed them back. The wood pallets in the fire behind her crackled. Sparks shot into the night sky.
Chances were, the elderly gentlemen who’d called the station to report suspicious activity never would’ve known the kids were partying out here if they hadn’t had flames reaching thirty feet high.
She glanced toward her squad car. Evan, his brown hair cropped close to his head, his dark blue uniform hanging on his thin shoulders, tried to calm down the pudgy brunette who’d been sobbing since they’d pulled into the clearing. Out of the six kids they’d corralled, only two had proof they were eighteen and both had passed the Breathalyzer, leaving the brunette, Nate and the other boy—with longish hair, baggy jeans and a T-shirt advertising the store where it’d been bought—standing in a row illuminated by her car’s headlights. While the girl bawled, the boys wore similar smirks, Nate having found his cocky bluster upon returning to the company of his buddy.
Layne rubbed at the headache brewing behind her temple. Ah, the joys of youth. Rebellion. Recklessness. The certainty that nothing bad could ever happen. And the arrogance to believe that if, by some crazy coincidence you did get busted, an endless supply of smart-ass comments or, better yet, copious tears and hysteria, would get you out of trouble. All you had to do was stick with it long enough to wear down the dumb adult trying to force you to obey their archaic rules.
She and Evan were stuck dealing with two of the little darling
s each—while their intrepid leader only had to take care of his niece.
“You know,” she said conversationally to the blonde, “being a police officer means being able to read people and situations. For example, see that Audi over there? The red one?”
“What about it?” faux-Katy said in a snotty tone that reminded Layne of when her sister Tori had been sixteen. Come to think of it, Tori still used that tone with Layne.
“Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that car belongs to you.”
“I never said that,” the teenager said quickly.
“No, you didn’t. But this is where my detecting skills come in real handy. You see, a car like that? It has ‘you’ written all over it.” If only because it went so well with the girl’s expensive, dark jeans, silk top—silk, at a bonfire in a quarry—and expertly applied highlights. But really, that silver Princess vanity plate gave it away most. “Which means that, since I’ve already written down the license plate number of every vehicle parked here, all I have to do is plug those numbers into my computer to find out who, exactly each vehicle is registered to. Katy.”
The girl paled, her expression no longer quite so confident that she’d put one over on some stupid cop.
Layne bit back a smile. “You can rejoin your friends.”
She did, but not before glaring at Layne as if she could incinerate her on the spot. Such was one of the consequences of being on the side of law and order.
Evan divided the teens, putting the girls into the back of Layne’s cruiser, the boys in his, then walked toward Layne, his short hair sticking up on the side as if he’d run his fingers through it. Repeatedly.
“I didn’t know someone could cry that much,” he muttered, the fire casting shadows on his round cheeks. “At least not without becoming dehydrated or passing out from lack of oxygen.”
“The human body is capable of many amazing and wondrous feats. Especially when helped along with massive quantities of alcohol.”
“Do you think you should search for the chief? He’s been gone awhile now. Maybe he got lost.”