by Beth Andrews
Across from her, Jimmy Meade glanced up from where he pecked at the keyboard of his computer. He frowned. “I thought you were going home to get cleaned up.”
“I got sidetracked,” she said, hooking her foot around her chair leg and pulling it out. As she sat, she felt him watching her. “What?”
He leaned back in his chair, linked his hands together on his protruding stomach—now half the size it had been thanks to his wife insisting he cut back on the sweets in case the new chief decided to fire anyone who could no longer fit into their uniform. “You have something on your mind?”
Her throat clogged. Jimmy had always been on her side, from the moment she’d first been hired. One of her uncle Kenny’s old school buddies, he’d kept an eye out for her, mentored her. And she was about to look him in the eye and lie.
God, she hated this.
“Nope.” She booted up her computer, watched the monitor as if her next breath depended on her wallpaper—a picture of her nephew Brandon in his baseball uniform—loading properly. “Any new developments in the case?”
“Haven’t heard of anything.” He straightened and reached for his favorite coffee cup. “Chief’s been in a meeting with the mayor for almost an hour now.”
Whatever happened in town, Mayor Seagren wanted to be involved.
“It must be my birthday,” Evan breathed as he came in from the break room—obviously the chief had him working overtime, too. “Because I’m about to get a present.” He nodded toward the double glass doors that overlooked the foyer.
The foyer where Layne’s sister Tori laughed at something Officer Wilber—currently manning the booth—said, her head back. All the better to show off her long, graceful neck.
“Oh, I am not in the mood for this,” Layne muttered as Tori sort of…slinked…toward the squad room, a plastic take-out box in her hand. Then again, her black skirt was so tight—and short—normal walking was probably out of the question. And how she waited tables all day in those strappy, high-heeled sandals, Layne had no idea.
Thankfully Tori’s bad attitude and questionable fashion sense weren’t Layne’s problems anymore.
Just a few of the many crosses she had to bear.
“For God’s sake, have some pride,” Layne told Evan. The kid was practically drooling. “And you—” She turned to Jimmy. “You’re a happily married man. And a grandfather.”
He didn’t even have the grace to look abashed that he’d been caught gawking. “Carrie and I have an agreement. I can look all I want. And she pretends I have a chance in hell of letting some beautiful young woman steal me away from her.”
Evan scrambled off his desk and practically tripped over his own feet to open the door. “Morning, Tori,” he said, sounding like a chipmunk going through puberty.
“Good morning,” Tori said, all bright and shiny as a new penny. “Hey, was that you I saw out on Old Boat Road a few days ago?” she asked Evan. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”
“It’s not a bike,” Jimmy and Layne said together, repeating what Evan had told them repeatedly. “It’s a Harley.”
“And his mom bought it for him,” Jimmy added.
Evan flushed. “She loaned me the down payment. That’s all.”
“A Harley?” Tori asked, seemingly impressed. Though with her, you never knew what was truth and what was for show. She shook back her dark, chin-length hair and winked at him. “Moving up to the big leagues, huh? Who knows what you’ll be ready to tackle next.”
“Okay,” Layne said, pushing her chair back and standing, “I just threw up in my mouth a little, so if you don’t mind could you please play Cougar and Innocent Cub somewhere else? We’re trying to work here.”
“That’s why I’m here. I heard you pulled an all-nighter out at the quarry.” She raised the take-out container. “Thought you all could use some sugar to help get you through the rest of the morning.”
Layne picked up a pencil from her desk. Squeezed it. “You heard about that?”
“About the body?” Tori set the box on Layne’s desk and flipped up the top exposing neatly packaged blueberry scones and cinnamon rolls. “Sure. It’s all everyone’s been able to talk about.”
Tori worked as a waitress at the Ludlow Street Café, Mystic Point’s most popular restaurant.
Layne scraped at the paint on the pencil with her thumbnail. “Really?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral. “I figured it’d take at least until lunchtime for word to get around.”
Tori stepped aside while Jimmy helped himself to both a scone and cinnamon roll. “In this town? Please. People are already taking bets about who it is.”
Jimmy harrumphed but Layne’s blood ran cold.
“Who…who do they think it is?” she couldn’t help asking.
Jimmy shot her a questioning look but she ignored it, watching her sister’s face, so similar to her own, carefully. If Tori suspected, Layne couldn’t tell. Then again, her sister had always been excellent at hiding her true feelings.
“Most people think it’s that hiker that went missing a few years back,” Tori said, picking up Layne’s nameplate then setting it back down. “A couple people insist it’s the gangbanger who escaped prison back in ’08. Me, I have ten bucks on the hiker theory.”
“It wasn’t a hiker,” Evan said around a mouthful of scone. He swallowed. “The body was found—”
“I hadn’t realized we were at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation,” Layne snapped.
Evan looking at her as if she’d slashed the tires of his new Harley only made her feel crappier. Perfect. She sighed. “What do you want?” she asked Tori.
Her sister laid a hand over her heart. “Can’t a grateful citizen bring a few treats to Mystic Point’s finest without being accused of wanting something in return?”
“A grateful citizen can, sure. But you? No.”
“That hurts.” She hitched a hip onto Layne’s desk, causing her skirt to rise up, showing several more inches of her toned, tanned thigh.
“Get your ass off my desk before I’m forced to arrest you for indecent exposure,” Layne said. “And if that’s what you wear to work, Celeste needs to seriously consider instituting a dress code at the café. It is a family restaurant after all.”
Tori slowly slid to her feet, her grin razor-sharp. “Funny, but no one else complains about my clothing.” She looked down at Layne—only because those stupid shoes of hers added several inches to her height—and sneered. “At least mine are clean.”
Layne didn’t have to glance down at herself to know she had a streak of dried mud running from her right shoulder to her left hip. Or that her shirt was wrinkled and she had still-damp mud stains on both knees. “Yes, well, searching for human remains is a messy job. Unlike pouring coffee.”
“You have a dead leaf in your hair.”
Layne reached up and…yep…sure enough, found a leaf. She picked it out of her hair and let it float into the trash can. “Well, since you’ve done your good deed for the day and all, I guess you’ll be wanting to get on your way. I’m getting a soda.” She’d kill for some sugar and caffeine and she was afraid Tori would end up being her victim. “You want anything?” she asked Jimmy.
He lifted the last bite of his cinnamon roll. “I’m good.”
She picked out a scone. “Thanks for dropping by,” she said to Tori.
She circled her desk and walked down the short hallway to the break room. She’d no sooner popped the tab on her Coke when Tori came in.
She should’ve known her sister wouldn’t get the hint and go on her merry way. Tori was nothing if not stubborn. One of the few traits they shared.
“Can we expect the pleasure of your company tonight?” Tori asked. “Or are you planning on skipping it like you did last year?”
Crap. Now was probably not the time to admit she’d been so caught up in the investigation and the necklace that she’d forgotten today was Brandon’s twelfth birthday.
“I didn’t skip anything,”
she said, adding ice to a plastic cup and pouring in half the soda. Took a long drink. “I was working. Just like I’ll be working tonight.” But she hated missing her nephew’s party. “Tell Brandon we’ll head into Boston sometime next month.” When, hopefully, her life would be settled again. When any and all investigation into the remains would be long completed. “Catch a Red Sox game.”
“I’ll do that. You know,” Tori said, one hand on her cocked hip, the other gesturing to Layne’s hair. “It wouldn’t kill you to use a brush once in a while. Especially since you have a new boss to impress and all.”
She bit into the scone. “I’m not out to impress anyone.”
“Obviously,” Tori drawled, staring pointedly at the crumbs collecting on Layne’s shirt.
Layne brushed them away. “What. Do. You. Want.”
Tori fluttered her eyelashes. “Your black boots.”
Layne slowly set her cup on the table. “You want my black boots? My designer, over-the-knee, cost-me-an-entire-paycheck black boots?”
“Just for tomorrow night. Randy Parker’s taking me out to dinner and your boots would be perfect with this great little black dress I—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“How about because it’s the middle of summer? Or hey, how about because you shouldn’t be dating already. The ink on your divorce papers is barely dry.”
Tori inhaled sharply. “First of all, I hardly think I’m going to take fashion advice from a woman who hasn’t worn lipstick in over ten years and usually dresses like a man.”
“I don’t dress like a man. I dress like a cop.” As the only woman on the force, she had to work twice as hard to be accepted. To be treated as an equal. To prove herself. And if that meant forgoing makeup and jewelry, then so be it. She’d gladly shove beauty off a steep cliff if it meant she’d be taken seriously at her job.
“Secondly,” Tori continued as if Layne hadn’t spoken—she’d always been good at ignoring things she didn’t want to hear, “my divorce was final six months ago. Six months. And obviously Greg didn’t get your little memo about the proper amount of time between divorcing and dating since he’s been seeing Colleen Gibbs for over a month now.”
“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who let him go.”
Tori edged closer until they were toe-to-toe. “My marriage, my divorce and my decisions, are just that. Mine.”
“Maybe, but you aren’t the only one affected by your decisions. Or did you plan on taking Brandon along on your date?”
“Brandon will be at his father’s house tomorrow night. God! What is your problem?”
“You want to know what my problem is?” Layne asked, her voice rising despite her best effort to keep her rioting emotions under control. She tried to hold back but the words poured out of her, fueled by her anger and resentment. Her fears. “You, Tori. You’re my problem. You and your selfish attitude. All you care about, all you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You were tired of being married so you got a divorce. You want to date so you leave your son with his father so you can go out and have a good time.”
Tori’s eyes, light brown like their mother’s, narrowed dangerously. “I’m not leaving him on the side of the highway sixty miles outside of town. It’s Greg’s weekend to have him. Why shouldn’t I go out and enjoy myself?”
“Because you’re a mother,” Layne cried, tossing her hands into the air. “You need to think about what’s best for Brandon, do what’s right for him.”
“Don’t you ever—” Tori jabbed her finger at Layne, stopping a hairbreadth from drilling a hole into her chest “—ever accuse me of not putting my son first.”
Layne laughed harshly. “You’ve never put anyone first but yourself. Your wants. Your needs. I mean, a prime example is how you were with Evan. Flirting with a kid who’s ten years younger than you, all for what? So you can feel good about yourself? So you can pretend you’re special? The way you dress…how you act… You’re…” She snapped her lips shut and shook her head in disgust.
“I’m what? A tramp? A slut?” Tori’s voice was low. Shaky. But under the tremble, Layne heard the resolve that told her to step carefully.
She heard it. She just chose to ignore it.
She was terrified. Scared of what the next few days would bring and while she and Tori weren’t exactly close in the best of circumstances, their snarky spats rarely took on this edge. She should shut up. Better yet, she needed to apologize. Blame the stress and her going over twenty-four hours without sleep for making her so bitchy.
But she couldn’t. Not when Tori stood there pushing Layne’s buttons simply by wearing her snug, revealing clothes and a bring-it-on smirk.
“Worse,” she said, meeting her sister’s eyes unflinchingly. “You’re just like our mother.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE ARGUMENT IN THE break room grew louder and, from what Ross could tell as he stormed toward the room, more heated.
Meade stood. “Chief, I don’t think—”
Ross didn’t even slow, just held up a hand. The other man shut his mouth and sat back down.
Smart call.
As he opened the door, Ross heard the unmistakable sound of a splash and a gasp.
Then Sullivan said in her husky voice, “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Go to hell,” a woman snapped as he stepped inside.
After a beat of stunned silence, Sullivan—wiping liquid from her face with both hands—noticed him. “Perfect,” she snapped. “Just freaking perfect.”
“Ladies.” Behind him, he heard the scrape of chairs and then footsteps as Meade and Campbell maneuvered closer in the hopes of catching part of the upcoming conversation. Ross shut the door and spoke quietly, hoping it would encourage the women to do the same. “Is there a problem here?”
Sullivan used her inner forearm to wipe soda from her chin. Her shoulders were rigid, her face white except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Damp hair clung to the sides of her neck and the front of her shirt was soaked.
“Everything’s dandy,” she said stiffly.
Ross glanced from her to the life-size brunette Barbie, and back to Sullivan again. The resemblance between them was striking. Though Sullivan’s face was clean of any paint and the other woman’s features were made up—smoky eyes, slick red lips—the shade of their dark hair, the shapes of their mouths and the sharp angle of their jaws were the same. They were both tall and had legs that went on forever. And they were both seriously pissed off, with neither showing any sign of backing down.
He inclined his head toward the other woman. “Your sister?”
Sullivan’s mouth pinched. “One of them.”
“Tell me, Captain, how is it you thought having a family argument in my police department was a good idea?”
Sullivan pulled her shoulders back causing the damp material of her top to hug the curve of her breasts. “We weren’t arguing. Sir.”
“No? Because not five minutes ago I was three doors down in my office with Mayor Seagren discussing the department’s—” he flicked a gaze at the civilian “—current investigation—”
“Is ‘current investigation’ official cop code for the body discovered out at the quarry?” the sister asked. “Because half the town already knows about it.”
Another similarity between the women. Their smart mouths.
“—when we were interrupted by shouting coming from this room. Care to explain that?”
She pursed her lips for a moment, as if considering his question. “No, sir, I don’t.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Turned his attention to her sister. “And you are…?”
“Leaving.” But when she stepped toward the door, he shifted to block her exit. She jammed her fists onto her hips. “Really?”
“Ma’am, are you aware of what the penalty is for assaulting a police officer?” he asked.
She shook her hair back. “Nope. But say…how long do they send you away for
tossing a carbonated beverage in a cop’s face? Five years? Ten?” She waved her hand as if wiping it all away. “Whatever it is, it was worth it.”
“There was no assault,” Sullivan said, shooting her sister a warning glare. “I apologize for our behavior and any embarrassment it may have caused the department.”
Not the most sincere apology he’d ever heard but it would do. “Next time you decide to have a family disagreement, do so outside of work. Being a good cop means being able to keep your personal life and professional one separate.”
If looks could kill, Layne Sullivan wouldn’t need to carry a sidearm. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” He opened the door and gestured for Sullivan’s sister to precede him. “Ma’am. Let me walk you out.”
She smiled, but it didn’t hide the calculating gleam in her eyes. “Thank you, Chief Taylor. You’re not nearly the asshole Layne said you were.”
Behind him, Sullivan snarled.
Ross fought a grin. “I appreciate that, ma’am,” he told the sister.
He also appreciated that when he glanced back at Sullivan as he stepped out of the room, she held his gaze. She didn’t try to make excuses or claim she’d never said any such thing.
He respected that.
Besides, he didn’t need her or any of the other officers below him to like him. He just needed them to obey him.
Walking beside Sullivan’s sister through the squad room, he couldn’t help but notice the changes in her demeanor. Her expression softened, her body lost its stiffness as she crossed the floor in a hip-swaying walk too rehearsed to ever be called natural. And enticing enough for most men not to care.
“Bye, Jimmy,” she said to Meade, giving him a little finger wave. A finger wave Meade started to return only to freeze when Ross glanced at him. “Evan, you be careful on that new Harley.”
Ross held the door for her and she went into the lobby where Officer Wilber shoved the hunting magazine he’d been reading under the counter. “Chief,” he said in greeting as the phone rang. He slid the clipboard holding the sign in/out sheet to Sullivan’s sister. “All set, Tori?”