by Beth Andrews
“Those are all possibilities. Or maybe you know more than what you’re telling me.” His voice softened though his expression remained fierce. “What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, her hands gripping her knees, her nails digging into her skin.
“Then help me figure out the identity of the body we found.” When she hesitated, he raised his eyebrows. “Unless you don’t care that it could be your mother?”
“Of course I care,” she said shakily.
She just didn’t want to believe it was Valerie.
“I’ll need the name of your mother’s dentist,” he said.
So he could get a warrant and check Valerie’s dental records against the skull they found.
“Dr. Simon. His office is on Park Square.” Her underarms grew damp, her stomach turned. She swallowed a surge of nausea and lurched to her feet, breathing through her mouth until the sensation passed. Oh, God, she had to escape, had to get out of here before she lost what little control she had left. “If that’s all, sir…”
“It’s not.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a paper and a large plastic bag. Her heart stopped. “I’d like a sample of your DNA to test against the remains.”
“Covering all your bases, aren’t you?”
They both knew that dental records were enough to identify the remains. But juries loved DNA matches, and in law enforcement, more was better. And if this case ended up a murder investigation, as they both obviously expected, Taylor would want irrefutable proof that the person found in those woods was her mother.
She didn’t blame him. She wanted that proof, as well.
He slid the paper toward her and gave her a pen. While she signed the release form, he opened the kit and removed a long swab from the tube. “Rub this firmly against the inside of your cheek for thirty seconds.”
She snatched it from him so he couldn’t tell her hands were shaking. “I know how to collect a DNA sample.”
When she finished, she placed it in the tube and snapped the long handle in two. The swab fell into the tube and she put the cap on. Taylor put it back into the bag and wrote her name and the date on it in bold, block letters.
She bit her lower lip but couldn’t stop the words from pushing past her throat. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?”
“You don’t know me so you probably don’t realize this, but I’m actually big on honesty.”
You could always count on the truth. It made life easier to be honest about your thoughts and feelings, your wants and needs. Easier and much less messy.
She’d had enough messy to last a lifetime thanks to her mother’s lies and manipulation.
“For someone who values the truth so much,” Taylor said, “you don’t seem to have any problems stretching it to suit your own needs.”
She grimaced. And that’s what stung the most. Not his bad opinion of her—though she could admit to having a slight twinge over that, as well. No, what really hurt was that she’d acted like her mother. And that was completely unacceptable.
“I had a momentary lapse in good judgment,” she said. “It happens to the best of us.”
Taylor sent her a look that clearly said it didn’t happen to him. “I don’t like being lied to,” he said, obviously not hearing a word she’d said. Or choosing to ignore it like he’d ignored his niece’s pleas to go home last night. “What I like even less is having a cop in my department I may not be able to trust.”
Her chest hurt. He was wrong about her. She was Layne Sullivan, for God’s sake. She’d never, not once, cheated on any test, her taxes or any of the boyfriends she’d had over the years. She didn’t lie—usually. She was as trustworthy as a Girl Scout. Or a nun. Or a nun who’d once been a Girl Scout.
“For obvious reasons,” he continued, “you are no longer to be associated in any way with this case.”
“If it’s not my mother—”
“Doesn’t matter. Not now. Not after this,” he said flatly. “You are relieved of your duties until your regular shift Monday.”
She blinked. Opened her mouth. Shut it. “You’re suspending me?”
“I’m giving you a few nights off. Time for you to think about—”
“You want me to think about what I’ve done?” she asked incredulously. “What is this? Kindergarten?”
“Time,” he repeated, “for you to decide what’s in the best interest of your career. Unless you’d rather I file a formal suspension of your duties?”
The knot in her chest loosened. He wasn’t reprimanding her. At least, not formally. He could, she realized. She’d lied—by omission, yes, but it was still a lie and they both knew it—about information pertinent to an ongoing investigation. At the very least she’d abused the authority of her position. At the most, she was guilty of interfering with an investigation or obstruction of justice. She could lose her job. Even if she didn’t there would be speculation about how she did that job. And her integrity.
By giving her time off, he was protecting her reputation. And keeping what she did between the two of them. She didn’t deserve it, wasn’t sure she’d have done the same if their positions were reversed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t latch on to this slight reprieve as firmly as possible.
It didn’t mean she couldn’t be grateful.
“Thank you. I know how this looks but my mother, she’s not…” She could barely say it let alone think it. “That body…it’s not her. She’s not…dead. She can’t be.”
“I guess we’ll see about that.” But his voice was almost compassionate. Which made her feel worse. She didn’t want or need his compassion. All she needed, all she wanted was for that body to be someone else.
He picked up the phone. “You’re dismissed, Captain.”
She walked to the door, her legs unsteady, her mind whirling. Her mother wasn’t dead. Because if she was, her family would be torn apart.
And Layne was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold them together this time.
CHAPTER FIVE
IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU, I’d still be in Boston.
Filling out a job application at the front counter of the Quik Mart, Jess’s fingers tightened on the pen. God. Bad enough she had to live with her uncle, now she couldn’t get his voice out of her head.
Talk about torture. Hearing him in her subconscious sucked worse than the relentless pounding in her skull thanks to her hangover.
He had it all wrong, too. He’d dragged her to this lame town. Not the other way around. He’d ruined her life—and seemed happy to keep right on ruining it.
Asshole.
But it’d all be over soon, she assured herself, neatly printing her address on the application. She was going home.
She sipped from a bottle of ginger ale, the only thing she’d been able to keep down so far today other than the four ibuprofen she took before leaving the house.
She’d almost taken off this morning after Uncle Ross had left. Had even packed a bag and checked bus schedules online. But when she’d tried to pay for the ticket, her uncle’s credit card number—the one she’d written down one night while he’d been in the shower—had been declined due to the account being canceled. Worse, the bank envelope filled with cash had disappeared from his sock drawer.
It was like he didn’t trust her at all.
Didn’t matter. She’d get out of here on her own.
And if that meant working some low-paying job for the next two months so she could save up enough to get back to Boston, then that’s what she’d do. Even if Uncle Ross would think she’d caved in to his bullying.
A little boy raced up to the candy display next to Jess and grabbed a king-size chocolate bar. When he turned, a huge, satisfied grin on his face, his monkey backpack brushed against the shelf, knocking candy to the floor.
“David, please be careful,” a woman said sharply enough for Jess to hear her over the music playing on her iPod. The lady hurried up to David, a gallon of milk in her
hand, another kid, a younger, rounder one, on her hip. “Pick them up and put that candy bar back. And hurry or we’ll be late getting Daddy.”
David’s lower lip jutted out. He clutched the candy to his chest as if his mother couldn’t snatch it away from his pudgy little hands. “I want it.”
The mom, her perfect makeup and glossy golden hair at odds with the orange stain on the shoulder of her white shirt, hefted the baby higher. “I said no.”
But Jess—and probably the kid—sensed she was already wavering. Either because she was in too much of a hurry to argue or because she was a pushover.
The baby babbled then patted his mom’s face. Hard. The lady smiled at him then looked back at David but couldn’t quite pull off a stern expression. “Fine,” she said with a sigh, “you can get it but you are not eating it until after supper.”
Definitely pushover.
Jess bet the kid had the candy gone within the next ten minutes.
“Now come on,” the woman said, setting the milk on the counter, “clean up that mess.”
“It’s okay,” Jess said, gathering the candy. “I’ll get it.”
“Thank you so much.” The baby babbled along with his mom, blowing spit bubbles. Drool slid down his dimpled chin. Gross. “David, tell the nice girl thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said, tearing into the candy’s wrapper.
The smell of chocolate made her stomach roll.
“You’re welcome,” Jess mumbled, hoping to send them on their way before she tossed up the soda. To make sure neither of them decided to keep talking to her, she ducked her head and turned up the volume of Eminem and Rihanna’s “Love the Way You Lie.”
Painful to her aching head, yes, but better than having a conversation with some cute kid and his nice mother.
She put the candy back on the shelf while the woman checked out. When the lady left, she picked up the tail of the monkey on the kid’s back and Jess realized it wasn’t just a backpack. It was a leash.
Jess smirked. Uncle Ross probably had one on order for her. All the better to keep her under his control.
Straightening, she jumped to find a guy standing behind her by the cappuccino dispenser. A seriously cute guy with light blue eyes, curly hair the color of wet sand and a dusting of facial hair a shade lighter. He looked like he could’ve lived in ritzy Beacon Hill with his pretty, pretty face and just-this-side-of-slouchy white pants and designer blue shirt, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows.
His lips moved then he grinned, showing even, white teeth and a dimple on the right side of his mouth. A dimple! Jeez, she would’ve melted at his feet if she hadn’t been made of sterner stuff than that. And cynical enough not to trust some gorgeous guy just because he smiled at her.
He pointed to his ear.
Her cheeks heated. Yeah, she was an idiot, standing there staring at him like it was the first time a guy had talked to her. She took the earbuds out. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I was saying I thought you might want to reconsider trying to get hired here.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know I’m applying for a job?”
He scratched the back of his head. “I sort of noticed the application here—” He gestured to the paper on the counter and lowered his voice. “Trust me, you don’t want to work here.”
“Oh?” she asked, picking up the application in case he was some deranged stalker. Hopefully he hadn’t read her name or address on it. “Why not?”
“For one thing, you put the Reese’s cups in with the Kit Kat bars. And that Snickers is upside down.” His deep voice was amused and, unless she was mistaken, interested. He made a tsking sound. “I’m sure that kind of shoddy work isn’t acceptable at the Quik Mart.”
Her mouth twitched. Okay, so he was hot—in a preppy way—and funny. Maybe she wouldn’t cut him off at the knees. Yet.
She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “You don’t work here…” When he arched his eyebrows at her, she indicated his clothes. “No Quik Mart shirt or matching visor—”
“Man, I would love one of those visors.”
“For all you know, there could be some sort of candy bar orientation to ensure the highest standards.”
He edged closer. “Actually I had a friend who worked here last summer. She had some…issues…with the manager.”
Jess followed his pointed glance at the potbellied man behind the counter. Caught him watching her, a predatory gleam in his eye. She hunched her shoulders and wished she had on more than a tank top and shorts. “Yeah, he’s a bit…creepy. I thought maybe it was the porno mustache giving me that vibe, though.”
The guy’s grin was fast and appreciative. “Trust your instincts. He’s bad news and the last thing you want is to be stuck working a late shift with him.”
“You’re probably right. But,” she said, picking up the pen and filling in the next line on the application, “as far as I can tell, this is one of the few places hiring that’s close enough for me to walk to.”
“You don’t have a car?”
Did he sound condescending? Surprised? “I didn’t need one in Boston,” she said, unable to hide the defensiveness in her voice.
Not that having a car would’ve made a difference since she wouldn’t be able to get her permit until her birthday next week. And then it would be another six months before she could take her road test. If Uncle Ross even let her drive. And really, what kind of town doesn’t have public transportation? No buses or even taxis. It was so completely stupid.
Cute Guy took a large cup from the stack and set it under the French Vanilla spout. “You’re from Boston?” He pressed the button. Steaming liquid filled his cup. “I just finished my third year at B.U.”
Of course he did. “Let me guess.” She let her gaze drift over him. “No socks. Short hair. No discernable piercings or tattoos and a love of bad, convenience-store coffee. Premed?” Weren’t all rich, preppy guys premed?
“Law,” he said, putting a lid on the cup. And she gave him major points for not saying he wanted to play doctor with her. “You?”
“Me what?”
“I’d ask what’s your major, but I’d hate to be accused of resorting to cheesy pickup lines.”
She blinked. Oh. Ohhh. Well, what do you know? Guess she looked even older than she realized. “I’m still undecided. I’m going into my second year at Northeastern.” My, my, my. Hadn’t she become quite the accomplished liar in a short period of time?
He took a sip of his chemically enhanced drink. “What brings you to Mystic Point?”
A strung out mom, overbearing uncle and a court system blinded to her needs and feelings.
“My mom. She’s…out of the country. I’m staying with my uncle until school starts again.”
“I’m a native. Maybe I could show you around town sometime.”
Her heart about leaped out of her chest. “Was that a cheesy pickup line?”
“Only if it worked.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It sounded rusty and felt weird but it also felt sort of…nice. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Listen, all attempts to get you to go out with me aside, if you’re looking for a job, you could try the Ludlow Street Café. My cousin is a waitress there and when I stopped in this morning, she mentioned they have a part-time position opening up. They haven’t even put it in the paper yet so if you go down there today, maybe you could get a jump on the competition.”
“I could. If I knew where it was.”
“Here.” He set his cup down, took the application and pen from her and wrote something then handed it back to her, pointing to what he’d written in the corner. “That’s the address. All you do is take a right at the light—” He nodded at the intersection visible through the glass door. “Go down two blocks then take another right on Winter Street. You can’t miss it.”
“Is this the phone number?” she asked, squinting at the scrawled numbers. “Is that a four?”
He bent his head
close to hers to see. His cologne was spicy and woodsy and probably expensive. But at least he didn’t bathe in it like the guys her age did.
“Seven,” he said, straightening and meeting her eyes. “And it’s not the café’s number. It’s mine. In case you wanted to call to thank me for helping you land a great job.”
She folded the paper and stuck it in her back pocket. “There’s no guarantee they’ll hire me.”
“Tell Celeste—that’s the owner—I sent you.”
“Good idea. Who are you?”
He shook his head. “Right. Sorry.” He held out his right hand. “Anthony Sullivan.”
“Jessica,” she said, shaking his hand. His palm was slightly rough, his skin warm. Best of all, he kept his gaze on her face instead of dropping to check out her boobs.
“You know,” he said, still holding her hand, “we could skip the whole call-me-later thing and make plans right now.”
Her stomach flipped. Whoa boy. He was gorgeous and charming and completely out of her league—not to mention her age bracket. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“More like hopeful,” he murmured, scanning her face as if she was beautiful. Special. And worthy of an obviously wealthy, smart guy who seemed truly, sincerely nice.
She wasn’t. If her life kept going in the direction it had been for the past few months, she probably never would be. But how was she supposed to resist him?
Why on earth would she want to?
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, reluctantly removing her hand from his.
“Dinner,” he said quickly. “Tomorrow night?”
Dinner. Like a real date. It sounded so…mature. And too good to be true. Sort of like him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He took out his iPhone. “At least give me your phone number so I can try to convince you. Come on,” he added, that damn dimple flashing. “What do you have to lose? I promise I’m trustworthy. I could even supply a few references if it’d make you feel better.”
He was sweet. But hadn’t she thought the same thing about Nate last night? Look how that had turned out.