by Beth Andrews
“My sister…Jessica’s mom…she’s an addict. She started using in high school, got clean for a while when she was pregnant but went back to using when Jess was around a year old.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “That’s also when she left Boston. Took off to Nashville to sing backup for some guy she’d hooked up with at the hotel where she worked. She was there six months or so then, when that guy moved on, she found another one, followed him to another city—Memphis, I think. The pattern repeated—different men, different cities and states—until a year ago when she ran out of money and boyfriends and came home.”
“Where was Jess during all of this?”
“With Heather. Mom and Dad tried to get custody of her but until a few years ago, Heather was still able to function enough to hold menial jobs and make sure Jess was taken care of. At least, enough to satisfy the courts that she’d be better off with her mother than her grandparents.” He paced behind his desk, feeling edgy and angry and helpless to do anything to rid himself of the emotions roiling through him. “Ten months ago Heather was arrested for possession with intent to sell. Since it wasn’t her first offense, she got the maximum sentence and Jess went to live with my parents. When she started acting up, it was too much for Mom and Dad to handle so I stepped in, told them I’d take her.”
“They didn’t want her.”
The words, spoken just above a whisper, seemed to echo in the room. Shades of Layne’s own past.
He stopped, forced himself to remain still and face her. “They wanted her. Or, at least, I think they wanted to want her. But when her behavior became reminiscent of Heather’s at that age, they weren’t willing to go through that same nightmare again.”
Hadn’t had the energy, the resolve or, Ross suspected, the desire to do so. Not even for their granddaughter. It’d been easier for them before Heather and Jess returned to Boston. Easier to pretend there was nothing they could do to for Jess. But when push came to shove, his parents hadn’t stood up, hadn’t done what was right.
They’d left it up to him.
“So you gave up your life in Boston, your career there, for Jess?” Layne asked.
“For both of us.” He liked to think he was a good guy but he wasn’t a damned saint. “I’d been debating getting out of the Boston P.D. for over a year.”
He’d been tired of the departmental politics and being passed over for promotions. Plus he’d seen how difficult it was for his fellow officers to maintain stable personal lives when dealing with shift work and horrific crimes. But more than that, he’d quickly been approaching burnout, had worried that when he reached that point, there’d be no turning back.
Layne raised her eyebrows. “And moving to Mystic Point gave you an opportunity to make your dream of being a small-town police chief come true?”
“It gave me the opportunity to continue doing what I love to do, what I hope makes a difference in people’s lives while bringing Jess someplace where she could have a fresh start.”
“Why tell me all of this?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion. “Why break your own rule about not mixing your private life with your work one?”
Because she intrigued him with her brusqueness and sense of humor and responsibility to her family. Attracted him with her intelligence and long legs and reluctant grin. Because for the first time he found himself wanting to share a piece of himself—no matter how small—with someone else.
And he couldn’t admit any of that. “I told you,” he said, letting her in on as much of the truth as he could, “because I wanted you to know.”
* * *
LAYNE’S CHEST GREW TIGHT and she realized she was holding her breath. Exhaling on a soft whoosh, she regarded Ross warily. “You were probably right. About keeping this—” she gestured between them “—separate.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Undoubtedly.”
“I don’t want you breaking any of your rules for me,” she blurted.
She was flustered. Nervous. He made her nervous. What was up with that?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, giving her no clue as to what he really thought. “Before you leave, there’s one more thing—”
“Really?” she asked, her lips twitching despite her best efforts. “You’re using the Columbo line on me?”
“It just came out,” he admitted, somewhat disconcertedly. Good to know there were times when even cool, controlled Chief Taylor spoke without thinking. Though she doubted it happened often.
“Why was Tori so determined to do well on her history test?” he asked.
That was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. Layne set her right hand on her hip. “Why?”
“Is there a reason you don’t want to answer the question?”
“Other than it’s a stupid question?” And because answering it would be breaking his rule again. Except this time, it’d be her sharing a piece of herself when she preferred to keep all her pieces inside, all safely hidden away. “No. No reason. I told Tori if she got a B minus or above on the test, she could borrow anything out of my closet for an entire week.”
“B minus, huh? Not just a passing grade?”
“She was capable of A’s but she didn’t apply herself.” Still didn’t but that wasn’t Layne’s problem anymore. “She ended up with a B plus and wore every outfit in my closet at least once.”
“And Nora?”
“Nora aced history. Nora aced all her classes. She didn’t need to be bribed to study.”
“She mentioned that your mother wasn’t around to tuck her in at night, and I can’t help but wonder who did.” He walked around to the front of his desk, and she hoped he didn’t come any closer. Hoped almost as desperately that he would. “Who took care of your sisters, Layne? Who gave them a bedtime and helped with their homework and read to them before they went to sleep?”
She switched her purse from her left shoulder to her right. “What does that have to do with Mom’s murder?”
“Not a thing.”
He wanted her to share a part of herself that wasn’t about the case or their jobs.
“I did,” she said, somehow sounding defensive and proud at the same time. Which pretty much summed up how she felt about her childhood. “I took care of them.”
She’d always take care of them.
“Who took care of you?”
The question, asked so gently, had tears threatening. She ducked her head for the count of five until she gained control.
Confident he wouldn’t detect anything she didn’t want him to see, she met his eyes. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Was there anything else, Chief?”
His lips flattened but then he schooled his expression. “Any confirmation of when your father will return? I’d like to set up a time to speak with him as soon as possible.”
“If the current weather predictions hold, he should be home by Sunday.”
“Please have him contact me at his earliest convenience,” Ross said.
“Sure. Look, I know I’m supposed to report back to work Tuesday night—” thanks to her not being scheduled Monday, her forced mini-vacation was a day longer than he’d decreed “—but I need it off.” When he looked surprised, she hurried on, “I can switch with someone, take an earlier shift but we’re scheduling Mom’s memorial service for that evening.” Or, at least they would, once they met with the funeral director later today.
“I haven’t double-checked, but don’t MPPD officers get a week off for bereavement?”
“I don’t want a week off.” She didn’t need it. “I just want Tuesday.”
He studied her for so long, her face grew hot. “You don’t want a full week? Fine. But in addition to Tuesday I want you to take Wednesday, too.”
She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “But I don’t want—”
“I’m not asking you what you want, Captain.”
“Is this more punishment for not telling you about the necklace?”
He pinched the bridge of
his nose as if she got on his last nerve when he was the one pushing her buttons. “It’s not a punishment at all,” he said, dropping his hand. “It’s a few days off for you to spend with your family during a difficult time.”
How was she supposed to argue with that logic? “Fine,” she managed to say through her clenched teeth. “I’ll report back to duty Thursday night.” It couldn’t come soon enough for her.
She walked out before he could try to get inside her head again. Before he could do or say something that made her forget why her pulse shouldn’t race when she looked at him, why her mouth shouldn’t get dry when he got too close.
Why she had to protect her secrets. And her heart.
* * *
“MOONLIGHTING?” ROSS ASKED Layne two days later, coming up behind her as she cleared a table at the Ludlow Street Café.
Reaching for a plastic cup with melting ice cubes and a chewed plastic straw, she stilled for the barest of seconds then flicked him a glance over her shoulder. “I’m filling time until my boss lets me come back to work.”
Damn if he hadn’t missed the sound of her smart mouth.
She added the glass to a large, plastic tub then crumpled the paper placemats and tossed them into the tub, as well. Stepping back as she sprayed some sort of cleaning solution that burned his nose, he couldn’t help but let his gaze drop to her ass. Her dark jeans cupped her curves, her entire body swayed as she wiped the table.
Sweat broke out along his nape. Desire settled hot and heavy in his gut, made him itchy with want. Restless with need. He jerked his eyes up. All the booths were full, a few tables sat empty but seeing as how two cars had pulled into the parking lot after him, he doubted they’d stay that way. There were two waitresses—no, make that three, he amended as a young redhead came out a door on the other side of the room. The other two were older, one heavy with a permanent smile, the other barely topping five feet with the same curly hairstyle his grandmother had.
Three waitresses. But no Jess.
Straightening, Layne’s rear brushed against his thigh and his mind blanked, just…emptied of all thought. “Any news on my mom’s case?” she asked.
How was he supposed to think when she was so close? He eased back, put some much needed distance between them. “Dale York’s ex-wife and son are coming in to the station tomorrow to speak with me. But so far, I’ve been unable to ascertain Mr. York’s current whereabouts.”
Frustration ate at him. No, he had no clue where York was, where he’d been during the past eighteen years or if he was even still alive. It was as if the man simply ceased to be the night he left Mystic Point.
“Good luck with that interview.” Layne picked up the basin and held it under her arm. “I don’t know much about the ex-wife but Griffin York isn’t exactly known around town for having a sparkling personality and civic-minded mentality.”
“What is he known for?” Though, from checking into the younger York’s background and seeing the sealed juvie record, Ross could guess.
“He’s a loner. A badass with a chip on his shoulder about his past and upbringing, especially when it comes to his old man.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks. Have you seen Jess? I thought she was working tonight.”
“She’s here. Probably in the kitch—no, there she is,” Layne said, inclining her head toward the swinging door the redhead had come through.
Only this time, Jess came out, a coffeepot in one hand, a small bowl in the other. She headed to a booth in the corner, set the bowl down and filled the couples’ coffee cups before saying something to them and hurrying back to the kitchen.
“What the hell is she wearing?” he muttered.
“Yeah. That skirt is short,” Layne said lightly. “Let’s hope she doesn’t bend over. She might cause a riot.”
“Short? I can see her ass.” Noticing three guys in a booth on the other side of the room checking Jess out, Ross curled his fingers into fists. “Everyone can see her ass.”
“Not quite, but it’s close, I’ll give you that. I think she borrowed it from Keira. Which is good news. I think they’re becoming friends,” she said, nodding at the redhead.
No wonder the skirt was so short, so tight on Jess. His niece had five inches and at least fifteen pounds on the redhead. “I’d rather she be friends with girls her own size. Ones who wore longer skirts.”
“I’m pretty sure the Little House on the Prairie look is out of fashion with the kids these days.” Had he really thought he’d missed that sardonic tone? He must be out of his mind. “Are you eating here, or did you stop by to check on your niece and critique her clothes?”
“Any reason I can’t do all three?”
“Not that I can think of.” She hitched the bin higher. “Take a seat. This is one of Jess’s booths so she’ll be your server.”
She walked away. Purposely not watching her go, Ross sat in the booth on the side facing the door. A minute later, Layne returned with a new place setting.
“You work here often?”
“Keeping tabs on me, Chief?” she asked, laying down a paper placemat. She added silverware wrapped in a paper napkin and a coffee cup and saucer.
“I’m interested.” In her. In what she did, what she thought, what went on in that clever head of hers. Way more so than he should be. “I’m interested what all of my officers do when they’re away from the station.”
She laughed. “Really? And what do you know about what any of us does with our free time?”
He moved the silverware so it lined up with the edge of the placemat. “Campbell races dirt bikes. Meade spends most weekends watching his grandkids’ sporting events. Forbes builds furniture, tables mostly but he’ll also do special designs if the price is right. And Donna somehow finds time to volunteer at her church, organizes a monthly food drive and babysits her daughter’s infant three nights a week.” He told himself the skepticism in her gaze didn’t bother him. “I know my people, Captain.”
“Maybe.” Today a thick band held her hair away from her face, but instead of the long fall of it trailing down her back in a tail or braid, she’d pinned it up in a messy bun. “Or maybe you’re just a really good detective. There’s a difference between conversing with someone, asking questions and paying attention to what they say, and overhearing bits and pieces of conversation or seeing the magazines they read in the break room.”
“Guess I’m not the only good detective here,” he said, fighting his irritation, his embarrassment that she’d pegged him so easily. He wasn’t about to feel guilty because he didn’t buddy up to his officers. He wasn’t their pal. He was their boss. Her boss. There was a protocol he had to stick to. “You do realize you’re to inform your superior officer if you have a second job.”
“I’m not working here. I’m helping out while Celeste, Tori and Nora drove down to pick up Dad.”
Layne had left a message for him yesterday that her father’s return to Mystic Point would be delayed due to the Guiding Light having some sort of mechanical problem. The ship had docked in Marblehead late last night.
“Are you spying on me?” Jess asked as she approached the booth, her gaze apprehensive, her makeup too heavy for a girl her age.
“If he is,” Layne said, before he could respond, “he’s doing a crappy job at it.” She scrunched up her nose at him. “Maybe next time you could wear a disguise. I’m thinking a fedora and a fake mustache. What do you think?” she asked Jess.
Jess rolled her eyes. “I think you get creepier with each passing day.”
“Oh, ha-ha. And you keep getting wittier. Now, are you going to wait on him or should I give his table—and the big tip I’m sure he’s going to leave—to Patty?”
Jess slammed a laminated menu down in front of him as Layne walked away. “Our specials today,” she said flatly, “are chicken and biscuits, blackened tilapia and stuffed pork chops. Soup of the day is fish chowder.” She held up her order pad. “Do you want a drink?”
“You must
rake in the tips with that attitude.”
“Why are you here?” she asked though not as harshly as usual. She sounded more curious. Nervous. “Were you and Layne talking about me?”
He was there because the house had been too quiet. Too still.
“I’m hungry,” he said, opening the menu. “It’s one of those annoying biological oddities that happens to me several times a day. And no, the assistant chief and I were not discussing you.” Other than her clothing choices but since he doubted that’s what Jess meant, he’d keep that to himself. “Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing. God. I just don’t like you checking up on me.”
“It’s my job to check up on you. But if you didn’t get into so much trouble,” he pointed out reasonably, “I wouldn’t have to do it.”
Her lower lip stuck out making her look younger than fifteen despite the revealing clothes and makeup. Shit. He’d hurt her feelings. Again. He wasn’t any good at this.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I didn’t—”
“Do you want a drink or not?” she asked stepping back.
He sighed. “Coffee. Black.”
She left but came back thirty seconds later to pour him a cup of coffee. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”
And she went off again. This time taking with her the attention of the three guys in the far booth. They were in their early twenties with scruffy beards. They talked too loud, laughed too much. Two of them, the one with the short, dark hair and the blond, had on bright, designer Polo shirts. The third, stockier than his buddies, wore a plain white T-shirt, his brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail.
He hadn’t seen them around town before—not that he recognized many of the faces he encountered each day but he was getting better at spotting tourists among the locals. And those three fit the bill. He glowered at them. Not that they noticed. They were too busy tracking his underage niece as she worked. He started out of the booth, ready to get his Taser from his patrol car when common sense took control. He couldn’t go around electroshocking every guy who looked at Jess. That would be a full-time job.