by Beth Andrews
There was no way he could tell she was trembling with fear and nerves and, God help her, attraction.
She slid her sunglasses on. Damn Walker Bertrand and his broad shoulders, blue eyes and sexy scowl.
But she’d shown him, she assured herself as she skirted around a group of giggling middle school girls. She’d proved her point.
He couldn’t intimidate her. She could hold her own against him, against any man. She wasn’t afraid of him.
Liar, the little voice inside her head singsonged.
Stupid voice.
“Where’s your cocoa?” Layne asked when Tori returned to their spot on the track behind the team bench.
Tori looked down at her hands as if a hot chocolate would somehow magically appear. “Oh, uh, the line was too long. I’ll have one at the café later.”
Layne looked over Tori’s shoulder at the concession stand, undoubtedly seeing that the line was no longer than usual. “You were gone awhile. Get sidetracked?”
Tori laughed humorlessly. “You could say that.”
She could feel Layne frowning at her, trying to see inside her head.
You strike me as a woman used to getting what she wants—and is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure she does. You always hold something back, some small piece of yourself in the name of self-preservation and you’re rarely honest about who you are or what you want.
Biting her lower lip, Tori kept her gaze on the field where the two teams were lining up for kickoff. Walker’s assessment of her had been dead-on, eerily so. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was, of how she acted. But for the first time, she wished she could be different. Wished he could see more in her.
Brandon’s team kicked the ball and she watched her baby race down the field, held her breath when he zoned in on the ball carrier and wrapped his arms around him in a bone-crushing tackle. She didn’t exhale until both boys were on their feet, jogging back toward their respective teammates.
God, she hated football. Had always hated it, even when she’d cheered for Greg and the rest of her classmates in high school. It just seemed so senseless and idiotic, boys…men…running around in their tight pants trying to flatten each other. There had to be a better way to spend free time.
She wondered if she could possibly talk Brandon into taking up tennis. Or golf.
“You okay?” Layne asked.
Tori didn’t take her gaze from the field. “Just dandy.”
“What number is your son?”
She didn’t even bother sighing, just glanced at Walker as he stepped up to stand beside her. “Eighty-eight.”
Since they didn’t have enough kids for a full roster, most of the boys ended up playing both offense and defense, which was why Brandon was out there now.
“That was a good tackle,” Walker said with a nod to the action on the field. “He needs to keep his head up, though.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Tori said.
“What are you doing here?” Layne snapped at Walker. “This is harassment.”
Walker barely spared Layne a glance. He was probably used to people—women—being pissed at him. “Just taking in the game, Captain. No law against that, is there?”
“If you ever try to talk to my sister or any other member of my family without proper legal counsel present,” Layne said, her tone all the more dangerous for its softness, “you will regret it.”
Now Walker gave Layne his full attention. He shouldn’t have looked so…commanding, so daunting in his stupid, baggy sweatpants and faded T-shirt. But somehow, he still came off as if he was in charge and he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
Layne edged toward him, forcing Tori back a step, the confrontational look on her face one Tori had seen many times before. Usually directed at her. “Damn right it’s a threat.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start a scene at my son’s football game,” Tori said, keeping her voice even despite the urge to yell. She faced Layne. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you get more flies with honey than vinegar?”
“I’m not interested in collecting flies,” Layne said. Then she sneered at Walker. “Unless they’re smashed under a fly swatter. And I try not to remember any of the lessons Mom taught us.”
Tori tossed her head, cocked her hip. “Oh, but some of them come in so handy.”
Layne’s mouth flattened. She took a hold of Tori’s arm and tugged. “Let’s sit in the bleachers.”
Sit up there with Greg and Colleen and Greg’s parents? So she could watch her ex-husband snuggle up with his girlfriend while pretending she didn’t notice how happy his parents were, how relieved, that he wasn’t with Tori anymore? That he’d finally found someone worthy of him?
She pulled away from Layne’s grasp. “I’m fine right here. But you go ahead.”
Layne stared at her for so long, Tori fought the urge to squirm. To not give away any of her thoughts. Because that’s what Layne wanted. To see inside her head, inside her heart.
But no one got that close to her. Not her sisters. Not the man she’d been married to. No one.
Finally Layne whirled around, her ponytail hitting Tori’s arm before she stalked off.
“You always do the opposite of what your sister wants?” Walker asked.
Tori stuck her hands into her pockets and wished she’d bought that cocoa. She wanted something to do with her hands. “Pretty much.”
“That’s quite the cheering section your son has,” Walker said.
She followed his gaze to where Layne was joining their family. The Sullivans were out in full force for the game. Something in Tori warmed, loosened.
Her family wasn’t perfect—far from it. But they did try to be there for each other.
Layne took the spot at the end of the bench seat next to Nora. Tori had no doubt her younger sister would’ve dragged Griffin along, if not for the fact he worked Saturday mornings at the garage he owned. Ross’s niece, Jess, a high school junior who worked part-time at the café, sat on Nora’s other side. As Tori watched, Jess leaned over toward her boyfriend, Tanner, said something that had him giving one of his slow grins.
And Tori tried really hard not to hold it against Tanner that he had the bad luck of being Griffin’s half brother.
“Is that Celeste Vitello?” Walker asked. “The dark-haired woman next to your father.”
Tori looked up to the stands again, saw her dad and Celeste with Uncle Ken and Aunt Astor. Their daughter, Erin, and her fiancé, Collin, sat one row up with Anthony. “How do you know that’s my dad? Wait,” she said drily. “Stupid question. You know everything.”
Nothing. No flash of humor crossed his handsome face, no warmth entered his eyes. “Actually I know because I interviewed him yesterday.” Walker sent her a pointed look. “He was very cooperative.”
“I’m sure he was.” Her father had nothing to hide, of that Tori was certain. He was too decent, too honorable, to have committed murder.
“He must love watching his grandson play,” Walker said, the easy, conversational tone of his voice putting her on edge. What was he up to now? “My dad gets a huge kick out of going to all of his grandkids’ sporting events.”
“What’s this?” she asked lightly. “Changing tactics on me? Gotten tired of trying to intimidate information out of me?”
“Just making conversation.”
But a flush coated his cheeks. Too bad it only made him look sexier.
“Dad’s a good grandfather,” she admitted grudgingly, unable to figure out any reason she couldn’t have a discussion with Walker, one that didn’t include accusations, suspicions and half-truths. “He tries not to miss any of Brandon’s sporting events and at least once a month spends one-on-one time with him.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
There it was. The reason she needed to keep her mouth shut around him, why she should keep her distance. He saw too much, things she
didn’t want to give away, thoughts and emotions he had no right digging into.
“Like I said, my dad’s a good grandfather.” But that didn’t, couldn’t, make up for all those times when it’d been her event—a soccer game when she’d been in middle school, cheerleading competitions when she’d gotten older—when she’d look up into the stands searching for him, hoping that once, just once, he’d be there for her.
He never was.
It wasn’t until Layne was away at school and Tori got married that he stopped spending all his life at sea and started being home more. Must be why he and Nora were so close. He’d been there for his youngest daughter in all the ways he hadn’t been for Tori and Layne.
That was okay. They hadn’t needed him as much as Nora had, hadn’t needed a parent—not when they were so used to taking care of themselves.
On the field, Brandon’s team had gotten the ball back on downs and he was set up behind his center. At the snap, he tucked the ball against his stomach and took off, making it three yards before one of the opposing players hit him hard enough to knock him off his feet. He landed with a hard thud.
Tori cringed at the sound of pads hitting pads, her son’s grunt as he hit the hard earth. “Are they sure that kid is only twelve?” she muttered, eyeing the other boy’s bulky frame. “He looks at least fourteen.”
“Relax,” Walker said, making what could have been—should have been—a lovely reassurance sound more like an order. But then he glanced down at her clenched hands and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost…kind. “He’s fine. He’ll be fine.”
And for some stupid reason, she believed him.
God, she must be losing her ever-loving mind. What other explanation could there be for her trusting anything Walker said? She inhaled deeply, breathed in the crisp fall air, trying to clear her head. She had to remember why Walker was in Mystic Point. To drag up the past. To destroy her sister’s career and prove that someone in her family was a murderer.
On second down, Brandon’s team tried another running play, this one resulting in no gain. Third down, he took the snap and dropped back to pass—a rare occurrence at this age level but Coach Stillman had a lot of faith in Brandon’s abilities.
“Go, go, go,” she murmured when Brandon scrambled left, then cut back to the right. She bit her thumb knuckle as he evaded one tackle, looked downfield then let loose with a beautiful pass. The ball spiraled, arcing in the air, then hit Ryan right in the number on his jersey and Ryan, God bless him, wrapped that ball in his arms like it was a newborn baby and ran like hell toward the end zone.
Tori bounced on her heels. The crowd went wild, cheering him on. Twenty-yard line. Ten. Five.
Touchdown!
“Yes!” Tori hopped up and down, her yell drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Whoo hoo!”
“Nice pass,” Walker said.
“Nice?” she repeated on a laugh as she turned toward him. It was then she realized she was clutching his arm. She let go as if he’d caught on fire. “That wasn’t nice,” she said, her voice trembling, her world tipping slightly, as if the track was shifting under her feet. She curled her fingers into her own palm. “That was a beauty.”
“He been playing long?”
“Since he was ten. His father, my ex, played in high school. Varsity quarterback two years.”
Walker sent her a sidelong glance. “Following in his father’s footsteps?”
“God, I hope not,” she blurted, then shut her eyes briefly and wished she could take the words back. They sounded so…angry. Resentful. They were too revealing. Too truthful.
“I take it your divorce wasn’t amicable.”
“Oh, no, it was very amicable. Friendly even.” The wind blew her hair into her face and she tucked it behind her ear, kept her gaze on the game. “No hard feelings, no anger or recriminations. It was all very…civilized.”
Yes, civilized. She’d said she wanted a divorce and he’d just…agreed. Simple. He hadn’t asked what he could do to change her mind. Hadn’t apologized for not keeping the promises he’d made when he’d proposed. He claimed he loved her, but he hadn’t fought for her.
Feeling Walker’s eyes on her, she faced him. “It all worked out in the end,” she said, trying to assure herself as much as him. She lowered her sunglasses and sent him a heavy-lidded look over the top of the frames. “I like the freedom of being single. There are so many…possibilities out there.”
But she’d underestimated him—or overestimated her acting ability. Because though his eyes remained cool, she noted sympathy in the blue depths.
And that would not do.
“Life’s a buffet, is that it?” he asked softly.
Tori’s stomach churned. She shoved the glasses in place. “That’s exactly right. And I want to try all it has to offer. You let me know if you ever want to be added to the menu.”
* * *
SHE WAS NOTHING short of a chameleon, Walker thought fifteen minutes later as he caught sight of Tori. Again.
Ever since she’d walked away from him after her son’s touchdown pass, he found himself searching her out. It wasn’t hard to do as she was easy to spot, usually surrounded by people. If she wasn’t talking with her family, she was flirting with one of the many men who approached her.
She handled it all like a pro. Always giving the men enough attention to make them feel as if they had a shot but then sending them on their way before they got too comfortable. They all seemed happy when they left so she obviously left them with the hope they had a chance in hell. Maybe they did, but Walker didn’t think so. She was playing them, playing everyone.
He wondered who the real Tori Sullivan Mott was. If she even knew.
He could’ve left, probably should have, but he’d seen Tori’s uncle Ken Sullivan in the stands and realized he had an opportunity to ask him a few questions. Besides, Walker was obstinate enough to want to stay all because Layne Sullivan wanted him gone. And he could think of worse ways to spend a sunny Saturday morning than at a football game, his gaze drawn again and again to the beautiful Tori Mott.
She’d spent most of her time with Celeste Vitello, their heads together as they spoke. Even from a distance, he could see there was a bond between the two women. Tori seemed more at ease with the older woman than with her own sisters.
Something to tuck away for future reference.
Time wound down and the visiting team tossed a wobbling Hail Mary pass that ended up on the ground. As the home team celebrated, the bleachers started to clear out. Walker couldn’t stop from looking up at the stands one last time. As if sensing his gaze on her, Tori slowly turned. He didn’t need to see her eyes behind those dark glasses to know she held his gaze. Her lips curved up invitingly. Mockingly.
You let me know if you ever want to be added to the menu.
He did. He wanted her hands on him, those lush curves pressed against him like they had been earlier so he could feel her body heat, smell her enticing scent. It’d taken all of his willpower not to pull her closer, not to take that mobile, smart-ass mouth in a deep kiss.
He wanted her. And she knew it.
He wasn’t used to denying himself but in this case, he saw no other choice. He was there because Ross Taylor hadn’t been smart enough to put his career, his reputation, before some woman.
Walker would be damned before he made the same mistake.
Deliberately turning away from Tori, he scanned the crowd, swore under his breath when he spotted Tori’s tall, blond father but not her uncle. That’s what he got for letting his guard down, for letting his personal desires get the better of him. He walked swiftly along with the crowd exiting through the gate, and picked up his pace when he spotted Ken and his family across the parking lot.
“Excuse me,” he called, closing in on them as he unzipped the side pocket of his sweatpants. “Ken Sullivan?”
Ken turned and gave Walker a politician’s polite smile. “That’s right.”
Walker pulled ou
t his badge. “Mr. Sullivan, I’m Detective Bertrand from the state attorney general’s office. I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the murder of Dale York.”
“If you want to interview me,” Ken said dismissively, “you can set it up through my office.”
Walker had tried that. He’d called Ken’s office several times for two days straight only to be told by Ken’s very polite secretary that her boss was otherwise occupied but would get back to Walker as soon as possible. By Friday afternoon, Walker had had enough of pissing in the wind and had gone to the austere law offices of Sullivan, Saunders and Mazza.
Ken hadn’t been there.
Walker had spent the rest of the day trying to track the man down—first at the courthouse where that same secretary—though not quite as politely as before—had informed him Ken had gone. By the time Walker had made it back to Ken’s law office, the entire building was locked up tight. So Walker had gone to the fancy, two-story house outside of town but no one answered the doorbell.
He knew when he was getting the runaround. Just as he knew what to do about it.
“A formal interview won’t be necessary, sir,” he said smoothly, making sure his voice carried not only to Ken, but also to his family who were now gathered around a glossy black Mercedes. “I was just hoping you could clarify for me why Dale York was seen leaving your office the night of July 10.”
“Ken,” his wife, a pretty woman with chin-length, honey-blond hair asked, frowning in concern, “what’s he talking about?”
“It’s nothing, honey. Here.” He crossed to her and handed her keys. “Go ahead and wait in the car. I’ll only be a minute.”
Ken’s son stepped forward. “But, Dad—”
“Anthony, it’s fine. Go with your mother. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Anthony and his mom hesitated but then she smiled and took her son’s arm. “Come on. Let’s let Dad handle this.”
Ken watched them walk away then turned to Walker. “I don’t appreciate you bringing this up at this time, nor in front of my family.”