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Tori exhaled a short laugh, the tension in her easing. “My big sister doesn’t get into trouble. She gets everyone else out of it.”
Layne had always been there to help Tori and Nora with their homework, made sure they had dinner, lunch money and went to bed at a decent hour. She’d been more of a mother to them than Valerie had ever been.
She never let her sisters forget it.
Tori appreciated the sacrifices Layne had made, how she’d taken care of them. She also resented the hell out of her for not seeing that she and Nora no longer needed her to be their substitute mom. They needed her to be their sister.
“Donna called me,” Celeste said of her good friend and Chief Taylor’s secretary. “She told me Mayor Seagren and the district attorney had an early morning meeting with both Ross and Layne.”
“Ross and the mayor are always huddled up about something.” Billy Seagren loved nothing more than hanging out at the police station. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t asked Ross to make him some sort of unofficial deputy complete with shiny gold star.
“A special investigator sent from the attorney general’s office was there, too. Donna isn’t sure what’s going on but there’s been some sort of complaint against both Ross and Layne. Something is wrong,” Celeste said. “I can feel it. And I think you should go to this meeting, not because Layne told you to, but because she needs you there.”
Her mouth twisting, Tori tucked her hair behind her ear. Layne didn’t need her. No one did. Not her sisters or her father. Not even her own son.
“Can I get back to work now?” she asked, sounding as petulant and defiant as Brandon. That he came by his attitude naturally only irritated her more. Would it kill him to mimic a few of her positive traits?
Celeste sighed, her disappointment clear. Nothing new there. Tori was always disappointing someone. “If that’s what you really want…”
“It is,” Tori said, already walking out of the office. She headed toward the dining room, but stopped at the doorway, her stomach turning. Whirling around, she crossed to the break room, circled the table, her stride short because of her tight skirt.
The guilt was back. As if she didn’t have enough of the useless stuff already. She was a mother, wasn’t she? She’d been dealing with guilt on a daily basis ever since Brandon was born. Was she good enough? Smart enough? Did she have enough patience? Give him enough time and attention and love?
It had only increased since she and Greg had told Brandon they were splitting up a year ago. She’d seen the accusation in her son’s eyes. He’d known she’d instigated the divorce, blamed her for ripping their family apart. He’d yet to forgive her.
So, yeah, full quota of guilt here, thanks just the same. And Layne did not need her. She prided herself on not needing anyone. It was a sentiment—one of very few—she and Tori shared. One learned by watching their parents’ dysfunctional marriage, by having a selfish, vain mother, a father who ran off to sea every chance he got.
It was too risky to count on someone to be there for you. Better, safer, to rely on yourself.
Besides, it shouldn’t matter to Tori what was going on with Layne. They weren’t close, not like Tori and Nora. Or at least, she and Nora had been close until her baby sister decided to hook up with the son of the man who’d killed their mother.
Discovering the truth about their mother should have brought them together, but instead they’d drifted apart. Living their own lives.
Whatever trouble Layne was in was just that. Hers. Tori had enough problems of her own to deal with.
She grabbed her purse from her locker and headed back into the hallway. Celeste stood in the kitchen doorway talking with Joe, the café’s breakfast cook. Tori kept her gaze straight ahead as she passed them.
“Hey,” Celeste called, stopping Tori at the door. “Let me know as soon as you find out what’s going on.”
Tori lifted a hand to indicate she heard then hurried outside. The sun peered through the clouds and a cool breeze lifted the ends of her hair as she clicked the unlock button on her car keys. She slid behind the wheel of her ancient Toyota, cranked the engine and pulled out, heading toward the police station.
Family ties. They bound and choked and twisted and tangled a person up until they couldn’t break free. But if you took on one Sullivan, you took on all of them.
God help you then.
* * *
THE BRUNETTE KNEW how to make an entrance.
She demanded attention. Walker studied the woman gliding into Chief Taylor’s office, her heels tapping against the floor. A lot of it.
A small smile playing on her lips, she slid her gaze around the room before landing on him. Though her expression didn’t change, he had the sense she was sizing him up, trying to figure out how big of a threat he was.
Her eyes met his and attraction, instantaneous and primal, slammed into him, had his next breath lodging itself in his chest with painful intensity. Jesus, but she was like a walking wet dream, all lush curves, long legs and full, slicked red lips. Her hair was chin length, the ends razor sharp, with a heavy fringe of bangs.
Awareness, feminine and powerful, entered her light brown eyes as she drew closer. If they’d been anywhere else but the police station—a bar, the grocery store…hell…a car wash—he would’ve tried to get her number, her name, her interest. An invitation into her bed.
But they weren’t somewhere else. So he gave her his most intimidating scowl.
Her smile amped up a few degrees, her walk turned into an out-and-out slink, the movements sensual and, if he wasn’t mistaken, practiced.
She knew what effect she had, knew what men thought of when they saw her.
It wasn’t sex. Or at least, not just sex. It was something darker, more dangerous. She brought out a man’s natural instincts to mate, to possess a woman in the most heated, basic and elemental way possible.
“Hail, hail,” she murmured, her tone smoky and seductive, her features too similar to those of Captain Sullivan to be anyone other than the missing sister, Tori Mott, “the gang’s all here.”
He felt Taylor watching him, judging his reaction. Deliberately turning away from the brunette, he met the chief’s gaze coolly. To prove he was in charge, of this case and his body.
“You’re late,” the assistant chief said in a brusque, disapproving tone.
Mrs. Mott lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug that caused her sister’s lips to thin. “Am I?” she asked. She sat next to Nora Sullivan and crossed her legs, her skirt sliding up, exposing her thighs. “So sorry.”
Captain Sullivan balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. “No one is checking out your legs, so tone down the sex kitten act.”
“I don’t have an act. Although it really is a pity about no one noticing my legs. I’ve always considered them my best feature.”
“God, Tori, do you have to antagonize her?” Nora asked, sending Walker a nervous glance.
“A girl has to find her fun somewhere.” She glanced at Walker, her lips curved as if inviting him in on the joke, but her eyes were watchful. Guarded. Hiding secrets and her true intentions.
And he realized her legs weren’t her best feature, not by a long shot. Those eyes were.
Leaning forward, she held out her hand. “I’m Tori Mott. And you are…?”
“Satan,” Captain Sullivan said under her breath.
Chief Taylor sighed heavily. Nora Sullivan made a choking sound. And still, Mrs. Mott held her hand out to Walker, her eyebrows raised in question. In challenge.
“Detective Bertrand,” he said, taking her hand.
He maintained eye contact as he held on for the proper amount of time. She pressed her lips together as if fighting a smile. Because of her sister’s comment? Or because he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction, not completely, at the sharp sting of desire that had accompanied the contact of her soft skin against his?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“I thought Satan was your special pet name just for me,” Griffin York, the dark-haired man next to the blonde, said to Captain Sullivan. “I’m hurt.”
Sullivan didn’t blush. Didn’t squirm in abject embarrassment or worry over retribution. The set of her shoulders, the tightness of her mouth, told Walker she didn’t respect his authority or the job he was there to do.
So be it. There was nothing he liked more than a challenge.
If Sullivan thought she could intimidate him with her bad attitude and sharp tongue, she was way off base. Hostility, both blatant and subtle, came with the job description. Most cops weren’t thrilled at having an outsider come into their department, digging into their lives, jeopardizing their careers and reputations.
Then again, he wouldn’t be here if Taylor and Sullivan had followed the rules.
“Bertrand is from the state attorney general’s office,” Taylor said, linking his hands together on top of the desk. “He asked us to call you all together for this meeting.”
Asked. Demanded. Walker gave a mental shrug. As long as he got the result he wanted—a jump start on his investigation—he wouldn’t quibble with the chief’s word choice.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Mott asked, scrutinizing him as if there was more going on in her head than which skirt would best showcase that top-notch ass of hers. But then she blinked and her expression turned sultry again. “And why would a detective from such a grand and lofty state office be interested in the five of us?”
“Things like conflict of interest, mishandling of cases, corruption, misconduct and, of course, murder always interest the state.”
The blonde Sullivan slid to the edge of her seat, her knees pressed together. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Captain Sullivan. “What is he talking about?”
The captain opened her mouth but Taylor held up his hand.
“There have been several complaints made against Assistant Chief Sullivan and me,” Taylor said as calmly as if he was discussing the score of last night’s Red Sox game. Either he had that much confidence the charges were unfounded or he put up one hell of a front. “Bertrand is here to launch a formal investigation into those allegations.”
The blonde’s eyes widened and Walker wondered if they were going to pop out of her pretty head and roll across the floor. She leaped to her feet. Walker stood as well, his hand hovering over his gun.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sullivan said wearily, “that’s hardly necessary. Look at her—” She waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “Does she really look violent?”
“Don’t let the angel face fool you,” York told Walker. “If she ever gets her hands on a crowbar, you’d better watch out.”
“Not helping,” Nora Sullivan said as she dug into her purse. She pulled out a cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Captain Sullivan asked.
Nora pressed a button, held the phone to her ear. “Calling Uncle Kenny. You need legal representation in order to fight these charges.” She met Walker’s eyes, lifted her chin. “These bogus, inflammatory charges.”
That’s right. She was an attorney, worked for her uncle who had, at one point, been the county’s D.A. Tangled web and all that. Christ but this investigation was going to be a pain in his ass.
But at least he wouldn’t be bored.
“It’s an investigation,” Captain Sullivan said, taking the phone from her sister and shutting it off. “And Ross and I are scheduled to meet with an attorney from the union this afternoon.” She touched the blonde’s arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”
“You’re in trouble,” Nora said, her voice thick.
Walker hoped she didn’t let loose with the waterworks. Crying was one of the many ways women manipulated men. Growing up, his sisters often used tears to get what they wanted from their father and, later, him.
It was Walker’s own damn fault such a low-down, rotten, dirty trick still managed to work on him.
Captain Sullivan shook her head. “The truth will come out. Isn’t that what you always say?”
The blonde glanced over her shoulder at York, who tugged her back to her seat.
But not before Walker noticed how Nora blanched, the color leaking out of her face.
Seemed Tori Mott wasn’t the only Sullivan woman with secrets.
“Is that why you dragged me away from work?” Mrs. Mott asked. “So you could tell us you’re getting your hand slapped?”
“It’s more than a hand slap,” the blonde said heatedly. “This is serious, Tori.”
“Ah, but Tori’s never serious,” Captain Sullivan said. “Isn’t that right?”
Mrs. Mott studied her nails. “Why should I be? You’re serious enough for both of us.”
“We asked you here,” Taylor said, obviously having dealt with these three enough times to know when to intervene before things got out of hand, “because the toxicology reports on Dale York came back.”
Mrs. Mott frowned. “It’s been what…two months? The autopsy was done the day after he died.”
Taylor stood and rounded his desk, handing the report Walker had given him earlier to Nora. “Toxicology reports take anywhere from six to eight weeks to complete.”
“His heart gave out,” Mrs. Mott said. “It was fitting, though I’d sort of hoped he would suffer more before kicking it. Either way, it was no big loss to humanity.” She glanced at York, her mouth a thin line. “No offense.”
York flicked his green gaze at her. There was no love lost between them, that was for sure. Something to take into account.
Nora held the report out, her hand trembling. “This can’t be right.”
Taylor sat on the edge of his immaculate desk. “It’s right. The coroner was wrong. A heart attack wasn’t what killed Dale.”
“So what did?” the younger York asked.
“Cyanide.”
“Cyanide?” Mrs. Mott repeated, snatching the report from Nora. “That makes no sense.”
Walker crossed his arms, wished he could take off his suit jacket, loosen his tie. “It makes perfect sense. Mr. York was poisoned. Besides being here to look into the issues regarding the chief and assistant chief, I’m also in charge of Mr. York’s murder case.”
Letting that sink in, Walker let his gaze shift from one person to the next. “And I can’t help but wonder if the person who killed him is in this room.”
CHAPTER THREE
FEAR TURNED TORI’S blood to ice, tightened her throat. Through the roaring in her head she could barely make out Layne’s gruff—and no doubt, pithy—reaction to the detective’s words. Nora’s indignant cry. Bertrand’s rumbling response. Then they were all talking, Layne letting Bertrand know he couldn’t intimidate them, Nora threatening legal action, Griffin trying to calm Nora down. But it was all muted, as if Tori heard it through a filter. Only one thought filled her head, demanded her full attention.
Someone had murdered Dale.
The nightmare that had started at the beginning of summer when Ross’s niece drunkenly stumbled upon their mother’s remains wasn’t over. It was getting worse. With the news of the true cause of Dale’s death, talk about Tori’s family would only grow. Once again, the Sullivans would be the subject of rumors and speculation. Of suspicions and doubts.
She could handle it, she assured herself, as could Layne—hadn’t they endured it their entire lives? But Nora didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud. And Brandon…God…her son was only twelve. Still so much a child despite a recent growth spurt and a bad attitude that rivaled any teenager’s. He shouldn’t have to be subjected to the nasty gossip, the whispered innuendos. She had to protect him. Had to get him out of Mystic Point.
The back of her neck prickled with unease and she raised her eyes to the man towering over her, his gaze discerning, his mouth unsmiling. Dale had been killed and this man—an outsider who knew nothing of them, of what they’d been through—wanted to pin the blame on one of them.
Anger, denial, flowed through her, caused the mask she wore as easily as a second skin to slip. Only for a moment, but she must’ve given her true thoughts away because in his eyes, she saw a flicker of triumph. As if he’d somehow won their silent battle of wills.
She smirked. Had the satisfaction of seeing his expression darken.
