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And that’s what this was. Just another interview, a way for him to get information out of her. Not some chummy lunch date. No matter how hungry he was.
“I’m good,” he said, lifting his cup for another sip. “Thanks.”
“Let me just put this down and we’ll have ourselves a nice little chat, hmm?”
He watched her walk away. What living, breathing, heterosexual man wouldn’t? Returning a few minutes later, she slid into the seat across from him and set down a bottle of water and a plate with a thick slice of apple pie.
“I hope you don’t mind if I eat while you interrogate me,” she said, unwrapping a napkin from around a set of silverware. “I skipped lunch.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
Tori raised her eyebrows, used her fork to break off the point of the pie, releasing the scents of cooked apples and cinnamon. “Isn’t it?”
“Just a few questions.”
“I’m going to be in big trouble, you know,” she told him in that throaty voice of hers right before she slid the bite of pie into her mouth, her glossy red lips wrapping around the fork.
He narrowed his eyes. In trouble? She was trouble. The kind most men had a hard time resisting.
Luckily he wasn’t most men.
“Why would you be in trouble?” he asked.
“Talking to you without a lawyer present?” She shook her head, forked up another bite. “My sisters aren’t going to be too happy with me.”
“That happen often? Your sisters being unhappy with you?”
She sipped her water, eyed him over the top of the bottle. “More often than not.”
That, at least, had the ring of truth to it. But if it bothered her, he couldn’t tell. Which only pissed him off. He read people for a living but with her, he was at a loss. And that made her dangerous. Intriguing.
He drank more coffee to hide his frown. No, not intriguing. She was a means to an end, that was all. The weak link in this case, the one person he figured he had a good shot of using to catch a break in his investigation.
He wouldn’t get far with either Chief Taylor or Layne Sullivan—they were both cops, from all accounts good ones. Or at least they had been before they’d started sleeping together, raising suspicions they had let their personal feelings get in the way of their professional ethics. Nora Sullivan had graduated at the top of her class in law school, was smart and savvier than her angelic looks indicated. Her boyfriend, Griffin York, had been through the system himself as a teenager.
Walker chose Tori because she didn’t know the legal system, not like her sisters. Because he’d guessed she was stubborn enough, arrogant enough, not to listen to her sisters’ warnings about keeping her mouth shut.
She was all flash, no substance, and he wouldn’t have to dig far to get to what was inside of her. She was obvious. Fake. He had no use for her, or her… What had her sister called it?
Her sex kitten act.
No, he had no use and little respect for women like her, who used their looks and their bodies to get what they wanted. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow underestimated her.
Shaking his head, he cleared that crazy thought right out of his mind.
“I have four sisters,” he said, trying to draw her out, ease her into trusting him.
“Four? You have my sympathy.”
“It wasn’t so bad.”
“I find that hard to believe. We don’t have a brother but we did torment our younger cousin. When he was little, we used to dress him up in our old clothes, shoes, the works. I think there were even a few times when Nora and his sister put makeup on him and did his nails. Bright pink polish.”
Walker worked to hide a wince. “No painted nails.” At least not that he can remember—thank God. Though there was no way he was telling her about the time Leslie and Kelly, his older sisters, dressed him as Goldilocks for Halloween. Complete with curled hair. “Your cousin, that’s Anthony Sullivan, correct?”
Her hesitation was slight, her gaze thoughtful. “It is. Luckily he turned out okay. So far, anyway.” Her gaze drifted over Walker. “Seems like you turned out all right yourself.”
“So far,” he repeated solemnly.
Her lips twitched and he wondered what it would be like to see her smile. A real smile, not one of the practiced ones she shared so readily.
He cleared his throat. Rotated his coffee cup. “I’m grateful to have had my sisters, actually. They taught me a lot about how females think.”
Tori laughed, the husky, sexy sound washing over him, scraping against his nerve endings.
“I don’t doubt you learned quite a bit about the female psyche during your formative years, but don’t go deluding yourself, Detective.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “No man knows what women think unless a woman wants him to know.”
Then she winked at him, eased back and took another bite of pie.
And he felt as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four.
Damn, but she was good. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I learned that sisters are always arguing. Someone was always mad at someone else, usually two or three against one but every once in a while they’d all just be pissed at each other.”
Finished with her pie, Tori slid the plate away and took a sip of water. “Yes, sisters fight. They argue, yell and hold grudges. But the best part about sisters is no matter what’s been said, the names been called or threats made, if they truly love each other, sisters always have each other’s backs. And that’s despite all the crap, the envy and sibling rivalry, despite knowing each other their entire lives and seeing each other at their best and worst. So if your grand plan here is to create some sort of rift between me and my sisters, don’t bother. We’ve managed that rift all on our own.”
Her eyes glittered, her mouth a thin line. Walker couldn’t help but think this was the first honest reaction he’d seen from her. Unlike her flirting and coy smiles, this—her anger and frustration—was real.
And more appealing than he would’ve liked.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she continued. “Because when it comes to the Sullivan sisters, it’s always been us against them.” Her eyes met his and he noted the truth in them, the challenge. “And that’s how it’ll stay.”
* * *
TORI FORCED HERSELF to sit back, to lower her hands to her lap so Bertrand couldn’t see how her fingers curled. At least she wasn’t the only one whose control had slipped. He looked ready to chew up his coffee cup, his eyebrows drawn, his shoulders rigid. Yet he still gave off a superior air, as if he was better than her, more capable of winning this game they were playing. As if he was so much smarter than her.
He judged her. And found her lacking. She wanted to climb onto the table, loosen his neatly knotted tie, run her fingers through his hair and muss him up, just to prove he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he’d like her to believe.
To prove to them both he was like every other man she’d ever known—easily swayed by a pretty face. Men who only looked skin-deep so that’s all she gave them.
All they deserved.
“Mrs. Mott, I can assure you it was not my intention to try to create problems between you and your sisters,” the good detective said in that way that made him sound as if he was sitting on something rather uncomfortable.
Tori exhaled softly, worked up a small grin, felt her heart rate slow, her anger cool. “Wasn’t it?” And if she believed that, she was an even bigger fool than he thought. “Well, then, let’s just say my advice still stands. In case you change your mind and start thinking you can get me to turn against my sisters.” She twisted the cap back onto her empty water bottle, waved at Sandy, one of the waitresses working the afternoon shift, then started sliding out of the booth. “If that’s all—”
“It’s not.” He indicated the seat.
One foot out of the booth, she stilled. Her fingers tightened on the bottle. She didn’t take well to being told what to do, not even silently. But she’d agreed to speak with him here, on her own instead of having every word she uttered vetted by some lawyer Layne and Nora had chosen, because she had nothing to hide. At least, nothing that had to do with his investigation.
She sat back, stretched her arm across the back of the booth, inhaled deeply and arched her back ever-so-subtly.
His gaze dipped—just for a second—to her breasts.
Looked like he was human after all.
She ignored the way her heart pounded, how her skin warmed from his quick glance. “I’m all yours, Detective Bertrand.”
His eyes stayed flat and so cool she shivered.
“Somehow,” he murmured, “I doubt that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WORKING TO KEEP her expression unchanged, Tori slid her arm down, pretending she was reaching over to straighten the metal napkin holder. She wished she could cross her arms over her chest, hunch her shoulders and duck her head, but that would be surrendering.
She could handle him; she could handle any man. It was what she did.
Bertrand pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Were you aware that Dale York had arrived in Mystic Point in July of this year?”
“Of course.”
“When did you become aware of Mr. York’s presence in town?” he asked when it became clear she wasn’t about to offer more information.
“I’m not sure of the exact date.”
He wrote something. “You must’ve been surprised he was back.”
“Yes.” Just thinking about it, about Dale walking around her town, made her throat constrict. “Yes, I certainly was surprised.”
Surprised. Furious. More scared than she’d ever been in her life.
When Layne had come into the café that hot July day and told Tori that Dale was in town, Tori’s first instinct had been to grab her son and run. To somehow escape what she’d known would only be more heartache and pain. To try to escape the past.
Her family had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that after all these years, Dale would probably never be found, would never be brought to justice for murdering their mother. The cops had tried to track him down but it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth the night he left town.
Until he waltzed into the Mystic Point police station, hard-eyed and cocky, and claimed he wanted to cooperate with the investigation.
“Did you and Mr. York cross paths during the two weeks he was in Mystic Point?”
“Once,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if their encounter had been of no importance. “But then, I’m guessing you already know that, don’t you?”
Again he waited, giving her a look that said he had one nerve left and she was getting on it.
She blinked innocently at him. Well, as innocently as possible.
He flipped through his notebook. “You were listed as a witness to an assault the night of July 17 at a bar called the Yacht Pub.” He lifted his head, his pen poised over paper. “Is that correct?”
“If it’s in your handy dandy notebook, I’d say it must be.”
He set the notebook aside, laid his hands flat on the table. “Mrs. Mott, police reports indicate you were a witness to an altercation that night between Dale York and his son, Griffin. Your sister Nora also witnessed the event and your other sister, Captain Sullivan, was the arresting officer.”
Tori’s stomach grew queasy. She was starting to see how bad this all looked to someone on the outside. How it could be construed that her family had conspired against the man who killed their mother. “That’s right.”
“You and your sister Nora went to the bar together?”
“No. I was with a group of friends. Nora was there when I arrived.”
“She was alone?”
“She was with Griffin.” Tori tipped her bottle, watched a drop of water slide to the top, then flipped it again. She’d been so upset seeing her sister sitting next to Griffin York at the Yacht Pub, the bar where their mother had tended bar. Where Val and Dale had started their affair.
“You went to school together, you and Griffin York.”
“We did. Although we hardly ran around with the same crowd. I was half of Mystic Point High’s hottest couple and he was the ultimate bad boy, hauling around that chip on his shoulder, a perpetual smirk on his face.”
“You don’t like him,” Bertrand said.
Truth or lie? She had no problem with lies but sensed it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth in this instance. “Those are some seriously well-honed investigating skills, Detective.”
“The police report also indicated that Griffin started the fight.”
She may not like Griffin, wasn’t sure she trusted him, but Nora did. Nora loved him. “Dale instigated it.”
“How?”
“He got grabby with Nora.” An exaggeration, one Tori didn’t regret. As far as she was concerned, Griffin had every reason and every right to have laid into Dale that night. “Griffin punched him. They fought. Layne broke it up—”
“By using her Taser on Dale.”
“He charged at her,” Tori said, straightening. Bertrand was trying to turn things around, make it seem as if Layne had used unnecessary force because they all hated Dale. “She was defending herself and trying to get the situation under control. Besides, it wasn’t like she shot him.”
“This morning at Chief Taylor’s office, you said you were glad Dale York was dead.”
She narrowed her eyes. Wasn’t he clever, trying to trip her up with his lightning-fast questions? “Actually you asked if I was happy Dale was dead. I didn’t answer. But I will now. Yes. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Mrs. Mott, where were you the night Dale York died?”
“You think I killed Dale?” she asked, wondering if she’d made a mistake, a big one, in agreeing to speak with Bertrand here, now, on her own.
“I think you hated him,” Bertrand said, watching her carefully. “That you were angry there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with your mother’s murder.”
“Right on both counts. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Your whereabouts that night?” he asked again.
“I was at the country club with the rest of my family. It was my cousin’s engagement party.”
He jotted that in his damn notebook. She wanted to snatch it up, take it into the kitchen and burn it on the stove.
