In This Town. Beth Andrews
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.