CHAPTER TWO

      “KATY PERRY, HUH?” Layne asked, her pen poised over her notepad as she took in the petite blonde in front of her. “That really what you’re going with? You don’t want to try something a little more…oh, I don’t know…creative? Like Amelia Earhart or Bette Davis or maybe Carly Simon?”

      And by the blank look in the teen’s eyes, she had no idea who any of those women were.

      What did they teach kids in school these days?

      “My name is Katy Perry,” the girl insisted, lifting her adorable, turned-up nose.

      “Have any proof of that?”

      She shrugged, a bored expression on her pretty face. “I left my license at home.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I did.” She added a foot stomp to go with her pouty tone. “I don’t even care if you believe me or not. I’m telling the truth. I’m Katy Perry. Katy,” she said, stretching the name out as if speaking to someone who’d recently been hit on the head with a rock. She looked pointedly at Layne’s notebook. “Like…do you need some help spelling it? It’s K-A-T—”

      “Thanks, but I think I can sound the rest out.”

      Layne wrote the name down and put the notepad into her back pocket. A light breeze blew smoke into her eyes and picked up a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She smoothed them back. The wood pallets in the fire behind her crackled. Sparks shot into the night sky.

      Chances were, the elderly gentlemen who’d called the station to report suspicious activity never would’ve known the kids were partying out here if they hadn’t had flames reaching thirty feet high.

      She glanced toward her squad car. Evan, his brown hair cropped close to his head, his dark blue uniform hanging on his thin shoulders, tried to calm down the pudgy brunette who’d been sobbing since they’d pulled into the clearing. Out of the six kids they’d corralled, only two had proof they were eighteen and both had passed the Breathalyzer, leaving the brunette, Nate and the other boy—with longish hair, baggy jeans and a T-shirt advertising the store where it’d been bought—standing in a row illuminated by her car’s headlights. While the girl bawled, the boys wore similar smirks, Nate having found his cocky bluster upon returning to the company of his buddy.

      Layne rubbed at the headache brewing behind her temple. Ah, the joys of youth. Rebellion. Recklessness. The certainty that nothing bad could ever happen. And the arrogance to believe that if, by some crazy coincidence you did get busted, an endless supply of smart-ass comments or, better yet, copious tears and hysteria, would get you out of trouble. All you had to do was stick with it long enough to wear down the dumb adult trying to force you to obey their archaic rules.

      She and Evan were stuck dealing with two of the little darlings each—while their intrepid leader only had to take care of his niece.

      “You know,” she said conversationally to the blonde, “being a police officer means being able to read people and situations. For example, see that Audi over there? The red one?”

      “What about it?” faux-Katy said in a snotty tone that reminded Layne of when her sister Tori had been sixteen. Come to think of it, Tori still used that tone with Layne.

      “Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that car belongs to you.”

      “I never said that,” the teenager said quickly.

      “No, you didn’t. But this is where my detecting skills come in real handy. You see, a car like that? It has ‘you’ written all over it.” If only because it went so well with the girl’s expensive, dark jeans, silk top—silk, at a bonfire in a quarry—and expertly applied highlights. But really, that silver Princess vanity plate gave it away most. “Which means that, since I’ve already written down the license plate number of every vehicle parked here, all I have to do is plug those numbers into my computer to find out who, exactly each vehicle is registered to. Katy.”

      The girl paled, her expression no longer quite so confident that she’d put one over on some stupid cop.

      Layne bit back a smile. “You can rejoin your friends.”

      She did, but not before glaring at Layne as if she could incinerate her on the spot. Such was one of the consequences of being on the side of law and order.

      Evan divided the teens, putting the girls into the back of Layne’s cruiser, the boys in his, then walked toward Layne, his short hair sticking up on the side as if he’d run his fingers through it. Repeatedly.

      “I didn’t know someone could cry that much,” he muttered, the fire casting shadows on his round cheeks. “At least not without becoming dehydrated or passing out from lack of oxygen.”

      “The human body is capable of many amazing and wondrous feats. Especially when helped along with massive quantities of alcohol.”

      “Do you think you should search for the chief? He’s been gone awhile now. Maybe he got lost.”

      “It’s been fifteen minutes,” she said. “And how could he be lost? All he has to do is walk toward the lights.”

      “Maybe…” Evan ducked his head toward her. “Maybe something happened. You heard his niece scream. Maybe the chief…snapped.”

      Layne snorted. “He has too much control to snap. Besides, she’s just messing with him.”

      But Evan was completely serious. Nervous. God, had she ever been that young? That earnest?

      “How can you tell?” he asked.

      “Let me explain it to you, grasshopper. Once, many moons ago, I was a teenage girl myself. Plus I raised my younger sisters who, at one time or another, were also teenage girls.” And thank the dear Lord those years were over. “Believe me, that scream wasn’t real.”

      It was a cry for help, though. One she doubted Chief Ross Taylor would heed.

      Not her problem, she assured herself. She’d raised her sisters, had taken care of her family. She’d done her time.

      “Captain?” Taylor’s voice came through her radio as clearly as if he stood beside her.