Unraveling the Past

“You want to know what my problem is?” Layne asked, her voice rising despite her best effort to keep her rioting emotions under control. She tried to hold back but the words poured out of her, fueled by her anger and resentment. Her fears. “You, Tori. You’re my problem. You and your selfish attitude. All you care about, all you’ve ever cared about is yourself. You were tired of being married so you got a divorce. You want to date so you leave your son with his father so you can go out and have a good time.”

Tori’s eyes, light brown like their mother’s, narrowed dangerously. “I’m not leaving him on the side of the highway sixty miles outside of town. It’s Greg’s weekend to have him. Why shouldn’t I go out and enjoy myself?”

“Because you’re a mother,” Layne cried, tossing her hands into the air. “You need to think about what’s best for Brandon, do what’s right for him.”

“Don’t you ever—” Tori jabbed her finger at Layne, stopping a hairbreadth from drilling a hole into her chest “—ever accuse me of not putting my son first.”

Layne laughed harshly. “You’ve never put anyone first but yourself. Your wants. Your needs. I mean, a prime example is how you were with Evan. Flirting with a kid who’s ten years younger than you, all for what? So you can feel good about yourself? So you can pretend you’re special? The way you dress…how you act… You’re…” She snapped her lips shut and shook her head in disgust.

“I’m what? A tramp? A slut?” Tori’s voice was low. Shaky. But under the tremble, Layne heard the resolve that told her to step carefully.

She heard it. She just chose to ignore it.

She was terrified. Scared of what the next few days would bring and while she and Tori weren’t exactly close in the best of circumstances, their snarky spats rarely took on this edge. She should shut up. Better yet, she needed to apologize. Blame the stress and her going over twenty-four hours without sleep for making her so bitchy.

But she couldn’t. Not when Tori stood there pushing Layne’s buttons simply by wearing her snug, revealing clothes and a bring-it-on smirk.

“Worse,” she said, meeting her sister’s eyes unflinchingly. “You’re just like our mother.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE ARGUMENT IN THE break room grew louder and, from what Ross could tell as he stormed toward the room, more heated.

Meade stood. “Chief, I don’t think—”

Ross didn’t even slow, just held up a hand. The other man shut his mouth and sat back down.

Smart call.

As he opened the door, Ross heard the unmistakable sound of a splash and a gasp.

Then Sullivan said in her husky voice, “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Go to hell,” a woman snapped as he stepped inside.

After a beat of stunned silence, Sullivan—wiping liquid from her face with both hands—noticed him. “Perfect,” she snapped. “Just freaking perfect.”

“Ladies.” Behind him, he heard the scrape of chairs and then footsteps as Meade and Campbell maneuvered closer in the hopes of catching part of the upcoming conversation. Ross shut the door and spoke quietly, hoping it would encourage the women to do the same. “Is there a problem here?”

Sullivan used her inner forearm to wipe soda from her chin. Her shoulders were rigid, her face white except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Damp hair clung to the sides of her neck and the front of her shirt was soaked.

“Everything’s dandy,” she said stiffly.

Ross glanced from her to the life-size brunette Barbie, and back to Sullivan again. The resemblance between them was striking. Though Sullivan’s face was clean of any paint and the other woman’s features were made up—smoky eyes, slick red lips—the shade of their dark hair, the shapes of their mouths and the sharp angle of their jaws were the same. They were both tall and had legs that went on forever. And they were both seriously pissed off, with neither showing any sign of backing down.

He inclined his head toward the other woman. “Your sister?”

Sullivan’s mouth pinched. “One of them.”

“Tell me, Captain, how is it you thought having a family argument in my police department was a good idea?”

Sullivan pulled her shoulders back causing the damp material of her top to hug the curve of her breasts. “We weren’t arguing. Sir.”

“No? Because not five minutes ago I was three doors down in my office with Mayor Seagren discussing the department’s—” he flicked a gaze at the civilian “—current investigation—”

“Is ‘current investigation’ official cop code for the body discovered out at the quarry?” the sister asked. “Because half the town already knows about it.”

Another similarity between the women. Their smart mouths.

“—when we were interrupted by shouting coming from this room. Care to explain that?”

She pursed her lips for a moment, as if considering his question. “No, sir, I don’t.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Turned his attention to her sister. “And you are…?”

“Leaving.” But when she stepped toward the door, he shifted to block her exit. She jammed her fists onto her hips. “Really?”

“Ma’am, are you aware of what the penalty is for assaulting a police officer?” he asked.

She shook her hair back. “Nope. But say…how long do they send you away for tossing a carbonated beverage in a cop’s face? Five years? Ten?” She waved her hand as if wiping it all away. “Whatever it is, it was worth it.”

“There was no assault,” Sullivan said, shooting her sister a warning glare. “I apologize for our behavior and any embarrassment it may have caused the department.”

Not the most sincere apology he’d ever heard but it would do. “Next time you decide to have a family disagreement, do so outside of work. Being a good cop means being able to keep your personal life and professional one separate.”

If looks could kill, Layne Sullivan wouldn’t need to carry a sidearm. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He opened the door and gestured for Sullivan’s sister to precede him. “Ma’am. Let me walk you out.”

She smiled, but it didn’t hide the calculating gleam in her eyes. “Thank you, Chief Taylor. You’re not nearly the asshole Layne said you were.”

Behind him, Sullivan snarled.

Ross fought a grin. “I appreciate that, ma’am,” he told the sister.

He also appreciated that when he glanced back at Sullivan as he stepped out of the room, she held his gaze. She didn’t try to make excuses or claim she’d never said any such thing.

He respected that.

Besides, he didn’t need her or any of the other officers below him to like him. He just needed them to obey him.

Walking beside Sullivan’s sister through the squad room, he couldn’t help but notice the changes in her demeanor. Her expression softened, her body lost its stiffness as she crossed the floor in a hip-swaying walk too rehearsed to ever be called natural. And enticing enough for most men not to care.

“Bye, Jimmy,” she said to Meade, giving him a little finger wave. A finger wave Meade started to return only to freeze when Ross glanced at him. “Evan, you be careful on that new Harley.”

Ross held the door for her and she went into the lobby where Officer Wilber shoved the hunting magazine he’d been reading under the counter. “Chief,” he said in greeting as the phone rang. He slid the clipboard holding the sign in/out sheet to Sullivan’s sister. “All set, Tori?”

“You bet.” She wrote the time next to her name—Tori Mott—while Wilber answered the phone. “So nice of you to walk me all the way out here,” she said, shooting Ross a glance from underneath her thick lashes.