Unraveling the Past

What the hell? “I’m barely touching—”

“I’m sorry.” She started sobbing. Loudly. Loud enough for everyone in the clearing to hear. “I won’t do it again. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re going to play games with me now?”

The radio at Ross’s hip crackled to life. “Everything okay, Chief?” Sullivan asked.

With a sigh, Ross unhooked the radio, pressed the button to speak. “Everything’s fine.”

“You sure?” she asked, humor evident in her tone. “You need backup?”

“Negative,” he ground out. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He put it back, never taking his eyes off Jess. “You should join drama club when school starts again. Put those acting skills to good use.”

She lifted a shoulder, her expression smug. “I’m not leaving without my phone.”

She was stubborn. Sneaky. Manipulative. And until she turned eighteen, she was his problem. His responsibility. And he had no idea how to handle her. Damn it.

“You have three minutes.” He held out the flashlight so that it shone up, lighting their faces. She grabbed the bottom but he held on. “At the end of those three minutes, you’re going to accompany me out of these woods willingly and, most important, quietly. Whether or not you’ve found your phone. Understand me?”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

He let go of the flashlight and she staggered back toward where he’d first found her. And it hit him. He’d given in. She needed rules and discipline and to learn how to obey orders and he’d let her get her way because she’d caused a scene. Because it was easier than dealing with the drama she created.

He tapped his fingers against his radio. Glanced toward the clearing. Not that he could see anything other than the faint glow from the fire. He trusted Sullivan had the situation there under control. And was handling it how he wanted it.

“Time’s up,” Ross called. Jess had her head bent as she searched the area by a large evergreen. “Let’s go.”

“That wasn’t three minutes.”

“Sure it was. Come on.” She didn’t move, just held the flashlight so its beam was on the ground, her eyes downcast. Probably plotting other ways she could make his life difficult. “Jess. Now.”

Still staring down, she slowly crouched and reached out her free hand only to snatch it back as if something had snapped at her. Made a sound like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

“Damn it, Jessica,” he growled, picking his way through the thick undergrowth to stand over her. “Don’t make me handcuff you and haul you out of here.”

“Loo—look,” she said in a strangled voice.

He followed her trembling, pointing finger to the end of the beam of light.

And the human skull half-hidden under a fallen log.

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.”