In This Town

Okay, Tori could understand that. But it didn’t mean she had to be happy that Bertrand was going to be around for a while, dredging up the past when she’d finally thought they could all move forward.

“What can we do to help?” Tori asked.

Gratitude entered Layne’s hazel eyes, softened her expression. “Just cooperate with Bertrand. Tell the truth.”

“I don’t trust him,” Nora said, her arms crossed, her shoulders hunched. “You heard what he said. He thinks one of us killed Dale.”

“It’s his job to suspect everyone.” Layne’s soothing tone couldn’t disguise the apprehension beneath her words. “But we have nothing to hide so we have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, we may have nothing to hide,” Tori said, “but what about Griffin?”

Nora whirled on her. “Don’t. Start.”

“Griffin was with Nora the night Dale died,” Layne pointed out, all logical and coplike. “But Tori’s right, he’s going to be looked at,” she told Nora. “We’re all going to be looked at—even Ross because of his relationship with me. We all had motive for wanting Dale dead.”

Nora went white. Swayed. Tori held her arm, ready to catch her in case she passed out. “Hey, you okay? Honey, you don’t look so good. Sit down.”

Nora shook her off, stumbled a few feet away. Her eyes were wide and bleak, her lips trembling. “No. Thanks, I’m fine, I’m just… It’s all…crazy. I just…I have to go.”

“What?” Tori watched, her mouth open, as Nora grabbed her purse and jacket.

Layne reached out to their younger sister. “Nora—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away from them both, her purse clutched to her chest. “I’m really sorry.”

Nora slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Tori turned to Layne. “We need to hold an intervention. Your place or mine?”

“An intervention for what?”

“To get Nora to tell us what’s going on with her. She’s obviously keeping something from us.”

“I know, but she’ll come to us when she’s ready.”

Tori wasn’t so sure. What if they lost her? “You don’t think whatever it is it has anything to do with Dale’s death. Do you?”

“Of course not. And that’s just what Bertrand wants. Us doubting each other, turning against each other.”

“You cops are a sneaky breed, you know that?”

“Look, I don’t know much about Bertrand but if he works for the A.G.’s office, it means he’s good. Really good. We have to be careful.” She searched Tori’s eyes. “We have to be able to trust each other and count on each other no matter what happens. We have to stick together. It’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

Like they’d done when their mom disappeared and so many other times. No matter the differences between them, her love for her sisters, her commitment to them, was a blessing. And a burden. And she couldn’t break free.

“No matter what,” Tori repeated, squeezing Layne’s hand. “Together.”

* * *

WALKER’S GAZE SWEPT the Ludlow Street Café’s dining room as he headed toward a booth in the back. Busy place. Busier than he would’ve thought given that it was midafternoon on a Tuesday. Then again, his quick research told him it did a brisk business, one that increased during the summer months when tourists came in droves to the small town.

Sliding into the booth so that he faced the door, he noted the other two visible exits before he turned his coffee cup over. He inspected it and, finding no lipstick smudges, set it on the saucer and waited.

He tapped his fingers against the top of the table. Searched the room again. Rolled his shoulders back and finally gave in and took off his suit coat and laid it on the seat next to him. Christ, but he hated waiting. Much preferred doing to sitting, though so far today he’d done a hell of a lot of the latter.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be patient when need be. It took time to gather evidence, to sift through facts and unearth the truth. That’s what he’d done for the past four hours. Read reports—thoroughly, patiently—anything and everything that had to do with Valerie Sullivan’s disappearance and Dale York’s background. Dale’s criminal record alone had taken up almost an hour of Walker’s time, encompassing the years from when Dale legally became an adult until he, too, disappeared from Mystic Point eighteen years ago.

Now it was time to move this investigation into the opening stages.

“Well, hello there, Detective.”

Cursing himself for letting her sneak up on him, Walker looked up and met Tori’s eyes. Her lips were curved in a flirtatious smile, a coffeepot in her hand. His stomach did one slow roll even as his instincts kicked in—the ones telling him he was ass-deep in trouble.

“Mrs. Mott,” he said, keeping his tone polite and formal.

“Don’t tell me, you were passing by, minding your business, when you heard one of our famous doughnuts calling your name?”

He liked her voice. The sound of it, all husky and inviting and sexy. The thought, unbidden and unwanted, floated into his brain. He pushed it back out.

“Actually I was hoping to run into you.”

She leaned forward to pour coffee into his cup. Her shirt gaped slightly, giving him an enticing view of creamy skin and the soft swell of her breast. She straightened and he jerked his gaze down to the table. But not before catching sight of the humor lighting her eyes.

She was laughing at him. No doubt she thought he was just another man to be crushed under one of her skyscraper heels.

“Were you, now?” she asked. “And why is that?”

He sipped the coffee to ease the dryness of his throat, realized it was better than expected and took another, longer drink. Just because she was sexy enough to make a man’s hands sweat didn’t mean he had to fall all over himself like some goddamn horny teenager.

It was clear she was used to calling the shots. So was he.

Whether personal or professional, he preferred relationships where he was in charge. Where he was the one to walk away.

He had a feeling no man walked away from her.

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” he said.

She shifted her weight to her left leg, causing the material of her skirt to stretch across her hips. “And here I thought that was why we set up my interview. Friday afternoon at three forty-five if I’m not mistaken.”

He could be patient, he reminded himself. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t do whatever it took to hurry up the process. “I’m free now,” he said mildly.

“Well, isn’t that convenient, you coming into this restaurant and sitting in my booth five minutes before my shift ends?”

Walker met her eyes, kept his hands still, didn’t want anything to give him away. “Yes. Very convenient.”

She made a sound, sort of a hum, then she smiled slowly. “Can I get you something to go with your coffee?”

The scents of grilled meat and French fries reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, made his mouth water. But he wouldn’t order food from her, wouldn’t eat in front of her. He couldn’t. If they’d been at the police station, he’d never pull out a sandwich and bite into it during an interview.