Beth Andrews - Unraveling the Past

God, but this place sucked. She hated it here.

Patting the ground around her for her phone, she crawled forward. Something rustled behind her. She froze, holding her breath as she listened. When only silence surrounded her, she continued her search, inching forward along the forest floor, the sharp twigs scratching her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“You can say that again.”

Her head jerked up and she fell onto her rear, squinted against the harsh glare of a flashlight. But she didn’t need to see who had spoken, didn’t need a light to know a cop stood before her. No, not just a cop, but Mystic Point’s new chief of police.

“Hi, Uncle Ross,” Jess said. Then she reared forward and threw up at his feet.

* * *

POLICE CHIEF ROSS TAYLOR couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare move. If he so much as blinked, he might lose all control. And that wouldn’t be good. Not when his instincts screamed at him to wrap his hands around the puny neck of the kid he and Assistant Chief Sullivan had dragged into the woods to help search for Jessica.

The kid who’d admitted he’d let her go stumbling off by herself in the dark. The kid who hadn’t had to admit what he and Jess had been doing while the rest of their delinquent friends drank and whooped it up in the clearing. The empty cups and the used condom Ross had walked past had made it all too clear they hadn’t been stargazing.

He exhaled heavily. Son of a bitch.

Ross knelt next to his niece. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, well aware Layne Sullivan and the kid made a rapt audience to this little family drama.

Jessica stared up at him, her face illuminated by the flashlight Sullivan shined in their direction. Jess’s eyes—light blue like her mother’s—were huge. And unfocused, the pupils dilated. “No.”

Then she threw up again.

Behind him, the kid gagged. Ross pointed his flashlight on him and, sure enough, the boy’s face was pale. “Don’t even think about it,” Ross said harshly.

The kid swallowed hard. “Yes…yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Ross turned back to Jess. She sat back and wiped her hand across her mouth.

“Finished?” he asked.

“I hope so.” Her voice shook.

He helped her to her feet, keeping a firm hold of her upper arm so she didn’t fall. And so she couldn’t take off should the idea enter her head. Her pale, shoulder-length hair was matted and tangled, her clothes wrinkled and stained with puke and dirt. Tears leaked unchecked from her eyes, leaving trails of mascara down her cheeks.

She looked like every other underage drunk girl he’d ever arrested. He had to remind himself that she was just a kid. A rebellious, self-destructive kid. She was also his responsibility.

One he wasn’t sure he wanted. Wasn’t sure he could handle.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.

What was she doing getting drunk, rolling around with some pimply faced kid, when she was supposed to be safely tucked away in her bedroom? Damn, he really wasn’t cut out for this guardian stuff.

She wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You’re the one who told me I needed to give Mystic Point a chance. That I should put myself out there and make friends. Nate and I got very friendly. Didn’t we, Nate?”

Her tone was spiteful, almost…gleeful. But her eyes… When he searched her eyes he saw the truth. Anger. Regret. And such pain, he wasn’t sure he could fix it. Could fix her.

“We weren’t…” the kid blurted. “I mean…we didn’t…”

Ross glanced over his shoulder, his quick glare shutting the kid up.

“Sullivan,” Ross said quietly, “would you please escort this young man back to the fire?”

Three years younger than Ross’s thirty-five, Layne Sullivan was ambitious, levelheaded and had been the front-runner for the position of chief until Ross threw his hat into the ring. He had no doubt she’d enjoy spreading around the tale about how he couldn’t even control his niece. How inept he was when it came to dealing with a rebellious teenager.

“Yes, sir.” But she didn’t move.

“Is there a problem?” Ross asked.

“No…no problem. But what do you want us to do with the kids?”

When Ross, Sullivan and patrol officer Evan Campbell had pulled up to the bonfire, most of the kids had taken off into the woods. But a half dozen had been corralled and were being watched by Campbell—a rookie cop barely old enough to drink himself.

“I want you to do your job,” Ross managed to reply in what he considered a highly reasonable tone. “Check IDs. Those under the legal drinking age—” and from what he’d seen, they were all underage “—will be cited. If they’re under eighteen, take them back to the station and hold them there until they can be released into their parents’ custody.”

“You’re going to call our parents?” Nate asked, his voice hitching on the last word. “Oh, man, my dad is going to kill me.”

Ross’s flat gaze had him hunching his shoulders.

“Can I have a word with you, Chief?” Sullivan asked. “In private.”

Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the trail, the light from her flashlight bobbing on the worn path.

Ross jabbed a finger at Jess. “Don’t. Move.” She saluted him—her middle finger clearly visible. He ground his back teeth together. “You,” he barked at Nate, “sit.”

The kid collapsed into a sitting position as if Ross had swept his feet out from under him. Ross glanced from Sullivan’s back to Jessica. If only everyone could take orders so well.

Sullivan waited for him a good twenty feet from the kids. She was tall. Long-legged. Sleek and sexy even in uniform, her face more interesting than beautiful, her dark hair pulled back into a long tail that reached the middle of her back. Attraction flared, quick and hot in his gut.

He ruthlessly squelched it.

She was surly, defensive and wore her resentment toward him as blatantly as she wore the badge on her chest. More important, she was his subordinate. Which put her so far off-limits, she may as well have been on another planet.

“What is it, Captain?” he said, stressing her rank. No crime reminding her who the superior officer was. Especially when she clearly needed that reminder.

“Usually, in situations like this, we make sure no one who’s been drinking is driving then let them go with a warning.”

“And how many warnings do they get before they’re held accountable for breaking the law?”

“Chief Gorham always thought it was in everyone’s best interest to let this type of thing slide.”

“Gorham is no longer chief of police—”

“Believe me,” she murmured, “we all know that.”

“Therefore, we will no longer be doing things the way he did them. Or letting his actions as chief dictate the decisions I make.”

She flipped her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder. “We can certainly do things your way—”

“I appreciate the permission.”

Her face was hidden by shadows but he’d bet a year’s pay she rolled her eyes. “But if you cite those kids, you’ll rile up a bunch of parents.”

“Part of the hazards of the job.”

Sullivan stepped closer, holding the flashlight between them so it illuminated the lower half of her face. “I realize you don’t understand how things work in a small town,” she said softly, as if imparting some hard-won wisdom, “but believe me, you’re not going to win any points for hauling these kids in. What’ll happen is they’ll all get slapped with fines, lose their licenses—if they have them yet—and be ordered to perform community service. Fines,” she continued pointedly, “that their parents will more than likely have to pay for. Community service that their parents will have to take time off of work to take them to. Just like they’ll have to drive them to every practice, school function and social event until they get their driving privileges restored.”