Beth Andrews - In This Town

“So far,” he repeated solemnly.

Her lips twitched and he wondered what it would be like to see her smile. A real smile, not one of the practiced ones she shared so readily.

He cleared his throat. Rotated his coffee cup. “I’m grateful to have had my sisters, actually. They taught me a lot about how females think.”

Tori laughed, the husky, sexy sound washing over him, scraping against his nerve endings.

“I don’t doubt you learned quite a bit about the female psyche during your formative years, but don’t go deluding yourself, Detective.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “No man knows what women think unless a woman wants him to know.”

Then she winked at him, eased back and took another bite of pie.

And he felt as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four.

Damn, but she was good. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but I learned that sisters are always arguing. Someone was always mad at someone else, usually two or three against one but every once in a while they’d all just be pissed at each other.”

Finished with her pie, Tori slid the plate away and took a sip of water. “Yes, sisters fight. They argue, yell and hold grudges. But the best part about sisters is no matter what’s been said, the names been called or threats made, if they truly love each other, sisters always have each other’s backs. And that’s despite all the crap, the envy and sibling rivalry, despite knowing each other their entire lives and seeing each other at their best and worst. So if your grand plan here is to create some sort of rift between me and my sisters, don’t bother. We’ve managed that rift all on our own.”

Her eyes glittered, her mouth a thin line. Walker couldn’t help but think this was the first honest reaction he’d seen from her. Unlike her flirting and coy smiles, this—her anger and frustration—was real.

And more appealing than he would’ve liked.

“But it doesn’t matter,” she continued. “Because when it comes to the Sullivan sisters, it’s always been us against them.” Her eyes met his and he noted the truth in them, the challenge. “And that’s how it’ll stay.”

* * *

TORI FORCED HERSELF to sit back, to lower her hands to her lap so Bertrand couldn’t see how her fingers curled. At least she wasn’t the only one whose control had slipped. He looked ready to chew up his coffee cup, his eyebrows drawn, his shoulders rigid. Yet he still gave off a superior air, as if he was better than her, more capable of winning this game they were playing. As if he was so much smarter than her.

He judged her. And found her lacking. She wanted to climb onto the table, loosen his neatly knotted tie, run her fingers through his hair and muss him up, just to prove he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he’d like her to believe.

To prove to them both he was like every other man she’d ever known—easily swayed by a pretty face. Men who only looked skin-deep so that’s all she gave them.

All they deserved.

“Mrs. Mott, I can assure you it was not my intention to try to create problems between you and your sisters,” the good detective said in that way that made him sound as if he was sitting on something rather uncomfortable.

Tori exhaled softly, worked up a small grin, felt her heart rate slow, her anger cool. “Wasn’t it?” And if she believed that, she was an even bigger fool than he thought. “Well, then, let’s just say my advice still stands. In case you change your mind and start thinking you can get me to turn against my sisters.” She twisted the cap back onto her empty water bottle, waved at Sandy, one of the waitresses working the afternoon shift, then started sliding out of the booth. “If that’s all—”

“It’s not.” He indicated the seat.

One foot out of the booth, she stilled. Her fingers tightened on the bottle. She didn’t take well to being told what to do, not even silently. But she’d agreed to speak with him here, on her own instead of having every word she uttered vetted by some lawyer Layne and Nora had chosen, because she had nothing to hide. At least, nothing that had to do with his investigation.

She sat back, stretched her arm across the back of the booth, inhaled deeply and arched her back ever-so-subtly.

His gaze dipped—just for a second—to her breasts.

Looked like he was human after all.

She ignored the way her heart pounded, how her skin warmed from his quick glance. “I’m all yours, Detective Bertrand.”

His eyes stayed flat and so cool she shivered.

“Somehow,” he murmured, “I doubt that.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WORKING TO KEEP her expression unchanged, Tori slid her arm down, pretending she was reaching over to straighten the metal napkin holder. She wished she could cross her arms over her chest, hunch her shoulders and duck her head, but that would be surrendering.

She could handle him; she could handle any man. It was what she did.

Bertrand pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Were you aware that Dale York had arrived in Mystic Point in July of this year?”

“Of course.”

“When did you become aware of Mr. York’s presence in town?” he asked when it became clear she wasn’t about to offer more information.

“I’m not sure of the exact date.”

He wrote something. “You must’ve been surprised he was back.”

“Yes.” Just thinking about it, about Dale walking around her town, made her throat constrict. “Yes, I certainly was surprised.”

Surprised. Furious. More scared than she’d ever been in her life.

When Layne had come into the café that hot July day and told Tori that Dale was in town, Tori’s first instinct had been to grab her son and run. To somehow escape what she’d known would only be more heartache and pain. To try to escape the past.

Her family had only just begun to come to terms with the fact that after all these years, Dale would probably never be found, would never be brought to justice for murdering their mother. The cops had tried to track him down but it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth the night he left town.

Until he waltzed into the Mystic Point police station, hard-eyed and cocky, and claimed he wanted to cooperate with the investigation.

“Did you and Mr. York cross paths during the two weeks he was in Mystic Point?”

“Once,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if their encounter had been of no importance. “But then, I’m guessing you already know that, don’t you?”

Again he waited, giving her a look that said he had one nerve left and she was getting on it.

She blinked innocently at him. Well, as innocently as possible.

He flipped through his notebook. “You were listed as a witness to an assault the night of July 17 at a bar called the Yacht Pub.” He lifted his head, his pen poised over paper. “Is that correct?”

“If it’s in your handy dandy notebook, I’d say it must be.”

He set the notebook aside, laid his hands flat on the table. “Mrs. Mott, police reports indicate you were a witness to an altercation that night between Dale York and his son, Griffin. Your sister Nora also witnessed the event and your other sister, Captain Sullivan, was the arresting officer.”

Tori’s stomach grew queasy. She was starting to see how bad this all looked to someone on the outside. How it could be construed that her family had conspired against the man who killed their mother. “That’s right.”

“You and your sister Nora went to the bar together?”

“No. I was with a group of friends. Nora was there when I arrived.”

“She was alone?”

“She was with Griffin.” Tori tipped her bottle, watched a drop of water slide to the top, then flipped it again. She’d been so upset seeing her sister sitting next to Griffin York at the Yacht Pub, the bar where their mother had tended bar. Where Val and Dale had started their affair.