Beth Andrews - In This Town

Family ties. They bound and choked and twisted and tangled a person up until they couldn’t break free. But if you took on one Sullivan, you took on all of them.

God help you then.

* * *

THE BRUNETTE KNEW how to make an entrance.

She demanded attention. Walker studied the woman gliding into Chief Taylor’s office, her heels tapping against the floor. A lot of it.

A small smile playing on her lips, she slid her gaze around the room before landing on him. Though her expression didn’t change, he had the sense she was sizing him up, trying to figure out how big of a threat he was.

Her eyes met his and attraction, instantaneous and primal, slammed into him, had his next breath lodging itself in his chest with painful intensity. Jesus, but she was like a walking wet dream, all lush curves, long legs and full, slicked red lips. Her hair was chin length, the ends razor sharp, with a heavy fringe of bangs.

Awareness, feminine and powerful, entered her light brown eyes as she drew closer. If they’d been anywhere else but the police station—a bar, the grocery store…hell…a car wash—he would’ve tried to get her number, her name, her interest. An invitation into her bed.

But they weren’t somewhere else. So he gave her his most intimidating scowl.

Her smile amped up a few degrees, her walk turned into an out-and-out slink, the movements sensual and, if he wasn’t mistaken, practiced.

She knew what effect she had, knew what men thought of when they saw her.

It wasn’t sex. Or at least, not just sex. It was something darker, more dangerous. She brought out a man’s natural instincts to mate, to possess a woman in the most heated, basic and elemental way possible.

“Hail, hail,” she murmured, her tone smoky and seductive, her features too similar to those of Captain Sullivan to be anyone other than the missing sister, Tori Mott, “the gang’s all here.”

He felt Taylor watching him, judging his reaction. Deliberately turning away from the brunette, he met the chief’s gaze coolly. To prove he was in charge, of this case and his body.

“You’re late,” the assistant chief said in a brusque, disapproving tone.

Mrs. Mott lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug that caused her sister’s lips to thin. “Am I?” she asked. She sat next to Nora Sullivan and crossed her legs, her skirt sliding up, exposing her thighs. “So sorry.”

Captain Sullivan balanced her weight on the balls of her feet. “No one is checking out your legs, so tone down the sex kitten act.”

“I don’t have an act. Although it really is a pity about no one noticing my legs. I’ve always considered them my best feature.”

“God, Tori, do you have to antagonize her?” Nora asked, sending Walker a nervous glance.

“A girl has to find her fun somewhere.” She glanced at Walker, her lips curved as if inviting him in on the joke, but her eyes were watchful. Guarded. Hiding secrets and her true intentions.

And he realized her legs weren’t her best feature, not by a long shot. Those eyes were.

Leaning forward, she held out her hand. “I’m Tori Mott. And you are…?”

“Satan,” Captain Sullivan said under her breath.

Chief Taylor sighed heavily. Nora Sullivan made a choking sound. And still, Mrs. Mott held her hand out to Walker, her eyebrows raised in question. In challenge.

“Detective Bertrand,” he said, taking her hand.

He maintained eye contact as he held on for the proper amount of time. She pressed her lips together as if fighting a smile. Because of her sister’s comment? Or because he hadn’t been able to hide his reaction, not completely, at the sharp sting of desire that had accompanied the contact of her soft skin against his?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I thought Satan was your special pet name just for me,” Griffin York, the dark-haired man next to the blonde, said to Captain Sullivan. “I’m hurt.”

Sullivan didn’t blush. Didn’t squirm in abject embarrassment or worry over retribution. The set of her shoulders, the tightness of her mouth, told Walker she didn’t respect his authority or the job he was there to do.

So be it. There was nothing he liked more than a challenge.

If Sullivan thought she could intimidate him with her bad attitude and sharp tongue, she was way off base. Hostility, both blatant and subtle, came with the job description. Most cops weren’t thrilled at having an outsider come into their department, digging into their lives, jeopardizing their careers and reputations.

Then again, he wouldn’t be here if Taylor and Sullivan had followed the rules.

“Bertrand is from the state attorney general’s office,” Taylor said, linking his hands together on top of the desk. “He asked us to call you all together for this meeting.”

Asked. Demanded. Walker gave a mental shrug. As long as he got the result he wanted—a jump start on his investigation—he wouldn’t quibble with the chief’s word choice.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Mott asked, scrutinizing him as if there was more going on in her head than which skirt would best showcase that top-notch ass of hers. But then she blinked and her expression turned sultry again. “And why would a detective from such a grand and lofty state office be interested in the five of us?”

“Things like conflict of interest, mishandling of cases, corruption, misconduct and, of course, murder always interest the state.”

The blonde Sullivan slid to the edge of her seat, her knees pressed together. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Captain Sullivan. “What is he talking about?”

The captain opened her mouth but Taylor held up his hand.

“There have been several complaints made against Assistant Chief Sullivan and me,” Taylor said as calmly as if he was discussing the score of last night’s Red Sox game. Either he had that much confidence the charges were unfounded or he put up one hell of a front. “Bertrand is here to launch a formal investigation into those allegations.”

The blonde’s eyes widened and Walker wondered if they were going to pop out of her pretty head and roll across the floor. She leaped to her feet. Walker stood as well, his hand hovering over his gun.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sullivan said wearily, “that’s hardly necessary. Look at her—” She waved a hand in her sister’s direction. “Does she really look violent?”

“Don’t let the angel face fool you,” York told Walker. “If she ever gets her hands on a crowbar, you’d better watch out.”

“Not helping,” Nora Sullivan said as she dug into her purse. She pulled out a cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Captain Sullivan asked.

Nora pressed a button, held the phone to her ear. “Calling Uncle Kenny. You need legal representation in order to fight these charges.” She met Walker’s eyes, lifted her chin. “These bogus, inflammatory charges.”

That’s right. She was an attorney, worked for her uncle who had, at one point, been the county’s D.A. Tangled web and all that. Christ but this investigation was going to be a pain in his ass.

But at least he wouldn’t be bored.

“It’s an investigation,” Captain Sullivan said, taking the phone from her sister and shutting it off. “And Ross and I are scheduled to meet with an attorney from the union this afternoon.” She touched the blonde’s arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

“You’re in trouble,” Nora said, her voice thick.

Walker hoped she didn’t let loose with the waterworks. Crying was one of the many ways women manipulated men. Growing up, his sisters often used tears to get what they wanted from their father and, later, him.

It was Walker’s own damn fault such a low-down, rotten, dirty trick still managed to work on him.