In This Town (10 page)

* * *

S
HE
WAS
NOTHING
short of a
chameleon, Walker thought fifteen minutes later as he caught sight of Tori.
Again.

Ever since she’d walked away from him after her son’s touchdown
pass, he found himself searching her out. It wasn’t hard to do as she was easy
to spot, usually surrounded by people. If she wasn’t talking with her family,
she was flirting with one of the many men who approached her.

She handled it all like a pro. Always giving the men enough
attention to make them feel as if they had a shot but then sending them on their
way before they got too comfortable. They all seemed happy when they left so she
obviously left them with the hope they had a chance in hell. Maybe they did, but
Walker didn’t think so. She was playing them, playing everyone.

He wondered who the real Tori Sullivan Mott was. If she even
knew.

He could’ve left, probably should have, but he’d seen Tori’s
uncle Ken Sullivan in the stands and realized he had an opportunity to ask him a
few questions. Besides, Walker was obstinate enough to want to stay all because
Layne Sullivan wanted him gone. And he could think of worse ways to spend a
sunny Saturday morning than at a football game, his gaze drawn again and again
to the beautiful Tori Mott.

She’d spent most of her time with Celeste Vitello, their heads
together as they spoke. Even from a distance, he could see there was a bond
between the two women. Tori seemed more at ease with the older woman than with
her own sisters.

Something to tuck away for future reference.

Time wound down and the visiting team tossed a wobbling Hail
Mary pass that ended up on the ground. As the home team celebrated, the
bleachers started to clear out. Walker couldn’t stop from looking up at the
stands one last time. As if sensing his gaze on her, Tori slowly turned. He
didn’t need to see her eyes behind those dark glasses to know she held his gaze.
Her lips curved up invitingly. Mockingly.

You let me know if you ever want to be
added to the menu.

He did. He wanted her hands on him, those lush curves pressed
against him like they had been earlier so he could feel her body heat, smell her
enticing scent. It’d taken all of his willpower not to pull her closer, not to
take that mobile, smart-ass mouth in a deep kiss.

He wanted her. And she knew it.

He wasn’t used to denying himself but in this case, he saw no
other choice. He was there because Ross Taylor hadn’t been smart enough to put
his career, his reputation, before some woman.

Walker would be damned before he made the same mistake.

Deliberately turning away from Tori, he scanned the crowd,
swore under his breath when he spotted Tori’s tall, blond father but not her
uncle. That’s what he got for letting his guard down, for letting his personal
desires get the better of him. He walked swiftly along with the crowd exiting
through the gate, and picked up his pace when he spotted Ken and his family
across the parking lot.

“Excuse me,” he called, closing in on them as he unzipped the
side pocket of his sweatpants. “Ken Sullivan?”

Ken turned and gave Walker a politician’s polite smile. “That’s
right.”

Walker pulled out his badge. “Mr. Sullivan, I’m Detective
Bertrand from the state attorney general’s office. I’d like to ask you a few
questions regarding the murder of Dale York.”

“If you want to interview me,” Ken said dismissively, “you can
set it up through my office.”

Walker had tried that. He’d called Ken’s office several times
for two days straight only to be told by Ken’s very polite secretary that her
boss was otherwise occupied but would get back to Walker as soon as possible. By
Friday afternoon, Walker had had enough of pissing in the wind and had gone to
the austere law offices of Sullivan, Saunders and Mazza.

Ken hadn’t been there.

Walker had spent the rest of the day trying to track the man
down—first at the courthouse where that same secretary—though not quite as
politely as before—had informed him Ken had gone. By the time Walker had made it
back to Ken’s law office, the entire building was locked up tight. So Walker had
gone to the fancy, two-story house outside of town but no one answered the
doorbell.

He knew when he was getting the runaround. Just as he knew what
to do about it.

“A formal interview won’t be necessary, sir,” he said smoothly,
making sure his voice carried not only to Ken, but also to his family who were
now gathered around a glossy black Mercedes. “I was just hoping you could
clarify for me why Dale York was seen leaving your office the night of July
10.”

“Ken,” his wife, a pretty woman with chin-length, honey-blond
hair asked, frowning in concern, “what’s he talking about?”

“It’s nothing, honey. Here.” He crossed to her and handed her
keys. “Go ahead and wait in the car. I’ll only be a minute.”

Ken’s son stepped forward. “But, Dad—”

“Anthony, it’s fine. Go with your mother. I’ll be there in a
minute.”

Anthony and his mom hesitated but then she smiled and took her
son’s arm. “Come on. Let’s let Dad handle this.”

Ken watched them walk away then turned to Walker. “I don’t
appreciate you bringing this up at this time, nor in front of my family.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Walker lied. “Maybe you
were right and we should schedule an interview. Or, if it’d be more convenient
for you, we could go down to the station now.”

Ken looked pointedly at Walker’s clothes. “Son, let me give you
a piece of advice, don’t try to bullshit an attorney. We know all the tricks.
Now, you can’t intimidate me and we both know you have no right to take me
anywhere, so ask your question. My family is waiting for me.”

Lawyers. Even ones who used to fight on the side of good were
sneaky. “I have a witness statement,” Walker said, his tone rigid, “from one of
the crew who cleans your office. She states that she saw Dale York leaving your
office, your personal office, the evening of July 10. Why was he there?”

Ken spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I have no
idea.”

“You have no idea why the man who allegedly killed your
sister-in-law was at your office.”

“Did this witness recognize Dale York?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “She recognized Mr. York from a photo I
showed her.” He’d questioned not only the cleaning crew but also several
employees of Ken’s law firm trying to discover if anyone had seen Dale and Nora
Sullivan together, had ever heard her speak about him or noticed Dale hanging
around.

Instead he’d found another connection between York and a
Sullivan.

“Did the witness see me that night?” Ken asked.

“No.”

“Did they see me with Dale York?”

Wait a minute, who the hell was asking the questions here? And
why did Walker feel as if he was on the witness stand? He pulled his shoulders
back. “No,” he admitted.

Ken nodded. “Then there’s nothing more for us to talk
about.”

“Mr. Sullivan, do you have any idea what Dale York was doing at
your office that night? Any idea how he got into the building?”

“Detective, there’s no way Mr. York could’ve gotten into the
building unless someone from the cleaning crew let him in. I believe you’ve been
misinformed.”

He was lying. Walker knew it. But until he could prove it,
there wasn’t a damn thing he could do except return to his room and do some more
digging for the truth. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Sullivan.”

Walker went around the end zone toward the back parking lot. He
needed to check his notes and the cleaning woman’s statement about seeing Dale
York at Ken Sullivan’s offices.

As he hurried down a set of concrete stairs, his mind replayed
the conversation he’d just had. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no
denying Ken had gotten the better of him.

Walker would have to make sure it never happened again.

Only a few cars remained in the back parking lot as most of the
parents seemed to have parked closer to the admission box on the other side of
the field. A group of boys in street clothes with various stages of helmet-hair
were gathered by a set of glass doors. Laughter rang out.

“Take that back,” a tall kid with brown hair yelled, his hands
fisted.

“Why?” a shorter, rounder boy asked with a sneer. “It’s the
truth.”

The tall kid stepped closer to the chubby kid, his face red
with rage, his skinny body vibrating with it. “Take it back now.”

Slowing down, Walker hoped like hell the conversation wasn’t
going to end how he thought it was going to end.

“No,” the chubby kid said.

And then the tall kid punched him.

Walker squeezed the back of his neck. He really didn’t have
time for this.

The rest of the boys encircled the combatants, their voices
raised as they yelled—encouragement or abuse or for them to stop—Walker had no
clue. Still, he waited, hoping a parent or coach would show up.

No such luck.

Shit.

He stormed up to the boys. “Knock it off,” he growled.

A few of the kids on the outer edge looked at him wide-eyed,
nudged each other and pulled back enough for him to see that the tall kid had
the other one pinned to the ground, his knees on the chubby one’s shoulders as
he pounded on the poor kid.

Walker stepped forward, snatched the kid by the scruff of his
skinny neck and hauled him to his feet. The kid kept swinging, one of his bony
elbows catching Walker below the ribs. He grunted. Gave the kid a shake that he
hoped rattled his teeth.

“Boy,” he said, giving him another shake because, damn, but
that elbow had caught him good, “you need to settle down because you are pissing
me off.”

The kid stilled, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A few of
the other boys helped the chubby kid to his feet. Blood dripped from the cut on
his mouth. The kid’s cheeks were scraped and a bruise was already forming above
his eye.

Walker looked at the group as he took his badge out with his
free hand. Showed it to the kids, who all stepped back in unison. The power of
the badge. “Beat it,” he told them. “Now.”

They took off, feet slapping against the concrete.

“Get your hands off my son!”

Walker shut his eyes. Of course. He shouldn’t have expected any
less.

When he opened them it was to see Tori racing toward him, her
hair flying, her eyes blazing. A mama grizzly in full overprotective mode. One
of the boys who’d been part of the huddle hurried after her—must’ve run to get
her while Walker was breaking up the fight.

He glanced down at the kid, saw Tori’s eyes glaring at him.
“You’re Tori Mott’s son?”

The kid’s face was flushed and sweaty, his hands scraped. But
in his eyes was pure defiance. Pure Tori. “Yeah.”

And wasn’t that freaking perfect?

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
ORI
HURRIED
down the
steps, her entire focus on her son. And the man holding him by the back of the
neck.

The son of a bitch.

She’d been waiting with the other parents—deliberately not
thinking about Walker Bertrand—when Ryan raced up and told her that Brandon was
in trouble. Close enough now to see her son’s dirty face, the scratches on his
skin, she stumbled. Her fingers curled into claws.

“What did you do?” she yelled at Walker, their rapt audience
the only thing stopping her from ripping his throat out. She took Brandon’s arm
and yanked him away from Walker, examined his face. “What happened? Are you
okay? What did he do?”

Brandon pulled away from her, his expression mulish. “I’m
fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re hurt.” She whirled on Walker, tried to
figure out why he looked so damn put out when surely he was to blame for this.
“What’s the matter, Detective? You get tired of going after the adults in my
family so you thought you’d abuse my kid?”

Walker didn’t even have the common courtesy, the decency, to
look abashed. “Maybe we could go over there,” he said, indicating the far corner
of the parking lot. “Discuss this.”

“The only discussion we’re going to have is in front of Chief
Taylor…or Meade or whoever is in charge at the police station.”

Walker rolled his head from side to side, looked as if the
weight of the world was on his very capable shoulders. “He was fighting.”

She blinked. Frowned. “What?”

“He was fighting. I broke it up.”

That didn’t make sense. Brandon didn’t fight. He was easygoing
and fun and nice. Likable. Lovable. He was everything she wasn’t. Everything she
wanted him to be.

But when she cleared the righteous anger from her gaze, looked
closer, she saw the truth on her son’s face. The guilt and shame.

Walker inclined his head to something behind her. She didn’t
want to look, didn’t want to see whatever Brandon had done. She wanted to
protect him. Even from his own mistakes.

Just because you feel guilty is no reason
to give in to him.

Her sister’s voice floated through her head. Tori wished it
would float right back out. It wasn’t guilt that made her want to hide from
this, it was fear. That whatever was going on with her little boy was all her
fault.

Slowly she turned. Saw Dalton Nash, his lip bloodied, his round
face bruised, his shirt ripped. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “You did that?” she
asked Brandon, her voice raw, her stomach cramping.

Her son, her baby, had inflicted violence on another person.
Had hurt his teammate, his friend.

Tori went numb, couldn’t wrap her mind around what had
occurred. She stared at Brandon but it was like looking at a stranger. How could
the boy she’d raised, the one who just last year was always smiling and happy,
have turned into this child she didn’t even know?

“Why?”

She hadn’t realized she’d asked that question out loud, hadn’t
meant to say it or to sound so desperate. Desperate to understand. To somehow
make this right, make her son be okay again.

Brandon stared at the ground.

“What happened?” The woman’s screech had Tori hunching her
shoulders. Dalton’s parents rushed forward to crowd around their son.

“Shit,” Walker said mournfully.

“Me, too,” she whispered.

A muscle worked in his jaw but when he stepped past her toward
the Nashes, she could’ve sworn she felt the brush of his fingertips against her
wrist. In understanding? A show of solidarity? She had no clue; all she knew was
that, brief as it was, that light touch was comforting.

She couldn’t afford to find comfort in him, to take it from
him. That she wanted to was enough to have her straightening her shoulders,
ready to face whatever hell-storm came her and Brandon’s way. She had to stand
on her own, take care of this by herself. She couldn’t trust Walker not to twist
this to his advantage, use it against her and her family.

All the boys seemed to be talking at once, trying to explain
what happened. Mrs. Nash alternated between fussing over her son and sending
Brandon skin-melting glares. Mr. Nash stood with his hand on Dalton’s
shoulder.

Walker stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle
that silenced everyone.

He stepped into the middle of the crowd, tall and in charge
even in jogging clothes. “You,” he said, pointing to the Nash family, “and you—”
This time a two-finger point at Tori and Brandon. “Don’t move. The rest of you…”
He swept his gaze over the crowd, which now included a few parents and Coach
Stillman. “Clear out.”

Coach stepped forward. “Now wait a minute—”

Walker held out his badge, cutting off the rest of Coach’s
words. “I’ll handle this. Any team discipline you want to enforce, you can do so
at a later date.”

“Uh, all right,” Coach Stillman said, then swept his glance
around the crowd. “You heard the man. Let’s give them some privacy to work this
out. But, boys,” he said to the fighters, “we will discuss this at tomorrow’s
practice.”

The crowd dispersed, most of them dragging their feet and
shooting curious glances over their shoulders.

“Call the police, Michael,” Jennifer Nash said.

“Whoa,” Tori said, moving to stand beside Brandon, to show they
were a team even if her son didn’t believe it. “Why do you want to involve the
police?”

Jennifer folded her arms across her flat chest, the
light-colored mom jeans she wore doing her wide hips no favors. “We’re going to
press charges.”

“Press charges?” Tori asked incredulously. “What for?”

“What for?” Jennifer threw an arm out, almost hitting her son
upside the head with her dramatic gesture. “Look at Dalton! Brandon should be
punished for attacking him.”

“We don’t know what happened,” Tori said, hating that her voice
shook, that she was so unsure of her son’s innocence. “Or who started the fight.
I think we should just calm down and—”

“Of course you want us to calm down,” Jennifer said, her pointy
nose stuck in the air. “You want your son to get away with this…this…vicious
assault.”

“I want to get to the truth,” Tori insisted.

Hopefully before she perpetrated a vicious assault herself. All
over Jennifer Nash’s gray-streaked head.

“Michael,” Jennifer snapped. “Call. The. Police.”

“What’s the point?” he asked distractedly as he turned Dalton’s
head this way and that to check his injuries. “You know Tori’s sister is the
assistant chief and she’s sleeping with Chief Taylor. Do you really think
they’ll do anything about this?”

Jennifer pulled her own phone from her huge purse. “Then I’ll
call the state police.”

“I’m already here,” Walker said, looking as if he’d rather be
anywhere else, doing anything other than getting involved in a skirmish between
a couple of preteens and their parents. He showed his badge again, this time
letting Michael examine it instead of just flashing it and shoving it back into
his pocket. “Now, we can go the legal route,” he continued, sounding way too
calm for the situation, “or we can try to resolve this on our own.” Without
waiting for their agreement, he faced the boys. “What happened?”

They both shrugged.

“Who started the fight?” Walker asked.

They dropped their gazes.

“From what I gather, and what little I saw of the beginning of
the…disagreement…we’ve got two boys who are evenly matched who had a difference
of opinion, one they stupidly thought to handle with their fists. That about
right, boys?”

Again with the shrugs. Really? Did they practice this? Or maybe
twelve-year-old boys shared one universal brain.

“Dalton,” Jennifer said, bending at the waist as if she was
talking to a reticent toddler, “did Brandon start the fight?”

Dalton’s cheeks got even redder, his eyes glistened. He shook
his head.

Tori had no idea if that was a negative answer to his mother’s
question or a refusal to answer.

Tori took a hold of Brandon’s shoulders and forced him to look
at her. “Enough of this. Tell the detective what happened, what really happened,
right now.”

“I don’t remember,” he grumbled.

“Okay,” Walker said, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or
the other what either boy had to say. “I’ll question the rest of your teammates.
I’m sure one of them can tell us how, exactly, this went down.”

“No,” Brandon blurted, his face white.

Walker towered over her son, looking steady and implacable.
“You have something you want to say?”

Brandon glared at Walker. “I did it,” he ground out. “I started
the fight.”

Tori’s thoughts spun. “What? Brandon…why?”

“I just did,” he said.

“See?” Jennifer said. “He admitted it.” She looked to Walker.
“You heard him confess. We want to press charges.”

Walker didn’t even spare her a glance. “You grow up around
here?” he asked Michael.

“I did.”

“You play a sport? Have a group of buddies you hung out
with?”

His hand still on his son’s shoulder, Michael looked wary when
he asked, “Why?”

“Boys fight. It’s stupid and wrong and it shouldn’t be
tolerated, but not everything is a punishable offense by the law. Plus, kids
don’t usually hit someone on their team, one of their friends, unless they’re
provoked in some way.” Walker turned his attention to Dalton. “That what
happened? You guys were razzing each other and it got out of hand?”

Jennifer looked ready to shove Walker’s opinion down his
throat. “No matter if they were…
razzing…
each other,
it’s no excuse for violence.”

“Agreed,” Walker said mildly, “but sometimes things are said
that a man can’t let go.”

“Did you say something to Brandon?” Michael asked his son.

Dalton flushed so hard, Tori worried the boy was going to have
heatstroke. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled.

“I’m guessing the coach will come up with some sort of
punishment for these two,” Walker said. “I can’t imagine he tolerates
fighting.”

Both boys groaned. “He’ll run us until we’re dead,” Dalton
said, looking more worried about that prospect than being taken down to the
station. Tori would never understand boys. Males were much easier to deal with
when they turned into men.

“I hope he makes you sit out a few games,” Michael said. “Both
of you.”

Walker and Michael exchanged a loaded look, one between men who
were on the same wavelength. Tori wasn’t sure if she wanted to join them there
or let them keep their manly thoughts to themselves.

The latter. Most definitely the latter.

“I’d say between the coach’s punishment and whatever you all
dole out as parents, these boys will learn a valuable lesson,” Walker said.

“I can guarantee that Brandon will be punished,” Tori said. She
just hoped she could come up with a suitable discipline—one that’d make such an
impression Brandon didn’t dare raise a finger to another child. “I’m really
sorry about all of this.”

Michael nodded but Jennifer and Dalton just walked away.

Tori’s chest was tight. Anger, disappointment and fear mixed
together in her stomach like toxins.

She didn’t even wait for the Nash family to disappear around
the corner of the building before turning to her son. “What has gotten into
you?” When he just stared at the ground, she snapped, “Look at me.”

He lifted his head. And she stepped back at the fury in his
eyes.

“What?” he asked in that tone she hated, the one that reminded
her, every day, that he was slipping further and further away from her. That he
no longer looked up to her, no longer adored her. That he no longer loved her
like he used to.

“What?” she repeated. “You were fighting. What were you
thinking?”

He glared, his lower lip stuck out in a pout better suited for
a six-year-old. “I don’t know.”

He was mad at her? Unbelievable.

“Fine. You want to act like a tough guy? Go ahead. But you’ll
be doing it from your room. You’re grounded.”

He shrugged. “Big deal.”

“You want a big deal?” she asked, feeling hapless dealing with
her son, to give him a punishment that would teach him a valuable lesson.
“You’re off the football team.”

His eyes rounded. “That’s not fair.”

“Life often isn’t.”

“Dad won’t let you do that. He’ll let me play.”

Brandon was right. Greg would probably want to come up with
some other form of punishment. She and Greg were still a team when it came to
their son. Thank God. Because when it came down to just her and Brandon, she’d
been giving in too often.

Was afraid if she didn’t, she’d lose him.

“What you did was wrong,” she told Brandon. Glanced at Walker
who witnessed how truly inept she’d become as a mother. “Very wrong. And neither
I nor your father are going to let you get away without some sort of
consequence. It doesn’t matter what Dalton said to you, there’s no excuse—”

“He said you were hot,” Brandon spat, his hands fisted, his
chest rising and falling heavily. “He said he wanted to screw you.”

Tori went hot and then cold, her fingers going numb. “I…I’m
sure he was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

But she didn’t sound sure. She sounded as if someone had just
hit her in the stomach.

“He meant it,” Brandon said, now close to tears. “They all do.
They love talking about you. How you look, how you dress. The things they’d like
to do to you.”

Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it. “Honey, they’re
just—”

“It’s your fault,” he said, his voice rising. “You dress like
you’re a teenager and you’re always flirting and laughing with them. And I have
to listen to them all the time about how pretty you are, how sexy. Sometimes
they say it when I’m not around but it always gets back to me and sometimes,
like today, they say it to my face. How you looked standing out there, jumping
up and down in your tight jeans, how you hang on any man that talks to you.” He
sniffed but didn’t let the tears in his eyes fall. When he spoke again, his
voice was whisper soft. “Why can’t you be a normal mom?”