In This Town (9 page)

Not when he found her so damn appealing with her windblown hair
and smartass mouth and guarded eyes.

“You looked me up?” he repeated.

“Yes. You’d be surprised what information is out there on the
World Wide Web. Although I hadn’t expected there to be so much detail put into
your Wikipedia page.”

He narrowed his eyes, lowered his voice. “I do not have a
Wikipedia page.”

Horror filled him. Did he?

“Got ya,” she said with a wink.

Walker fisted his hands. Heard conversations around him, kids
yelling and racing around, but he blocked it all out, focused only on the
manipulative, irritating, breathtaking woman in front of him. “I don’t
appreciate you running a background check on me.”

She nodded as if in commiseration. “Annoying, isn’t it? To have
someone look into your life, your background?”

Like he did to her. To her family.

With one swift motion, he tossed the contents of his coffee
aside, crushed the cup in his hand. “Listen, I’m in the middle of an
investigation—”

“Please,” she said, “don’t go into the whole,
I’m just doing my job
spiel because I couldn’t care
less.”

“How about I go into my invasion of privacy spiel, then?”

“What invasion? What privacy? It’s on the internet for God’s
sake. It’s not like I broke into your house and rifled through your underwear
drawer. I just wanted you to think twice the next time you get it into that
handsome head of yours that I’m some sort of brainless, weak link who can be
used to hurt my family.” She stepped closer, rose onto her toes and, laying her
hand on his shoulder for balance—or just to torture him—spoke into his ear, her
breath warming his skin. “Don’t underestimate me,” she said, her words a threat.
A promise. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

CHAPTER SIX

H
ER
HEART
POUNDING
, Tori leaned back far enough to meet Walker’s gaze. Heat
filled his eyes, darkened them. Her fingers tightened involuntarily on his
shoulders. She glanced at his mouth. He hadn’t shaved and golden stubble covered
his upper lip, his chin. The sun highlighted the pale strands of blond in his
hair, the strands waving in messy disarray. It was strangely alluring, this
less-than-perfect side of him. He was solid and smelled so good, like clean
sweat and man.

And she was at her son’s football game, her body swaying toward
Walker like he was one of those fairy-tale princes she didn’t believe in. As if
she was so weak she needed a man’s support to keep her upright on her own two
feet.

Pressing her lips together, she fell back to her heels, let her
hand drop to her side. “You enjoy the rest of your weekend, Walker,” she told
him, unable to work up even the pretense of a smirk.

She sauntered away but felt him watching her, that hot gaze
boring a hole between her shoulder blades. So she kept her strides long and
loose, her arms swinging casually by her sides, her head up.

There was no way he could tell she was trembling with fear and
nerves and, God help her, attraction.

She slid her sunglasses on. Damn Walker Bertrand and his broad
shoulders, blue eyes and sexy scowl.

But she’d shown him, she assured herself as she skirted around
a group of giggling middle school girls. She’d proved her point.

He couldn’t intimidate her. She could hold her own against him,
against any man. She wasn’t afraid of him.

Liar,
the little voice inside her
head singsonged.

Stupid voice.

“Where’s your cocoa?” Layne asked when Tori returned to their
spot on the track behind the team bench.

Tori looked down at her hands as if a hot chocolate would
somehow magically appear. “Oh, uh, the line was too long. I’ll have one at the
café later.”

Layne looked over Tori’s shoulder at the concession stand,
undoubtedly seeing that the line was no longer than usual. “You were gone
awhile. Get sidetracked?”

Tori laughed humorlessly. “You could say that.”

She could feel Layne frowning at her, trying to see inside her
head.

You strike me as a woman used to getting
what she wants—and is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure she does.
You always hold something back, some small piece of yourself in the name of
self-preservation and you’re rarely honest about who you are or what you
want.

Biting her lower lip, Tori kept her gaze on the field where the
two teams were lining up for kickoff. Walker’s assessment of her had been
dead-on, eerily so. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was, of how she acted. But for
the first time, she wished she could be different. Wished he could see more in
her.

Brandon’s team kicked the ball and she watched her baby race
down the field, held her breath when he zoned in on the ball carrier and wrapped
his arms around him in a bone-crushing tackle. She didn’t exhale until both boys
were on their feet, jogging back toward their respective teammates.

God, she hated football. Had always hated it, even when she’d
cheered for Greg and the rest of her classmates in high school. It just seemed
so senseless and idiotic, boys…men…running around in their tight pants trying to
flatten each other. There had to be a better way to spend free time.

She wondered if she could possibly talk Brandon into taking up
tennis. Or golf.

“You okay?” Layne asked.

Tori didn’t take her gaze from the field. “Just dandy.”

“What number is your son?”

She didn’t even bother sighing, just glanced at Walker as he
stepped up to stand beside her. “Eighty-eight.”

Since they didn’t have enough kids for a full roster, most of
the boys ended up playing both offense and defense, which was why Brandon was
out there now.

“That was a good tackle,” Walker said with a nod to the action
on the field. “He needs to keep his head up, though.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Tori said.

“What are you doing here?” Layne snapped at Walker. “This is
harassment.”

Walker barely spared Layne a glance. He was probably used to
people—women—being pissed at him. “Just taking in the game, Captain. No law
against that, is there?”

“If you ever try to talk to my sister or any other member of my
family without proper legal counsel present,” Layne said, her tone all the more
dangerous for its softness, “you will regret it.”

Now Walker gave Layne his full attention. He shouldn’t have
looked so…commanding, so daunting in his stupid, baggy sweatpants and faded
T-shirt. But somehow, he still came off as if he was in charge and he’d do
whatever it took to keep it that way.

“Is that a threat?” he asked.

Layne edged toward him, forcing Tori back a step, the
confrontational look on her face one Tori had seen many times before. Usually
directed at her. “Damn right it’s a threat.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start a scene at my son’s
football game,” Tori said, keeping her voice even despite the urge to yell. She
faced Layne. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you get more flies with honey
than vinegar?”

“I’m not interested in collecting flies,” Layne said. Then she
sneered at Walker. “Unless they’re smashed under a fly swatter. And I try not to
remember any of the lessons Mom taught us.”

Tori tossed her head, cocked her hip. “Oh, but some of them
come in so handy.”

Layne’s mouth flattened. She took a hold of Tori’s arm and
tugged. “Let’s sit in the bleachers.”

Sit up there with Greg and Colleen and Greg’s parents? So she
could watch her ex-husband snuggle up with his girlfriend while pretending she
didn’t notice how happy his parents were, how relieved, that he wasn’t with Tori
anymore? That he’d finally found someone worthy of him?

She pulled away from Layne’s grasp. “I’m fine right here. But
you go ahead.”

Layne stared at her for so long, Tori fought the urge to
squirm. To not give away any of her thoughts. Because that’s what Layne wanted.
To see inside her head, inside her heart.

But no one got that close to her. Not her sisters. Not the man
she’d been married to. No one.

Finally Layne whirled around, her ponytail hitting Tori’s arm
before she stalked off.

“You always do the opposite of what your sister wants?” Walker
asked.

Tori stuck her hands into her pockets and wished she’d bought
that cocoa. She wanted something to do with her hands. “Pretty much.”

“That’s quite the cheering section your son has,” Walker
said.

She followed his gaze to where Layne was joining their family.
The Sullivans were out in full force for the game. Something in Tori warmed,
loosened.

Her family wasn’t perfect—far from it. But they did try to be
there for each other.

Layne took the spot at the end of the bench seat next to Nora.
Tori had no doubt her younger sister would’ve dragged Griffin along, if not for
the fact he worked Saturday mornings at the garage he owned. Ross’s niece, Jess,
a high school junior who worked part-time at the café, sat on Nora’s other side.
As Tori watched, Jess leaned over toward her boyfriend, Tanner, said something
that had him giving one of his slow grins.

And Tori tried really hard not to hold it against Tanner that
he had the bad luck of being Griffin’s half brother.

“Is that Celeste Vitello?” Walker asked. “The dark-haired woman
next to your father.”

Tori looked up to the stands again, saw her dad and Celeste
with Uncle Ken and Aunt Astor. Their daughter, Erin, and her fiancé, Collin, sat
one row up with Anthony. “How do you know that’s my dad? Wait,” she said drily.
“Stupid question. You know everything.”

Nothing. No flash of humor crossed his handsome face, no warmth
entered his eyes. “Actually I know because I interviewed him yesterday.” Walker
sent her a pointed look. “He was very cooperative.”

“I’m sure he was.” Her father had nothing to hide, of that Tori
was certain. He was too decent, too honorable, to have committed murder.

“He must love watching his grandson play,” Walker said, the
easy, conversational tone of his voice putting her on edge. What was he up to
now? “My dad gets a huge kick out of going to all of his grandkids’ sporting
events.”

“What’s this?” she asked lightly. “Changing tactics on me?
Gotten tired of trying to intimidate information out of me?”

“Just making conversation.”

But a flush coated his cheeks. Too bad it only made him look
sexier.

“Dad’s a good grandfather,” she admitted grudgingly, unable to
figure out any reason she couldn’t have a discussion with Walker, one that
didn’t include accusations, suspicions and half-truths. “He tries not to miss
any of Brandon’s sporting events and at least once a month spends one-on-one
time with him.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

There it was. The reason she needed to keep her mouth shut
around him, why she should keep her distance. He saw too much, things she didn’t
want to give away, thoughts and emotions he had no right digging into.

“Like I said, my dad’s a good grandfather.” But that didn’t,
couldn’t, make up for all those times when it’d been her event—a soccer game
when she’d been in middle school, cheerleading competitions when she’d gotten
older—when she’d look up into the stands searching for him, hoping that once,
just once, he’d be there for her.

He never was.

It wasn’t until Layne was away at school and Tori got married
that he stopped spending all his life at sea and started being home more. Must
be why he and Nora were so close. He’d been there for his youngest daughter in
all the ways he hadn’t been for Tori and Layne.

That was okay. They hadn’t needed him as much as Nora had,
hadn’t needed a parent—not when they were so used to taking care of
themselves.

On the field, Brandon’s team had gotten the ball back on downs
and he was set up behind his center. At the snap, he tucked the ball against his
stomach and took off, making it three yards before one of the opposing players
hit him hard enough to knock him off his feet. He landed with a hard thud.

Tori cringed at the sound of pads hitting pads, her son’s grunt
as he hit the hard earth. “Are they sure that kid is only twelve?” she muttered,
eyeing the other boy’s bulky frame. “He looks at least fourteen.”

“Relax,” Walker said, making what could have been—should have
been—a lovely reassurance sound more like an order. But then he glanced down at
her clenched hands and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost…kind.
“He’s fine. He’ll be fine.”

And for some stupid reason, she believed him.

God, she must be losing her ever-loving mind. What other
explanation could there be for her trusting anything Walker said? She inhaled
deeply, breathed in the crisp fall air, trying to clear her head. She had to
remember why Walker was in Mystic Point. To drag up the past. To destroy her
sister’s career and prove that someone in her family was a murderer.

On second down, Brandon’s team tried another running play, this
one resulting in no gain. Third down, he took the snap and dropped back to
pass—a rare occurrence at this age level but Coach Stillman had a lot of faith
in Brandon’s abilities.

“Go, go, go,” she murmured when Brandon scrambled left, then
cut back to the right. She bit her thumb knuckle as he evaded one tackle, looked
downfield then let loose with a beautiful pass. The ball spiraled, arcing in the
air, then hit Ryan right in the number on his jersey and Ryan, God bless him,
wrapped that ball in his arms like it was a newborn baby and ran like hell
toward the end zone.

Tori bounced on her heels. The crowd went wild, cheering him
on. Twenty-yard line. Ten. Five.

Touchdown!

“Yes!” Tori hopped up and down, her yell drowned out by the
roar of the crowd. “Whoo hoo!”

“Nice pass,” Walker said.

“Nice?” she repeated on a laugh as she turned toward him. It
was then she realized she was clutching his arm. She let go as if he’d caught on
fire. “That wasn’t nice,” she said, her voice trembling, her world tipping
slightly, as if the track was shifting under her feet. She curled her fingers
into her own palm. “That was a beauty.”

“He been playing long?”

“Since he was ten. His father, my ex, played in high school.
Varsity quarterback two years.”

Walker sent her a sidelong glance. “Following in his father’s
footsteps?”

“God, I hope not,” she blurted, then shut her eyes briefly and
wished she could take the words back. They sounded so…angry. Resentful. They
were too revealing. Too truthful.

“I take it your divorce wasn’t amicable.”

“Oh, no, it was very amicable. Friendly even.” The wind blew
her hair into her face and she tucked it behind her ear, kept her gaze on the
game. “No hard feelings, no anger or recriminations. It was all
very…civilized.”

Yes, civilized. She’d said she wanted a divorce and he’d
just…agreed. Simple. He hadn’t asked what he could do to change her mind. Hadn’t
apologized for not keeping the promises he’d made when he’d proposed. He claimed
he loved her, but he hadn’t fought for her.

Feeling Walker’s eyes on her, she faced him. “It all worked out
in the end,” she said, trying to assure herself as much as him. She lowered her
sunglasses and sent him a heavy-lidded look over the top of the frames. “I like
the freedom of being single. There are so many…possibilities out there.”

But she’d underestimated him—or overestimated her acting
ability. Because though his eyes remained cool, she noted sympathy in the blue
depths.

And that would not do.

“Life’s a buffet, is that it?” he asked softly.

Tori’s stomach churned. She shoved the glasses in place.
“That’s exactly right. And I want to try all it has to offer. You let me know if
you ever want to be added to the menu.”