In This Town

Jessica reached for him, frowning in concern. “You okay?”

Wiping his hand on the side of his leg, he stepped back. If she touched him, he’d be lost. Wrapped up in her again, unable to get her out of his head when he’d finally, finally, stopped thinking about her every day. Stopped dreaming about her.

“I’m fine,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.

She dropped her arm. Swallowed and then licked her lips. “Uh, are you on fall break?”

“Brandon’s first game is tomorrow.” Anthony dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “I promised him I’d go.”

“Oh, right. He’s really excited.”

Anthony rubbed his thumb across his wallet with enough force to wear a hole in the soft leather. Brandon was his cousin, his family. Not hers. But she’d managed to infiltrate even that part of his life. Ross Taylor, her uncle and guardian, practically lived with Anthony’s cousin Layne. As long as Layne and Ross were together, Jess would be there, at Brandon’s games, at family celebrations and holidays.

“How’s school?” she asked, just like everybody else who didn’t know what to say to him.

He sipped his coffee, glanced over her head. “Same as always.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

She paused, looking at him expectantly, but he wasn’t about to ask her how she was, what she’d been doing lately. She picked up a candy bar and turned it in her hands.

He’d teased her about the candy bars when they’d first met. Had flirted and practically begged for her number. He didn’t usually go to so much effort. If a girl wasn’t interested, he moved on, no harm, no foul. But he’d seen a vulnerability in her eyes, a softness and hopefulness that intrigued him. He’d wanted to break down her walls, see who she really was behind her cynical smirk.

It’d taken time and patience but he’d done just that. He’d gotten to know her, the intelligent, wounded girl who’d so quickly stolen his heart. He’d trusted her, had told her things he’d never told anyone else. His doubts about going to law school, how pressured he felt to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d thought what they had was real but it was all some sort of joke on her part.

“Well,” she said, sounding disappointed he wasn’t willing to pretend everything was okay between them. That he forgave her. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

He shrugged. Sent her a cool look as he took another sip of his coffee, the hot liquid scalding the roof of his mouth. “Probably.”

Only way he could figure to avoid it was to never set foot in Mystic Point.

It might be worth it just so he’d never have to see her again.

Keira walked up to them, her quizzical gaze going from Jess to him. “Hey, Anthony,” she said, her tone friendly as always, but she linked her arm with Jess’s, a clear sign of whose side she was really on.

He tipped his cup. Message received. “Good to see you, Keira.”

And he walked away. As he paid for his coffee and a pack of gum, he felt Jess watching him. Waiting.

He pocketed his change, dropping a couple of coins in the process. They spun on the dirty floor, but he didn’t bother picking them up, just shoved open the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine and hurried to his Jeep. Only when he was inside, the radio blaring, did he take a full breath, his lungs burning painfully.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. He didn’t owe her anything. Not friendship or whatever she was looking for. She’d used him. Lied to him. Made him look like an idiot. She’d caused him nothing but trouble, brought with her nothing but heartbreak. He was better off without her. Hell, even if none of that was true, he couldn’t be with her—not without going against everything he’d been taught his entire life about how a man was supposed to act. Everything that he knew was right.

So he’d let her go.

But he hadn’t wanted to. Despite everything, despite only being with her for a few weeks, he still felt a connection with her. Still wanted her.

And he had to learn to live with that.

* * *

WALKER STEPPED OUT into the parking lot of the police station and inhaled deeply. The briny scent of the ocean tickled his nose. Made him realize he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out on his sailboat.

He worked too much, he thought, shifting the folders in his arm, his laptop case in his other hand. If he hadn’t known it as fact, his mother and sisters were all too happy to remind him. Every chance they got.

The breeze ruffled his hair as he approached his car. Setting the folders on the roof so he could dig his keys from his front pocket, he glanced up, saw Officer Evan Campbell, with his round cheeks and earnestness, standing by a cruiser. He glared at Walker, his thin arms crossed over his chest. The kid didn’t look old enough to drive, was pathetically easy to read and was about as intimidating as Paisley, Walker’s six-month-old niece. And yet the great state of Massachusetts had seen fit to legally entitle him to carry a firearm.

He was as obvious in his resentment of Walker as the rest of the town’s police department. Hell, anytime Walker set one foot outside of the office he’d been assigned at the station, all sound and most movement ceased. It was actually a pretty cool trick, the way every person in the building went completely still, as if they weren’t even going to breathe in his presence lest he somehow contaminate their air.

Suddenly feeling a hell of a lot older than thirty-six and wearier than he should, Walker took off his sunglasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped his hand and held Campbell’s gaze until the kid shifted and looked away. Then after a moment, walked into the station.

And all was right with the world once again.

“Do you have a minute?”

Walker didn’t jump at the sound of the voice, but it was close. “Any questions or comments about your suspension can be directed at the mayor,” Walker told Taylor as he unlocked his car and set his laptop on the backseat.

“This isn’t about my suspension. It’s about you interviewing Tori Mott without her attorney being present.”

“It wasn’t a formal interview.”

“It was a fishing expedition.”

It was, but Walker wouldn’t admit it. He gathered the folders, put them on top of the laptop before facing Taylor. “Mrs. Mott agreed to speak to me without the presence of legal counsel and was free to go at any time.”

Even if he had indicated otherwise. But she’d left, hadn’t she? Without him stopping her.

It’d been a risk, talking to her outside of the police station without the legality of a formal interview. But he’d seen the opportunity and had taken it.

Just because he helped enforce the rules didn’t mean he was above bending them a bit when it suited his purpose.

“Any judge worth their robe will toss out anything she had to say,” Taylor said.

Undoubtedly. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Taylor stepped forward, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, his mouth a hard line. But his voice remained neutral. “While you’re taking chances, Captain Sullivan and I are fighting for our careers and reputations and a murderer is walking free. Maybe you’d do better to play things by the book instead of playing hotshot.”

“When it comes to solving my cases, I do whatever it takes to get justice for the victims. Whether you get caught in that crossfire, are found innocent or guilty, really doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is finding the truth.”

Walker had the sense that Taylor was studying him behind the dark lenses of his glasses. Trying to see how far he could push, if he could push him at all.

He couldn’t. At least, not without getting shoved in return.

Finally the chief nodded slightly as if coming to a decision. He held out a large mailing envelope. “Here.”

Walker narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“A little light reading for the weekend.”

Walker opened the flap, pulled out the thin sheath of papers and scanned them. They were copies of bank records. “Who is Joel Cannella?”

“Dale York. At least, that’s who he was for the past eighteen years.”

“What? Where did you get these?” A thought occurred to him and he squared himself to Taylor so they were toe-to-toe. The few inches he had on Taylor didn’t make up for the twenty pounds Taylor had over him, but it would make any physical altercation between them interesting. “Did you take these from the station? Do you realize what the penalty is for tampering with an ongoing investigation?”

Taylor kept his hands loose at his sides, his shoulders relaxed. “I’m aware of the consequences of breaking the law. But those papers were never in the station or entered into evidence. They’re something I was working on before your arrival.”

“Covering your tracks, Chief?”

“Doing a little research, Detective.”

Walker didn’t believe it. Taylor was probably trying to make it look as if he’d been investigating Dale’s death as mysterious this entire time. “I was under the impression Dale’s whereabouts for the past eighteen years were unknown and now you’re telling me you discovered he’d been living under the alias of Joel Cannella in—” he checked the address listed on the form “—Corpus Christi all that time?”

“No identification of any kind was found on Dale’s body, in his room or car, not even a credit card. The only thing in his wallet, besides a couple of hundred dollars,” Taylor continued, “was a piece of paper with a nine-digit number. I asked a friend of mine who used to work in the Crime Lab Unit of the Boston P.D. to do some digging for me. After a few false starts, he discovered the number was for Cannella’s bank account. Once I had the name, I was able to track down Cannella’s movements and found a safe-deposit box in a bank in Marblehead rented in his name.” He inclined his head toward the envelope. “You’ll find the contents in there.”

Walker turned the envelope upside down. A driver’s license, social security card and a credit card all bearing the name Joel Cannella slid out. The photo on the license, though, was none other than Dale York.

He squeezed the license, the hard plastic cutting into his fingers. “This should have all been logged into evidence.”

“Yes.”

But it hadn’t been. Walker had seen everything the MPPD had about both Valerie Sullivan’s murder and Dale York’s death. There was no mention of any account numbers or that Dale’s alias had been discovered.

“You’re admitting—to the officer investigating accusations of ethics violations against you—that you withheld evidence?” Walker asked.

“I’m handing over evidence that I believe will be helpful to the officer in charge of Dale’s murder investigation.”

“You want to help me? Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because once I saw those toxicology reports, I would’ve fully investigated Mr. York’s death as a murder.”

“I guess we’ll never know if that’s the truth or not.”

“No, we won’t. But instead of whiling away our time trying to see which one of us can piss farther, I thought it might be in both of our best interests to get these investigations over as soon as possible.”

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