Unraveling the Past Read online

  A life built on lies?

  How do you work for a guy who took the job you wanted? Every time Captain Layne Sullivan runs into Chief Ross Taylor, she struggles with that issue. It doesn’t help that he’s a by-the-book cop who expects everything done his way. It also doesn’t help that he’s hot. Ignoring that little fact is impossible—she’s tried!

  Then Layne’s world is turned upside down when human remains are discovered…and the case has a personal connection. Suddenly she’s glad Ross is so thorough, because he’ll get to the truth. And his search brings them closer, fueling the attraction that’s out of control. As secrets and lies from the past surface, Layne’s biggest challenge is fighting for a future—with Ross in it.

  She resented his control even as she envied it

  “I take it you and your mother aren’t close?” Ross asked.

  “If you were from here, you wouldn’t even have to ask that.” And Layne wasn’t about to fill him in.

  “You haven’t spoken to your mother in almost a year?”

  “September twentieth. Nineteen ninety-three.”

  If he was surprised, she couldn’t tell. Couldn’t read him in the best of times, let alone when her emotions were jumbled, her thoughts confused.

  She prided herself on her ability to see situations…people…clearly. Being unable to do so with him only served to infuriate and, yes, intrigue her. Damn him.

  What if her mother had changed her mind and hadn’t wanted to leave her family? What if Layne hadn’t said those things to her that night? What if she’d tried to stop her mother from leaving instead of telling her to go and not come back?

  Dear God, what if her mother was dead? And it was all her fault?

  Dear Reader,

  Writers are often asked where we get our ideas. The truth is, I have no clue how I come up with my stories. Sometimes it’s from something I see on TV, others it’s a line or two from a newspaper article or even lyrics from a song. All I know is that my books usually start with a character, one who grabs my attention, who has some fatal flaw to get past or an emotional wound that needs healing. Once I have that character in mind, I focus on writing a story that pushes them to grow and change and earn their Happily Ever After.

  It wasn’t that way with The Truth about the Sullivans trilogy. As a matter of fact, the premise for all three stories came from one simple quote: The truth will set you free.

  It’s a simple concept, but also one that can be very powerful. At least, that’s what I found out when I wrote these stories. I had to know what would happen if three sisters discovered that their mother, the woman they’d thought had abandoned them, had actually been murdered.

  The answers surprised me. For Layne Sullivan, the eldest daughter and heroine of Unraveling the Past, discovering what had really happened to her mother meant a complete reevaluation of everything she’d always believed. It also meant facing some hard truths about herself, the resentments she’d held on to all these years and her ability to forgive—others and herself.

  I had a great time writing Layne and Ross’s story and I hope you enjoy it, as well! I love to hear from my readers. Please visit my website, www.bethandrews.net, or drop me a line at [email protected] or P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701.

  Happy reading!

  Beth Andrews

  P.S. Look for book two of The Truth about the Sullivans series, On Her Side, available in August 2012.

  Unraveling the Past

  Beth Andrews

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews lives with her husband and three children in northwestern Pennsylvania far from the ocean, Boston accents and New England Patriots fans. The middle of three daughters, she knows a thing or two about the

  dynamics between sisters—a skill that came in handy while writing The Truth about the Sullivans. When not writing, Beth spends too much time in the kitchen and too little time on the treadmill. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net.

  Books by Beth Andrews

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1496—NOT WITHOUT HER FAMILY

  1556—A NOT-SO-PERFECT PAST

  1591—HIS SECRET AGENDA

  1634—DO YOU TAKE THIS COP?

  1670—A MARINE FOR CHRISTMAS

  1707—THE PRODIGAL SON

  1727—FEELS LIKE HOME

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  For Montgomry

  Acknowledgment

  Special thanks to Assistant Chief Mike Ward of the Bradford, PA, Police Department.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BPA

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHEN JESSICA TAYLOR lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.

  She hadn’t made that mistake again.

  Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.

  But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.

  Yeah, he was a real prince.

  A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.

  She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.

  That she wasn’t letting him use her.

  Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.

  She was in control.

  Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.

  Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the cl
earing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.

  Thank God.

  He collapsed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for a guy who looked as if he’d never heard of carbs, let alone ate any. His heart beat frantically against her chest, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder. They had connected in the most elemental way. And still she felt alone. Always alone.

  Her throat closed. Without a word, without a kiss or a murmured endearment or even an outright lie about how fantastic it’d been, how fantastic she was, Nate climbed to his feet. He turned his back and adjusted his clothes.

  The cool night air washed over her bare skin. She shivered but couldn’t find the energy or the care to cover herself. After she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking college freshman, she’d stopped believing guys’ lines. Had quickly learned they’d do and say anything to get into a girl’s pants.

  Yeah, she’d learned. But she hadn’t stopped hoping, couldn’t stop wishing that each time would be different. That, when it was all over, the guy she’d been with would think she was…special. Instead, once she gave them what they wanted, they all thought she was trash.

  She was starting to wonder if they were right.

  As she yanked up her jeans, shouts of excitement from the party still going strong reached them. The bonfire illuminated the colorful graffiti on the huge rocks that formed a barrier between the woods and what passed for civilization around here. Flames shot high into the air—probably from someone tossing gasoline onto the fire.

  What a bunch of idiots.

  “Come on,” Nate said, facing her as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Let’s go. Sounds like the party’s getting wicked wild.”

  Jess snorted. “Yeah.” She lurched to her feet and swayed. He held out a hand to steady her but she slapped him away. She didn’t want him touching her again. “I’m sure it’s a crazy wild time,” she continued, her words slurring. “At least by this town’s standards.”

  “Mystic Point not good enough for you?”

  Okay, so she’d pissed him off, either with her comment or her slap. Good.

  She rolled her eyes—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she almost tipped over. “Relax. God, why is everyone so defensive about this place?”

  “Maybe we don’t like outsiders slamming our town.”

  Outsider. That was her. And she was glad. She didn’t want to belong here. She just wanted to go home.

  “There’s a whole big world out there,” she said, waving her arms. “Places where parties are held in actual houses instead of in the middle of nowhere surrounded by some stupid rocks.”

  She’d much preferred last week’s party at the secluded part of the beach. The one and only thing she liked about Mystic Point was its proximity to the water. She loved the sound of the waves crashing on shore, the smell of salt water, the power of the ocean. But word had spread that the local cops had gotten wind of the underage drinking going on there and were going to increase their patrols of that area.

  Which is how she ended up at some old quarry at the edge of town.

  “If you hate it here so much, why don’t you go back to Boston?” Nate’s tone was snide, superior, as if he knew damn well why she was stuck here.

  He thought he was better than her because he had a normal family, a mom who didn’t spend all her time so strung out she barely remembered she even had a kid. A dad who not only acknowledged him, but spent time with him.

  Jess’s mom couldn’t even say for sure which of her lowlife boyfriends had knocked her up.

  Her hands curled. He was right. She did hate it here. And she hated Nate, too. Him and all his friends with their small-town attitudes and stupid cliques. They’d all heard about her past—nothing was sacred in a small town, after all. They’d discussed her. Judged her. And found her lacking. Even if she’d wanted to fit in, she’d never had the chance.

  Several car headlights flashed twice then remained on, the brightness cutting through the trees. Jess squinted against the glare.

  “What’s the matter, Nate?” a male voice called. “Having problems…performing?”

  “Dude, I bet she knows all sorts of tricks to help with that,” another guy yelled.

  “She should,” a girl added gleefully, “she’s had enough practice. She spends more time on her back than her feet.”

  Laughter erupted and a moment later, the lights shut off. But not before she saw the grin on Nate’s face. Saw how little he really thought of her.

  Bastard.

  With a low growl that, if she wasn’t careful, could easily turn into a sob, Jess picked up his sweatshirt and threw it at his face.

  He caught it before it could make contact. “What’s your problem?” he asked. “They’re just joking around.”

  “I don’t have a problem.” But everyone else did. They were too small-town boring and uptight. She started walking deeper into the woods.

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her so fast, the entire world tilted. She clamped down on the urge to vomit.

  “The party’s this way,” he said.

  Once the trees stopped spinning, she jerked away. “Get off me.” No one touched her unless she wanted them to, and he’d lost that right. “I’m leaving.”

  Her voice broke and she prayed he didn’t notice.

  “All right,” he said slowly, as if trying to calm her down, “if that’s what you want.” This time, he reached for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why?”

  He sighed heavily and glanced back at the party. “Because you’re drunk and shouldn’t be wandering around the woods at night.”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll die of exposure or get attacked by a wild animal and you’ll be blamed?” Though she gave him plenty of time to deny it, he didn’t. All he cared about was getting into trouble if something happened to her. “Go back to the party. I’m sure you’re dying to tell everyone what a stud you are.” She raised her voice. “But you might want to leave out the part about how it lasted a whole five minutes.”

  “Everyone was right about you,” he said. “You really are a bitch.”

  Bitch. Slut. Loser. All names she’d been called before. Whoever said words couldn’t cause pain had obviously never gone to high school.

  “And don’t you forget it,” she said with her patented sneer. And she walked away.

  This time, he let her go.

  Good. She didn’t want him chasing after her pretending he cared about whether she made it home safely or not. Oh, sure, he’d been all charm when he’d called and invited her to the party, had layered it on even more when she got there, flirting and joking around, but it’d all been an act. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with: him for not being different, for not living up to her hopeful standards.

  Or herself for sleeping with him anyway.

  She squinted at the narrow path cutting through the woods. If she kept walking, she’d end up in the clearing near the quarry’s entrance.

  She hoped.

  Too bad the farther she got from the clearing and the fire, the darker it got, the trees seeming to have multiplied to cut off any and all light from the moon. But it still beat going back the way she and Nate had come. She knew what would happen if she rejoined the party. The girls would freeze her out with their bitchy comments and accusing glares, blaming her for giving the boys what they were too frigid to. The guys would exchange smirks and elbow nudges and Nate would end up avoiding her the rest of the night.

  And she was too wasted, too emotionally messed up at the moment to pretend it didn’t bother her.

  She took out her phone and pressed the speed dial for Marissa, her best friend back in Boston. Holding it to her ear, she began making her way through the woods again, her steps unsteady, her head spinning.

  “Come on,” she muttered when Marissa didn’t pick up. “Where are you?”


  Despite her best efforts, tears streamed down her face. She angrily wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her toe caught on a tree root and she pitched forward. Her phone flew from her grip and she landed hard on the ground on her hands and knees.

  Tears and snot dripped from her face as she fought to catch her breath. To not puke. Her palms stung, her head swam. She straightened her leg, felt material rubbing against her knee and realized she’d ripped a hole in her favorite jeans.

  God, but this place sucked. She hated it here.

  Patting the ground around her for her phone, she crawled forward. Something rustled behind her. She froze, holding her breath as she listened. When only silence surrounded her, she continued her search, inching forward along the forest floor, the sharp twigs scratching her.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  “You can say that again.”

  Her head jerked up and she fell onto her rear, squinted against the harsh glare of a flashlight. But she didn’t need to see who had spoken, didn’t need a light to know a cop stood before her. No, not just a cop, but Mystic Point’s new chief of police.

  “Hi, Uncle Ross,” Jess said. Then she reared forward and threw up at his feet.

  * * *

  POLICE CHIEF ROSS TAYLOR couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare move. If he so much as blinked, he might lose all control. And that wouldn’t be good. Not when his instincts screamed at him to wrap his hands around the puny neck of the kid he and Assistant Chief Sullivan had dragged into the woods to help search for Jessica.

  The kid who’d admitted he’d let her go stumbling off by herself in the dark. The kid who hadn’t had to admit what he and Jess had been doing while the rest of their delinquent friends drank and whooped it up in the clearing. The empty cups and the used condom Ross had walked past had made it all too clear they hadn’t been stargazing.

  He exhaled heavily. Son of a bitch.

  Ross knelt next to his niece. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, well aware Layne Sullivan and the kid made a rapt audience to this little family drama.

  Jessica stared up at him, her face illuminated by the flashlight Sullivan shined in their direction. Jess’s eyes—light blue like her mother’s—were huge. And unfocused, the pupils dilated. “No.”