On Her Side

by Beth Andrews

  He wiped his hands on a stained rag and stuck it into his back pocket as he slowly faced her. “You asking me out?” His rough voice was low and amused. “Because if you are…” He scanned her from head to toe, one corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic, insulting smile. “I’m not interested. Not even for a free meal.”

  “Ouch,” she murmured, unable to stop her cheeks from heating even though going out with him was the last thing on her mind. Yes, he was all walking sex appeal and mysterious and gorgeous, like a fallen angel come to tempt her to the dark side. But she was quite content living in the light, thanks very much.

  Unlike her mother.

  Besides, her family would lose their minds if they knew she’d breathed the same air as Griffin York. She couldn’t imagine their reactions if she dated the man.

  She sighed dramatically. “Hopefully I’ll survive the heartbreak of your callous words, but if you’re sure there’s nothing I can say or do to change your mind about talking with the P.I….”

  “There’s not.”

  That was what she was afraid of. Damn him. “Then I guess there’s nothing left for us to discuss—”

  “I told you that fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Except when you think you’ll have my car repaired.”

  His brows drew together. “You expect me to fix your car?”

  “Yes, how silly of me,” she said, pulling her cell phone from her purse, “to expect a mechanic to perform car repairs. What a ludicrous idea.” She opened her phone and brought up the calendar function. “So when should I come back to pick it up?”

  He looked at her as if she’d asked when a good time was for her to return and burn his business to the ground. “You are some piece of work.”

  Again, not a compliment. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I need my car fixed and I’d like to hire you to do it.” She couldn’t take it to her usual garage. Not when it was so obvious someone had damaged it on purpose. And wouldn’t that be fun to explain? “Unless you have a problem taking money from me because I’m a Sullivan?”

  “I never have a problem taking someone’s money for doing my job. I have a problem with people coming to my place and harassing me about things that are none of their damned business.”

  “Your father is my business and has been since he and my mother decided to get together. But if it’ll make you feel better, I promise not to harass—and I take exception to that term—you about anything. You fix my car, I’ll come back when it’s finished, pick it up and pay my bill. As long as the work is done satisfactorily, of course.”

  “I do quality work.” Though the words were said calmly enough, she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d offended him.

  “I’m sure you do,” she rushed out, realizing she’d sounded a bit snotty. And superior. “Which is why I’d like you to work on my car. So…do we have a deal?”

  * * *

  DID THEY HAVE a deal? Griffin wasn’t sure. He didn’t trust her. She was too unflappable. Too freaking cheerful.

  She was a Sullivan.

  At least she’d been up front about wanting to drag him into her crusade to find his old man. A noble cause, sure. But Griffin wasn’t some knight in shining armor. He didn’t do noble. He put in ten hours a day at the garage, six days a week, stayed out of the trouble that had seemed to follow him wherever he went as a kid and kept his nose out of other people’s business.

  And expected others to do the same for him.

  Besides, it wasn’t his problem if the cops couldn’t find Dale. That they didn’t have any evidence to charge him with Valerie Sullivan’s murder.

  Not that Griffin thought for one moment that Dale was innocent. He’d seen firsthand the kind of violence his father was capable of. His old man was a criminal, a con man who could adapt to any situation, become anyone. But underneath his exterior, he was nothing but an animal. He brushed off civility as easily as most people batted away a fly, disregarded rules in favor of following his own self-serving instincts.

  Only the strong survive, boy.

  Dale’s sneering, hate-fueled voice filled Griffin’s head. His stomach clenched as if Dale could reach through time and punctuate his statement with one of his stinging slaps.

  Griffin rubbed his fingertips across the stubble on his chin. A reminder to himself he wasn’t some skinny, scared kid anymore. But though many years had passed since Dale had left town, Griffin was sure his father hadn’t changed. He’d always be dangerous. Violent. And God help anyone who stood between him and what he wanted. He hoped blondie knew what she was doing by going after Dale.

  But it wasn’t Griffin’s job to warn her or protect her from his old man. He’d tried once to save a woman from Dale. Tried and failed. Better to leave people to their own devices and foolish decisions.

  “Come back Friday,” he told her. He may not want to save her from herself but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take her money for doing his job. “Your car should be done by then.”

  “That long?” she asked, looking put out, as if he’d delay the job to mess with her.

  “I have to order parts,” he said shortly. “They take a few days to get here but if you don’t like the timeline, you’re free to go somewhere else.”

  “Wow, business must be booming, what with that charming way you have with the customers.”

  “Friday,” he repeated because his business did just fine despite him not wasting time chatting with customers, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

  He had enough work to keep him busy—more than enough. Yeah, he made a fraction of what that lawyer uncle of hers probably raked in during the year but Griffin was his own boss, paid all of his bills on time and even had a little cash left over at the end of each month.

  For someone who’d spent most of his childhood slipping out of towns in the middle of the night, his old man running from the cops, creditors or other crooks, his current situation was close to perfect.

  “Call first to make sure it’s done,” he said, going back to the oil change. He didn’t want her showing up and giving him grief if the parts didn’t get there in time.

  Nodding, her fingers flew over the buttons on her phone. Probably one of those fancy models that did everything but wipe your ass for you. She tossed it back into that huge purse of hers then glanced around. “Which car should I use?”

  “For what?”

  “For transportation,” she said as if he was the one who needed to be fitted for a straitjacket instead of her. “I’ll need a vehicle to drive while my car is being worked on.”

  “Guess you should’ve thought of that before you went all PMS on your headlights.” He put the cap back on the oil pan. “You want something to drive? Try a car rental agency.”

  “But I have to be to work in—” she checked the slim, fancy watch on her wrist “—fifteen minutes. Could you at least give me a ride downtown?”

  “No.”

  “No?” she squeaked as if she’d never heard the word before.

  “I’m not a taxi driver. And, thanks to you, I’m already behind on the day’s work.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” She slammed her hands on her curvy hips, tugging the top of her dress lower, exposing more of the creamy skin on her chest. He jerked his gaze back to her face. “Walk?”

  “I don’t care if you fly. I’m not driving you.”

  “B-but…it’s at least two miles from here.”

  He considered that. “More like two and a half.”

  “I’m in heels,” she snapped.

  He shouldn’t feel so much pleasure at finally ruffling her feathers, but what the hell? He was about as far from a saint as you could get. He sure wasn’t above enjoying her discomfort. Not after she’d done nothing but irritate him since walking into his place.

  “And you’re down
to thirteen minutes,” he pointed out. “You might want to get going.”

  She glowered at him. He couldn’t help it. He grinned.

  “What,” she asked imperiously, “is so funny?”

  “You and that glare.” Two high spots of color appeared on her cheeks but instead of making her look indignant, she just looked cute. Cuter. If that was possible. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re about as intimidating as a magical fairy.”

  “A…fairy?” she repeated, about choking on the word, her arms straight, her hands fisted.

  Hoping it would piss her off but good, he winked at her. “Magical fairy. A sparkly one. Floaty. You must get eaten alive in court, huh? Maybe Layne could give you a few lessons on how to be a hard-nosed bitch.”

  She lifted her chin. “I will not allow myself to be dragged into some ludicrous argument over fairies—”

  “Magical fairies.”

  Her mouth flattened. “Or my sister. I will see you Friday.” She whirled on her heel and sashayed away.

  He waited until she reached the door before calling out, “Hey, angel?”

  She stopped but didn’t turn.

  “The next time you feel the need to pound on your car,” he continued, “you might want to think about slashing a tire instead. It would’ve been easier and you would’ve saved yourself a lot of grief and about a thousand bucks.”

  Her back went so straight he was surprised her spine didn’t audibly snap. Her head held high, she walked out into the sunshine.

  He could’ve sworn he heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “Crap.”

  There was no way she’d make it to work in time. Even if she ran—and he couldn’t imagine her so much as jogging in that dress and those heels—she’d still be late.

  He shrugged. Not his problem. She wasn’t his problem.

  But he still had the strangest urge to call her back, this time to tell her he was messing with her, that he’d drive her into town. Because he wanted to. Contemplating how big of an idiot that would make him, he deliberately went to the back of the garage for a case of oil.

  So she had to walk. Big deal. It was only a few miles, the sun was shining and it was still cool enough for a brisk, morning trek to be refreshing instead of sweat inducing. And she had a cell phone. She could always call one of her sisters or a friend to pick her up.

  From the moment he’d realized who she was, he’d wanted to get rid of her. And now he had his wish so there was no reason to waste time wondering if he should’ve handled the situation, handled her, differently.

  She was out of his hair, out of his personal business, at least until Friday. He’d just be grateful for small favors.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, Nora shifted her weight from her left foot to her right as she waited on the sidewalk in front of Pizza Junction. She’d grabbed her briefcase and laptop from the backseat of her car before stomping off Griffin’s property.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d looked at her. As if she was an annoying mosquito barely worth the time and effort it would take to swat her away.

  What an ass. Her lips tightened. A rude, blatantly antagonistic ass.

  Maybe her sisters, her father and pretty much the entire town were right about him. He really was trouble. The kind she’d do best to avoid.

  A familiar red Jeep pulled up and stopped in front of her. She opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

  “Hey,” she said to her cousin Anthony. “Thanks for getting me.”

  “No problem,” Anthony said with a smile that had his dimple winking. “Being without a car sucks.”

  “True.” Especially when it was due to your own stubbornness and stupidity. She set her briefcase and laptop case on the floor, then rolled her window down a few inches. Spotting something sparkly in the cup holder, she picked it up. “I always imagined you as more of a dragonfly guy,” she said, holding up the butterfly barrette.

  He glanced at it. “Funny.”

  She patted his leg. “Don’t be embarrassed. Holding on to a keepsake from your girlfriend is sweet. As long as it’s not underwear. That’s just weird. And pervy.”

  “It’s not a keepsake,” he said, his expression hard, his hands strangling the steering wheel.

  She blinked at the vehemence in his tone. And then it hit her. Which girlfriend the barrette must’ve belonged to. Jessica.

  Damn that girl.

  Nora curled her fingers around the barrette, the edge biting into her palm. “Want me to see she gets it back?” she asked quietly.

  He lifted a shoulder as his phone buzzed, which she took as an affirmation. He checked his text. “Hold on a sec,” he told her then responded to the message, his fingers flying over the keys.

  He kept his head down, the sun turning his curly hair gold. He was handsome and charming, smart and funny and used to having the world by the tail. He was also honest to a fault and young enough to believe everyone else was, too. Until a slip of a girl lied to him.

  Anthony, twenty-one and about to start his senior year at Boston University, had gone out with Chief Taylor’s niece Jessica a few times. Until he’d found out that the girl who’d claimed to be a student at Northeastern University was really only a high school junior. He’d been humiliated and furious at being tricked.

  But Nora wasn’t sure what upset him most: that Jess had lied to him…

  Or that he’d had to let her go.

  Now Jessica—who’d moved to Mystic Point when her uncle been granted custody of her—would undoubtedly be around the Sullivans more thanks to Layne and Ross hooking up. They were in for some awkward family holiday celebrations this year.

  Nora had warned Layne that her involvement with her boss would cause problems. People really should listen to her more.

  “Sorry about that,” Anthony said, tossing his phone back into the console then pulling out onto the road. “What’s wrong with the Lexus?”

  “I had a small fender bender,” she said, deciding not to tell him about Layne and Ross. Let Layne break the news to him herself. “I’m going to have to have a headlight—” or two “—replaced.”

  Not quite a lie, just not the whole truth. And really, whoever said omission was the same as lying never went to law school.

  The next time you feel the need to pound on your car you might want to think about slashing a tire instead. It would’ve been easier and you would’ve saved yourself a lot of grief and about a thousand bucks.

  Yes, Griffin had made a valid point. One that had run through her head about a dozen or so times since she’d walked out of his parking lot. She’d been a bit…rash with the headlight-smashing episode.

  But really, it had made a much bigger impact than if she’d let the air out of a tire.

  “You want to hear something weird?” Anthony asked, sliding her a look, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping along to the classic rock song playing softly through the speakers.

  She flipped the visor down and checked her hair. Smoothing back a loose strand, she turned this way and that, before snapping the visor shut, satisfied her unleashing hell on her car hadn’t done any serious damage. “Weird like it being eleven after the hour every time you check the microwave clock? Or alien gives birth to Elvis’s love child weird?”

  Pulling to a stop at a red light, he faced her, his blue eyes serious and she was reminded that though she’d tried to deny it for years, he wasn’t a kid anymore.

  “Weird like guess what I saw in the parking lot of Eddie’s Service station when we passed it? Your car,” he continued before she could answer. “Why would you have Griffin York, of all people, work on your car?”

  She shrugged, but the movement came across as irritated instead of casual. “Why shouldn’t I take my car to his gar
age? From all accounts, he’s a good mechanic.”

  Anthony stared at her as if she’d just admitted the story about Elvis’s alien baby was true and she was the mother.

  The light changed and he pulled ahead. “What’s going on, Nora?”

  “I told you, I had a bit of car trouble.” She snapped her lips together realizing she’d sounded defensive even to her own ears. “Look,” she said, using her mellowest tone, “this isn’t a big deal. And, really, it shouldn’t matter where I take my car to get fixed.”

  “It shouldn’t,” he agreed, “but it does. Especially when you’re doing business with the son of the man suspected of Aunt Val’s murder.”

  “Dale York is suspected, yes. But it’s not fair to hold Griffin accountable for his father’s sins. They’re not the same person, no matter that they share DNA. You, of all people,” she said gently, “should understand that sons aren’t clones of their fathers.”

  He flushed. “This is different than him following his father’s career path.” Like Anthony had done with his own father. But he’d confided to Nora he wasn’t sure he wanted to go into law. “It’s not just who his father is, though that’s part of it,” Anthony admitted as he pulled into the private parking lot of Sullivan, Saunders and Mazza, the law firm where they both worked—she as an associate lawyer, he as an intern. “Griffin is not exactly a model citizen.”

  “Speculation,” she said breezily, unbuckling her seat belt and reaching down for her things. “Rumors based on who his father is.”

  “More like based on who he is and how he acts.” Anthony reached into the back for his laptop. “I heard he beat the hell out of a guy down at the Yacht Pub all because he didn’t like how the man was looking at him.”

  She refrained—barely—from rolling her eyes. “And I heard it was a tourist who’d had too much to drink and was looking for a fight. A fight Griffin didn’t give him, obviously, as no charges were filed against him.” She climbed out and shut the door. “You can’t believe everything you hear, which is why a good attorney doesn’t take anything into account other than what they can prove,” she said, softening her subtle rebuke with a gentle hip check. “And the fact is that Griffin is an excellent mechanic.”