by Beth Andrews
Nora sipped her beer while Sarah delivered the man’s drink. “Did you ever see my mom with Dale York?” she asked when Sarah came back.
“All the time.” She put away a bottle of what looked like rum then turned back, wiping her hands on a towel. “He’d hang out here, wait for her to finish her shift then they’d take off together.” Her mouth pinched. “I hate to speak ill of the dead…”
“But?”
“But…I never understood why Val wanted to be with someone like Dale. Not when she had such a good man at home. Your dad, he was always so nice to all of us. He’d bring us burgers and fries or pizza at the end of the night, help clean up if she worked late. You ask me, he treated her like a queen.”
He had. Nora and her sisters had witnessed how much Tim had adored Val. How he’d worshipped her. He’d loved her beyond himself, beyond reason.
And it hadn’t been enough. She’d given up the all-encompassing love of a good man for someone dark and dangerous.
Her mother had been such a fool.
Nora wiped her thumb through a drop of spilled beer. “Did you ever happen to see Dale lose his temper?”
“Sure.” Sarah took an order from the twentysomething waitress in faded jeans and a snug, pink T-shirt. Poured dark amber liquid into a glass. “Like I said, he’d hang around here until your mom got done and he often caused trouble, got into fights with other customers. I hate to say it but part of that blame was on your mom. She liked to flirt,” she explained with a shrug as she used a hose to add soda to the drink. “And if a guy flirted back or got too friendly, York would start throwing punches.”
Nora wondered how much strife her mother had caused here at the bar. Her coworkers must have resented her. She’d been so beautiful and so vain with that beauty, had needed to be the center of attention. To shine brighter than anyone else.
But she’d also been charming and funny and she’d had a laugh that no one could resist. Nora could still hear it to this day.
She sipped her beer in an effort to soothe her dry throat. “Did you ever see them fight? With each other, I mean. Did you ever see him hurt her?”
Shaking her head, Sarah started on the second drink. “Nothing like that. They argued, sure. Seemed everything they did was heated, amped up, you know? Like having a regular relationship wasn’t exciting enough so they did everything they could to add big drama, big tension, to it.”
Disappointed, Nora forced a small smile. “Okay. Well, thanks for your time.”
“It’s no secret that I wasn’t exactly friendly with your mom,” Sarah said, handing the drinks to the waitress, “but I was sorry to hear what had happened to her.”
“Thank you.”
Nora picked at the corner of the label on her bottle while Sarah moved down the bar to take more orders.
So much for hoping she could find someone to testify they’d seen Dale be violent toward her mother. Not that she wanted Val to have been hurt, but if she’d found someone who’d witnessed Dale being abusive, it could possibly turn the tide of the going-nowhere-fast investigation against him.
Often times, when one person came forward, it brought out others who’d been too scared to do so on their own. Memories were jogged and facts that had been long-forgotten—or hidden—were brought to light.
It’d been a shot in the dark but she’d had to try. Maybe she should hire Hepfer Investigations after all. Get them to trace Dale’s movements after he left Mystic Point. In his statement to the police, he’d refused to divulge where he’d spent the past eighteen years, saying only that he’d done a lot of traveling.
An investigator could do some digging into that life, interview people Dale had come into contact with, those he’d befriended. Maybe they could find someone he’d confided in. Someone he’d mentioned the murder to. Confessed to. Maybe—
“Slumming?” a low, deep, familiar voice asked at her ear.
A shiver of awareness climbed her spine. Bracing herself, she swiveled and met Griffin’s eyes. He was close, closer than he’d ever been to her. His hair was mussed, as if the redhead had run her fingers through it. Her stomach quivered. She wished she could smooth the dark, tousled locks, erase the other woman’s touch. Wanted to trace her forefinger around the sharp line of his mouth, feel the roughness of the stubble covering his cheeks. Gently rub the dip in his chin.
She tucked her hands into her lap, twisted her fingers together. “Griffin. Hi.” She somehow mustered up a smile. “How are you?”
“Always so polite,” he murmured, easing back. But she didn’t feel any less crowded, any safer. Especially when he skimmed that hot gaze of his over her face and then down to linger on the exposed skin of her upper chest before lazily climbing up her throat back to her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Having a coronary if the racing of her heart was any indication. God, he was gorgeous. Sexy and potent and so incredibly bad for her. Like father like son.
And she refused to act like her mother.
“Having a drink,” she said, lifting the bottle for a quick sip. Too quick of one it turned out because she inhaled wrong and coughed to clear her throat.
One side of his mouth kicked up in that pseudo grin of his. “Beer? I pictured you more of a rainbow drinker.”
She licked a drop of beer from her lip. Her breath caught when he watched the movement, his eyes darkening. She cleared her throat. “You think I drink rainbows? What am I, a leprechaun?”
“Rainbow drinks,” he said gruffly. “Ones that are pink or green or blue…”
“Colors of the rainbow. Clever. And while I’ll admit I’ve had a colorful cocktail once in a while, I also like beer. How shocking. Oh,” she added, her eyes wide, “and I watch football—professional and college—and love nothing more than having a hot dog—extra relish—at a Red Sox game. Alert the media.”
“You are full of surprises.” He didn’t sound too happy about it. “The biggest one being that of all the places in Mystic Point where you could have a drink, you chose this bar.”
He had her there. Usually when she went out, she hit a dance club with a group of friends, somewhere with bright, flashing, seizure-inducing lights and bass-heavy music so loud it shook the walls. There’d be sharply dressed men on the prowl. Women in short skirts and skyscraper heels dancing in groups, taking breaks between the good songs to do Jell-O shots or head to the restroom en masse.
But tonight she’d come to the Yacht Pub, with its neon beer signs, jukebox and jean-wearing clientele. Where her mother had worked. Where Val had met Dale.
Where she’d more than likely made plans to leave her husband. Her daughters.
“You’re very interested in me all of a sudden,” she said, sending him a flirtatious glance from beneath her eyelashes to cover the way her throat had gone tight with emotion. “It was only a matter of time before you fell for my charms. I mean, who could hold out against this—” she circled her finger around her face “—my sparkling personality and intelligence for long? But don’t feel bad. Stronger men than you have tried and failed.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m sort of irresistible.”
“That so?” he murmured. Their eyes locked and held and she realized immediately she’d made a tactical error, a big one, in getting that close to him. Her breath was trapped in her lungs, her pulse racing.
She tore her gaze from his and stared over his shoulder. Saw the redhead shooting her a die-now-bitch! glare.
“I think your date’s getting lonely,” she said, tipping her beer toward the back of the room.
He didn’t even turn. “She’s not my date.”
“O-kay. Still, don’t feel like you have to keep me company. I’m fine all on my own.”
He glowered. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“But I am here and I plan on staying,” she said wit
h what she considered remarkable patience. The man was getting on her last nerve. “And I’d rather drink my beer in relative peace, which is the polite way of saying I’d like to be alone. So go on.” She made a shooing motion. “Go.”
He glanced over her head, his eyes narrowing in a way that had nerves twisting in her belly. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“It means I’m staying right here.” As if to prove it, he sat on the stool, lifted his hand to the bartender, raising two fingers.
“Why on earth would you do that when you’ve got Little Miss Hot Pants over there waiting for you?”
He grinned at her and those nerves spiked pleasantly. “Because, angel, I have a feeling being with you is going to be way more interesting.”
* * *
GRIFFIN ENJOYED WATCHING the emotions play over Nora’s face. Confusion. Anger.
And that damn curiosity he knew would get the better of her.
He’d unnerved her. Good. Why should he be the only one unsure of his footing?
“I don’t like the sound of that,” she said, edging closer to him again, her voice low and husky, her fresh scent wrapping around him. “You seem sort of…cheerful. It’s freaking me out.”
He ground his back teeth together. Cheerful. He was not and never had been cheerful. “Just getting ready to enjoy the fireworks,” he said, flicking his gaze over her shoulder.
She frowned—adorably, of course. “What are you talking about?”
“Nora,” her sister Tori said as she came up behind her. “What are you doing here?”
Nora briefly shut her eyes and mouthed what looked to be “Why me?” before plastering on one of her smiles—this one strained around the edges—and facing her sister.
“Tori. Hi. That seems to be a popular question tonight,” she said, sliding him a glance. “Wow, you look gorgeous,” she continued, sounding nothing but sincere. “Love those shoes.”
“Thank you,” Tori said, but didn’t return the compliment though Nora looked good, too. Damn good.
Her hair was down. But it wasn’t straight, like her sisters’, like he’d imagined. Instead it fell past her shoulders in soft waves. Her dark jeans hugged her hips and ass and the wide neck of her deep blue top showed the curve of her collarbone, the barest hint of cleavage.
She’d done something different to her face, too. Had added subtle, light color to her eyes, smudged a soft purple under her lower lashes making the blue of them stand out. And her mouth…he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. Not when her lips were all pouty and slick and red.
Come get me red.
Kiss me red.
“What are you doing here?” Tori demanded again, doing her best to raise the temperature in the bar in her tight, black jeans, skinny heels and low-cut purple top. Her eyes were smoky, her dark chin-length hair showing off the sharpness of her jaw. A devil to her angelic sister.
Who the hell would’ve ever guessed he’d prefer the angel?
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Nora asked, all radiance and light and good times. “I’m having a drink with my friend.”
“Your friend?” Tori repeated, as if Nora had said she’d bellied up to the bar with a snake. She finally acknowledged him long enough to make eye contact. “Griffin.”
“Tori,” he said, mimicking her flat tone.
There was no love lost between them. He’d never had much use for her. She was more subtle in her dislike and mistrust of him than Layne, had never been blatantly antagonistic toward him. She kept her distance.
He’d prefer facing off against Layne again, as he’d done a few weeks ago several seats down. At least she was easy to read. Tori played a part, used her body, that perfect face, to get what she wanted. He didn’t like to be manipulated. Even by a beautiful woman.
“Would you like to join us?” Nora asked, pleasantly.
Griffin about choked on his beer. She acted as if it was every day she hung out at the Yacht Pub tossing back a few brews with her good old buddy, Griffin York. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by her casual attitude, or worried she really believed they were friends.
Either way, he couldn’t resist going along with it. Was afraid if he wasn’t careful, he’d have a hard time resisting her.
“Yeah,” he said, patting the stool on his other side. “Join us.”
“No,” Tori said slowly, dragging the word out. “Thank you. But I would just love to talk with you,” she said to Nora, jerking her head to the side so hard, Griffin wondered if she’d dislocated her pretty neck. “Privately.”
Nora slid her empty bottle aside and picked up the beer Griffin had bought her. “I’m sure whatever you have to say can wait.”
“And I’m sure that it can’t,” Tori snarled. She grabbed Nora’s arm. Tugged. “Come on.”
And for some reason, Griffin didn’t like Tori, didn’t like anyone touching Nora, making her do something she didn’t want to do.
“You don’t have to go anywhere with her,” he said.
“This is a private matter,” Tori said, leaning over the bar to glare at him. “A family matter.”
He ignored her, held Nora’s gaze. He wanted to tell her to stay, right there. To stay with him. He wanted her to blow off her sister. He wanted, he realized with a sense of growing horror, her to pick him.
Holy hell, he was losing his mind.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, as if it was a foregone conclusion he’d stick around waiting for her. As if he’d planned on spending the night hanging out with her, hearing her laugh, breathing in her scent. Being tempted by her.
She got to her feet on his side of the stool, her lush body brushing ever-so-subtly against his arm.
His mouth went bone-dry. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he tipped up his beer. Drained half of it. No skin off his nose if she went with Tori, he thought, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Now that he’d lost his appetite for the redhead and slaked his thirst for a beer, he could head on home. Call it an early night. Nora had her sister, she didn’t need him.
But he couldn’t stop himself from searching them out. From searching Nora out.
They stood near the old tugboat wheel leaning against the wall. At the table next to them, three women he recognized from high school chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the sisters. He wondered if they were the reason Tori was there tonight.
Tori said something to Nora, her hands waving in the air before gesturing his way. Nora, her brow pinched, her mouth a serious line, nodded as if hooked by every word her sister said. But then she glanced his way and sent him a small, conspiratorial grin.
And his heart about stopped.
He rubbed his hand over the ache in his chest. She had a way of hitting a guy right between the eyes.
If there was one thing he knew other than how to fix cars, it was when someone was trouble. And Nora Sullivan with her warm smile, biting wit and ethereal beauty was nothing but. Thank God he’d given up trouble a long time ago.
Tori kept yakking and Nora’s expression changed. Hardened. Hands on her hips, she laid into her sister like she was a Sunday schoolteacher and Tori had just uttered blasphemy. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.
She was magnificent.
He needed to get the hell out of there before he started thinking unholy thoughts about a certain angel.
He finished his beer and got to his feet, refused to look back at the Sullivans as he walked past the bar. Before he could reach the door, though, it opened.
The man on the other side grinned. “Hello, son.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
GRIFFIN’S BLOOD TURNED TO ICE, everything inside of him going brittle and tense, as if with the slightest touch he’d shatter, pi
eces shooting everywhere. The noise of the bar, the voices, the music, it all faded until the only sound he heard was his own pulse drumming in his ears. After all these years he and his father were face-to-face again.
Son of a bitch.
“What’s the matter?” Dale asked, rocking back on his heels. “Nothing to say to your old man? No ‘Hey, Dad’? Or ‘Good to see you’?”
Griffin’s hands curled. His muscles tensed. Dale looked the same, so much like he had all those years ago, it was as if they’d stepped back in time. His dark hair was threaded with gray and there were signs of age on his face and around his eyes and mouth, but his body was toned. Fit. He’d always prided himself on his looks, on the attention he got for them. Had worked hard to keep in shape, to make sure he was stronger than anyone else.
The past washed over Griffin, made him feel like the skinny, powerless kid he’d been. Trapped. Angry. Scared.
Goddamn it.
“Come on, now, boy,” Dale said, all jovial charm when he wanted something. Except Griffin remembered how quickly that charm could change to fury. “Buy me a drink and we’ll catch up. Do that whole father/son bonding thing.” When Griffin remained silent, Dale’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Or you could spot me a few bucks. We’ll call it payback for all those years I took care of you.”
If that didn’t prove his father hadn’t changed, nothing would. Dale always looked for the easy way out, the easy money. He’d always looked out for himself.
“No? Well, then, I guess I could always pay another visit to your mother.” Dale’s silky tone somehow gave his threat more impact. “She wasn’t very reasonable when I talked to her the other day, but I’m sure I could persuade her to coming around to my way of thinking.”
Griffin’s chest tightened. His body shook as fury, hot and potent, raced through him. He wanted to shove Dale against the bar, press his elbow into his old man’s throat and choke the life out of him. He could do it, Griffin realized. He could take on Dale and he could win. After all these years, he could finally protect his mother.