Beth Andrews – On Her Side (страница 4)

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, and he wondered how she managed to convey such sincerity when she sounded as far from sorry as humanly possible. Must be that face of hers. Someone who looked like she kept a spare halo in her pocket could get away with quite a few sins before anyone realized she was like every other poor slob walking the earth.

Flawed, untrustworthy and only out for herself.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” she continued. “I was hoping I could talk to you about your father.”

He figured that’s why she’d come, but hearing her say it still gave him a twinge of guilt, of nerves, both of which pissed him off. He wouldn’t be held accountable for his father’s mistakes or his crimes. Wouldn’t feel responsible for them.

“You don’t always get what you want,” he said smoothly, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the faded scar under his jaw. “That was one lesson the old man taught real well.”

Tossing his coffee cup into the trash, he walked over to the car on the lift, his stride unhurried, his movements easy as he opened the driver side door. But when he reached inside, he gripped the keys tightly, cranking them so hard the engine whined in protest.

The back of his neck heated. He gave the steering wheel a sharp rap with the side of his fist. Damn it. Damn her. This was his place. She had no right to waltz in here, looking all untouchable and superior, and bring up his bastard of a father.

Ducking back out of the car, Griffin walked to the shelves along the far wall without so much as a glance to see if she’d left or not. He took down a funnel and tossed it on the rolling cart next to the plastic jug he used to store old oil.

Blondie couldn’t change the rules because she had a bug up her ass about something. He never set foot in the Ludlow Street Café, the restaurant her father’s live-in girlfriend owned, where her sister Tori worked. Even back in school when he and Tori were in the same grade, Layne two years ahead of them, he’d kept to himself. He never, ever, stepped over the invisible line that had kept the Yorks and the Sullivans separated for the past eighteen years. Pretending the other family didn’t exist—let alone that they lived in the same town—had worked pretty damn well for both the Sullivans and him and his mom.

Had worked until Valerie Sullivan’s remains were found outside the old quarry, proving she hadn’t taken off with his father like everyone in town had believed. Bringing up the very real possibility that his father had killed his lover before he’d left Mystic Point.

And just like that, Griffin and his mother had been yanked back into the past. The police chief had wanted to know if they’d heard from Dale, if they had any idea where he was, how he could be reached. They hadn’t and they didn’t, but that didn’t stop the rumors from flying. Wouldn’t stop people from remembering that his mother had once been married to the man suspected of Valerie’s murder. Reminding them all that Griffin was his son.

“I spoke with my sister yesterday,” the youngest Sullivan said, standing in the middle of his garage as if nothing short of a dynamite blast would move her. Which he was starting to seriously consider. “The assistant police chief?”

He shut off the car and slammed the door shut. “Not interested.”

“Layne said you claim not to know where your father is,” she continued as if Griffin’s words had floated in one ear and out the other without meeting so much as one working brain cell as resistance. “Is that true?”

“I thought you were the smart Sullivan sister,” he said, pressing the button to raise the car on the lift.

She crossed her arms, for the first time looking uncomfortable—and wasn’t that interesting? “I don’t see what my IQ has to do with—”

“But in case you’re not as bright as they say, let me make myself very clear.” He tapped his fist against his thigh as he closed the distance between them, stopping in front of her. Though she wore two-inch heels—and he topped off at five-ten—she still had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. “I’ve already been questioned by the cops. And no matter how many times you or your sister—the assistant police chief—ask me, the answers aren’t going to change.”

“But you—”

“So unless you’re having car problems—and are prepared to pay me to fix those problems—there’s really no reason for you to be here. And nothing for us to talk about.”

Inhaling deeply, she sent a beseeching glance at the ceiling, as if asking the heavens from whence she came to grant her patience. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“Do you?” he murmured, figuring only an idiot would miss the calculation in her blue eyes. And the intelligence behind them.

He’d been called many things in his life, but never an idiot.

“How about we start over?” she asked, holding out her hand again. “Hi, Griffin, I’m Nora. It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment, he almost believed she was as innocent and harmless as she looked with her perfect face, guileless charm and dry sense of humor.

She was good, he’d give her that. Damn good.

He enveloped her warm hand in his, noting the relief, the triumph that crossed her expression. But when he held on past what was considered the polite amount of time for a simple handshake, that relief turned to unease. The triumph to confusion. He felt no small amount of satisfaction from that unease. And he had no problem using it against her.

“How about this?” he asked quietly, tugging her toward him until she was so close he could smell her light, clean scent. Could hear the soft catch of her breath. Her throat worked, her eyes widened as they met his. “You walk yourself out of my garage, get into your car and drive off my property. Or—”

“Or what?” she asked, yanking free of his hold, her face flush. “You’ll toss me over your shoulder, throw me into my trunk, hook my car to your tow truck and drag me out of here?”

He could easily imagine himself doing the first and wished he could figure out a way to make the second idea work without going to jail for it. “Not that I have anything against those suggestions, but no. I won’t do anything.”

She smirked, reminding him of how Layne had looked a few weeks back when she’d tried to arrest him for the dubious crime of being Dale York’s son. “That’s what I thought.”

No, she thought she had him firmly by the balls. And all she had to do to keep him in line was squeeze.

“I won’t do anything,” he repeated. “I’ll let the Mystic Point Police Department do it for me.”

She blinked. Then she laughed. Bright, tinkling laughter that filled the cavernous space of the garage and seemed to echo back at him.

He was in hell.

“Keep that sense of humor,” he said. “It’ll come in handy when they take your mug shot.”

“Come on,” she said as if inviting him to share in the joke. “You’re not going to call the police.”

“I’m not?”

“Why would you? It’s not like you and the Mystic Point PD have a strong relationship based on mutual trust and admiration.”

Because he was Dale York’s son. Because he’d been a wild and rebellious kid and was an adult who didn’t take shit or back down from anyone.

“I’m a tax paying, law-abiding citizen,” he pointed out, not getting so much as a parking ticket since he turned eighteen and realized he’d be following his old man’s footsteps straight to prison if he didn’t keep his nose clean. Watching her, he took out his cell phone. “Make sure to duck when they put you in the back of the squad car. Wouldn’t want to hit your head and mess up that fancy hairdo.”

“While I’m sure that’s excellent advice—and comes from your own personal experience—I don’t need it. It’s not illegal to have a conversation with someone. Unless, of course, you know something about the law I don’t?” she asked in a sweet, condescending tone that grated on his last nerve.

He raised his eyebrows. “You always have that ego, or did it come with the law degree?”

“It’s not ego. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” She wanted to prove how smart she was—so much smarter than him because she went to some fancy college while he was lucky to finish high school. So much better than him by virtue of her last name. “And I don’t care what the cops do with you. Arrest you for trespassing, cite you for loitering or give you a ticket for being a pain-in-the-ass. Doesn’t matter to me as long as they get you out of my hair and out of my garage.”

Biting her lower lip, she regarded him warily as if trying to figure out if he was serious. “Okay,” she said with a decisive nod, “if that’s the way you want it—”

“It is,” he assured her, mimicking her somber tone.

“Fine.” Her sigh was very much that of a poor, put-upon female forced to deal with a brainless, tactless male. “We’ll do things your way. But for the record,” she said, wagging her finger at him like some librarian to a naughty schoolboy—never one of his favorite fantasies, “let me just say I’m not happy about this. Not one bit.”

“Life’s tough that way. Best get used to it.”

“Thank you for those words of wisdom,” she said so solemnly he didn’t doubt she was messing with him. “I will endeavor to keep them in mind.”