She’ll stop at nothing to see justice served

Attorney Nora Sullivan wants her mother’s killer behind bars. To do that, she needs the help of the primary suspect’s son—Griffin York. Too bad Griffin seems determined to avoid all involvement. Fortunately, Nora knows something about persuasion and sets out to convince him he’s needed. It’s not easy getting past his rebel facade, yet she sees glimpses of the considerate—and sexy—side he hides. Her efforts to sway him have an unexpected effect when every glimpse of the inner Griffin makes her want him more!

Regardless of the simmering attraction, what can the future hold for them? Their differences go beyond the murder case between them. Yet when Nora needs Griffin the most, he proves he just might be on her side.

“You thinking I’m some sort of hero?”

Griffin asked flatly. The sooner he disabused Nora of that notion, the better. “For all you know I was itching for a fight and got lucky enough to find one.”

“You were protecting me,” she insisted.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you walked into my garage, you know that?” Maybe his harsh words would change her mind, keep her away.

She walked closer to him, then stopped and laid the flat of her hand lightly on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she rose onto her toes, “but I really feel like this is something I have to do.”

He looked at her, unable to see more than the flash of her eyes, feel her moving ever closer to him. He shook his head once, a quick, decisive no. A warning. A plea.

She ignored them all. “Brace yourself,” she said, her breath washing over him, “this might hurt.”

And she brushed her lips against the uninjured side of his mouth.

Dear Reader,

One of my favorite things about being a writer—other than working in my pajamas if I so choose—is getting inside my characters’ heads. I love developing their personalities, figuring out their wants and desires, their secrets and fears and, best of all, discovering what they need to grow to become their best selves.

Most of the time, I’m completely in charge of my stories. I have a very clear idea of who my characters are and how I want them to behave. Before I wrote even one page of the first book in The Truth about the Sullivans trilogy, I knew the Sullivan sisters. Layne is honest, controlled and responsible. Tori is independent, clever and charming. And baby sister Nora? Well, she was supposed to be a nice counterbalance to her confident sisters—smart, sweet and a bit shy. Someone who doesn’t look for confrontation, who weighs all her options before carefully making a decision.

You’ll notice I said supposed to be.

From the moment she stepped onto the page of Unraveling the Past, Nora let me know I had her all wrong. Oh, sure, she’s smart. Very. And while she’s warm and generous, I’m not sure I’d call her sweet. She also says exactly what’s on her mind and leaps into situations without considering the consequences.

Best of all, she keeps cynical Griffin York on his toes, never acting or reacting the way he thinks she will. He returns the favor by pushing her out of her comfort zone and challenging her to see herself as her own person instead of just one of the Sullivan girls.

I had a great time writing On Her Side and getting the chance to revisit the town of Mystic Point. I hope you enjoy the story!

I love to hear from my readers. Please visit my website,

www.bethandrews.net, or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net or P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701.

Happy reading!

Beth Andrews

On Her Side

Beth Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews has never purposely destroyed a car, rode on a Harley or started a barroom brawl. Thank goodness she gets to live vicariously through the characters in her books! Her goals for the year of walking three miles each day, and making every recipe in the dessert cookbook she got for Christmas, go together like diet Coke and a large order of French fries. Beth and her two teenage daughters outnumber…oops…live with her husband in Northwestern Pennsylvania. When not writing, walking or eating, Beth can be found texting her son at college. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net.

For Hannah

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THE RARE—and what her sisters would probably describe as blessed—day when Nora Sullivan was struck speechless. But try as she might, she couldn’t articulate any of the thoughts flying through her head. Not after the bombshell Layne had oh-so-casually just dropped.

Luckily her other sister, Tori, had no such problem. “What did you say?”

At the head of the table, Layne tightened the band around her long, dark ponytail. “I asked you to pass the Italian dressing.”

Tori shoved the bottle at her. “Before that.”

“You mean when I asked if you wanted a beer?” Layne soaked her salad with the dressing, releasing the scent of olive oil, vinegar and seasonings, then licked a drop off the side of her thumb. “Because there’s some in the fridge.”

“No, smartass. What did you say after that?”

“Oh. You mean that Ross and I are seeing each other?”

“Yeah,” Tori said, taking a big bite of her pizza before reaching for a paper napkin from the pile in front of her, “that’s what I thought you said.”

How could they both be so cavalier? Nora wondered as Layne dug into her salad. This wasn’t just huge, it was momentous. Shocking. And possibly the dumbest, most reckless thing Layne had ever done.

“Wait, wait. I think my head’s going to explode.” Nora pressed her palms against her temples in case her brain went boom! and splattered over their dinner. “You’re sleeping with your boss?”

That was so wrong on so many levels, and so unlike her usually cautious sister, Nora didn’t even know where to start. Though she was pretty sure Have you lost your freaking mind? was as good a place as any.

“Isn’t that against the law?” Tori asked as she got a beer out of the fridge and twisted it open.

“He’s my superior officer,” Layne said dryly, picking out a second slice of cheese pizza and setting it on her paper plate. “Not my brother. And there are currently no rules against departmental relationships.”

Nora speared a cherry tomato from her salad with her fork. “Well, gee, if there aren’t any written rules against it, we should all hook up with our bosses and damn the consequences.”

Tori dropped the cap from her beer into the trash can. “Considering my boss is a woman, and our father’s girlfriend, I guess I’m out.”

“This is serious.”

“Please. Cancer is serious. Kids going hungry is serious. This is sex between two single, consenting adults. What it should be is fun. Hot. And, if they’re doing it right, and often enough, exhausting.” She sipped her beer and sat back down, wiggled her eyebrows at Layne. “So, is it any of those?”

Nora deliberately set her fork down so she wouldn’t be tempted to stab Tori in the hand. Breathing deeply, she centered herself. “Look,” she said to Layne, “Chief Taylor seems very…capable—”

Tori snorted. “Just how every man dreams of being described in bed.”

Nora’s lips twitched and she had to clear the humor from her throat. “I meant at his job. God, get your mind out of the gutter.” And capable did aptly describe the big, silent, watchful police chief. “But that doesn’t mean you should risk your career for…for…”

“A few rounds of slap and tickle?” Tori interjected helpfully.

Reaching across the table, Layne plucked the beer from Tori’s hand and took a long drink. “Whoever said sisters are one of the nicest things to happen to anyone never met you two.”

“Hey, I’m on your side.” Tori took her beer back. “I don’t blame you for wanting some good times with Chief Taylor. He’s completely hot. All controlled and commanding and in charge.” She gave a little shiver that, if it’d been any other woman, would’ve looked like a convulsion. But with Tori it was just sexy. “Plus he has a top-notch ass.”

“I’ll be sure to mention to him you think so.”

Tori grinned sharply and shook her hair back. The caramel highlights in the dark, shoulder-length strands caught the setting sun as it streamed through the French doors. “Oh, I’d be more than happy to pass that information on myself,” she said in a seductive purr that went perfectly with her tight dark jeans and off-the-shoulder yellow top.

She would, too. Of that, Nora had no doubt. Tori was confident and sensual and used to men falling at her gorgeous feet. Layne, while more reserved, was no less beautiful. When Nora was younger, she’d envied her sisters for their long legs, dark hair and sharp features. Until she’d realized being blonde and curvy had its own rewards.

Like the ability to get away with just about anything because you were pretty and looked as if your head was filled with pink cotton candy, happy thoughts and sugarcoated dreams.

Nora may not be as brazen as Layne—who bulldozed her way over opposition—or as inherently sensual as Tori—who flirted and charmed her way into getting what she wanted—but she was smart.

Smart enough to have learned long ago to forge her own way instead of following in her sisters’ footsteps.

Bobby O, Layne’s black Rottie/Lab mix with floppy ears and a squared off snout, nudged the side of Nora’s thigh then dropped a worn tennis ball at her feet. She kicked it softly so that it rolled across the wooden floor into the family room. Bobby raced after it, his tail wagging furiously as he skidded to a stop, taking the burgundy-and-brown throw rug with him.

“I’m having a hard time processing this,” she said. “Have you considered what could happen to your job, your reputation, once this gets around?”

“Of course I have,” Layne said, as if a few of those brain cells Nora had tried to hold back earlier had seeped out anyway. Which was crazy. Because anyone who knew Nora would never accuse her of being stupid. And her sisters knew her best. “I just… I think he’s worth the risk.”

“Wow.” Stunned, Nora sat back. “You… He… Wow. Wow.”

“Very articulate.”

“Sorry, but you’ve never been big on the whole relationship thing before.”

Any relationship. Layne was a rock, an island in their family. Nora had always thought she preferred it that way. After all, while Nora and Tori shared secrets and clothes, good times and bad, Layne maintained her distance. But maybe that had less to do with her wanting to be alone and more to do with how she’d cared for her sisters from such a young age, had set their bedtimes and helped with homework. Had given them attention, love and, when needed, discipline. Things their father hadn’t been around enough to do, their mother was too selfish to do.

Nora wondered if Layne would ever forgive their parents for being so much less than perfect. If she’d ever stop resenting her sisters for needing her.

Layne tore her pizza crust into small pieces. “I tried to ignore my feelings for Ross, hoped that if I pretended I didn’t care, whatever I felt for him would go away. But it didn’t work. Today he stopped by and I realized what a coward I was being by not taking a chance on him. On us. I don’t know what’s going to happen—with our jobs or this relationship—and that terrifies me, but…” She brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I’m not willing to let him go.”

“Look who realized she can’t control everything,” Tori said, lifting her bottle in a toast. “I thought this happy day would never come. But I doubt the only reason you invited us over for an impromptu pizza dinner is to share with us that you finally have a sex life.”

“I wanted to tell you before it got around town.”

Tori picked a carrot slice out of the salad on her plate and popped it into her mouth. “And?”

Sighing, Layne pushed her plate aside. “And I wanted to talk to you about Mom’s case.”

“Did something happen?” Nora asked, hope rising that after three weeks the Mystic Point Police Department finally had a lead. “Did they find Dale?”

“No.” Layne got to her feet and began to pace, Bobby on her heels, the ball in his mouth. “There have been no bank or utility records in his name, no credit card statements, payroll information or tax returns filed. It’s as if he ceased to be when he left Mystic Point.”

“Why don’t you quit chewing on whatever it is you have to say,” Tori suggested, “and just spit it out?”

Layne stopped, gripped the back of her chair with both hands. “We have to face the fact that we may never find him.”

A roaring filled Nora’s head. If they never found Dale York, they’d never punish the man responsible for their mother’s death.

“So he gets away with murder?” she asked incredulously, her fingers curling into her palms. “No. Unacceptable.”

“It’s more than likely Dale skipped the country all those years ago. Or he’s dead. The truth is, even if we did catch a major break and find him, the chances of getting a conviction are slim to none. We have no concrete evidence linking him to Mom’s murder and no eyewitnesses.”

Layne was using her reasonable I’m Assistant Police Chief and therefore know better than you tone. Nora wanted to toss her salad in her sister’s face, rub Ranch dressing into her hair. God, how dare she stand there so poised and rational? This wasn’t just another case they were discussing. This was their mother. She’d never understand how Layne could stay so detached.

Not that she’d question her sister about it. She’d done that once, the night they’d discovered their mother was dead. She’d never seen Layne so angry with her. So hurt. She’d never felt so guilty for causing that pain. Nora never made the same mistake twice.

“You’re just giving up?” Tori asked Layne.

“The case will remain open—”

“But you don’t believe Dale will ever be found.”

Layne met Tori’s gaze, then Nora’s. “No. I don’t. As much as I want to see that son of a bitch brought to justice, we have to realize that this isn’t some police show on TV. Not every case gets solved. Real life isn’t fair. It isn’t easy, tidy or guaranteed to end happily.”

“I think we’re all familiar with those concepts,” Nora snapped. She sure didn’t need her sister reminding her of them. But despite the realization that life sometimes sucked the big one, Nora did her best to maintain a positive outlook, to hold on to the hope that no matter how rough the waters got, there’d be smooth sailing ahead.

That motto, combined with a healthy dose of optimism and a natural, sunny demeanor that bugged the hell out of her sisters—a nice bonus—made it possible for her to become a fairly well-adjusted adult, despite being abandoned by her mother. She’d done her best to maintain that healthy balance even after she and her family discovered everything they thought they knew about their past had been a lie. Valerie Sullivan, their beautiful, charming, imperfect mother hadn’t left her husband and daughters to run off with her lover eighteen years ago.

She’d been murdered.

Brutally attacked and then left to rot in the woods outside of town where her remains were found over three weeks ago. And though the police had little to go on in the way of evidence and the most likely suspect hadn’t been seen or heard from in eighteen years, Nora fully believed justice would be served. The truth, after all, always wins out in the end.

She’d make sure of it.

“You need to talk to his son again,” Nora said. “Make him tell you where Dale is.”

Layne gave her a look of exasperation mixed with indulgence. As if Nora was a precocious seven-year-old instead of an intelligent adult with a damn good suggestion. “Ross has already questioned Griffin and his mother and I spoke with Griffin about it when I ran into him a few weeks ago. Neither one of them have heard from Dale since he left town.”

“So they claim.” But what if they were lying?

Layne crossed her ankles and leaned back against the large, granite-topped center island, one of the few changes she’d made to their childhood home after she’d bought it from their father five years ago. “What would you have me do? Get out my rubber hose and beat the information out of them?”

“Maybe you haven’t asked in the right way,” Nora said.

“I asked in the only way I know how and it didn’t work so don’t think you’d have better luck.”

Nora widened her eyes. “Did I say anything about my speaking to either of them?”

“You didn’t have to.” This from Tori. “It’s written all over your face.”

Nora started to lift a hand as if to wipe her expression clean but then slowly lowered it. Sent a bright smile at her gorgeous, overbearing, irritating sisters. “Now you’re both just being paranoid.”

Layne and Tori exchanged a long look. Nora hated when they did that. It was as if despite their many, many differences, they still had the ability to read the other’s mind. “Stay out of it,” Layne told her.

“More importantly,” Tori added, “stay away from Griffin York. He is nothing but bad news. Do you understand?”

“First of all,” Nora said as she rose and began clearing the table, her movements fluid despite the anger starting to sizzle in her veins, “save that mother tone for Brandon. I’m way past the age where it’ll work on me.” Not that it had worked on her twelve-year-old nephew lately, either. He was still mighty pissed at Tori for divorcing his father over six months earlier. “Secondly, what on earth gave you the crazy idea that I planned on speaking with Griffin York?”

“Because you always think you can succeed where mere mortals have failed,” Layne said.

Tori nodded. “Because you fully believe you can charm what you want out of anyone.”

Since both of those statements were true, Nora did her best to project sweetness and light and innocence. “I’m flattered you two think so highly of me. But honestly, you don’t have to worry.”

“Just promise us you won’t do anything stupid,” Layne said, watching her carefully.

Nora laid a hand over her heart. “I promise.”

An easy enough vow to make. She didn’t do stupid. But she did do whatever she had to in order to get her own way. If that meant facing down big, bad Griffin York, then so be it.

* * *

GRIFFIN CLIMBED DOWN from the tow truck and reached back inside for a copy of the day’s Mystic Point Chronicle. Tucking it under his arm, he grabbed his cup of take-out coffee and sipped it as he shut the door. The cool, early morning breeze ruffled his hair, brought with it the briny scent of the ocean as he walked toward the garage.

Though the tow truck and building both carried the name Eddie’s Service, they—along with the quarter acre lot they sat on, the tools and equipment inside the garage and the monthly small business loan payment—were his. All his.

It gave him a jolt, as it always did, to see it. To realize what he’d accomplished with little more than a high school diploma and a talent for taking cars apart. An even bigger talent for putting them back together again.

Surprise and pride mixed together to make that bump in his belly, along with a hefty dose of pure satisfaction that his father had been wrong.

He wasn’t worthless.

Which was a hell of a lot more than he could say for Dale York.

More than that, Griffin had made a place for himself in this small town despite his last name and his father’s reputation. Now, for good or bad, he was a part of Mystic Point. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was accepted there, that he belonged.

Didn’t mean he wanted to be either of those things.

Typing in the code on the security system’s keypad, he waited while the bay door rose. Across the street, the Pizza Junction, a long building with a flat roof, was dark, the sign reading Sorry, We’re Closed hanging at an angle on the glass door. Next to it, the pounding beat of some synthesized dance tune threatened to shatter the windows of Leonard’s Fitness. Why people needed Marty Leonard, with his overdeveloped muscles and penchant for tight, bright running shorts—short running shorts—to tell them how to exercise and what they could and couldn’t eat, was beyond Griffin. Then again, he’d never been much of a joiner.

Or one to take orders well.

Inside the garage, he flipped on the overhead lights before turning on the iPod in a docking station in the corner. Aerosmith’s “Deuces Are Wild” floated through the sound system he’d rigged throughout the building so that when he stepped into his office, Steven Tyler’s voice met him.

Tossing the paper aside, he sat behind his cluttered desk and did a quick check of the day’s work schedule: four oil changes and two inspections this morning, plus Kelly Edel was to bring her Expedition in for new tires. That afternoon he’d work on Roy Malone’s ancient Chevy’s transmission and, if that alternator cap he’d ordered last week came in, he’d be able to get George Waid’s precious Trans Am finished.

He stretched his arms overhead then picked up his coffee, took a sip. Not a bad workload for a Monday. Barring any unforeseen emergencies, mishaps or time sucks, he’d start his week on schedule and be out of here today by five.

One corner of his mouth lifted. His days never went according to plan. There were always flat tires, fender benders, overheated engines or breakdowns to deal with. Hell, some days he dealt with all of them and then some.

He loved every minute of it.

He ran a successful business. One that had far exceeded the expectations he’d had when he’d bought out Eddie Franks five years ago. He knew what people thought when they saw him. That he was trouble. Dangerous. Like his old man.

He’d gotten tired of trying to prove them wrong. Had long ago stopped caring what other people thought.

So he’d kept to himself, kept his head down and worked his ass off. Now they brought their vehicles to him because they trusted him to keep their minivans and SUVs and pickups and sedans running safely. And they came back because he was damn good at his job.

That was enough for him.

He heard a car pull into the lot. Frowning, he checked the Kendall Motor Oil clock on the wall. Kelly was early, he thought as a car door slammed shut. No skin off his nose—unless she expected him to fit her in earlier than scheduled.

But when he stepped out into the garage, it wasn’t a middle-aged, overweight mother of two walking toward him.

It was a blonde. A young blonde in a light purple dress that wrapped around her waist in a wide band, the skirt flaring out slightly and ending above her knees. Her legs were bare, her feet encased in a pair of pointy toed high heels the color of sand. She’d pulled her hair back into some sort of twist, showing off a delicate neck and a pair of diamonds glittering at her ears.

He narrowed his eyes. There was something…familiar…about her. Something more than his seeing her around town—though in a town the size of Mystic Point most everyone looked familiar.

But then it clicked and he realized who she was. And he could make a damn good guess why she’d come.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he asked softly as she stepped inside. “A Sullivan in my shop. Has hell frozen over? Or is it just the end of the world as I know it?”

Instead of scowling—the reaction he’d expect from a Sullivan—the blonde blushed, pink spreading from the small V of skin visible at her chest, up her throat to her face. But her eyes stayed on his and she even smiled as she approached him.

“Griffin York, right?” she asked, holding her hand out. “Hi. I’m—”

“I know who you are.” His coffee in one hand, he shoved the other into the pocket of his jeans. After a moment, she slowly lowered her arm. He raked his gaze over her. She was pretty—in an angelic sort of way. He’d never been much for angels. Or Sullivans. “You’re Layne and Tori’s sister.”

Her megawatt smile dimmed a fraction. “Actually I usually go by Nora. Seems easier for people to say.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You having car trouble?”

She blinked. “What? Oh, no. No,” she repeated, holding on to the strap of her purse as if it was a lifeline, “my car’s fine. I—”

“Then I guess there’s no reason for you to be here.” He nodded toward the parking lot where her silver Lexus blocked the entrance to his garage. “See you later, Nancy.”

“Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You’re trying to prove to me that I’m so unimportant, you can’t even be bothered to remember my name.” That damn smile was back to full power, as if he amused her to no end. “Aren’t you clever to target my tender feelings that way? Is this the point where I’m supposed to take my broken heart and scurry away?”

Studying her over the rim of his cup, he sipped his coffee. “That sounds about right.”

“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.”

Endeavor. Jesus. Who talked like that?

She strode away, her back rigid, her arms swinging like one of those women he saw power-walking in Hanley Park each morning.

Except, she didn’t march her irritating self out the door. She brushed past him, crossed to the long shelf behind the lift and stared at the tools there as if trying to figure out which one went best with her outfit.

A prickle of trepidation formed between his shoulder blades. What was she up to?

Finally she grabbed a small crowbar and held it up as she walked toward him. “I’m borrowing this.”

His muscles tensed, and the prickle morphed into an itch of warning. Not of physical violence—though he didn’t doubt this piece of fluff was capable of it. Everyone was. But that whatever she planned on doing with that crowbar was going to piss him off but good.

“You plan on beating me over the head for not talking to you?” he asked mildly, his hands at his sides, his weight on the balls of his feet in case he had to defend himself.

“Of course not,” she said, passing him by without taking so much as a swing. “That would be a little overkill, don’t you think?”

She walked into the sunshine and he figured his skull was safe—for now. Unable to resist, he followed her, stopping to lean against the door frame as she marched up to her car, raised the bar over her shoulder like a batter ready for a grand slam—and swung hard. Her headlight exploded in a spray of glass. Pieces clung to her dress, sparkling against the dark material. More rained down onto the pavement.

And people thought he was dangerous.

“Lady,” he said, straightening, “you’ve got a sparkplug loose up in that head of yours.”

She strolled over to the other headlight and took it out as well. Cocking one hip, she studied her handiwork for a moment then started whaling away at the grill, the clang of metal on metal setting his teeth on edge.

She didn’t have the strength to do much damage to the grill, though she gave it her best shot—no pun intended. But what she lacked in muscle, she made up for in enthusiasm. She grunted with exertion, her hips swaying in time with her swings, the hem of her dress lifting to show a few more inches of her thighs.

He might have enjoyed the sight if he didn’t want to wring her pretty neck.

Griffin glanced behind him. He could go back inside, close the door and pretend this whole bat-shit crazy episode had never happened. He was tempted, sorely tempted to do just that. But he had customers scheduled to arrive soon and traffic was picking up along Willard Avenue. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed what the psycho blonde was doing.

And wonder what he’d done to drive her to it.

He stormed over and grabbed the bar on one of her upswings, plucking it from her hand. “Knock it off,” he growled, frustration eating at him, making him think about taking a few swings at the vehicle himself. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m done anyway,” she said, breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright—with temper? Or insanity? “Now, let’s go inside so we can discuss how you can help me track down your father.”

CHAPTER TWO

GOOD LORD, but Griffin York was beautiful.

His hair, a rich shade of chocolate-brown, fell past the collar of his T-shirt in tousled waves and yet did nothing to soften the sharp line of his jaw, the harsh slash of his cheekbones. His brows were thick and drawn together as he studied her warily, his green eyes flecked with gold. He had a slight dimple in his chin, broad shoulders, a flat stomach and muscular arms.

Beautiful and, she realized, pissed off.

What a crying shame. Someone that pretty shouldn’t scowl so much.

“You,” he bit out, “are a crazy person.”

Nora’s hands stung from the reverberations of hitting the car with the crowbar, her heart raced from her exertion. “Not crazy. Just determined.”

Although, she thought with a glance at her poor car, she might plead temporary insanity. But it had felt surprisingly good—in a therapeutic way—to hit something after all the trauma and drama of the past few weeks. After the frustration of realizing the local police couldn’t, or wouldn’t be able to bring Dale York to justice.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Griffin said in his gravelly voice.

She hooked her pinkie under a strand of hair stuck to her temple, narrowed her eyes at him. Okay, she was trying to be fair here. She didn’t know enough about Griffin to judge him, to dislike him as her sisters did. To mistrust or fear him because he had a less than stellar reputation.

Yes, she was trying to be fair and he wasn’t making it easy.

“You said that unless I had a problem with my car, there was nothing for us to talk about.” She gestured to her car. “Well, I have a car problem now.”

His gaze went from her to her car and back again. “What’s to stop me from kicking you out of here anyway?”

“Oh, let’s see. How about integrity? A latent sense of decency? Or maybe everyone is right about you. Maybe you are just like your father.”

His jaw worked, his mouth a thin line, and for a moment, she regretted the low blow. But a good attorney knew not only which questions to ask, but which argument to make to get the win.

And there was no win she wanted more than to see Dale York spend the rest of his life behind bars for her mother’s murder. But first, she had to find him.

“You want to talk,” Griffin said tightly. “You’ll have to do it while I work.” Then he turned and walked back into the garage.

The man put a new spin on the word stubborn.

Luckily so did she. And so far, she was ahead of the game since he’d stopped threatening to call the cops on her. Not that the police would really arrest her. But they would send someone out to check what was going on, which meant Layne would find out Nora was there.

And she wanted to keep that little tidbit of information to herself for…oh…forever. Or longer.

Inhaling deeply, she shook the glass fragments from her dress. Looked at her car once more. She winced. She’d only had it a few months. It’d been a gift—an extravagant, thoughtful gift—from her aunt and uncle upon her graduation from law school. Maybe her family was right. Maybe she was a bit impulsive from time to time.

But at least she got the job done. And that was all that mattered.

Not seeing Griffin in the garage, she headed toward the direction he’d come from when she’d first arrived. She found him in a cramped office searching through the piles of paper on a metal desk. She scratched her elbow. Great. She was probably breaking out in hives from this mess. How did he get any work done?

“Nice office,” she lied, crossing to check out a yellowed calendar on the wall. Pursing her lips, she studied the photo of a brunette with huge, curly hair, melon-size breasts and a teeny, tiny black bikini, sprawled across the hood of a white Lamborghini. “May 1987, huh? I take it a memorable event happened that month you like to be reminded of?”

He straightened, resentment and anger rolling off of him like waves crashing onto shore. “Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?” she asked with a smile as she tucked her hands behind her back. God only knew what sort of flesh-eating disease lingered on these surfaces.

He waved a hand in the air. “Your whole Little Miss Sunshine routine.”

“Routine?”

“Yeah, your act where you pretend there’s some sort of holy light shining down on your head while you shoot rainbows from your ass. Knock it off because I’m not buying it.”

Bristling, she ground her teeth together behind her grin. “It’s not an act. It’s called being pleasant. Friendly.”

He swept up a black bandana from the desk. “We’re not friends.”

“No kidding,” she muttered. Which was fine with her. She had more than enough friends already. She certainly didn’t need to add one bitter, antagonistic, angry, rude man to the list. And if he couldn’t be bothered with social niceties, then he could kiss her rainbow-shooting ass.

Jerk.

“Where’s your father?” she asked, no longer caring if she sounded haughty or demanding.

Setting his foot on the seat of the chair behind the desk, he laid the bandana on his jean-covered thigh and quickly folded it into a strip. “As I’ve already told Chief Taylor, and your sister, I have no idea.”

“You must have heard from him at some point during the past eighteen years.”

“Not even once.”

What could she say to that? They’d never heard from their mother and had never thought anything other than she hadn’t cared enough to contact them. Of course, now they knew she’d been dead all those years, but before the truth had come out, no one had questioned Valerie’s lack of communication with her family. Did Nora have any right to doubt Griffin now?

“Let’s back up a bit here,” she said, digging a small notebook out of her purse. She tucked it under her arm and searched for a pen. “We’ll start at the—”

“I’m not sure how much clearer I can be. I don’t know where he is.”

Damn it, why was it she could never find a pen when she needed one? Giving up she gingerly picked up a pen from his desk, held it between the tips of her fingers. “I believe you.”

He shook his hair back and put the bandana on, tied it behind his head. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

Not much if the sardonic lift of his mouth was anything to go by. So much for her thinking he’d be more receptive to helping her if he thought she was on his side.

“Whether or not you are aware of your father’s current whereabouts is irrelevant,” she said, “because I’ve hired a private investigator to track him down.” But instead of sounding certain and resolute, she came across as smug and, she hated to admit it, slightly obsessive.

“Industrious little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured. She didn’t take it as a compliment. “What does your family think of that?”

“They’re all for it.”

He set his hands on his hips, the faded material of his green T-shirt pulling tight across his muscular chest. “You’ll give lawyers a bad reputation lying that way, angel.”

Angel. Well, it was better than Nancy. Even if he did say angel the same way normal people said tapeworm. Still, the only reason he refused to call her by her given name was to prove he couldn’t be bothered to remember it.

That it bugged her was her own damn fault.

And what was up with him reading her so easily? How could he possibly know her family had no idea she’d hired a P.I. from Boston? Not that she planned on keeping that information from them indefinitely. She had every intention of telling them. After Dale was found and arrested for her mother’s murder.

“The more background information the P.I. has,” she said, ignoring her unease, her guilt at keeping a secret from her family, “the easier it will be for him to do his job.” Swinging her purse onto her shoulder, she took the notebook in one hand, held the pen poised over the paper. “Does your father have any living relatives? Anyone he may have sought out after leaving Mystic Point?”

The dark fabric of the bandana made his eyes seem lighter. Colder. “I get what you’re after, and I guess I can even understand where you’re coming from—”

“Hooray,” she said, her tone all sorts of wry.

“But I can’t help you.”

“You mean you won’t.”

He scratched under his jaw. “Either way, the end result’s the same.”

“If you’re uncomfortable discussing this with me, you can talk to the P.I. directly.” Her words were rushed. Desperate. “Just give him five, ten minutes of your time, answer a few quick—”

“No.”

She shook her head. “But you can help us. It’s the right thing to do.”

And that meant everything to her. Doing what was right. What was best for others.

It was one of the many things that proved she was the exact opposite of her mother.

“I’m not interested in doing what’s right,” he said so simply, she had no choice but to believe him. To resent him for it.

“If you won’t help, maybe your mother would be willing to give me some answers.”

He edged closer to her, his expression hard, his eyes glittering. Wishing she still had the crowbar—just in case—she stepped back, held the notebook over her furiously pounding heart. “You stay away from my mother.”

She didn’t mistake his quiet words for a request or even an order. They were a warning, a challenge as subtle and soft as the summer breeze.

Pulling her shoulders back, she forgot her nerves, her momentary fear of him. She never backed down from a challenge. “But you and your mom may be able to help find Dale. Isn’t that what you want?”

“It’s not really a question of what I want,” he said, watching her carefully. “This—you being here, hiring some Sherlock Holmes wannabe to waste his time and your money searching for the old man—it’s all about what you want.”

“He needs to pay for what he did to my mother,” she said through her teeth.

Surely even someone as cocky, as solitary as Griffin could see why he should help her. How important it was.

“Even if you do find him, there’s no guarantee he’ll be convicted of anything. Trust me, the best thing that could happen for everyone is for Dale to remain missing. Leave the past alone.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now, I have work to do. Which means we’re done.”

She gaped at his back as he walked away. “Have you suffered a recent brain injury?” she called, but he kept going.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t, not with her thoughts spinning, panic strangling her. He meant it. He wasn’t going to help her. And she wasn’t going to be able to persuade him otherwise. He was too cynical to charm. Too sharp for her to outwit.

She bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She never failed. Never. Had never gotten anything less than an A in any subject, had reached every goal she’d ever set for herself, from getting the lead in her sixth grade’s production of Our Town, to making the varsity softball squad as a high school freshman, to graduating law school at the top of her class.

But Griffin refused to be swayed in his position by her passion for truth, justice and the American way, her sense of morality or sparkling personality.

It was as if she’d stepped into some weird dimension where she didn’t get her own way.

She couldn’t say she liked it here much.

She drummed her fingers against a bare corner of Griffin’s desk. She had two choices: she could stay and keep bashing her head against the wall that was Griffin York’s stubbornness.

Or she could cut her losses and get the hell out of there before any damage was done. She thought of her car, her stomach turning with nausea and regret. Make that before any serious, irreparable damage was done. She’d back off, regroup and strengthen her case before trying again.

And when she came back—and she would—Griffin wouldn’t know what hit him.

Out in the garage, Griffin stood under the car on the lift, his back to her. He reached up and did something under the car, the muscles in his upper back contracting under his taut shirt. Warmth suffused her, settled in her lower stomach. She ignored it.

“I have to get to work,” she said as oil ran into the funnel and dripped into the plastic jug. “Why don’t we continue this conversation at a more convenient time? How about dinner tonight? My treat,” she added quickly in case he thought she was angling for him to pay.

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 garage? 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.”

“I still don’t like it,” Anthony grumbled, stopping at the doors to the building. “What’re Uncle Tim and my dad going to think when they find out about this?”

“They’re not going to think anything because there’s no reason for either of them to know.” She squinted up at him—why everyone in her family had to be taller than her, she had no idea. “I love you. I do. If I had a little brother, I’d want him to be fairly similar to you.”

He grinned, all confident charm. “I am pretty awesome.”

She shook her head but couldn’t help but smile in return. “That you are. But I don’t want you to worry about me.” She had more than enough people doing that in her life already. “Let’s not make a major issue out of this.”

His eyes narrowed as if he could somehow see inside her head and discern fact from fiction. “Are you sure all you want from York is his mechanical skills?”

“Absolutely.” The lie caused only the slightest twinge of regret. Sometimes the greater good called for a bit of subterfuge.

“Fine,” he said, sounding as put out as he used to when he was a teenager and she refused to buy him beer. “I won’t say anything—”

“To anyone.”

“To anyone,” he repeated dutifully as he held open the door for her to enter the building. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t find out.”

She doubted that. It wasn’t like her taking her car to Griffin’s garage was some juicy tidbit of gossip. Besides, the rumor mill was already busy enough talking about her mother’s death, Dale’s mysterious disappearance off the face of the earth and her family’s past. Soon they’d be all atwitter about the police chief and assistant chief hooking up.

Such was life.

You couldn’t live in a small town and escape rumors and speculation. When the remains were found, her mother’s past had been dug up, her family’s personal business printed in the Chronicle along with the day’s weather report and the scores from last night’s men’s softball games.

It’d never bothered Nora, not in the same ways it had her sisters or her father. Probably because she’d been so young when her mother had disappeared. Or maybe it was because she’d understood at an early age that she couldn’t escape the gossip so instead, she’d decided to give the town something to talk about. Good things. Positive things. They could talk, but she’d made sure they did so on her terms.

It was easy enough. She’d just been herself. And in doing so had found herself elected homecoming queen and earned the spot of valedictorian of her high school graduating class. Her successes had carried over into college and then law school and she had no reason to think any of that would change now that she worked at her uncle Kenny’s law firm. She was used to the spotlight.

She had to admit, she rather enjoyed being all lit up that way. Call it an inflated ego, but she did so love shining bright for all to see.

But maybe this one time she could slip under the radar.

Anthony followed Nora into the cavernous foyer, with its expensive tile floor and high ceilings. She waved at the firm’s receptionist, Jodi McRae, as they passed and went down the hall toward their offices.

Nora stopped outside her closed door and moved her laptop to the hand already holding her briefcase. “How about lunch today?” she asked. “My treat for you picking me up.”

“You sure it’s a thank-you gesture and not a bribe for my agreeing to keep my mouth shut?”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

“I do hate to say no to a good bribe, so yeah. Okay.”

“Great. You choose the restaurant. Thanks again for the ride.”

Inside her tiny office, she shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. Chewed on her lower lip. She had some big decisions to make. She’d crashed and burned with Griffin, had gone down in a spectacular blaze of glory all because she’d underestimated him.

Pushing away from the door, she tossed her purse onto the chair in the corner then crossed to her desk and set her laptop down. She was supposed to drive down to Boston Thursday for her first meeting with the investigator one of her friends from college had recommended. But that wasn’t going to happen since her car wouldn’t be ready until Friday. Guess she should have thought of that before she started swinging that crowbar.

Besides, without Griffin’s help, without the information he could provide, would a P.I. be able to track down Dale? What were the chances someone in the private sector could do so when the police had failed?

She toed off her shoes, began to pace in front of her desk, the low-pile, pewter carpet rough against her bare feet. Maybe Griffin’s refusal to help was fate’s way of telling her to back off. Maybe it was her salvation.

She shut her eyes and could’ve sworn she heard the Hallelujah chorus. She could blow off this whole idea right now by calling the P.I. and telling him she changed her mind.

Wouldn’t everyone be thrilled if she decided to finally be the meek, mild-mannered girl those who took her at face value expected her to be? The girl her family had long ago stopped hoping she’d turn into. One who didn’t make waves, didn’t cause problems and kept her mouth shut. Who sat back and let her older sisters and father take care of everything. Who trusted things would somehow magically work out with no help, input or manipulation from her.

Yes, she could do that. And she would. Right after she gave herself a lobotomy with a cereal spoon.

Trust me, the best thing that could happen for everyone is for Dale to remain missing. Leave the past alone.

Griffin’s words floated through her mind…strengthened her resolve. She dug her phone out of her purse and placed a call.

“Good morning,” a perky female voice said. “Thank you for calling Hepfer Investigations. How may I help you?”

“Uh…good morning.” She cleared her throat. “This is Nora Sullivan. I have an appointment with Mr. Hepfer Thursday at five.” Her fingers tensed on the phone. “I’d like to reschedule.”

“Of course, Miss Sullivan. What day works best for you?”

“Actually I’d like to offer Mr. Hepfer twice his normal consultation fee if he can meet with me in Mystic Point. Today.”

Leave the past alone?

No way in hell.

* * *

“AFTERNOON,” SOMEONE CALLED later that day as he walked into Griffin’s garage.

Griffin rolled out from underneath the Impala he was working on, sat up and nodded. “Can I help you?” he asked.

The man, Jimmy if the script written on the left of his blue uniform shirt was anything to go by, held out a clipboard. “I just need you to sign here and tell me where you want it.”

Griffin glanced at the clipboard then got to his feet and wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket. “I never sign for something I didn’t order.”

“This Eddie’s Service?” Checking his paperwork, Jimmy frowned. His stomach hung over his belt, strained the buttons of his shirt. “At 1414 Willard Avenue?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re Griffin York?”

“That’s right.”

“Then it’s your delivery,” Jimmy said mulishly, holding out the clipboard again.

This time Griffin took the paperwork, skimmed it. He had no idea why his name and the garage address were listed under delivery recipient. “I didn’t order a ’69 Firebird,” he said, handing the clipboard back. “And I haven’t been hired to do a restoration on one.”

Jimmy scratched his round head, knocking his hat off center. “Says here—” He flipped a page, scanned it. “The owner’s name is Tanner Johnston. He a customer of yours?”

“No,” Griffin said. Tanner Johnston. Hadn’t he always known the quiet, seemingly harmless ones were who you had to look out for most? “Not a customer.”

“I gotta call my supervisor.” Jimmy’s face was red and sweat dotted his upper lip and brow. Guy looked like he was one heavy breath away from a heart attack. “See what he wants me to do.”

Griffin lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

While Jimmy pulled out his cell phone, Griffin went outside, too damned curious not to. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, its warmth beating down on his head, he crossed the lot toward a shiny blue truck bearing the name of a towing company from Boston on its side.

Hands in his pockets, he circled the back of the truck where the remnants of what could possibly have been, at one time, a red—or maybe orange—Firebird sat on two front bald tires. The body looked like it was held together with rubber bands and a prayer. There was no rear end, no front grille and it looked as if the car had been overrun by leaves and possibly squirrels. He hopped onto the back of the truck, peered into the interior. Gutted. Seats, carpets and dash.

He eyed the hood. Opened it warily. Sighed. No motor. No transmission. He let the hood shut, brushed off his hands.

A tan minivan pulled slowly into the lot, creeping to a stop at the back of the truck. A moment later, Tanner Johnston, star center for Mystic Point’s varsity basketball team, unfolded himself from behind the steering wheel.

Tanner shut the door and studied Griffin. Christ, but he hated when the kid did that, looked at him as if he could read his mind. See into his very soul. Gave him the creeps.

“Hey,” Tanner said, walking toward Griffin in his usual easy pace. The only time the kid moved fast was on the basketball court.

Griffin crossed his arms and leaned back against the Firebird. Hoped it would hold up under his weight. “Something you want to tell me?”

Tanner stopped and tipped his head back to maintain eye contact with Griffin. He nodded slowly once. “I bought a car.”

“Don’t delude yourself. You bought a pile of scrap metal.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’ll look better when we’re done with it.”

Griffin froze. Aw, hell. This was worse than he’d thought. “We?”

At his quiet, deadly tone, Tanner dropped his gaze to the ground. “I thought you could help me fix it up,” he mumbled to his high-tops.

“What made you think that?”

Tanner’s shoulders hunched, his head ducked even farther down as he muttered too low for Griffin to hear.

“What?”

The kid raised his head, a blush staining his smooth cheeks. “I said because we’re brothers.”

Scowling, Griffin stared at the kid. Tanner was tall and lanky with light brown hair and their mother’s green eyes. He was a good-looking kid. Popular despite his quiet nature. Smart and athletic.

He was, in every way that mattered, Griffin’s complete opposite. Polite. Thoughtful. He didn’t break the rules, didn’t even try to bend them. He’d been raised by two parents who loved each other and him. By a father who rarely raised his voice and would never even think of raising his fist. By a mother who’d somehow found the courage to trust in love again, who hadn’t had to shield him from another man’s wrath by succumbing to it herself.

They may be brothers but they had nothing in common except a shared mother and their eye color. And despite Tanner’s best efforts to get them to bond, Griffin wanted to keep it that way.

“No,” he said then dropped lightly to the ground and headed back toward the garage.

“Why not?” Tanner asked, catching up to him.

“Because I’m running a business here, kid. Not a charity.”

“I could pay for it,” Tanner said after a moment. He slid in front of Griffin, walked backward. “For the parts and stuff. And your labor.”

“You can’t afford it.”

Though even he wasn’t that big of an asshole to charge his teenage brother for working on the kid’s car. But Tanner didn’t know that.

“I could pay you back a little at a time,” he insisted quietly. “Like a loan. Or I could work here and you could take it out of my wages.”

“And have you around all the time? No thanks.”

The kid’s face fell. Shit. Griffin tipped his head side to side until his neck popped. He wanted to apologize, to tell Tanner he hadn’t meant it. But the kid was smart enough to recognize a lie when he heard it.

“You and your dad can work on it,” Griffin said brushing past him. “I’ll tell the tow driver to take it over to your place.”

“You can’t,” he blurted, looking guilty as hell.

“Why not?”

“You just can’t.”

“Not good enough.”

He walked away but couldn’t miss the sound of Tanner’s loud sigh. “I sort of already told Mom and Dad you’d agreed to help me fix it,” he admitted.

“And why would you sort of tell them that?” Griffin asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“I had to. They didn’t want me to buy a car at all so I had to convince them it wouldn’t be that much to get a junker and fix it up…” Tanner lifted his shoulder again in that careless shrug. “But they didn’t get on board until after they found out you were all for it.”

“Except I’m not.”

“Mom’s really excited,” Tanner told him solemnly. “She keeps talking about what a great experience this will be, for the two of us to do this together.”

Griffin grabbed the back of his neck. Wished he could seize Tanner by the throat instead, maybe give him a few shakes. But that was too reminiscent of how his old man would’ve reacted.

Besides, Griffin didn’t want to hurt the kid. Just make him pay for putting Griffin in this situation. Their mom was probably doing backflips at the idea of her sons bonding over carburetors and exhaust fans.

He could walk away. All he had to do was tell Jimmy, who watched their little family drama with no small amount of interest, to take the car over to the Johnstons’ house. Or, better yet, back to Boston. It would serve Tanner right if he lost out on the tow truck fee.

Yeah, he thought, exhaling heavily. He could do that. Sure, his mother would be disappointed, but she was used to that from him. It was how they worked. She continually pushed him for more than he was willing to give, and in return he made it clear she wasn’t getting it. No sense changing the dynamics between them now.

But if he walked, Tanner would have to admit the truth to his parents. Hey, if you broke the rules, you had to be prepared to face the consequences. And knowing his mom and stepfather—having been punished by them many, many times during his own teen years—those consequences would be major. At least to a seventeen-year-old.

Nothing less than the kid deserved for lying.

But he was watching Griffin with such freaking hope in his eyes, saying no to him would’ve been like kicking a newborn kitten in the head.

“How much did you shell out for it?” Griffin asked, nodding toward the Firebird.

“One thousand.”

“You were screwed,” he said flatly. “It’s not worth more than a couple hundred. Hope you have some cash left for the restoration.”

For the past three summers, Tanner had worked down on the docks with his father. It wasn’t an easy job and he didn’t get to hang out at the beach all day like his friends, but it did pay well.

“Mom and Dad said I could use a total of five thousand on the car,” Tanner said. “The rest of my wages are being saved for college.”

Four thousand dollars wasn’t nearly enough to get the job done, but it’d make a good start.

“Here’s the deal,” Griffin said, unable to believe he was actually agreeing to this. Pissed that the kid had backed him into a corner this way. “We work on it Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons. I’m not putting any time in on it on my own. If you’re not here, the work doesn’t get done. In exchange,” he continued when Tanner opened his mouth, “you’ll clean up the garage and do anything else I need done around here. You can pick your own hours but you’d better put in at least twenty a week or the deal’s off. You hear me?”

Tanner nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you. It’s a deal.”

And then he grinned, slow and easy, like he’d won the lottery and a night with the hottest cheerleader in his school.

“Enjoy this moment,” Griffin told him. “Because that was for working on the car. The deal for me not ratting you out to your parents is going to cost you even more.”

“You’d blackmail your own brother?” he asked, sounding merely curious.

“Don’t think of it as blackmail. Think of it as me kicking your butt for dragging me into this in the first place. The way I see it, you have a choice. You can take my punishment. Or we can tell Mom and Roger you lied and tricked them. Your choice.”

Griffin imagined Tanner was having visions of himself spending the rest of the summer grounded. Or worse, completely losing his driving privileges.

“What do I have to do?” Tanner asked.

“You are now in charge of all yard work and exterior maintenance at my house for exactly one year.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll mow the grass, do the trim work. In the fall you can rake leaves—”

“You never rake your leaves.”

“Well, they’ll get raked this year, won’t they? You can also clean the gutters. In the winter I’ll expect my walk and driveway cleared each and every morning before I go to work.”

Tanner gave him a long look. “That’s fair.”

It wasn’t. It was overboard and Griffin had the feeling Tanner knew it. Or maybe he knew Griffin had been trying to get him to back out of their deal, which would then let Griffin off the hook.

Now he was stuck, for the second time that day, with a deal he didn’t particularly want and that his instincts told him would somehow come back to bite him on the ass.

* * *

“THERE’S A GENTLEMAN here to see you,” Jodi told Nora over the office phone. “He won’t give his name.”

Jodi’s tone was disapproving, either at the audacity of the man showing up five minutes before the office was to close or because he hadn’t shared his name or the reason for wanting to see Nora.

Jodi did love knowing everything that went on in the office.

Nerves jumped in Nora’s stomach. He was early. When she’d spoken with Mr. Hepfer that morning, he’d told her he probably wouldn’t make it to Mystic Point before six. She’d asked him to meet her at the office instead of her house or a local restaurant so she could claim he was just another potential client, should anyone ask.

“Thanks,” Nora said. “You can send him in.”

Setting the phone down, she hurried across the room and opened the door then raced back behind her desk and took the small mirror out of her top drawer. She freshened her lipstick, did a quick hair check then tossed the mirror back inside.

She sat. Stood. Sat again. Then jumped to her feet when she saw him round the corner. She froze, her polite smile sliding from her face.

Because the man walking toward her looked nothing like the picture of the balding, retirement-age man on Hepfer Investigation’s website. Trepidation filled her.

He was an older, harder version of Griffin.

Not the P.I. she’d hired, she realized numbly. Which was fine, as it seemed she no longer needed him to find her mother’s ex-lover.

Dale York had found her instead.

CHAPTER FOUR

NORA’S BREATH LOCKED in her chest, made each inhalation painful. Panic-inducing. She’d wanted this moment, wanted to face this man down but now that he was here, her body was frozen, her mind numb with terror.

She couldn’t take her eyes from Dale as he slowly crossed her office, his confident stride bordering on predatory. She’d only seen his face once—a grainy photo the Chronicle ran the day after her mother’s remains were found, but there was no mistaking him.

She’d spent the past eighteen years thinking about him. Wondering what kind of man he was. Hating him. She’d expected him to be taller. Her father was tall. Tall and kind and honorable. A good, decent man who’d worked hard to support his family, who’d always taken care of them.

But her mother had still chosen this man over her husband. Over her daughters.

She’d paid for it with her life.

As a kid, Nora had always imagined Dale as some sort of monster. Huge and dark and deadly. Now she saw he was just a man. Not so huge, but still dangerous.

Despite his age—he had to be closing in on sixty—his short hair was still thick, the dark strands threaded with silver. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow. He was handsome, she was forced to admit. With his sharply angled face and smooth-shaven jaw.

It was easy, so pathetically easy, to see why her mother had been attracted to him.

What she didn’t get, what she’d never understand, was how her mother could love him.

He stopped in front of her desk, his expression hard, his brown eyes cold. Nora’s mouth dried. Fear coated her throat. Made it impossible for her to speak, to get any words out. Words that should’ve put him on the defensive, made him wonder and worry. Made him realize he faced a worthy and formidable opponent.

All she could do was stare. And wonder if Griffin had been right.

Trust me, the best thing that could happen for everyone is for Dale to remain missing. Leave the past alone.

“If it isn’t little Nora Sullivan,” Dale said, his deep voice tinged with some accent she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her skin crawled as his gaze drifted lazily over her face, sexual and appreciative. “All grown up, I see. I’m Dale York.”

“I know who you are,” she said, barely above a whisper. Her scalp prickled, her breathing quickened. She gripped the edge of her desk, held on when her knees threatened to buckle. “You’re the man who killed my mother.”

“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend of Valerie’s?” He winked. “I never laid a hand on her. Not unless she wanted me to.”

Her stomach churned sickeningly. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Why had he come back to Mystic Point now, risking arrest? What kind of game was he playing by seeking her out?

“I’m here to do my civic duty.” Hitching up his dark slacks, he sat in the chair across from her, looking like a successful salesman instead of a cold-blooded killer. “I would’ve come sooner but I was out of the country and didn’t hear about Valerie’s death—and that the local police department wanted to interview me—until a few days ago. But before I talk to the new police chief, I wanted to see you. Offer my condolences on your loss.”

“You want to talk to the police?”

“Of course. I want to do anything I can to help them find out who hurt Val.” He studied her, like a fox watching a rabbit. “I never would’ve pegged you for one of Valerie’s girls,” he murmured, reclining in the chair as he linked his hands behind his head. His arms were well muscled, his biceps flexing against the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Now your sister, the cop, I knew she belonged to Val the moment I saw her. But you’re as far from your mother as light is from dark. Guess you take after your daddy. Except you didn’t take after his career, did you? Followed your uncle’s footsteps there.”

All her nerves, her fears at having her mother’s killer sitting calmly across from her, flew out of her head. He’d seen Layne? He’d been watching them?

“What do you know about my sister?” she asked hotly. “Or me?”

He smiled slowly and those nerves spiked. “You’d be surprised,” he said softly.

She covered her cell phone with her palm, feeling somehow stronger, safer having it in her hand so that she could call the police in a second if he threatened her. When in reality, all she had to do was yell and a half a dozen people would come running. Including her uncle. “You really expect anyone to believe you’re here because you want to help in my mother’s murder investigation?”

“Why else would I come back?”

She didn’t know and that was what worried her. “You won’t get away with it.”

“That so?” he asked, watching her with his hooded gaze, his damn smirk.

Realizing her knuckles were white from gripping the desk and her phone so tightly, she let go and tucked her hands behind her back. Damn it, she should be the one in charge of this conversation. Should be controlling it and keeping him on edge.

Instead she felt off balance and inadequate. And that was unacceptable. She refused to let this man, with his flat eyes and cocky grin, get the best of her. He’d taken her mother away from her and her sisters. She’d do whatever she had to in order to make him pay for that.

Pressing her lips together, she inhaled deeply and held it for the count of five. When she spoke again, she was more composed. “Yes, that’s so. Because I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re brought to justice. I won’t rest until you’re convicted of my mother’s murder.”

He didn’t even blink. “Is that a threat, baby girl?”

Her blood ran cold. Baby girl. The nickname her mother used to call her. Bastard.

“It’s a promise,” she said, hating how her voice shook, how sick she felt at the reminder that her mother had shared so much of herself with this man. “One you’ll have plenty of time to think about when you’re serving a life sentence in state prison.”

Shaking his head, he sat up. “That’s a nice fantasy you’ve spun for yourself. But it’s going to be tough for anyone to get a conviction against me when there’s no evidence connecting me to Valerie’s murder.”

“There will be.” There had to be. They had to find something, anything that would help the case against him.

“You go right on believing that,” he said as he stood. “But it’s not going to happen.”

A lump formed in her throat. Oh, God, he was right. Unless new evidence surfaced, or he confessed, the police would have no reason to arrest him, to even hold him. He’d come back because he knew the chances of him being charged with murder were slim to none at this point.

For the first time since they’d discovered the truth about what happened to her mother, Nora was afraid. Terrified Dale would walk away a free man when it was all said and done. And that there would be nothing she could do to stop that from happening.

“You’re upset,” he said in a soothing tone that made bile rise in her throat. “That’s understandable. But I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came back, voluntarily, to give my statement to the police.” He stepped forward and though her desk separated them, she jerked back, bumping into her chair. “Since it looks like I’ll be in town for a little while, maybe we’ll see each other again.”

With another of those disturbing winks, he walked away. At the still-open door he faced her. “And, baby girl? Be sure and tell your father I dropped by to see you.”

* * *

“DO YOU WANT anything else?”

As with every other time she’d stopped by Tanner’s booth during the past hour, Jessica Taylor’s gaze stayed somewhere on the wall above their heads as she spoke. She’d been polite and attentive, had made sure their glasses were always filled and had even brought Josh extra napkins for his rib dinner, but she hadn’t made eye contact with any of the four guys she waited on.

“We’re good,” Tanner said quietly. Other than when he’d given her his dinner order, they were the only words he’d spoken to her—tonight or ever. But he hoped to draw her attention his way.

No dice.

“Separate checks, right?” she asked, tearing four slips from her order form. She studied each one before handing them out. Reaching across the table, she took Nate’s empty plate, the V of her white T-shirt tugged down showing a flash of beige lace and the curve of her breast.

Tanner’s gut—and, damn it, his groin—tightened. And the last thing he needed was his buddies giving him grief about getting a hard-on in the middle of the Ludlow Street Café. Jerking his gaze to the table, he gulped down the soda left in his cup, the melting ice cubes hitting his lips. He wished he could toss them in his pants.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take those up for you,” Jessica said.

He didn’t look up until she walked away.

“Dude,” Nate said, kicking Tanner’s shin under the table causing his drink to slosh out of the cup and drip down his chin. “You’re drooling.”

Nate laughed at his own lame joke.

Tanner glared at his friend and basketball teammate. Sitting back in the booth, he wiped the back of his hand over the wetness on his chin.

Josh smirked as he counted out money. “If you want to tap that, you’re going to have to do more than stare at her like a loser.”

The back of Tanner’s neck heated. “I don’t even know her.”

No one did. Jessica had moved to Mystic Point a few months ago, and while she’d attended a few local parties, for the most part, she’d kept to herself.

“Sure you do,” Josh said, shaking the remaining ice in his cup. “She’s from Boston. She’s the police chief’s niece. She’s hot. And, best of all, she’s easy.” Grinning, he shook an ice cube in his mouth then nodded at Nate. “She even gave Nate a pity screw.”

Tanner’s fingers twitched on his cup. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of was that his friend had hooked up with a drunken Jess. It made him feel…jealous. And possessive. Which was nuts since the girl wouldn’t give him the time of day.

“There was no pity involved,” Nate said, elbowing Josh hard enough to have him doubling over. “She fell for my charming personality, manly good looks and—” He stretched his arms overhead then brought them down, flexing his biceps. “My ripped bod.”

Next to Tanner, Christian Myers dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “If you want to get to know her, ask her out. The worst she can say is no.”

“Yeah, listen to Dr. Phil here,” Josh said, chomping his ice. “If she shoots you down, you move on. No harm, no foul.”

Tanner wished he’d never suggested they eat at the café. They should’ve hit Mickey D’s instead. “I didn’t say I wanted to ask her out.”

“Keep denying it, brother,” Nate said. “But the truth is written all over your face.”

“Shut it,” Tanner muttered.

“You need to relax.” Josh, comfortable with his parents’ money and his social standing as a member of one of the wealthier families in Mystic Point, sent Tanner a cocky grin. “Let me handle it. Excuse me?” he called to Jessica before Tanner could respond. “Waitress?”

Hands fisted on the table, Tanner leaned forward. “I will kill you.”

Josh waved that away. “No need to thank me. That’s what friends are for.”

“All set?” Jessica asked when she reached their table.

“Actually, no,” Josh said, giving her what Tanner recognized as the smarmy look he used when he thought he was being charming. “There’s one more thing we need.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“We need you to go out with our friend here.” Josh gestured to Tanner. “He thinks you’re hot.”

She glanced at Tanner dismissively. “Not interested.”

“Come on. You have the chance to make this young man very happy.” Josh trailed his fingers down the back of her hand and Tanner wanted to bash his friend’s face in. “Think of it as your good deed for the day.”

“You are a dead man,” Tanner promised him, the words all the more threatening due to his low tone.

“Yeah, come on,” Nate added. “We’re heading out to Kane’s Beach. Should be a good party. And since you don’t drive, you could ride out with Tanner.”

“You two are risking life and limb,” Christian told them, not even looking up from his phone as he texted someone. “He’ll kick both your asses.”

That got Jessica to finally look at him with something other than pure disinterest. But the curiosity in her gaze only lasted a second. “Are you ready for me to take your checks up or not?” she asked Josh.

“Tell you what,” Josh said softly, glancing around as if to make sure the other diners couldn’t overhear. “You agree to show our friend a good time tonight and I’ll throw in an extra fifty. Think of it as a different kind of tip.”

Jessica went white and then her face flooded with color. The rest happened in a blur. Tanner got halfway out of his seat, reaching across the table to wrap his hands around Josh’s neck but Christian grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back. At the same time, Jessica flicked her hand to the side, upending Nate’s glass, spilling the remaining iced tea into Josh’s lap.

“You bitch,” Josh seethed as he leaped up.

“Oops,” she said, her eyes glittering, her teeth bared in a fake smile. “Sorry.” She swept up their cash and slips and sauntered away.

“I’m reporting her to the manager.” Josh pressed paper napkins to the wet spot on his pants. “She did that on purpose. You all saw it.”

“It was an accident,” Tanner said.

Josh tossed the soaked napkins onto the table. “What?”

Tanner got to his feet, looked down at Josh, had the satisfaction of seeing the cockiness on his face be replaced by apprehension. “It was an accident,” Tanner repeated softly. He sent Christian and then Nate pointed looks. “Right?”

Nate lifted a shoulder. “Sure. Don’t be such a pussy, Josh.”

“And you deserved it,” Christian pointed out as he got out of the booth. “Just be glad Tan doesn’t give you a beat down and let it be.”

“Whatever,” Josh grumbled as he left, hitting Tanner’s shoulder as he passed him.

Tanner took a step after him but Christian raised a hand. “Ignore him,” Christian said as Nate followed Josh out. “You going to the party?”

Tanner shook his head. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Which meant getting up at 5:00 a.m. and spending the next ten to twelve hours sweating his ass off. Not that his buddies understood that. Half the time they got pissed at him for ditching them. Neither Josh nor Nate worked; both got their seemingly endless supply of cash from their parents. Christian logged a few hours at the video place but that was mostly nights.

“All right,” Christian said, glancing at his buzzing phone. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll hang, play the new Call of Duty.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Christian walked out, texting as he went. Dude’s girlfriend liked to keep close tabs on him.

Tanner waited a minute, then two, but Jessica didn’t come back out from behind those swinging doors where she’d disappeared after taking Josh down a peg. The back of his neck got itchy. He hunched his shoulders and glanced around, saw Keira Seagren, a cute redhead in his grade who also worked there, watching him curiously. Feeling like an idiot, he lifted his hand in a half-assed wave and then walked out into the warm night.

Hands shoved into the pockets of his cargo shorts, he kept his head down and turned the corner to the parking lot behind the tall, blue building. The setting sun glowed brightly, stark against the darkness of the cloudless sky, reminding him of that scene in Star Wars where Luke steps outside to watch the two suns of his planet go down. The warmth of the day hung in the air, promising a hot, sticky night.

He rounded the back of a blue Camry and stopped, his mom’s keys falling from his hand to land with a soft jingle on the concrete.

Jessica was there. Sitting on the top of a picnic table at the far end of the parking lot, her back to him, her head down, her light hair and white shirt like beacons in the growing darkness.

She turned to face him. He couldn’t move, didn’t know what to do. Even with the distance between them, he could feel the heat from her glare. She didn’t want to talk to him.

Figured she’d rather castrate him.

And damn Mr. Bauchman, his freshman year science teacher, for showing them that video of what castration entailed. He seriously could’ve lived his entire life without ever knowing its definition, let alone witnessed how it was done to bulls.

Her head held high, she turned away again. He quickly scooped up his keys. Eyes on the ground, he wove between two pickups to his mom’s minivan. Unlocked and opened the door.

And made the mistake of glancing at her.

Before he could change his mind—or think better of it—he slammed the door shut and walked over to her.

She stiffened, her shoulders snapping back. “What?” she asked, the word practically dripping frost.

His mouth was dry. His palms damp. When he was a kid, his mom used to tell him that one magical day, he’d outgrow his shyness. It would thrill her if he suddenly started blabbering on about useless, stupid topics. If, even a few times, he struck up a conversation with strangers the way she did.

Why he should do that when he had no interest in doing so, he had no clue. But she still held out hope.

Because other people got nervous when he had nothing to say.

Which he didn’t get. He liked the quiet. Liked listening. Watching. Taking it all in. Even his friends thought he was too shy or scared to talk to girls. Not true. He simply preferred to take his time and think about what he wanted to say first, that was all.

And right now, he wanted her to look at him. Had no problem waiting in silence until she did so.

She huffed out a breath, whirled around. Her eyes were blue, light blue like the midday sky over the water. And right now she was rolling them so far back, she probably caught a glimpse of her brain.

“Okay,” she snapped, “the whole heavy-breathing, prank-phone-call thing is super freaky when you’re doing it in person.”

“You’re not in trouble.” He wasn’t breathing heavily so he saw no reason to respond to that part of her comment. “I told Josh not to report you to your manager.”

She looked at him as if she wanted to plant the thick heel of her shoe in his face. “My hero,” she said, saying hero in a tone usually reserved for slimy-Satan-loving-snake.

He scratched his cheek. “I just thought you should know,” he murmured, feeling like an idiot.

“Look, if you’re hoping to get off tonight, you’ll have to find some other girl.” She sneered, her gaze raking over him in a way that made his balls shrink. “Or you could always take matters into your own hands. I’m sure you have plenty of practice with that.”

He flushed so hard, sweat formed at the back of his neck, a drop of it sliding between his shoulder blades. She was pissed, obviously, and for good reason, but that didn’t mean he had to take shit from her.

Even if she was beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “for what happened back there.”

She studied him as is trying to decide if he meant it. But he only said things he meant. That was part of the reason he kept silent so often. He didn’t see any point in spouting a bunch of bullshit. It was so much easier to stick with the truth.

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