On Her Side

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.