On Her Side. Beth Andrews
“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