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