On Her Side

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

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.