Murphy's Law

by Rebecca Sinclair

  “So, you left?”

  “No! I take my job seriously. Appearances can be deceiving. I know that. So I interviewed the parents at length. I talked to Billy while they were in the room, then again privately. At no time did he give me any indication something was wrong, or"—Murphy cleared her throat—"that he was afraid of his family. I had no reason to think he was in physical danger and needed to be removed from the house immediately.”

  Murphy felt Garrett tense. She suspected he'd guessed what had happened next—he was a cop, probably familiar with the whole scenario—yet was waiting to hear the words from her.

  They were words that clogged in her throat like a handful of mud. She had to concentrate hard to slough them off her tongue. “I went back to my office and called Billy's teacher. I'd already talked to her once on the phone, but to be on the safe side, I made an appointment with her for the following afternoon. Same thing with his pediatrician.”

  “What did they have to say?” he asked, and Murphy felt the arms he'd coiled around her waist tighten to steely bands.

  “Nothing. That is, I never got a chance to talk to them. Billy was brought into the emergency room that same night. His mother had…h-had…”

  She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a tear slip down her cheek, splashing on the back of her hand. It was followed by another. Then another. All in rapid succession. Murphy swiped them away with the back of her fist, but they refused to stop falling.

  She couldn't…damn it, she simply could not continue. The memory—the pain and guilt that stabbed through her—hurt too much!

  “He died,” he said flatly.

  She shook her head, and her voice was watery as she tried to swallow back a sob. Oh, but she hated to cry! “No, he didn't—no thanks to me!—but he came close. He was in a coma for four days. We had to get the full story from his father.”

  Her voice tremulous, she forced herself to go on. “Billy's mother had told him to clean up his room when he got home from a scout meeting. Only Billy didn't come straight home, he went to baseball practice—something he'd forgotten to tell his mother. His mother was furious. She decided it was time to"—her breath caught as more tears dripped down her cheeks—"teach Billy to do what he was told once and for all. Her method of ‘teaching’ him was by beating the lesson into Billy's head with the boy's own baseball bat.”

  “My God.” Garrett's husky whisper could barely be heard over the howling wind outside.

  “Billy's father came home and, well, you can guess the rest. According to him, Billy's mother was prone to rages, but never one like this. She got angry a lot, but"—Murphy sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve—"usually the bruises were small and easily hidden beneath clothing. The neighbor who called DCYF said she'd heard Billy's mother yelling more than normal the day Billy supposedly fell out of tree house. Then the next day, when she saw Billy's arm in a sling, saw the bruises that couldn't be hidden this time, remembered a couple of other times when the same thing had happened…”

  The story told, Murphy collapsed weakly against Garrett and let the tears slide warmly down her cheeks. She cried long and hard, pausing once in a while to suck in a hiccuping gulp of air.

  Garrett felt her pain as though it was his own. Damn, but he wished there was something he could say to erase the hurt and guilt she was feeling. But what? Tell her the whole thing hadn't been her fault? That there was no way she could have known what Billy's mother was capable of from one interview?

  No, he couldn't say that. Deep down, Garrett was positive Murphy already knew all that. Whether she believed it or not was something else again. There was no rhyme or reason to guilt, and hindsight was cruelly astute. He had a feeling that anything he tried to say by way of comfort would instead only sound shallow and insincere.

  He contented himself with stroking her soft, curly brown hair and holding her close. Concern helped take his mind off the pain raging like fire through his right thigh, if only for a little while. So wrapped up was he in Murphy, Garrett barely noticed when Moonshine stretched and kneaded his sock-clad ankle with pin-sharp claws. Right now, Garrett couldn't think about anything but the woman who was crying with quiet dignity in his arms.

  Angling his head, he cradled his cheek against the top of her head. Her silky curls tickled his cheek and chin and neck, while the subtle aroma of Ivory Soap tickled his nostrils. Would he ever be able to breathe in that scent again without thinking about this woman?

  His hold on her tightened, his body absorbing her violent shivers. It took forever for her sobs to slow, then subside.

  They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts while he gave her time to compose herself.

  Eventually, Murphy fisted the last of the tears from her cheeks—she was surprised they hadn't frozen to her skin, it was so cold in here—and sat back. Her watery gaze lifted, and was instantly captured by penetrating, dark blue. “You know, there's still one more deathbed…er, make that deathcar confession you haven't made,” she said.

  If there was an inch of Garrett's body that didn't hurt like hell, he didn't know where it was. Yet when Murphy smiled up at him like that, he couldn't help feeling a warm thrill trickle through him, couldn't help but smile back. “Really? And what's that?”

  “We've already decided you're not a bankrobber or thief. Oh, stop!” She sniffled and at the same time swatted his shoulder when his grin broadened. “That explains the gun, but not the question of where the money and jewelry came from. Where did you get it, Garrett?”

  “My grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” One dark brow arched skeptically high. “Are you trying to telling me your grandmother gave you a duffel bag full of money and antique jewelry?”

  “I didn't say that.”

  Murphy groaned at what was quickly becoming a familiar evasion. “Yes, you did.”

  “No, what I said was that I got the money and jewelry from my grandmother. What I didn't say was that she gave them to me.”

  “You mean you took them?”

  “I…” he hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess you could say that.” Murphy opened her mouth, probably to yell at him, but Garrett rushed on before she had the chance. “My grandmother died in August.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, I'm so sorr—” Murphy snapped her mouth shut, remembering what he'd said earlier. She smiled weakly. “Garrett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That still doesn't explain where you got all the money and jewelry from.”

  “She had a summer house about two miles north of your brother's.” He shrugged. “She left it to me in her will.”

  “I see,” she replied, although she didn't really. She sensed there was a lot Garrett wasn't telling her, and that inspired her curiosity all the more. “But it still doesn't explain—”

  “I'm getting to it,” he interrupted, and though the words were gruff, his tone was gentle. “Gramma Eleanor had a habit of stashing money away. My mother said it was because she'd lived through the depression and never trusted banks again. My sisters and I, on the other hand, always figured it was because Gramma was a bit…eccentric. Anyway, last month, when we cleaned out her house in North Hartford, we found over four thousand dollars stashed away. Not all in one place, mind you. There was…lets, see.” Garrett pursed his lips and thought for a second. “Ten one dollar bills were hidden in the toe of an old shoe. A twenty was wrapped with some fish in the freezer. A ten and five ones were stashed behind some jelly she'd canned and stored in the cellar at least five years ago. Money was everywhere. I still don't think we found all of it.”

  “Did she do the same thing with her house up here?”

  “Not as much. So far, I've only found about two thousand dollars, although I'm sure more will turn up eventually. As for the jewelry, that belonged to her too, and, no, it wasn't ‘stashed’ anywhere. I found it in a jewelry box on top of her dresser. I wanted to bring it back for my sisters. You know,” Garrett shrugged awkwardly, as though such sentimentality sur
prised even himself, “something for them to remember her by. Maybe pass down to their own children in time. When the front end of my jeep decided to become intimate with the trunk of a maple tree, the only thing I thought to bring with me was the duffel bag. Hell, my suitcases and clothes are still back there. But they can be replaced.”

  Murphy sighed.

  Garrett frowned down at her. “What's the matter?”

  “I'm feeling very guilty about thinking you were a robber.”

  “How were you supposed to know?”

  “Well, that's true enough.”

  “I mean, it's not like I told you.”

  “That's also true. Which brings up an interesting question. Why didn't you tell me the truth right away?”

  “Would you have believed me if I had?”

  Murphy hesitated. “Darn it, Garrett Thayer. Are you always right?”

  “Wait and find out.”

  It was a cryptic response. One that not only suggested they would get out of this car alive, but that they would see each other again once they did.

  Murphy wasn't sure how she felt about that. While part of her tingled with pleasure, another, larger part said she had more than enough problems in her life right now; this man would only complicate things.

  She shifted, and glanced up at him.

  He shifted, and glanced down at her.

  Their gazes met and locked.

  His attention dipped, skimming her lips, which immediately burned under the scrutiny. Her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing shallowed. The muscles in her abdomen tightened in anticipation when she saw him angle his head, their lips now separated by a scant, breath-vapored inch of space. His eyes had darkened to midnight blue.

  Murphy shivered.

  The grin that curled over Garrett's lips made her breath catch. “Cold?”

  She wanted to say no. But couldn't. Her voice had deserted her…right along with her common sense. The sweet, sizzling memory of his kiss had never entirely left her. Always, it had been rumbling around in the back of her mind. Now, she found herself aching to taste him again, to feel the hot, magical way his mouth moved over hers…

  Oh, no, she wasn't at all cold. Just the opposite. Thoughts of this man's mouth on hers made her feel decidedly hot. So why did she nod in response?

  “Come closer,” he said. “Let me warm you up.”

  “I don't think it's possible to get any closer,” she replied, her voice a breathless rush of misty air. His chest was against her shoulder, their hips were wedged together.

  Slowly, his right hand skirted her shoulder, buried itself in her hair. He tugged her mouth a fraction closer. His lips brushed hers when he said huskily, “It's possible. Trust me, sweetheart, if you want it bad enough, anything is possible.”

  Garrett groaned, low and deep in his throat, when his mouth slanted over hers. This kiss, unlike the first two, was ravenous, draining, desperate. On both their parts.

  He groaned again when Murphy met each thrust and parry of his tongue measure for sensuous measure.

  She curled her arms around his neck and melted into him. His body was hot with fever; she could feel the heat of him burning through the thickness of her coat and sweater, caressing the flesh beneath in fiery waves of awareness.

  Ten minutes ago, she'd wanted to know everything there was to know about Garrett. The instant his lips touched hers, her goal transformed into something more basic. Now she wanted only to touch him, all of him, without the barrier of cloth separating her warm, hungry flesh from his.

  And she wanted him to touch her.

  Everywhere.

  Now.

  It was crazy. Murphy McKenna had never been the sort who allowed passion to overrule good sense. Maybe that was because she'd never felt passion to this degree?

  Until now.

  She was unprepared to deal with the sharp pang of desire that carved through her, leaving her breathless and wanting and shaky. As her fingers tangled in Garrett's silky hair, and she arched her upper body into his, she blamed the hopeless situation they were in, the knowledge they may very well never leave this car alive, for her uninhibited response. Surely that was why she suddenly couldn't taste or feel enough of him. Wasn't it?

  She didn't know. And when he deepened the kiss, she suddenly didn't care. Whatever the reason, she wanted, needed his closeness in a way she'd never wanted or needed anything in her life. In a way she had a feeling she may never want or need anything again.

  He pulled back slightly, and she moaned a protest.

  “Ah, God, sweetheart,” he rasped against her mouth, “this is nuts. We hardly know each other.”

  She nodded vaguely. It was the best she could do. Leaning forward, Murphy sealed their mouths together again before Garrett could speak words of wisdom that might have a sobering affect on them both. She didn't want that. Right now, all she wanted was for him to kiss her again. To continue kissing her until she forgot about the snowstorm, the stuck car…everything.

  As though sensing her urgency, he did exactly that.

  He held her close, kissed her deep and hard, even as his right hand strayed restlessly down her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm. Inward.

  She sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his fingers skim the curve of her breast. Even through the thick padding of her coat and sweater, his touch left a trail of fire. Instinctively, she arched into his palm, her body begging for a fuller, more intimate exploration.

  Last time they'd touched like this, an accidental movement on her part had shattered the moment. Murphy was determined that would not happen again. When she moved, she moved gently, mindful that no part of her body came in contact with his wounded thigh.

  She whimpered in disappointment when his hand descended, then felt a surge of elation when it drifted under the hem of her coat, beneath her bulky sweater.

  His palm felt blistering hot against her abdomen. It felt wonderful.

  She expected his touch to ascend, and swallowed hard when it detoured. He expertly unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. His fingertips worked their way inside and she felt a jolt of sensation all the way to her toes. The imprint of his hand branded through the waistband of her panties.

  She waited breathlessly as he nuzzled his hand lower, until his fingers were wedged between her legs, pressing intimately against her.

  His mouth covered hers, swallowing her sultry moan as oh, so slowly he began to stroke her.

  Murphy's breath came out in a shaky rush, and her eyes drifted closed. She leaned her head back against the cracked vinyl seat cushion, any pretense of resistance gone.

  His lips shifted their attention to her jaw, then the sensitive side of her neck. He suckled a patch of flesh into his mouth, nibbling it until she cried out with the erotic pleasure/pain he'd created.

  “Nuts,” he whispered, his hot breath misting over her skin. “This is so damn nuts.”

  Murphy agreed. But she wasn't about to stop him. Passion had been something her life lacked. While she wasn't a virgin, she'd always held back, never letting a man get too close, never trusting one enough to surrender all of herself to him. Always, she'd back away, sheltering the part of her that would get hurt. Eventually.

  And now there was Garrett Thayer.

  He was a virtual stranger, yet with a single touch he ripped down her carefully constructed barriers, kindled passion inside her until it burned white-hot.

  “Definitely nuts,” she agreed shakily. “But it's a wonderful sort of nuts.”

  “Wonderful. God, yes,” he agreed, even as his nose nuzzled the spot where the plackets of her jacket were zippered closed. He bit the icy metal tag of the zipper, intent on teasing it downward with it down with his teeth.

  His hand was never still. His fingers parted her, stroked her warm, moist flesh. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, the focus of her concentration rooted on his hand, on the magnificent way he was making her feel.

  She barely noticed when he hesitated, the tip of his index finger poised a
gainst her. She arched her hips into his touch. It took a while for rationality to pierce the sensuous fog in her brain, for her to realize he'd gone stone-still.

  “Garrett?”

  “Shhh!” He shook his head. “Listen.”

  She frowned. “To what?”

  “Damned if I know. Just listen.”

  Considering their current position, the intimate way he was touching her, it was hard for her to do anything but feel. Still, she forced herself to do as he instructed and listened.

  Wind whistled through the crack of the window. Moonshine purred; Murphy could feel the rumble in the heavy, furry body draped over her feet. Both her and Garrett's passion-heavy breaths soughed through the bitter cold air.

  Other than that, she heard nothing out of the ordinary.

  But he obviously did. With a groan, Garrett slipped his hand from her jeans, then quickly snapped and zipped them shut. Murphy was grateful he did that; her trembling fingers could never had completed the job.

  Swallowing back her disappointment, she sat forward, looking at him curiously.

  He angled his head, his expression pinched and intent. A frown creased his brow, deepening the weathered lines shooting out from the corner of his eyes.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “No,” she said, still wondering exactly what it was she was supposed to hear. Shifting on his lap, she looked at the windshield, but couldn't see because of the snow that had piled up on top of it. She focused all her concentration into her auditory sense.

  “Listen,” he urged.

  “I am, but I don't hear—Wait a sec.” Her chin came up, and she also angled her head, as though in so doing her ears would be better able to draw in what was no more than a low, rumbling whisper of sound. “That sounds like a…plane?”