Garrett's interest in the matter, in Murphy, intrigued him. Rarely did he care enough about a person to ask what their problems were. Instead, he busied himself with the one thing that was constant, the one thing he could trust: facts. If a situation was none of his business, he butted out. After a week on the force, he'd known he would have his fill of other peoples’ problems; there was no room in his life to go out and court more.
So why did he feel oddly compelled to not only find out what Murphy's problems were, but to help her with them? Why did he want…well, hell, he wanted to know everything about this woman. He didn't know why, he just did.
He turned in the seat until he was facing her. The movement, combined with the front left wheel hitting a rut buried beneath the snow, made him suck in a sharp breath.
She glanced at him, worried, then quickly diverted her attention back to the road. But not before he saw the concern swimming in her pretty green eyes.
He waited until the pain subsided before saying, “You never told me.”
A frown pinched her brow. Did she have any idea how adorable she
looked when her nose wrinkled that way? He didn't think she did. The woman seemed as devoid of conceit as a house with it's paint stripped off. Comfortably baggy clothes, a loose but flattering hairstyle, face bare of makeup. Fresh-scrubbed. That was the word that came to mind as he studied her profile. The tag had a wholesome ring to it.
Ivory Soap. Ninety-nine point forty-four percent pure. And it floats.
When it came to this woman, there was no pretense. What you saw was what you got. What Garrett Thayer saw was an attractive woman with a heart as big as Connecticut. And a problem she steadfastly refused to talk about, but that he suspected was even larger.
Murphy drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then sighed and shook her head. “You're an aggravating man, Garrett Thayer. Interesting, I'll grant you that, but aggravating.”
Despite the pain throbbing in his leg, he grinned. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it any way you want. Then you can tell me what you were talking about. What haven't I told you?”
“Your last name.”
“I haven't?”
“Nope.”
“You're sure?”
“Yup.”
“An oversight.”
“One you plan to correct, right?”
She smiled mischievously. If anyone else did that, he would have gotten angry. He wondered why he didn't feel so much as a pinch of irritation with Murphy.
“You aren't going to tell me, are you?” he asked.
It was a statement, not a question. For her own reasons, she graced him with an answer. “I'll make you a deal. Tell me where you came by the money and jewelry"—she nodded to the duffel bag he'd tucked under the passenger seat the second she'd brought it out to the car"—and I'll tell you my last name.”
“And if I don't?”
Her smile broadened. “Let's just say I've always been a sucker for a bad B movie with a good mystery subplot.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Never mind,” Murphy said with a chuckle…a split second before she cursed, and slammed on the brakes.
The car jack-knifed.
Garrett instinctively turned and planted both feet on the floor, trying to brace himself for what may or not be a collision. Christ, not two accidents in one day!
The rear wheels slipped over the snow. The car took a one-eighty turn, with the back wheels finally sliding past the front ones so the car turned around to face their own tire tracks.
After her initial surprise, Murphy pumped the brakes and brought the car under control.