Murphy's Law

He sighed and closed his ey

es. Murphy was glad for the reprieve; trying to think straight while looking into those stunning blue eyes of his was not easy.

“Where did the money and jewelry and gun come from? Please, don't lie to me, Garrett. If you do, I'll be forced to toss you right out of the broken sliding glass door you let yourself in through.”

He cracked one bluer-than-blue eye open, raked her head to toe, then closed it again. “No you won't.”

“Oh, really? What makes you so sure?”

“You're not the type. Believe me, um…your turn, lady. What's your name?”

She hesitated. “Murphy", she supplied finally, reluctantly.

“Strange name.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Garrett continued, “Believe me, Murphy, I know the type who could turn their back on a wounded man. You're not it. You already tried, remember?”

Murphy glared down at him. This man hardly knew her. How could he be so sure of what “type” of woman she was? She didn't know, but he did. And damned if he wasn't right. She had tried to leave him, she hadn't been able to do it. “You could be wrong about me. Ever think of that?”

“No. And I'm not wrong. It's my business to know these things.” A confident grin tugged at one corner of his lips.

Murphy's gaze shadowed the movement, sweeping over his mouth, noting despite her desire not to the way a drop of water from the cup still clung to his lower lip. Her heartbeat staggered, and she jerked her gaze back to his closed eyes. He had long lashes for a man; thick and a shade or two darker than his sandy blond hair. Her tone only slightly breathless, she asked, “Wh-what kind of ‘business’ is that?”

He opened his eyes. His gaze ensnared her. “I'm a cop.”

Murphy bit her tongue to keep from laughing. A cop? Him? Was that the best story he could devise? Sheesh, how stupid did he think she was?!

“Murphy,” Garrett said thoughtfully, as though testing the name on his tongue. His eyes narrowed, darkened. “Is that your first name or last?”

“First. And I'll thank you not to change the subject again.” Agitated for reasons she didn't understand, and didn't want to, she stuck the fingers of both hands in her back pockets and paced restlessly beside the bed.

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully, “let's pretend I believe you…which I don't, not for a second. That explains the gun, but not the money and jewelry.” She frowned as a thought occurred to her. “Do you have a badge?”

“Of course.”

She smiled. “Great! Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I said no.”

“Why not?”

“I don't have it with me.” Garrett's jaw tightened. “I was in a hurry yesterday and I left it at home. Since this was a personal errand, I didn't think I'd need it.”

“Ah. How…convenient.” Her patronizing tone earned her an icy blue glare. She returned it with a level one of her own. “A little too convenient, if you ask me. Especially coming from a man who didn't hesitate to break into this house.”

He sighed. “Look, sweetheart, there's an easy way to check on my story. If you're interested in finding out the truth.” When she glanced at him suspiciously, he continued, his tone strained but reasonable, “Call the police in East Hartford, Connecticut. Ask them if they have a trooper named Garrett Thayer who pulls the graveyard shift. They'll tell you they do.”

“What's the phone number?”

He rattled it off without hesitation.

Her stomach muscles fisted with doubt. Was he telling the truth? Was he a cop? Like he'd said, there was one sure way to find out. Crossing her arms over her chest, she spun on her heel and stalked from the room.