The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(87)

Pick merely shook his head. “Just looking to chat with Murphy today.”

The mechanic tipped his head to the right. “In his office. Go on in.”

“Thanks, man.”

Pick strolled that way, so I followed. The door to the glassed-in office was open, and even though it was cold outside a small oscillating fan whirled slowly on top of a paper-stacked desk. The man sitting behind it looked to be slimmer and taller with stooped shoulders. He had his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he read something on a clipboard in his hand.

Rapping his knuckles on the doorframe, Pick called, “Hey, Murph. You got a minute?”

The older man looked up, his bushy gray brows arching in surprise. “Hey! If it isn’t Patrick. Come on in, kid. I always have a minute for you.”

Pick stepped in far enough to allow me room inside with him. After glancing at me, he turned to his old boss. “You’ve owned this place a long time, haven’t you?”

“Forty years next summer, why you asking? Want to buy it from under me? Hell, shoot me a decent price, and I’ll consider it. Eh?”

“Aww.” Pick chuckled and waved a hand. “No. I’m too busy with the club to tinker with cars anymore.”

A fond smile layered itself across Murphy’s face as he sat back in his seat. “You used to love tinkering with cars if I remember right.”

“Still do. But just my own now. I don’t want to make a business out of it.”

“Then what’d you come down here for if you don’t want to work for me again, or buy me out, and you can take care of your own automobiles?” He glanced at me, and leaned back deeper in his chair as he considered me. “You want me to hire this thing here?” When his gaze landed on my hands, he snorted. “Doesn’t look like he’s had grease under his fingernails a day in his life.”

“No. He...” Pick glanced at me. “This is my brother. He’s been helping me with a little research, finding someone, and oddly enough, our trail led us here to one of your employees back...twenty-five, twenty-six years ago.”

Something odd flashed across Murphy’s face before he sat forward, suddenly interested. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Pick wiped his hand off on his thighs. “All I know is the guy went by the name Chaz, and he was killed here, or near here, by a drive-by shooting possibly.”

Murphy’s hand fluttered to his mouth as he stared at Pick with a sudden intensity. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured, blinking as if tears were clouding his eyes.

“Do you remember him?” Pick asked softly, but eagerly stepping forward because it was obvious Murphy did remember Chaz.

After clearing his throat, Murphy answered, “Chaz was short for Charles. Charles Edward Murphy...Junior.”

When Pick sucked in a breath I glanced at him, but he was busy staring at his old boss. “You mean...are you saying he was your son?”

With a nod, Murphy said, “He was. Why’re you asking about him?”

My brother turned to me, and I think he was too stunned to talk, so I tried to smile at Murphy. “He, uh...well, we just discovered my mom, Polly Ruddick, was also Pick’s mom.”

“My God,” Murphy croaked, unable to take his eyes off Pick. “I thought you looked like him. The first day you came here, looking for a job, I could see so much of Chaz in your eyes. Probably why I hired you without a reference to your name, but I...I never would’ve dreamed you were that baby.”

Pick blew out a shuddered breath before shaking his head and asking, “So you knew...you were aware my mother was pregnant with Chaz’s—”

He broke off when Murphy nodded. “Sure. They were shacked up together, living in my garage while she was pregnant with you. She’d come into the kitchen every morning, and I’d feed her a hearty breakfast so you’d grow nice and strong.”

“Did you know she gave birth to me the same day—”

“I did,” Murphy said on a choked nod. “Took me a couple days, after the funeral, before I got around to go see you. Polly had already taken off by then, but they let me look at you through a window.”

“And you didn’t...” Pick shook his head, his eyes glazed with shock. “You didn’t try to get custody of me?”

Guilt lined Murphy’s eyes before he glanced away. “Shit, Pick. I’d just lost my son. My wife had been gone for years. I was trying to run my own business by myself; there was no way I was equipped to take care of an infant.”

Both Murphy and I watched as devastation lit Pick’s features. But he gave a noisy swallow and nodded. “I understand, Murphy. It would’ve been tough.”

As if realizing what a mistake he’d made, Murphy’s face took on a pleading expression. “They told me they’d find a real nice foster home for you, people who’d gone through classes and been trained on how to take care of a baby. I thought...I knew it’d be the best thing for you.” A wavering smile lit his face. “And hell, look at you now. You turned out just fine.”

With another nod, Pick mumbled, “Yeah. Just fine.”

I kicked at a spot on the floor, nearly biting my tongue in half because I wanted to tell Murphy so bad that Pick had not been fine...not for many, many years. But I figured if Pick had wanted him to know that, he would’ve said something himself. It wasn’t my place.