Page 4 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

“ Y our tattoos?” I ask as soon as Murphy sets my glass of champagne in front of me.

“So eager for the story,” he murmurs, taking a sip of amber-colored liquid.

The light catches on the light sheen of moisture on his bottom lip and I clear my throat, taking a drink of my own as I wait for his story.

His golden-colored eyes take on a faraway look and he lifts his right hand, covering his heart.

“This was my first. I was in New Orleans with some friends.”

“Spring break?”

“Mardis Gras. A very memorable trip because of this.” He rubs his fingers along the spot. “But otherwise I don’t remember much else.”

He smirks, his gaze zeroing in on me, and my breath catches.

“W-what is it?” The words are little more than a murmur as I struggle to remember how to breathe.

“A Dara . A Celtic knot. It means strength. Warriors often used the symbol on their armor or weapons.”

Warrior.

Murphy O’Connell one hundred percent fits that description. I can easily picture him as an ancient soldier ready for battle instead of the man dressed in the white button-down, reminiscing about his first tattoo.

“And that led to everything else?” I ask.

He nods. “There was something about the way the needle ran across my skin, the image growing as the artist did her thing. I was hooked. But by then I knew I would be joining the force. And I knew the rules. So I’ve had to make sure none of them were visible.”

“But these,” I say, reaching out, my fingers grazing the ink peeking out of his shirt collar.

There’s a light charge in the drag of my fingertips against his skin, and I try to ignore the rush of awareness the touch creates and reluctantly drop my hand.

He shrugs.

“This shirt isn’t as high as some of my others. And I have a really flexible captain.”

He smiles and I return the easy grin with one of my own.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just been told Mr. and Mrs. Strickland are taking their leave from their party. Let’s all get together and see them off, shall we?” The DJ’s voice echoes through the small area, and everyone starts to shift toward the archway that leads to the parking lot.

“Should we go see them off?” Murphy asks, holding out his hand.

I slide my fingers along his and our fingers wrap together like they’ve been doing it for years.

“Let’s go.”

Our hands stay connected while we send off Cole and Hannah Grace, and then he pulls me back toward the dance floor. I wouldn’t expect a man as big as he is to move with the rhythm he does, except he’s already explained it’s a result of dance lessons.

The faster song slows down to another ballad, the last of the night according to the DJ. Murphy pulls me closer, my chest resting against his heartbeat.

“Do your parents still dance together?” I ask.

“Sorry to interrupt. Laura Leigh?” Mama’s voice breaks through the thud of Murphy’s pulse.

We stop dancing and I open my eyes to find my parents next to us.

Mama’s expression is a mix of mischief and concern.

The mischief no doubt from the matchmaking scheme she’s already trying to concoct for her only unwed daughter, and the concern has become a near constant since Zach kidnapped me.

It’s a softer version of the look on Daddy’s face.

The two of them were overprotective before. But now? I’m surprised I was ever allowed back out of the house.

You only have the summer to prove yourself.

“Hi, Mama. Daddy. I think you met Murphy before. He’s with Nashville Police Department,” I tell them.

The twin concerned faces relax and Daddy reaches out a hand to shake Murphy’s.

“You’re in Nashville?” he asks Murphy.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Glad someone will be there to look after our Laura Leigh,” Daddy says.

I barely bite back the groan as embarrassment crawls through my body. For a little while I had felt like Murphy’s equal. Now? I feel like what he had called me earlier—a baby. But just as quickly as the embarrassment came, panic is hot on its heels.

Please don’t let Murphy mention his move .

I breathe a sigh of relief when he only smiles and nods.

“Happy to, sir.”

Somehow I think his definition of looking after me is different from mine. But a small part of me hopes I can convince him my definition is the best.

Hot girl summer indeed .

“Sweetie, now that Cole and Hannah Grace have gone, we’re heading home. I don’t think I’ve sat down for more than a few minutes all day. Are you still staying at Sydney’s?” Mama asks.

“Heck yes, she is!” Sydney joins us, wrapping an arm around each of my parents. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing her for one more night. I head back to California tomorrow afternoon. Hi, I’m Sydney.” She releases Mama to shake Murphy’s hand and shoots me a covert wink at the same time.

Thank God for Sydney.

“Murphy O’Connell.”

“Okay, hon, well, if you’re sure. Take me home, Jake. I need to get out of these shoes,” Mama says to Daddy.

“Take them off now, woman. No one is going to care.”

“Jacob Whittaker, I am not walking barefoot outside in public on the day of my eldest daughter’s wedding. After how many years, don’t you know me by now?”

“Thirty-seven, Bethie. It’s been thirty-seven years together since our first date at the drive-in. And I do. But you have to know I’m always going to try to fix whatever you need.”

The two of them share a look. A long look I have no desire to witness between my parents because ew, they’re my parents. Love is one thing. But the look they share? Didn’t need to be present for it.

“Have a good night, Mama,” I say and give her a quick hug before turning and giving one to Daddy. “Good night, Daddy.”

“Night, Lee Lee. Let me know if you need anything,” he whispers in my ear and squeezes me a little tighter.

They say their goodbyes to Murphy and Sydney and walk in the direction of the exit as Sydney pulls me closer to her in a hug.

“I’m going to head back to the bed-and-breakfast. I’ve got to do some work on a case. But if you end up not wanting to stay with me, no hard feelings.”

“Syd!” I whisper, heat rushing to my face.

“Just remember what I said—hot girl summer. And text me to let me know for sure,” she says before releasing me.

“See ya around, handsome.” Sydney blows Murphy a kiss and shoots another wink in my direction before following my parents’ path toward the exit.

I’m contemplating apologizing for the multiple interruptions when Murphy tugs me back into him, shifting us back to the slow rhythm of the ballad.

“I’m so sorry about them,” I murmur, resting my head back against his chest.

“Don’t be. I’d be the same way with my sisters. And my mom too. So, that was Sydney?”

A smile curves my lips.

“That was Sydney. How do you know about her? Cole?”

“Cole.”

We say his name at the same time and I glance up, meeting his gaze.

“He says she’s like the worst little sister ever. I told him he hadn’t experienced Quinn and Riley when they were younger.”

His response stretches my smile.

“How old are your sisters now?” I ask.

“Quinn is thirty-three now and married with two kids, and Riley will be thirty next month and is engaged. I can’t believe she’s getting married in just a few weeks.”

“What about you?” I ask.

The song ends but we stay where we are.

“What about me?” he whispers.

“Any marriage plans for you?”

He shakes his head.

“No wife. No kids. I don’t see that changing anytime soon either.”

“Why not?”

“I made the decision a long time ago. My job is too dangerous to make someone have to face a future like the life my mother had—a widow with three kids.”

“A widow?”

A line carves between his eyebrows, his normal hazel eyes dimming to a light brown.

“This story probably needs another drink.” He blows out a breath.

It’s only then that I realize we’re still standing on the now-empty dance floor. A few people still mill around the tables, the bar still open even though the bartenders are packing up glasses and bottles. He interlaces our fingers, tugging me behind him until he reaches the bar.

“A glass of Jameson for me and champagne?” He turns to me and I nod.

Warmth radiates from his hand to mine, frissons of awareness traveling from the connection through the rest of my body. He doesn’t let go of my hand when the two glasses are in front of him, passing me mine as he grabs his and nods toward a table.

Only when we’re next to the cocktail table does he release my hand. I feel the loss instantly and grip my champagne flute to make up for the tingles still traveling along my palm. He takes a drink from his cup and sets it down, focusing on me.

“Sorry,” he says.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

His smile is self-deprecating.

“I can’t give you a buildup like that and not tell the story. I…I’m okay. I can tell you if you still want to hear it.”

I nod.

He wraps both hands around his glass, his fingers overlapping, and clears his throat.

“My mom was widowed when I was sixteen. Dad did what he thought was a normal traffic stop for a busted taillight. Turns out the driver had two girls in the back of his car. Human trafficking. The driver of the car shot him and left him on the side of the road.” His voice is strained, his gaze focused on a memory instead of right now.

I reach out, laying my hand on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Oh, Murphy, I’m so sorry.”

He moves his opposite hand and covers mine, dwarfing it where it rests against his arm.

“Thank you. It happened a long time ago. This summer it will be twenty years. Wow. Twenty years. It just hit me. Some days it feels like only yesterday. Like when something happens I want to talk to him about.”

“I can imagine. How old were your sisters when he passed?” I ask.

“Quinn was thirteen and Riley was ten.”

“You guys were so young.”

“Mom was a rock star though, raising three kids on her own.”

“She never remarried?”

He shakes his head.

“She always said Dad was her chompánach anam . Her soulmate.”