by Tracy Wolff
“And my car?”
“I can’t give you that. I’m sorry.”
Damn it, I need this car. San Diego’s idea of mass transit leaves something to be desired. “I don’t get it. You made a hundred thousand dollars last night. You own one of the hottest cars I’ve ever seen—and you have your own garage. Why the hell do you care about my torn-up 370Z?”
“I already told you. Get in the car and—”
“You’ll explain. Yeah. That’s what you say now. But I still don’t have any reason to believe you.”
“No, I suppose you don’t.”
He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make any more promises that I don’t know if he will keep. Instead, he just stands there, watching me. Waiting for me to make up my mind.
Not that there’s really anything for me to deliberate. He’s made that abundantly clear.
“Can you at least untie my hands?” I demand as I let him usher me back toward my car.
“Will you promise not to jump out of the car if I do?”
“No, but I promise I will jump out of the car if you don’t.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but I just shrug. “You want me to compromise with you, you need to compromise with me.”
“Okay,” he agrees, turning me around so he can unbuckle his belt and unwind it from around my wrists. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Why should I be the only one regretting anything in this situation?” I say with a snort. Then I climb into the passenger seat of the car and pray that I’m not making the worst mistake of my life.
Chapter 6
Nic
After getting her settled in the car, I run around to the driver’s side and slide in. A quick glance at my watch tells me I need to move my ass if I have any hope of figuring this shit out before I have to turn the car over to Anderson.
“Get your seatbelt on,” I tell her as I throw the car into gear. Then we’re speeding toward the exit like the hounds of hell are on our heels. And maybe they are. God knows after the fight she just put up, I feel like something sure as hell is dogging me.
Fuck. I can’t believe what a shitstorm this is turning out to be. Not that I ever expected it to be simple—how could I when Anderson was willing to blackmail me to get the job done? But at the same time, I didn’t expect that a simple carjacking was going to end up with me kidnapping the beautiful redhead who’s been skating around the corners of my mind since I saw her last night. And I sure as shit didn’t expect that she’d put up a fight that left me feeling like I’ve been run over by a fucking truck.
We drive in silence for a few minutes as I get us back onto La Jolla Village Drive and then onto the 805. Once we’re on the freeway, I open her up, hitting about ninety-five before we’ve gone half a mile. It’s a good car—fast and sleek, but also solid as hell. She did good choosing it. Not that I’m about to tell her that—she’d probably try to kick my ass all over again.
Not that I’d blame her.
Jesus. What a fucking mess.
“I want my books.”
“What?” I glance at her but she’s busy looking out the window.
“My backpack’s in the trunk. It’s got all my textbooks in it. If you’re really going to let me go, I want my books. They cost a small fortune.”
“Yeah, of course. You can get them as soon as we get to my shop.”
She nods, then gives a grudging, “Thank you.”
Shit. It just about kills me. She’s a college student, which means she’s younger than Lena and here I am fucking everything up for her. I’ve never been more pissed in my life—at myself, at Anderson, at the whole fucking system that somehow conspired to put the two of us right here, right now.
“How do you know I’m not going to go straight to the police and tell them all about you when you let me go? I mean, I have to report my car stolen so I can get the insurance money. Damn.” She closes her eyes, rocks her head against the back of her seat. “They’re going to love me. Two claims in two months—I’ll be lucky if they don’t drop me.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s inadequate, but at this point it’s all I’ve got.
“If you’re so sorry, then give me my damn car back.”
“Believe me, I would if I could.”
“Yeah. Right.” She sighs. “Whatever.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. I know I said I’d tell her what was going on once we got in the car, but the truth is, the less she knows the better. If she asks again, then I’ll tell her—at least part of it. But if she knows too much and Anderson somehow finds out, he’ll lose his shit—which won’t be good for anyone. He’s not the type to like loose ends and the last thing I want is for him to make her a target because I fucked up. I’d never forgive myself.
We pull up to Hotwired a few minutes later and the last bay is waiting for me, just as I instructed. My whole crew is there—Payton and Jace are doing a series of sweet alterations to a little Honda in the first bay while Sean and Ryan are in the second bay, customizing a Cadillac Escalade for one of the San Diego Chargers’ running backs. Personally, I think what he wants done is a little crazy, but he’s paying me almost a hundred grand to do it, so who am I to argue? Gabe’s in the third bay alone, retrofitting the engine on a small Toyota—the thing is going to fly when he’s done—and through the window into the main office, I can see Heath talking to the owner of the Ferrari currently hanging out in bay four.
The moment I pull into bay five and turn the car off, I’m surrounded.
“This is what Anderson wanted you to steal?” Gabe asks, staring at the Nissan incredulously. “Anyone could boost this car. Why’d he decide that he needed to blackmail you over it?”
“Probably because he didn’t want any screwups,” Payton tells him as she eyes the still-nameless woman next to me. “Looks like that hope went out the window.” She turns to me. “What’s Red doing here?”
“It’s a long story that we don’t exactly have time for right now.” I point at the huge clock on the front wall of the garage. “We’ve got three hours before I have to turn this baby over to Anderson.”
“Who’s Anderson?” the woman asks from the passenger seat.
“The asshole cop who got Nic into this mess,” Ryan answers as he reaches through the open window and pops the hood. “If we’ve only got three hours, we’d better get started.”
“Let’s go, then.” I walk around to the other side of the car, open the passenger door. After she gets out, I reach into the glove compartment and pull out the insurance and registration neatly stacked inside. “Jordan Bass,” I say, glancing up at her. “It’s nice to have a name to put to the face. Since I’m not allowed to call you sugar anymore.”
Payton groans as she slides under the car. “Is that your pathetic idea of flirting, Medina?”
“Leave my boy alone,” Jace tells her as he hooks up the car’s computer to diagnostics. “It’s not his fault he’s a little weak in the charm department.”
“Whose fault is it, then?” Ryan calls from under the hood, where he’s started breaking the engine down.
“I’d say Payton’s,” Gabe chimes in as he starts digging in the trunk. I reach in beside him and snag Jordan’s backpack.
“Mine?” Payton squawks from under the car. “How do you figure that?”
“You were his first girl. If you never expected better…”
“Fuck you, Martinez.” She slides a slender hand out the side of the car, middle finger raised for emphasis. “I was sixteen. I’m pretty sure I thought even you were cute back then.”
“I was fucking adorable at sixteen, thank you very much.”
Jace laughs.
Gabe sticks his head out of the trunk for a minute. “You trying to say something, Jace?”
“No, man. You’re right. You were absolutely adorable at sixteen.”
“The most adorable,” Ryan chimes in.
“The adorable-est,” Sean adds. “All six feet six inches, two hundred n
inety pounds of you.”
“You don’t have to be small to be cute and cuddly.” Gabe goes back to tearing up the trunk. “Right, Red?”
Jordan’s eyes go wide. “Umm, yeah. Sure. Absolutely. You’re the…cuddliest?”
“Hear that guys? I’m the cuddliest.” He pulls out the trunk lining, tosses it on the floor next to the tire. “I’m a fucking teddy bear. With buckets of charm.”
“You do know she was asking a question when she said that, right, Martinez?” Payton says from under the car.
“Shut up, woman. You’re just bitter ’cuz you never got none of this.”
“Oh, absolutely. That’s totally why I’m bitter. Because I’ve been deprived of the Martinez love machine for far too long.”
“Keep up the sarcasm and you’re going to be deprived of it forever.”
“Oh no, not that! However will I survive?”
They keep up the bantering as they continue taking the car apart—I’m so used to the back and forth that I barely hear it, but a glance at Jordan tells me she’s caught between amusement and concern. Which I take as an improvement since she’s no longer looking at me like she thinks I’m going to rape and murder her.
Baby steps and all that.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, ushering her over to a couple chairs at the side of the garage.
She’d probably be more comfortable inside, but I don’t trust her not to call the police the second she’s alone. And since the last thing I need is for them to turn up and find not only a stolen car but a stolen woman in my shop, she’s stuck sitting where I can keep a close eye on her.
“Or some food?” I continue. “The taco shop across the street is pretty good. I can send Lena over to get you something, if you’d like.”
“You want to buy me tacos?” she asks incredulously.
“It’s the least I can do considering my crew is currently breaking your car into thousands of little pieces.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. At first I thought you were running a chop shop or something.”
“And now?” I ask, grabbing a couple bottles of water from the fridge.
“Now, I’m just as sure you’re not.” She takes the bottle I hold out to her, eyeing me over the top of it as she takes a long sip. “Who’s Anderson?”
“Look, the less you know about this, the better it is for you.”
“Then I guess you should have thought of that before you kidnapped me, huh?”
Sean drops his wrench with a loud clatter. “What the fuck? You kidnapped her, Nic?”
I turn to find all five of them, plus Heath who has just wandered in, staring at me with varying degrees of incredulity. Even Payton has pushed herself out from under the car to glare at me. “More like I borrowed her for a little while.”
Jordan snorts behind me. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”
Heath lifts a brow at her. “With or without your permission?”
“Without,” Jordan tells him. “Definitely without.”
“Yeah, that’s kidnapping, then,” Gabe says, shaking his head.
“It’s not like I had a choice,” I say in my defense. “Things went to hell fast.”
“I would say so.” Sean goes back to taking the inside paneling off the driver side door. “Looks like you’re losing your touch, Nic. Getting a woman to come willingly is usually the least of your problems.”
“No shit,” Payton says with a sarcastic laugh. “Usually he can’t get rid of them for love or money.”
“You should know,” Ryan tells her.
She flips him off a second time before sliding back under the car.
“I’m pretty sure you guys have something better to do than ride me about this,” I tell them when I can get a word in edgewise.
“I don’t know,” Jace says from where he’s looking at the readout of the first-run diagnostics. “I would say that depends wholly on whether or not the cops are going to be beating down the door anytime soon to arrest us for aiding and abetting a kidnapping.”
It’s my turn to flip them off as Jordan laughs softly behind me. It’s a nice sound, one that has me grinning as I turn back to her. She’s relaxed a lot in the last couple of minutes and it looks good on her. Really good. Enough so that I can’t help teasing, “Still think I’m going to kill you and bury the body somewhere?”
“Kill you?” Gabe stands up so fast that he nearly hits his head on the top of the trunk. “You don’t need to worry about that, Red. Nic’s all Zen and shit. He won’t even kill a bug.”
“Yeah,” Ryan chimes in. “He ‘relocates’ them instead.”
“Is that what you did to me?” she asks. “Relocated me?”
“Only temporarily.”
She studies me, the look in her chocolate-brown eyes a strange combination of wary and intrigued. “I’m beginning to believe that.”
“You should.”
“We’ll see.” She sits down in one of the chairs, then gestures for me to sit next to her. As I do, I catch a whiff of her scent—a dark, musky combination of amber and night jasmine that has my dick hardening all over again. I remember smelling it when we were wrestling on the garage floor, but I’d been too busy trying to keep her from clawing my eyes out to pay attention to it.
Since that isn’t the case right now, I have to fight the urge to bury my face in her neck and just breathe her in. I resist the urge, though, since I’m pretty sure that would put me back at the top of her creep list. Just like I resist the urge to run a hand down her cheek simply because I want to know if her skin is as soft as it looks.
Shit. Maybe I do belong at the top of her creep list. It’s called Stockholm syndrome when a captive develops sexual interest in her captor. What’s it called when it’s the other way around?
Oh, right. A crime.
In an effort to get my cock to behave, I turn and watch my crew. They’re doing a good job dismantling the car, but then taking it apart is the easy part. Putting it back together in under three hours is going to be a little harder.
“So, are you going to tell me who Anderson is?” Jordan asks after she takes another sip of water. “Or why your friends are taking my car apart if you aren’t planning on selling it for parts?”
“I already told you—”
“Fuck what you already told me. If you want me to do anything other than go straight to the cops when you finally let me go, then you need to tell me what’s going on. And what comes out of your mouth damn well better be the truth.”
“It’d be better for you if it wasn’t.”
“Screw that. The truth is always better. Even when it hurts.”
Heath whistles from where he’s joined Payton under the car. “I like this one, Nic. She’s sassy and smart.”
“I’m sure Jordan is thrilled to have your approval.” I eye her curiously. “You don’t really believe the truth works that way, do you?”
“Damn straight I do. Lying causes way more problems than it solves.” She bumps the bottom of her water bottle against my chest. “The longer I’m here, the more convinced I become that none of you are the hardened criminals I imagined earlier. Which tends to make me sympathetic to your plight. So you might as well spill. Maybe it’ll keep you out of prison.”
“It’s a little late for that. I did seven years in Pelican Bay a while back.”
Jordan’s eyes widen at the mention of one of the country’s most notorious prisons. She doesn’t shrink away exactly, but the wariness is definitely back.
“For what?” she asks after a moment.
“Boosting cars. What else?”
She snorts at that. “No offense, but maybe you need to find a new hobby considering you’re not very good at the one you have.”
Strange as it is, I’m a little offended by her lack of faith. Especially since I’m a damn good car boost.
I tell her so and she very deliberately glances over at her car, then down at herself before looking back at me. She doesn’t say anything else, but
then, she doesn’t have to. The implication is obvious.
“Today’s an exception.”
“Is it really?”
“Yes! Why do you think Anderson came to me to do his dirty work?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” She lifts a brow and I’ve got a fucking problem because even that turns me on. Or maybe it’s the fact that, now that she’s a little more comfortable, I’m getting to see her very dry sense of humor. “And by dirty work, I assume you mean…”
“Boosting your car. Yes.”
“But why my car? I don’t understand why anyone would want it, especially as torn up as it is. That’s why I got such a good deal on it at the auction.”
“That’s what I keep asking myself. That’s why we’re taking it apart, trying to figure out what’s in it that Anderson could possibly want. It only makes sense that it has something to do with the auction—and the fact that it was impounded.”
“But why didn’t they get what they wanted out of it before the auction? It has to be easier to ransack an impound yard than it is to wait around to see if the ex-con you hired actually gets the job done.”
“He didn’t hire me.” My voice comes out a lot harsher than I intend it to, but that can’t be helped. “If there’d been another way out, I would have taken it. I didn’t choose to willingly steal from you.”
“I’m beginning to believe that. And I’m sorry—I didn’t mean anything negative when I said he hired you.” She seems sincere, but her face is so inscrutable that I can’t tell if she means what she’s saying—or if she actually believes me. At least not until she asks, “So if this guy is blackmailing you, what does he have on you that’s bad enough to have you doing this for him when you obviously can’t stand the man?”
“Yeah, well, what he’s got isn’t really important.”
“So that’s really how you want to play this?” she asks with a lifted brow. “Because you can tell me it’s none of my business, but don’t try to tell me it’s not important. Whatever it is, if it brought you out of retirement, I’m pretty damn sure it matters. A lot.”
“Really smart,” Heath says into the silence that follows her proclamation.