Trig sniffs. “He’s trying to tell us he wouldn’t have except Krissyforcedhim to.”
This shithead is calling my bluff. “I think she’s struggling for money,” I offer softly, attempting to cover my ass.
Sarah’s financial situation is absolutely none of my business and sure as hell none of theirs, but this conversation needs to be over pronto.
Cal’s gaze tips up to mine. He scratches his chin, covered with white whiskers. “She’s a lawyer and lives in a nice house. That’s her BMW parked on the end, isn’t it?”
My eyes snap tothem. I will kill these tattletales and move into this shop to run it every day by myself.
As if they can see the rage building, these assgabs suddenly have tasks to do and scatter like mice.
Cal stares at me, waiting for an answer. He’s like an old dog with a bone and won’t be letting this go.
I inhale slowly to de-escalate my temper while I reevaluate each interaction with Sarah and everything I witnessed, questioning my instincts. I come to the same conclusion. She’s struggling.
“Not everything is as it appears.” It’s all I’m saying.
I remember how my mom looked perfectly healthy and at the prime of her life when she told me she was sick. The CIA should employ moms. They can cover up shit no international spy would be able to pull off.
“Hmmm.” His gaze fades back to the guys. “I always knew you were smart.”
I turn to look at him, but he avoids eye contact.
“You adding tires, new brakes, and rotors when the bearing comes in?”
I exhale. “Yeah,” I offer quietly.
“You’re a good man, Slade. You’re a blunt bastard who might not know how to get out of his own way, but you’re one hell of a man.”
He slaps me on the back. “Don’t listen to these idiots. You’re doing just fine. This isn’t a race. You go at your own pace, son.”
He drops his bomb of wisdom and leaves me to help Carson with the belt.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket.
KRISSY: See you in fifteen for the first viewing.
“Shit. I gotta go.” I holler over the noise. “I promised Krissy I’d walk through a couple of apartments tonight.” And it gets me the hell out of here.
Carson’s head raises. “Where?” His tone is stiff.
“One is not too far from the house, and there’s a townhouse near the hospital.”
He grumbles something.
“Can you lock up for me tonight?” I ask him.
He nods, snapping the cover into position.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again.
SARAH: Hey, Fluffy Kitty. Let’s hold off on the brakes and tires for now.
I try not to smile at her constant nicknames, but it’s difficult.
ME: Ok.
It’s too bad I already ordered the replacements. What the confident, self-sufficient lawyer doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
