Page 7 of In Spades

I sent the call to voicemail.

Spenser was pretty chill compared to some of the executive assistants I had the misfortune of interacting with. Still, I detested the formality of going through a gatekeeper to speak with someone. If Lawson needed something, he could call or text me himself like a normal human being.

As I eased out of the parking lot, a banged-up car in the gravel lot behind the inn let out a banshee scream. I slammed on breaks and whipped my head around. The driver smacked the steering wheel before flopping back against the seat. I pulled into the gravel lot and jerked the gearshift into park.

“Everything okay?” I called over as I hopped out of my truck. When the driver kicked open her door and stepped out, I realized it was the housekeeper from earlier, and smiled.

Probability, baby.

Kristin’s dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she got out and popped the hood. She’d exchanged her uniform for a ripped pair of denim shorts that hugged her ass, and a tank-top knotted at the waist. A strip of tan skin peeked out as the hem rode up. Her feet were in a pair of foam flip-flops that looked just big enough for a doll.

“Oh, Mr. Solomon?—”

“Please, call me Will,” I said, wincing as the sputtering car heaved like it was taking its last breath. “You need a hand?”

A waft of black smoke puffed out of the exhaust, and Kristin groaned.

I offered a sympathetic smile. “You know, it might be time to call the coroner.” I glanced at the watch on my wrist. “Time of death: quarter after five.”

She pressed her fingertips into her eyes and muttered, “This is the last thing I need today.”

“You want a ride?”

She looked around, and then at her phone, and then back at the inn. She was flustered and blinking back tears. “That, um, that’s very kind,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “I’m just gonna call a friend to come get me.”

There was no earthly reason for me to care, but it bothered me to see Kristin so flustered and upset. It ruined my day to watch her day fall apart, and I didn’t understand why.

I hated the idea of her sweating it out in the hellish million degree heat until a friend got here. And I didn’t want to leave her standing in a secluded parking lot by herself.

I cleared my throat to break the silence. “You know, I’m half decent with cars. I could take a look while you wait for your ride. Might be a quick fix, and it’ll save you a tow and a bill from a mechanic.”

Kristin shook her head. “You were on your way out...”

I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my jeans and shrugged. “I was just running out to grab something to eat. Getting some of that sunshine and fresh air, you know?”

Despite her steeled expression, the internal battle raging in her mind was obvious. I could see it in those anxious brown eyes. She wasn’t going to ask for help.

“You got any dinner recommendations?” I asked, distracting her as I moved to look beneath the hood.

Her brown eyes tracked my every step. They were cautious and untrusting. Not like I could make this pile of scrap metal any worse.

“Revanche is excellent,” she said, pointing to the big brick building across the street. “The food is amazing. It’s one of the best restaurants in the country. If you're feeling seafood, The Sanitary in Morehead is a local landmark. There are a few good spots across the bridge in Atlantic Beach if you want something with an ocean view.”

I chuckled as I tinkered with the motor. “I guess I err on the side of casual. I was gonna swing through a drive-through and grab a burger or something. Which one of those places is your favorite? Revanche?”

Kristin shrugged as she fired off a text. “I’m not fancy enough for Revanche. I’m friends with the owner and the pastry chef, so sometimes I get to be the guinea pig for new menu items.” She cracked a smile. “It’s a cool perk.”

“Any good local joints that won’t be filled with tourists?” I asked, continuing to assess the engine. Was that duct tape holding the alternator together?

She tucked her phone in the back pocket of her shorts and hunched over the engine beside me. “There’s a twenty-four hour diner a few miles away. Killer breakfast, and Ethel’s the sweetest. If you want burgers, fries, and cheap beer on tap, there’s a bar a little ways down Highway 101.”

“You drink there often?” I wasn’t so much looking for a recommendation as much as I was trying to figure out how old she was. Sure, her employee records could’ve told me as much. But for some stupid reason, I wanted to talk to her.

She peered over her shoulder as if she was waiting for someone. “Whenever I get a night off.”

I looked up from half-rusted engine parts and studied her cautiously.

A slow smile drew up her lips. “What?”

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