Page 32 of PenPal Hero

“We won’t stay that long. Promise,” Foster assured.

“We?” Holt latched on to the word, wondering who else his boss was referring to.

“Lyon Garrett will be with me. I believe you two have met?”

“Once.” Foster’s business partner had been out of town on a special assignment most of the time Holt had been working for the two men.

“Never mind,” Foster said suddenly. “Looks like I’ve got another appointment on the books that I forgot all about. We’ll have to meet with you some other time. Unless…” His voice grew muffled. It sounded like he was speaking with someone else in the background.

“Unless what?” Holt was impatient to get on the road.

“Unless you can hang tight right where you are for another five or ten minutes. We’re on the road right now, heading your way.”

Holt’s heart sank. “I can wait.” After a long day at work, he’d really been looking forward to, well, not working the rest of the evening. Hopefully, Foster would keep his word about not taking up too much of his time.

He buckled on a belt and grabbed his Stetson as he left his apartment. As he entered his shop, he could hear the pop of a horn outside the windows.

To his amazement, a tall, black armored vehicle was parked out front. It resembled a tank without the tracks. It boasted oversized tires instead, military-grade with big treads.

Foster and Lyon hopped to the ground. Both men were wearing solid black shirts, vests, and cargo pants. Their ball caps were emblazoned with the K&G Security logo. Lyon was beefier than Foster, with heavily tattooed arms that Holt had been told were to cover the burn scars he’d incurred while on active duty as a Marine.

Foster made it to the door first and rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

Holt pulled it open and ushered the two men inside. They glanced around curiously.

“Good.” Instead of greeting him, Lyon pointed through the glass of the door leading to the garage bays. “You’ve still got the Miata in the shop.”

“Yep. I’ll be tinting the windows on it in the morning.” Holt recalled including that bit of information in his email to Foster earlier.

Without answering, Lyon pushed through the door and strode to the car in question. He leaned over the windshield to peer closely at the bottom left corner of it.

“What’s going on?” Holt followed him.

Lyon straightened and rounded on him. “The serial number you gave Foster in today’s email is different from what’s printed on the car.” The note of accusation in his voice was unmistakable.

“You sure about that?” Holt didn’t believe him for a second. He was meticulous when it came to recording stuff like that. He stomped closer to the car to have a look.

“Whoa there, cowboys!” Foster chuckled as he jogged forward to step between the two men. He gave Holt an apologetic look. “Lyon is suffering from jet lag. It makes him cranky.”

“Overseas?” Holt was surprised to hear it. “I heard you were out of town, but?—”

“France,” Lyon barked unceremoniously. “Before you ask, I’ve been in Paris, and if you think I’m cranky?” He shook his head balefully. “Let me tell you, Parisians are not too fond of tourists. Especially Texans.”

“Cranky Texans,” Foster corrected in a stage whisper.

Normally, Holt would’ve found his comment hilarious, but he was too anxious to set the record straight. He turned on his phone and scrolled to the message he’d sent to Foster earlier. “Here.” He handed his phone to Foster. “You read along while I say the VIN out loud to check for accuracy.” He bent over the windshield and rattled it off.

“Read it again,” Foster commanded quietly.

Holt read it and straightened. “You satisfied now?”

Foster handed back Holt’s cell phone, looking grave. “Now would you mind reading the VIN you emailed me? Out loud, please.”

Holt accepted his phone. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Absolutely,” Foster agreed. “I’m about to get to that. Just bear with me a little longer.”

Holt read the VIN aloud again, this time from the body of his email, not sure what the problem was. He watched as Foster and Lyon exchanged troubled looks.

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