Page 3 of The Millionaire's Mechanic

She’s probably some crackpot. But Rainer’s curiosity was piqued. And that was a bad sign. He had been living too quietly if some office crasher was enough to get him to drop everything to listen to Powell’s interrogation.

Yeah, I need to get out more,Rainer thought as he made his way to the small security office—a satellite of the main hub on theground floor.He’d been a hermit for the last year and a half. He rarely went out—not to his favorite restaurants or the theatre. No parties. Not even to the fundraising events hosted by the many charities he supported.

No wonder Powell was bored out of his mind.Rainer wasn’t much better.

The girl was cuter on the high-resolution monitor in the security office.

“Turn the volume up,” he told the woman manning the control panel.

His timing was perfect. Stewart was just hitting his stride.

CHAPTERTHREE

The head of Rainer Torsten’s security was only a head taller than her, but Georgia knew appearances were deceiving. This man, who introduced himself only as Powell, was infinitely more dangerous than the much larger one who’d deposited her in this room.

It was the way he moved… as if he were seconds away from leaping over the table in a slick ninja maneuver. There was also the way he sat, with the sharp edge of watchfulness practically flaying her skin open as he paced in a half circle on the other side of the table.

“Why don’t you take me through it again?” he asked, pausing and cocking his head to the side in a move that echoed theTerminator in ‘T2’.

Georgia gave him a tight smile. “As I told you before, I work at Elite Motors.”

She scratched her nose, and Powell’s mouth pulled up at the corner. Sighing, Georgia took a crumpled napkin from her pocket. After she found a clean spot, she wiped her face. The smear was thankfully small.

She shrugged. “I’m the low man on the totem pole in the mechanics bay. I mostly do oil changes or deal with the occasional carburetor problem. Some light bodywork.”

Powell waved her on, telling her to get on with it.

“Anyway, being the newbie means I get stuck doing the crappiest jobs—literally. Like helping clean the showroom bathroom when the janitor calls in sick or there’s an unexpected mess outside of their work hours.”

It hadn’t always been quite so bad. Yes, she was the newest hire and the other mechanics had always assigned her the worst tasks, but when her foster brother had worked there, he’d watched out for her. Mack had made sure they rotated their duties, so she wasn’t the one stuck scrubbing the toilets every time. He also made sure she’d had the chance to work on some sweet rides that challenged her skills.

Things were different now that he was gone.

She cleared her throat to dispel the sudden tightness. “Some VIP’s kid had stuffed an entire roll of toilet paper down one of the commodes right after opening, making it overflow. Since the janitors only come in just before closing, I was the one tapped to clean it. I was standing on the toilet when I heard the men talking.”

“The pair who made the threat?”

She nodded. “Yes, they were talking about their plan and when to grab him.” Georgia grimaced. “At first, I didn’t know who they were talking about, but then they mentioned Rainer Torsten by name.”

Powell pursed his lips, appearing to consider that. He sat across from her. “And why were you standing on the toilet?”

That confirmed it.He thinks you’re full of shit.

She clenched her jaw, straightening her spine. “There’s a cabinet over each stall. It’s where we keep the spare rolls of toilet paper. I can’t reach it without standing on the lid.”

Her height was a curse. Georgia was the shortest employee at Elite. Even Judy, the receptionist, and Samantha, the only female salesperson, towered over her.

Powell still studied her as if she were a paramecium under a microscope. “Other than his name, was there any other details you can share?”

“They mentioned having a chance to grab him on Thursday, outside the bank. Does that mean anything to you?”

The man’s face darkened. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Torsten does have an appointment at a financial institution next Thursday.”

The words came out hard and clipped. It might have been her imagination, but the room suddenly felt colder, as if Powell had suddenly turned into Mr. Freeze. The cold wafting from him made her want to squirm.Someone just cranked up the AC. Stop being silly.

“Mr. Torsten’s schedule is not known to many,” Mr. Powell continued in that same clipped tone. “We keep it confidential for safety reasons. Unfortunately, we can’t always guarantee the people we meet will do the same.”

She frowned. “You think someone at the bank told me about his appointment?”

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