Page 4 of The Millionaire's Mechanic

Powell inclined his head. Georgia stifled a sigh. “I didn’t hear about his meeting from a bank employee. I don’t even know what bank we’re talking about. The men I overheard never mentioned it by name.”

“Convenient.”

Georgia scowled. “I’m not making this up. I overheard someone threatening to kidnap your boss.”

Powell leaned back with exaggerated casualness. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was enjoying this. “It’s an entertaining story, I’ll grant you. But there’s no way to verify your story.”

Georgia leaned forward, setting her cell phone on the table next to the magazine. “I recorded what I could.”

Powell blinked. “Oh.”

“I started my recording app after I heard his name. Mr. Torsten is a highly valued customer at Elite, so I recognized it.”

Bending forward, she pressed play. A man’s voice filled the air, the sound resonating in the tiled room where it had been recorded.

“…not going to be easy. Torsten’s a big guy so be ready with the stun gun,” a man was saying.

After a pause, a deeper voice rumbled, “Just handle your end, and I’ll handle mine.”

There was a shuffling sound and a grunt.

“Are you sure the guards will fall for it?” the first voice asked.

“It’ll work. This was planned by a genius, remember?” The tone was oddly sarcastic, but the other man merely grunted before replying.

“It better. His appointment at the bank next Thursday is the cleanest shot we’re going to have for weeks.”

There was more background noise, a muffled voice that came from outside the bathroom.

“Let’s go,” the man with a deep voice said as if he were spooked.

A squeak indicated a door being opened, then the sound of it closing. The voices faded, but the recording kept going because she’d been frozen on top of the toilet for an entire five minutes after—an eternity at the time.

Georgia pressed the stop button. “Sorry, that’s all I got. I missed the beginning. I didn’t start the memo app until after I heard his name.”

Mr. Powell’s eyebrow twitched. “Did you recognize either of the voices?”

She shook her head. “No, sorry, I don’t. I assume they are customers, but I spend most of my time in the garage during business hours. Sometimes, we see clients if we’re handing them their keys back, but we usually just park the cars in a designated section of the lot and leave the keys in the ignition. I’m not on the sales floor much.”

“Unless you’re cleaning the toilet.”

It wasn’t a snide tone, but Georgia bristled. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Except for Mitchell and Dale, the two head mechanics, most of the grunts in repair and maintenance didn’t see Elite’s well-heeled customers. Georgia had only caught a single glimpse of the elusive Rainer Torsten during his last visit—or, more accurately, of the back of his head. And the only reason she saw that much was because Judy had run out to the back to get her. The receptionist had a massive crush on the man, and she’d wanted someone to gush over him with. But Georgia wasn’t the type to moon over a stranger, much to Judy’s disappointment.

Aware that Mitchell would chew her out for taking too long for lunch, she swiped her phone off the desk. “If you give me an email address, I can send this to you.”

Powell raised an eyebrow, but he reached into his pocket for his wallet. He withdrew a small card with a phone number and email on it. It bore nothing else, not even his name.

She sent the recording to both, assuming the phone could play voice files, too. When a beep sounded, Powell took out his sleek cell, acknowledging receipt of the files with a crisp nod.

“And that?” he asked, gesturing to the magazine as he put the phone away.

Georgia lifted a shoulder. “One of the salespeople had that interview Mr. Torsten did a few months ago in her office. He mentioned some rare cars he’s always wanted. I think the owner was having her try to hunt them down, but Sam hasn’t had any luck yet. I happen to be restoring a ‘49 Talbot—one of the cars he mentioned. I thought pretending to sell it might be a good way to get a face-to-face, but after talking to you, I don’t have to see him.”

Powell put his phone away, considering her with those cold, dark eyes. “This could still be an elaborate story. The men on that recording could be your friends, helping you get Rainer’s attention for your song and dance about this Talbot you want to sell.”

Groaning, Georgia rolled her eyes. “Look, I read some nice stuff about your boss, how much he gives to charity. Samantha at Elite says he’s charming and has never hit on her—not that she’d mind. He’s a stand-up guy, by all accounts. That’s the only reason I came down here to warn him—and the car is not for sale.”

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