Page 14 of Amber Gambler

After ending the call, I knocked my pace down to a brisk walk. I wasn’t going to find my Zen tonight with news of the girl stuck in my head. Plus, I would rather cool down before Harrow arrived if I was skipping out on fresh clothes. The idea I might leave a damp booty-shaped print on his seat mortified me. Sure, he had offered to bring a towel, but the saying wasbetter safe than sorryfor a reason.

When it came to Harrow, I already had plenty to be sorry about. Why not try being safe for a change?

Twenty minutes later, after I had bargained with Johnny for more story time as an apology for ditching them, Harrow arrived in a rusted-out Chevy Chevelle with fat whitewall tires. To say that I heard him coming from a mile away was being polite. More like three or four. The throaty growl his new car should have had was more of a phlegmy cough with a hint of deathbed rattle.

Careful of the door, wary it might pop off its squeaky hinges, I let myself in and breathed the scent of old car left exposed to the elements to molder and rust.

From the dampness seeping into my shorts, I grasped why Harrow hadn’t minded a sweaty rider.

The hand towel draped over the passenger seat wasn’t enough to stop my clothes from turning soggy.

“Well?” He brandished his hand across his cracked dash. “What do you think?”

“Chevelles are gorgeous cars.” I yelped when shutting my door caused the window to fall into the frame. “Uh, sorry aboutthat.” I searched for a seat belt, unsurprised it was missing. “Where did you find her?”

“Uncle Lyle owned some property over in Hardeeville. This was buried under leaves beneath a lean-to.”

Hardeeville, South Carolina, was less than twenty miles from Savannah, Georgia, making the trip a short ride across state lines. Had I found this car, sure, I would have been tempted to restore her. I would not, however, have driven her with my fingers crossed she didn’t drop parts behind her like a trail of breadcrumbs.

“She wouldn’t be the first barn find to still run.”

“I wasn’t that lucky.” He put the ornery car in gear. “I’ve been working on her.”

That explained why he rolled up to flash his questionable ride. He was proud of her. Of himself too.

“You’re a closet mechanic?” Knock me over with a feather. “I had no idea you were handy.”

“Hmm.” Humor seeped into his features. “Does this mean you’ll offer me a job?”

With three employees on the payroll already, even if they all took turns using Matty’s body as their own, I wasn’t hurting for help. Plus, not that he was serious, but it was asking for trouble to hire an ex. I would deserve any trouble that came my way if I welcomed him underfoot, which he might view, eventually, as being under my thumb.

“I’m joking.” He sobered after my awkward pause. “I don’t have time for a side gig.”

“It’s not that,” I lied through my teeth. “Do you hear a scratching noise?”

“Several.” He let me get away with the fib. “I’ll fix it later.”

Ah, yes.

The catchphrase of every budding mechanic with their first project car.

“Let me know if you get stuck,” I tossed out there. “Or if the restoration gets to be too much.”

“I’m tempted to ask if I qualify for the friends and family discount, but I don’t want to spook you again.”

“Oh, please.” So much for him buying my lame excuse. “I don’t spook easy.”

A low hum from him turned my head to stare out my window where he couldn’t see the heat in my cheeks.

As the car rolled to a stop, Harrow angled his body toward me. “How do you want to do this?”

Share a city? Work together? Be friends?

At my blank expression, he tapped under his right eye. “I can’t see the girl.”

“Oh.” I leaned forward. “Right.” I chewed my bottom lip. “Turn on your hazard lights and roll slowly.”

Tommy hadn’t been specific about the location, and La Roche Avenue was just shy of four miles long. To further complicate the issue, the avenue was a stone’s throw away from Skidaway River, Herb River, and Country Club Creek. That didn’t touch on the unnamed bodies of water, runoffs, and culverts.

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