Page 11 of Live Love Steal
“Isobel, I know you’re lying. I don’t know why you think it is okay to take the day off before a major presentation, but I’ll tell you this—your job is on the line. If we don’t land that client tomorrow, I will hold you personally responsible. Send me the presentation notes. Now.” I glared at the phone for a moment. Then managed to compose myself enough to soften my tone.
“I sent them in an email at eight PM last night. I’ll resend if you don’t have them.” There. Helpful, but not too helpful.
There was a pause.
Sketch leaned in, concern pushing his brows together. He mouthed, “Dick” so clearly, I almost laughed. Then he surprised the hell out of me. “Ma’am, did you call for a tow?”
“Jamie, the tow truck driver is here. Did you get the presentation?” So what if I was lying? At this point, Sketch was my mechanical lifeline. There was no need to call a tow truck driver with a competent mechanic close enough to touch.
“I’m going to review these notes. Are you going to be available in an hour?”
“I’ll make myself available. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Make sure you answer.” The phone went dead.
“That man does not deserve you.” Sketch held out a hand to help me out of the car. I pocketed the phone and leaned on him to exit the car.
“If it doesn’t start, what then?”
“Then I call a tow truck. Griz owes me.”
“Griz?”
“He’s a road brother. He’s also on duty today at the junkyard. The one the Destroyers run.”
I opened and shut my mouth. Then settled on, “Thank you. I appreciate this.”
He moved me out of his way and curled into the car, sliding the seat as far back as it would go. He twisted his body around and hung a leg out the door to get under the column. One hard slam, and the rest of the key cylinder fell free, dangling by its wires. Sketch pulled out a USB cord from his pocket. “Hand me your key, please?”
I did.
He put it in the reassembled loose ignition collar and then twisted the exposed pin with the fatter end of the USB.
“This will work, but if you get pulled over, there will be trouble explaining it to the cops. You might want to take me up on calling Griz. We can get all of it fixed for you in a couple of days.”
“I don’t know if you overheard my conversation, but I need my car tomorrow. Big presentation.” I made a face while saying it like my boss had.
Sketch climbed out. “Your boss? He’s a douchebag.”
“Can you teach me how to start my car like you did?”
“I’ll do you one better. Follow me. I’ll fix it.”
“What if I stall out or…?”
“I’ll follow you.” He rattled off an address. I put it into my phone’s navigation app. “Wait here while I get my car.”
A few minutes later, a black SUV pulled up behind my car. Sketch rolled down the window. “You good?”
I nodded. He backed up far enough that I could pull out. Then he kept on my tail the whole way. I pulled into a half-paved parking lot between two buildings. Both looked abandoned. The one outside the fence was in better shape than the blocky, flat-roofed business attached to the lot. There was only one bay door that faced the street. Graffiti was scrawled across the wall facing the parking lot. It looked like a chop shop.
Not that I’d ever visited one. But I’d followed Dad around enough as a kid to know a garage when I saw one. “Is this where you work?”
Sketch grinned. “Work, eat, sleep…live, fuck, laugh… you name it. Come on in.”
I turned the cord dangling from my steering column. It worked just like my key. Sucky design. Dad warned me about buying one of these brands. He said they cut too many corners. Looking at the damage, I had to admit he was right. I locked the car out of habit. “Why did I do that?”
The broken passenger side window faced the street. Practically begging someone to finish the job.
