Page 6 of Turn Up The Heat

He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

“I could give you eighteen for it, if you’re willing to part with the car today.”

Shane made a mental note to do a way better job of cleaning his ears. “Eighteen thousand? That’s it?” So much for subtle negotiating.

Louie frowned, his cheesy smile disappearing like fog in the sun. “It needs a ten thousand dollar paint job, Mr. Griffin.”

“And when it gets one, it’ll be worth forty-five grand,” Shane snapped.

“IfI can sell it. And that’s a big if. These Mustangs are popular, sure. But there are lots to choose from.” He swept a glance over the car that was more of a leer than anything else. “Twenty would be my final offer, and that’s a stretch.”

Shane knew that even though the offer was total bullshit, he had to take it. He had twenty-nine days and counting to figure out where that next loan payment was coming from.

Nope. He just couldn’t do it.

“Sorry for wasting your time.” Shane stood firm, eyes flashing over Louie’s in a way that suggested he wasn’t just playing hard ball.

The guy smoothed a hand over his greasy hair as if he was waiting for Shane to recant, then he gave up a humorless smile when he saw that it wasn’t going to happen. “Give me a call if you change your mind.”

As Louie’s Corvette left a cloud of gravel-turned dust in its wake, Shane leaned over the hood of the Mustang, palms against the quarter panel, head hung low.

Shit.

“I take it that didn’t go the way you wanted.” Grady shuffled out from the office, his timeworn face etched with fresh lines of concern.

Shane’s head snapped up. The last thing he wanted was for the old man to worry about his problems. “Guess not.”

“Look, Shane. I don’t meddle in your business. It’s not what I do. But maybe it’s time you—”

“No.” He’d rather sell his car a hundred times than go down the road Grady was steering toward.

Grady nodded once, resigned. “All right. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“It’s not going to happen, Grady. But thanks.” Shane stood up and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans. “It’s Friday. Why don’t you start your weekend a little early? Nothing’s doing here, and I’m just going to stick around to mess with the car. I can always call you if something comes up.”

“It ain’t even much past lunch, Shane. You tryin’ to get rid of me?” Grady’s chuckle lifted a smile out from underneath Shane’s crappy mood.

“Yup. You got me.”

“Just look out, would you? Meant what I said yesterday. This wind is bringin’ somethin’ with it. Might knock you on your ass if you ain’t careful.” Grady’s steel gray eyes glinted in the overhead lights of the garage as he served Shane with a boyish grin that defied his years.

“It’s going to take a lot more than some wind to knock me down. But if it’ll make you feel better, I promise to stay on my toes.” Shane skimmed a hand over his hair before turning back to the car, chuckling. “See you Monday,” he called out.

“Not if I see you first.” Grady flipped back his standard response from where he stood in the door. “And don’t stay too late, you hear me? Too much work’ll kill ya.”

“I’ll survive.”

As soon as the side door to the garage slammed shut on a gust of wind, Shane high-tailed it over to the radio. He didn’t have to flip through the stations to find what he was looking for; he just fired the thing up and it was good to go.

Nothing like Mozart to get a gearhead’s brain good and straight.

After forty-five minutes under the Mustang, Shane had all but forgotten about his shitty morning and the dilemma that accompanied it hand in hand. The parts of the car were like a puzzle in front of him, and he finessed each one right down to the smallest detail. They made sense to him in a way that nothing else did, lining up with gorgeous precision, flawlessly finding their way home under his hands…

A sudden blast of wind under the car rattled him down to his bones.

“Hello? God, please tell me there’s someone here. Helllloooooo?” The feminine voice shot through Shane like a chaser on the heels of the wind that brought it. He pushed with both feet, rolling the Creeper out from under the car so fast that he was momentarily dazed.

The woman’s face was pinched from the cold, and her blond hair flew around her in a wild riot of curls. For a moment, gazing at her from his upside-down position on the floor, Shane felt as if he’d been scattered to the four corners of the garage.

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