Part 3 (2/2)

My first stop was a thrift shop, where I bought a pair of coveralls. Then I had to go chasing for clothes that would suit a visit to Club Agonia's Blood Orchid Market later. That search took me all the way out to Candy's in Boulder. Every mile with the car threatening to stall if I went above forty. After that, I was downright eager to get fixing it.

It took way longer to find a suitable garage than I thought.

I'd bought a ten-year-old Ford from a guy who thought he was selling me a problem, with a price to match. I knew I had a bargain. The engine and drive train were sound. I knew what the problems were and I actually preferred the stick s.h.i.+ft. But I needed to replace the alternator and fuel pump, and to do that I needed a proper workplace and tools.

By the time I reached Aurora Car Services, time was running out. The other garages had turned me away or wanted too much. If this one went the same way, I'd lose my chance of doing anything this afternoon, and the problems needed fixing before the car gave up and left me stranded somewhere.

The garage was a small, clean operation with two car bays. One bay was empty-good. There was a Harley outside, a chop job, and well maintained-also good. As I walked in, I noted the tool cabinets, all full but for the tools being used. I hoped I'd get lucky here.

The guy spotted my shoes and emerged from under the Honda he was working on.

”Yeah?”

Not exactly a welcome. His hair was black and wavy-wild, his eyes dark and his chin unshaven. He was about my height, skinny and strong. Tattoos showed at the edges of his coveralls.

”Hi, I'm looking to rent a s.p.a.ce to work on my car, and tools.”

”What you got and what you doing?”

”Ford Focus. I need to replace the alternator and fuel pump. I should be able to do the alternator today. I'll have to come back for the fuel pump.”

”Just you?” he said suspiciously.

I nodded. He thought I was eye candy trying to get a good deal for my boyfriend. Flattering, sort of.

He strolled to the door to look at the car, wiping his hands on a rag. I followed.

”Great bike,” I said.

”Thanks. I'm Rom.” He stuck a hand out.

”Amber.” We shook.

He waved at the empty bay. ”Ten dollars an hour. Put the tools back where they come from. Pay for anything you break.”

”That's a good price.” I couldn't believe it. A frustrating day had made me as suspicious as him.

He shrugged. ”I think you gonna have someone watching.”

I raised an eyebrow. ”I'm not working with my s.h.i.+rt off.”

Rom grunted. ”Good to hear. Don't want nothing get caught in the engine. You get asked a couple questions, too.”

He walked away without saying anything more about it. Take it or leave it.

d.a.m.n, I had to get started on the car and there was no time to find another garage. Without a replacement alternator, my battery would be dead before I got another day off. I had to risk it. This garage was off the main drag and out of sight. But if whoever wanted to come and watch me fixing my car was going to try something, they'd find that wrenches could be used for twisting all kinds of nuts off.

I quickly had my Focus up in the bay. With my hair tied out of the way and the thrift shop coveralls protecting me, I went to work. I had time, as long as it went without a hitch.

Rom wandered in and out, pretending not to look at the tools I picked and how I was using them. Apparently satisfied, he disappeared back under the Honda.

I'd barely got the coolant tank and steering hydraulics stuff out of the way when I sensed I was being watched from the doorway. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, and shared Rom's gypsy hair and eyes. She was frowning at me. I mentally shrugged and got on with my task. At least, if that was the limit of my audience, I didn't need to be concerned.

As I started to loosen the bolts on the alternator, she appeared beside the car.

I ignored her and while my hands occupied themselves, I visualized the exit doors and fire escapes from Club Agonia. Getting in was a problem I'd yet to solve, but my safety, in the event there was something sinister inside, depended on being able to get out again. What if they had locked the exits-completely against regulations, but something clubs were known to do occasionally. There were large windows on the top floor and skylights. I liked the idea of getting out through skylights, but they would definitely be locked and they were more likely to be toughened gla.s.s. Take some explosives in?

”Why you doing that?” the girl asked. It came out as aggressive, in the way shy people sometimes are without meaning to be.

I gave a mental sigh. I needed to focus on my plan for tonight. ”Needs fixing,” I said, trying for a tone that was off-putting without being downright mean. My fingers kept moving, automatically double-checking that the wrench was sitting neatly on a bolt I couldn't see clearly, before I put any force on it.

With door security at clubs these days, I'd likely be searched. Not a good idea to take a gun in, but there were other weapons I might use.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the girl had screwed her face up with that adults-never-understand-me look. ”No, why are you doing it?”

”Doesn't fix itself,” I said. What was it to her who fixed my car?

The bolt was rusted hard and I found a length of pipe to give me better leverage.

”What about your boyfriend?”

Oh, for heaven's sake. She had really come all the way out here to tell me that I was doing men's work? I was close to snapping out a comeback about the 1950s being long over, but then I heard Rom snort with laughter under the Honda.

Ah. This was part of the deal I had agreed to. I stopped working and took a better look at the girl. She had a look I recognized from my Army days-young women yearning for someone to tell them how much bigger their image of themselves could become. It had taken something for her to overcome her shyness to talk to a stranger. The least I could do was stop being so wrapped up in myself. I could almost feel my army instructors watching me. The unit's master sergeant, Top, he'd be standing there in a parade rest, rocking forward onto the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and glaring at me.

Just not good enough, Farrell.

I pulled my head out from beneath the hood and looked at her squarely.

”I haven't got a boyfriend, and even if I did, I wouldn't ask him to do it.”

From the puzzled look on her face, my answer seemed to create a dozen more questions.

I tapped the alternator with the wrench. ”See this part?” She leaned forward and nodded. ”That's the alternator. It's supposed to charge up the battery, and this one isn't. If my battery doesn't get charged I can't start the car. It's a simple replacement and I can do it myself.”

I could see her thinking that through before she came up with her next question. ”Well, how come you know how to do it?”

”I learned in the army. Seemed a useful thing to know.” I snorted. ”Truth be told, it wasn't an option. Everyone in my unit had to know how to take an engine apart and put it back together again. You didn't get signed off until the instructor had driven it down to town and back. And heaven help you if it broke down.”

And, joy, the test cars were Fords like this.

”Women too?” she said.

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