Part 11 (1/2)
Yes, I was dead tired and needed to sleep, but after my day with Knight, I knew I wouldn't be able to. ”Sounds good,” I said with a deep sigh.
”I'll see you both soon,” Quill answered. Then he apparently remembered something. ”Your father had one of his cars s.h.i.+pped to the empty warehouse at the loading docks. You can take it home tonight, but just be sure to park it somewhere where no one will notice it; and make sure no one's around whenever you're getting into and out of it.”
”I'll park it in the Vons lot around the corner,” I said. ”And I'll go for incognito when I'm driving it.”
”Yeah, that sounds good,” he answered quickly and then paused for a few seconds. ”Are you okay?”
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that no, I wasn't okay by any stretch of the imagination, but held myself in check. ”I'm great.”
Twelve.
After I got off the phone with Quill, it suddenly struck me as odd that Christina was coming to pick me up-mainly because it wasn't like we were friends or anything. I shrugged the concern away, though, figuring Quill was just nervous about me using my ANC bike on Melchior business. And when it came down to it, it would be an opportunity for me to grill Christina for information, and find out exactly how close she was to my father.
Christina rang my doorbell precisely thirty minutes after I hung up with Quill. This time, she was dressed in dark blue jeans with flared legs, white sneakers, and a white T-s.h.i.+rt, which made her natural olive complexion look even tanner. She didn't have a speck of makeup on, not even eyeliner or mascara, and even in this most natural state, she was still very pretty. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, which I immediately noticed because I'd always had an aversion to wearing my hair up and revealing the points on my ears. Apparently Christina wasn't a self conscious fairy. Point for her, I guess.
”Hi,” she said in a chipper voice as she poked her head in my entryway, scanning my house nosily. She pulled her head back out and offered me a heartfelt smile. ”Cute place!”
”Thanks,” I grumbled as I eyed her jeans and sneakers again. ”You were lots taller last time we met.”
She laughed and shook her head. ”Those were my Sam Edelman's. Pretty hot shoes, don't you think?”
I couldn't argue because they were hot. ”Yeah,” I managed to squeak in reply.
”You saw me in my work attire; usually, I look like this,” she said, glancing down at herself, and shrugging like ”what you see is what you get.”
”Much more practical,” I commented, noting that I was wearing an outfit almost identical to hers. She seemed to notice it too and smiled at me in response.
”My dad always said not to get all dolled up every day because if you do, people will always expect you to look that way; but if you get dolled up every once in a while, people will really notice how beautiful you are.”
”I like your dad's advice,” I replied, locking the door and closing it behind us.
”It's good advice.” She started down the walkway with me at her side.
”Thanks for picking me up,” I chimed, feeling like I needed to do my part to seem sociable and friendly, especially since she was so gregarious. And you know what they say about catching flies with vinegar ...
”Sure, Quill wanted you to be able to drive the car on loan from Melchior, so it made sense for me to pick you up.”
I hadn't thought of that. Guess my brain wasn't working on all eight cylinders. 'Course, I'd had all of, what ... four hours of sleep in the last few days? It was a wonder my brain was even working at all.
”Yeah, that does make sense,” I said and watched as she whipped out her car keys and beeped her remote, unlocking the doors to a lifted, black Jeep Wrangler which was covered in mud. ”You drive a Wrangler?” I asked in awe, suddenly finding respect for her. I mean, there are cars, trucks and SUVs, and then there are Jeeps.
She opened the driver's side door and sort of launched herself up and into the seat, something which probably sounds comical but somehow she managed it with the grace of a ballerina. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite as polished and bashed my knee into her glove box. She raised her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I were okay. I just nodded and buckled my seatbelt, watching as she pulled her door shut, turned the engine on, stepped on the clutch and put the Jeep in gear. It was even a stick-s.h.i.+ft. Another point for her.
”Yep, I'm a Jeep girl. Sorry about the mud, but I took it off-roading the other day and still haven't found the time to wash it.” She pulled into the street and looked over at me again. ”I can be a huge procrastinator.”
”Do you go off-roading a lot?” I asked, finding myself naturally drawn to her. It was sort of hard not to because she just seemed so much ... like me.
”Yep, the bigger the rocks and steeper the hills, the better,” she said, coming to a stop at the end of my street, and casting me an impish smile. ”Live like there's no tomorrow, right?”
I just nodded ... I'd basically lived by that mantra the majority of my adult life. She took a right on Lucky Street and downs.h.i.+fted as my eyes roved over the inside of her Jeep-it was almost exactly the same as mine had been. ”I used to drive a Wrangler, myself,” I said, lamenting the loss of my most favorite vehicle. ”It was canary yellow.”
”You wanna know what's funny?” Christina laughed and shook her head, as her eyes narrowed on me. ”I totally pegged you as a Jeep girl.” She also apparently knew her way around my neighborhood because she took all the back streets, apparently good with this incognito stuff.
”Well, I was a Jeep girl,” I said, pausing to allow myself to reminisce. ”That was before I had an accident and totaled it.”
She shook her head. ”I'm sorry.” Then she focused on driving, following the hairpin turn of the street. Once it was straight again, she turned to me. ”Did you take yours off-roading a lot?”
”A few times,” I said with a sigh, feeling my exhaustion gaining on me. I yawned, covering my mouth with my arm and then tried to shake the feelings of fatigue right out of my head. It didn't work.
”You gotta get some sleep, you know?” Christina said as she arched a brow at me. ”You can't go all day and expect to go all night too.”
”Tell that to Quill,” I answered simply as I stretched my arms over my head and relaxed into the seat.
”I will.” She came to another stop before turning left and jumping on Highway One, which led to the loading docks. As if suddenly unnerved by the silence in the car, she reached over and turned her CD player on. It was like the wrath of Hades was unleashed when the speakers blared a loud array of tantric beats. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the noise rattled the speakers.
”s.h.i.+t!” I yelled, trying to calm my heart down as she reached over and lowered the volume. ”I'm awake now, that's for sure!”
Christina giggled. ”Sorry.” She pushed the ”forward” b.u.t.ton on the face of the CD player, sparing me further torture.
”Do you like punk rock?” she asked with an amused smile.
”I don't know. Name some groups.”
”Um, Pennywise?” she answered. Before I had the chance to respond, she added, ”Here, this is My Own Way and it's one of my favorites.”
Then, without waiting for my response, she turned up the volume as a barrage of drums and guitar a.s.saulted me with a beat so fast, I felt like we should have been head-banging.
”I also love Bad Religion!” she yelled over the singer's voice and started nodding her head while slapping her hand against the steering wheel in time with the beat.
Even though our tastes in music were miles apart, the thought struck me that if this situation had been different, Christina and I might have been friends. Why? Because so far as I knew her, I liked her-an independent woman carving her niche in a male dominated industry, refusing to take no for an answer. And even though we were on separate sides of the moral spectrum, I couldn't stop myself from liking her. There was just something about her that made her easy to like. She was definitely the type of person I would enjoy spending time with-she wasn't afraid to get dirty and had an affability about her that was refres.h.i.+ng.
It was a d.a.m.n shame she worked for my father.
Once the song was over, she turned the volume down and glanced over at me with a smirk. ”So, what'd you think?”
I shook my head. ”I consider myself lucky to have survived it.”
She broke into a giggle, which was quickly reduced to a smile. ”Oh well, I guess it's an acquired taste.”
”You think?” As soon as I felt like I wanted to laugh, I changed the subject. I mean, there was no point in becoming friendly with her when things couldn't end well. I was now, more than ever before, convinced that I had only myself to rely on if I were to get out of this s.h.i.+tty situation. Who knew where that left Christina? Instead of making useless small talk, I should have been grilling her for information. ”So how long have you been working with my father?”
The smile vanished from her lips, replaced by a pensive expression. She rolled her eyes, as if trying to remember. ”Um, I think maybe six years now.”
”Wow,” I said, surprised it had been so long and disappointed all at the same time. I wasn't sure why, but I was hoping she was a new recruit, unaware of what she'd gotten herself into. Obviously such was not the case.
”Have you been working for your father your whole life?” she asked.