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“I see. So you’re special,” I said, and sighed when the waiter passed yet again without asking me if I needed a refill.
I did.
“More like unique. Rare. Especially with the color—I mean, how often have you seen one in Viridian Green around here? It’s so badass.”
“You know, I didn’t realize you were so into cars.”
“I mean, aren’t you? You probably have a hundred in a private garage, huh?”
Wrinkling my nose, I lifted my glass as the waiter passed by again, with no luck. “No. I have a driver.”
“You don’t have a car? Not even one?”
I shrugged. “Why bother?”
“Uh, because you can afford something killer. Because it’d be something of your own.”
“Guess it’s not really my thing.”
“Not really your—” Trevor’s gaze went toward the window to where the valet had parked his car so he could have a prime view watching over it. Which was all he was doing on this date. I hadn’t expected that.
“What the hell?”
The alarm in Trevor’s tone made me look out the window to see what the problem was. Maybe someone had looked at his car wrong.
A couple of police officers stood beside Trevor’s precious new purchase, motioning for the tow truck with amber lights flashing to back up to the front of it.
“Are they—” Trevor choked, his eyes darting around the scene in horror. “They can’t tow my car. Why would they do that? Fuck.”
As he shot to his feet and ran out of the restaurant, something niggled in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t place it. I watched as Trevor ran down the sidewalk waving his hands to get the tow truck to stop. He gestured toward the car and seemed to be pleading his case to the officers, but with the way they were shaking their heads, it didn’t look like it was working.
Well, shit. There went our night.
I was debating whether to get another drink, a double this time, or if the check would be better, when the thought percolating in my mind sprang to the forefront.
Wait a second.
Trevor had used valet when we arrived. Why would they park his car somewhere it could be towed? There were no other cars around getting towed?—
Because there wereno other carsparked nearby.
Because the signs above his Aston Martin clearly saidno parking.
But that didn’t make any sense. Clearly we needed to talk to a manager and get this all sorted with the valet drivers, because this shit was unacceptable.
Awareness slammed into me like a gunshot to the chest then, pinning me to my seat before I could move.
This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a setup.
I knew it deep in my gut, and no one could convince me otherwise.
It wasn’t the first or even tenth time I’d been to this restaurant, and who else had joined in on at least half of those visits?
Daire.
And who knew where we were going and what Trevor’s car looked like, down to the details?
Daire.
