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“’Course she is,” he sighed, as his hand slid over the hood before releasing the lock and raising it slowly.
The penlight beam moved slowly over the engine, as Joe leaned in, checking around it and inside the fender walls.
“Finding parts for her was a bitch,” he said softly. “There are very few original parts left for this model. She’s a true classic.”
Yeah, yeah yeah. Maggie smirked. Joe was doing more than just checking for whatever Grant may have hidden, he was petting and caressing that damned engine as if it it could actually feel his touch.
“Do I need to leave the two of you alone?” she asked, keeping her voice at a whisper as he ran his fingers in and out of the maze of parts that made up the engine.
“You might want to look the other way,” he murmured. “She gets embarrassed if others see her naked like this.”
Maggie rolled her eyes again.
Finally, he straightened from the motor with a sigh before lowering the hood back into place.
“Nothing in there.” There was an edge of relief in his voice as he moved along the side of the car.
His hand smoothed over the top before trailing down the door and gripping the handle. “Do you know how hard it was to find completely original parts? How many years I spent putting her together perfectly?”
“Your dream woman, huh?”
“She doesn’t back-talk me.”
“She can’t get on the kitchen table with you, either. I’d remember that one if I were you.”
He turned back to look at her, and even in the dim glow of the penlight, his gaze was frankly sexual.
“Oh baby, that one is just set in stone,” he murmured. “You have nothing to fear.”
She rolled her eyes at him again as he turned back to the car, moving into it to begin searching the interior. Maggie drew in a deep breath, rubbing her hands against her arms as a nervous chill raced over her flesh.
The garage was damned creepy. There were too many shadows, too many places where someone could hide. She stared around the dark interior, her eyes struggling to pierce the darkness of the corners, the long shadows cast by the multitude of boxes, appliances, and only God knew what that had been stacked against the walls. If she wasn’t mistaken, she had even glimpsed the hull of an old motorcycle hanging high on the far wall.
“You’re a pack rat, Joe,” she muttered.
He grunted from inside the car, the shadow of his large body moving in the interior as he searched each nook and cranny. He was thorough, and though her freedom depended on finding the information, she was beginning to pray it wasn’t here. If it wasn’t here, then she couldn’t be implicated, and there would be no reason to fear Joe’s distrust.
Tucking the small handgun he gave her into the back pocket of her jeans, Maggie bit her lip and waited in nervous fear as Joe took his good ole, easy time searching. He worked his way from the passenger side, back to the driver’s side, searching under seats, along the sides, the carpet, the walls, anywhere
that Grant could have hidden whatever it was he’d hid.
As he knelt at the driver’s side door again, he ran his hands along the sides of the seat, pushing beneath it, then paused. She heard his muttered curse, heavy with bitterness, a second before he pulled a small package from beneath the seat.
“He cut my seat,” Joe muttered. “Bastard. It took me two years to find that seat.”
He sat back on his haunches, staring down at the dark package in his hands.
“Is that it?” She moved closer.
“Yeah.” His voice was heavy with distaste. “I pretty much bet this is it. Feels like a few discs, a video, pictures.” He felt around the wrapping. “I think we have it.”
The garage door opened abruptly.
“And here Santiago was certain our friend Grant was such a liar.”
The heavily accented voice was followed by four large bodies stepping into the garage, weapons raised, and their guns sure as hell looked bigger than hers and Joe’s.
“Down.”
