He checks the clock over the workbench and whistles for Waffles. “School's out soon.”
He says it like this is all normal; us walking to pick up my child together, and I should correct him. Instead I fall into step beside him. The town gets a good look: Lila from the diner and the club's mechanic, walking to the elementary school with the dog between them. I can practically hear the phone lines heating up. Rosie comes out of the gate and her eyes light up like the fair came to town.
"Did Mama get my estimate?"
“Paid in full,” Wrench says, and produces a strip of bacon from a paper napkin in his pocket. Rosie hands it to Waffles with ceremony. I look away and study the school fence, trying not to grin.
He walks us home. One hand light on the small of my back crossing streets, while Rosie tells him about long division and Waffles carries her backpack like sacred cargo. At my house he takes a canvas bag from the truck he's left parked out front, and inside the bag is a new deadbolt, solid and serious-looking.
“Landlord won't mind,” he says, in a voice which means there won’t be any discussion about it.
He fits it in twenty minutes while Rosie has her bath, and then he stands behind me and puts my hand on the thumb turn, his palm warm over mine, and works the bolt with me.
“You throw it every night,” he says, close to my ear.
At the door he pauses, and for a second I think he'll kiss me again, and my traitorous body sways toward him in open invitation.
“Goodnight, beautiful.” That's all.
Through the front window, the shop truck stays put at the curb.
It's still there when I turn off the kitchen light. Temporary, I tell myself, climbing into bed. Just until the car's fixed.
I fall asleep without waking up with a jump for the first time in months.
Chapter Six
WRENCH
I got maybe three hours of sleep, and I blame her entirely.
Striker took over outside Lila’s house from me at eleven, so I could get some rest. But every time I closed my eyes: Lila up on her toes in my shop, fistful of my coveralls, that soft mouth on mine and the little gasp she made against it.
I took a cold shower at midnight and another before dawn, and neither one did a damn thing. Months of wanting her at a respectful distance, and now I know what she tastes like. There's no walking that back: I don't want to. I can’t.
Hawk makes sure Lila and Rosie get to school and the diner safely while I work on her car. Prez calls while I've got Lucky's bike up on the stand and I put him on speaker, my hands covered in oil.
“Talk,” he says, instead of hello. Prison never wore the directness off him; the road hasn't either.
I give it to him straight. Stalker out of Lila's past, ex-con, sitting at the Carlton probably working out his move. Savage watching him, while me and the rest of the MC keep Lila and Rosie safe.
“She’s the waitress from Marvin's.” It's not a question. Prez has been out of state for a few months and he still knows what’shappening in High Vale better than the sheriff. “Does Lila know you're this deep in it?”
“Getting there.”
“Huh.” Impossible to tell whether Prez approves or not. “Keep it quiet and keep Savage on a tight leash. If it turns into more than a one man thing, you call me before you move.” Papers shuffling, somewhere far away. “One more thing. We're coming back.”
I straighten up off the bench. “When?”
“When we're done. Tell the brothers to air out the chapel.” A pause, and I can hear him deciding how much to say, always cautious about surveillance. “What me and Doc have been pulling on out here... the other end of it runs home, Wrench. To the valley.”
The line goes dead. I stand there a minute with the phone in my hand, the shop quiet around me.
“Well, that was ominous,” Lucky says from the doorway, where he's been openly listening. Hawk's brother, with a military pilot's habit of looking relaxed while clocking everything. He hands me the wrench I point at. “Speaking of ominous. You know those Lodge flights haven't slowed down any?”
“Rotmere still busy?”
“Affirmative. I'm flying more suits in now than I was in spring." He leans on the workbench while I work on his front brake. “And there's a woman. Fourth run I've done with her. Sharp, quiet, no luggage, books under a different name every time. Takes meetings at the Lodge and looks at my logbook a beat too long when she boards.”
