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She’d rather die flipping a ’vette than end up stuck in a dead-end life.
“Fine,” he said. “Steal cars with your little gadgets, get caught and go to jail. But stay away from me or we’ll have a problem.”
“What? You’ll lock me in your basement again?”
“Or worse,” he grumbled.
She didn’t believe that for a second. If he were a bad person, he’d have killed her by now. Or at least threatened her with more than some vague, mildly violent words. She’d always been a good judge of character. Fox may have been as dodgy as she was when it came to the interpretation of the laws of ownership, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Just below the mask of intimidation he was trying to scare her with, there was kindness. She was sure of it. And even if he was as dangerous as he wanted her to believe, that would only make him more interesting.
“Over there.” She pointed to a lot behind the plaza where her junky Mazda sat. The white, dented-up beater ruined the image she wanted to project. Instead of saying “dangerous and important” like most of the cars in Fox’s garage, hers said “broke and unemployed.”
At the last minute, she pointed him toward a black Prius.
He parked two spots over then turned and glowered at her. “I’m serious, Addison. I don’t want you near me or my property again.”
“Yeaaaaah. I don’t take orders from you so . . .”
Slowly, she opened the door, keeping her eyes on his. Once outside, she leaned down and smiled through the open window. “See you soon, Fox.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Something about pissing him off seriously turned her on. She straightened and backed away and he drove off without another word.
