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Chapter Two
Booker’s Restorations.
Sloan Booker finally got it. Why his old man had been so proud of this small business. Seeing your name on a building did give one a kind of chest inflation, even if you secretly resented every minute you were forced to spend there.
His glance took in the immediate surroundings. The big old tree from the back of the place loomed over the roof, swaying in the island’s breeze. The paved driveway recently redone that circled the area looked clean and classy. As did the front of the shop they’d remodeled to widen the windows, paint the exterior and install new garage doors.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the stray again. It was like the tabby kitten had his sights on Sloan and had decided he’d be his owner. Blasted animal showed up no matter how many times Sloan put the run on him. He couldn’t bring himself to be too fierce with the green-eyed cutie but cats made him sneeze. It was as simple as that. If one happened to be in his vicinity, he’d be using Kleenex, eye drops and suffering.
With a hiss, he shooed the little monster away, feeling slightly pissed at the sorrowful glower from his nemesis. “Sorry, kitty, go find someone else to schmooze. I’m allergic.”
Slightly unsettled, he gathered his patience, squared his shoulders and walked into the newly renovated vehicle restoration shop. No one was around and that gave him a few minutes to survey the setup.
While his father had been alive, it had been an old barn of a place, with crap everywhere and corners so dark one never knew what critters might be lurking. The smell of entrenched oil mixed with diesel—a fire hazard for sure—had been enough to make one gag. Most of the equipment had needed upgrading, all the old machinery tossed except the pieces that Les had rescued.
The complete renovation had taken months, plus all of Sloan’s savings. But it had been worth it. At least now he didn’t dread coming to work most mornings.
Not true.
Maybe it wasn’t the same as being an FBI agent, when he’d been totally involved in his work, but it paid the bills. And more important, it kept his two gray-whiskered caretakers working and earning wages, which had been his priority for keeping the place running.
On the days when his talent for detailed drawings to restore cars and trucks was called for, usually when the team first took on a new restoration project, then time passed quickly. During those periods, he came close to being happy, or at least satisfied.
As soon as he turned on the overhead lights that flooded the newly-laid, pale gray-floored room, he noticed that everything had been neatly organized in Roy’s area, including his multitude of stacked tool boxes, his old ones having been changed over to the modern dark-gray style with drawers and cubbyholes for all his equipment. This orderliness didn’t surprise Sloan.
Neither did the ungodly mess left scattered of dirty rags, paint spills and crap everywhere in Lester’s corner. That old man was a slob, no other way to describe him. Shaking his head, a grin hovering, Sloan headed to the updated alcove where there was a small lunch area and, best of all, a coffee machine.
As he got closer, he smelled the Kona beans brewing and knew Les had beaten him there. The old reprobate still got up early most mornings so he could go surfing before work, one of the fringe benefits of living in Hawaii’s key island of Oahu.
It had been way too long since Sloan’d joined Les in one of his favorite pastimes. The old surfer had taught him how to ride the waves almost as soon as he could walk and he’d loved every minute. He’d have to make the time.
He grabbed a mug, filled it and headed to his workplace. As he approached, the back of his neck itched, making him damned uncomfortable. He heard voices. Slowly lowering his cup, he picked up a tire iron and slunk to his office door.
When he’d arrived, the garage had been locked tighter than an old widow’s house after dark. Which made him question how people could have gotten in there?
What’s going on?
He listened at the door to the faint rustling of clothes and a chair’s creak. His body tensed, readying itself for action. Suddenly a female voice whispered from close behind him.
“Something wrong?”
