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I raise my palms in front of me, coming closer to him. “I was right behind you and saw your car smoking. I just thought you might need some help.”
He eyes me suspiciously, his hands going under his jacket and showing me his gun again.
“I’m a cop,” he uses as a threat. Something to warn me off. “Don’t do anything funny, bud.”
“Whoa, okay,” I chuckle, stopping a few steps from him. “I was just checking on you. Your car’s broken down.” A beat. “At night.” My pause is longer this time, letting the fear sink into him. “All on your own.”
His face falls, but he shakes his head. “I’m fine. Go back to your car.”
Flashing him a reassuring smile, I nod. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I’m a mechanic, so I’ve got a few things in the back.”
He hesitates, and to push him, I take a step back and turn around, slowly walking to my truck.
The second I wrap my hand around my handle, he calls out, “Yeah, I might need a hand with this.”
My gaze crosses with Elliot’s, his smile chilling.
I turn around, my eyebrows raised.
“I have to admit”—he massages the back of his neck—“I’m not much of a mechanic.”
“Hey, man, you protect our town.” I smile brightly. “To each their own.”
I make sure my gaze doesn’t leave his as I go back to him. Everything I’m doing is reassuring, but the way in which I’m doing it is making his instincts ring alarm bells in his head. Too bad for him, he needs me.
I lean over his hood, checking the smoking. “Ah, it’s your transmission fluid, pal. I can fix that in no time.”
I have no idea what the fuck I’m saying.
“Let me grab what I need from the truck.”
“Thanks.” He’s still not fully relaxed, eyeing me like I’m hiding something.
I am going to torture and kill him, to be fair.
I grab a heavy-duty wrench from the back of my truck and make sure to hit the end against my palm as I come back. His confusion shows. His instincts are screaming I’m dangerous, and yet I’m just a nice citizen trying to help.
“Alright, let’s have a look.” I bend over, loosening bolts, tapping random shit and pretending I’m fixing the fucker’s car.
“You know”—his chesty laugh rumbles as he finally relaxes—“for a second there, I thought you were some sort of psycho following me.”
I laugh. “No way?”
“Yeah. I could swear you’d been following me for ages. I almost called my colleagues for backup.” He whistles. “Thank God I didn’t.”
I straighten up. “Ah, that. No, no, you were right. Iwasfollowing you.”
His brow furrows, unable to process.
“And I am some sort of psycho.”
He barely has time to understand what I’m saying before I swing the wrench, hitting the side of his head.
His body goes down with a thump, and I feel a smile creeping onto my face.
This is going to be fun.
It takes both Elliot and I to put him in the back of the truck.
