And for the first time ever, I felt dangerous to someone. I liked it.

“Can I help you, sir?”

A male voice to my left spoke up, and I turned my head. It was a young guy with red hair and a dark blue mechanic’s shirt. His name patch read “Josh.”

“Yes. I’d like you to pull my car into the garage.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, handing them over. “I’ve only been waiting forever.”

My tone was curt, but only because I knew it would fluster him and send him on his way. I was dealing with the girl, not him.

“Uh . . . ,” he stammered, wide eyed, but I wasn’t interested in conversation. I looked away, telling him we were done.

“Sure, absolutely,” he finally responded.

He took the keys from me and darted outside, probably knowing he wouldn’t have a hard time determining which car belonged to me. Not every person who drove a German car was a dickhead, but every dickhead drove a German car.

Hutcherson moved on, and I stepped up to the counter, staring at the girl as she stapled more papers and tucked them into a plastic sleeve with a set of keys.

“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm even though my heart was jackhammering in my chest.

“Hey,” she replied, not looking at me. “Just a minute, please.” And then she spun around, pushing a button and speaking into an intercom. “Can someone pull that Honda out? Pickup’s here.”

And then she slid the plastic sleeve onto a hook on the wall and twisted back around, finally looking up at me.

“Hey, I’m sor—” She froze. Her eyes widened, and I held back my grin, feeling the pulse in my neck throb as I waited for what she’d do now. She recognized me. The thin fabric of her T-shirt moved up and down as her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, and I simply watched her beautiful skin turn a delightful shade of pink.

She finally blinked, finding her voice. “Hi,” she said breathlessly, looking down and fidgeting with something on the counter. “Um, we’re actually about to close, sir. I’m sorry. One of the guy’s daughters has a birthday party tonight, and the other mechanics are leaving with him. We can schedule you for tomorrow if you like.”

I studied her, wondering how she thought she was going to just play this off. We both knew why I was here.

I knew I should take the out she was offering. I should leave and go home to wait for my wife and son.

But that wasn’t what I found myself doing.

“What about you?” I tipped my chin at her. “Are you a mechanic?”

But she just shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

I gave her a knowing smile and looked down at her hands, dark grease caked around her nails.

She followed my gaze and fisted her fingers, hiding them. “Maybe on a Buick or a Toyota,” she replied, “but you don’t want me messing with your fifty-thousand-dollar engine. Trust me.”

I smiled to myself, because she didn’t realize that she’d just given herself away. How did she know which car was mine? Had she seen me drive up?

Or rather, did she remember that she’d tried to steal it the other night?

“I just need an oil change.”

“Well, like I said . . . we’re closing early.”

“I’ll pay,” I insisted. “Double your rate?”

“She’ll do it.” Someone spoke up behind her, and I looked to see a middle-aged man rolling a tire past her.

“What?” she burst out, spinning her head around to glare at the man. “I have to get home.”

“Do it,” he ordered, continuing out to the garage, away from any further protest.

Must be her boss.

She turned back to me, a scowl marring her once-sweet face. And I finally saw the same temper I saw the other night when she hit me. I pulled out my wallet from the inside of my suit jacket and doled out three one-hundred-dollar bills onto the counter, not taking my eyes off her.

“Is that enough?”

She stared at the money—the money I knew she needed—as she no doubt weighed the risk of what was happening here. She didn’t know what I wanted—neither did I—but she knew I hadn’t called the cops yet, so there was a chance to get out of this. She also knew that if she sent me away, she lost control of the situation. Or whatever control she now had.

Her eyes finally rose to meet mine, and I saw a hint of mischief cross her pretty, young face.

She leaned forward, nearly whispering. “How bad do you want it?”

My fingers tightened around the wallet, and my stomach dropped a little, catching the taunting edge to her words.

Was she playing with me?

And I watched in awe as she reached over, smoothly swiped the three hundreds off the counter, and then plucked another hundred out of my hand, making it four. Stuffing them in her back pocket, she left me there and headed into the garage.

I didn’t even try to hide my smile. She had my complete attention.

Just for a while. Just for tonight.

• • •

I stood outside the garage, half-in and half-out, smoking a cigarette as the darkness shrouded the road and the surrounding woods, and watching her out of the corner of my eye. She raised my BMW up on the hydraulics and tucked a couple of tools into her back pocket as she walked underneath the car and bent her head back, loosening the plug to the oil above her.

A tune played on the radio, and it was hard to keep my eyes off her. Especially when she kept swaying ever so slightly to the music, probably without realizing it.