It isn’t until she opens the door and starts to climb in that I notice something’s off with the tilt of the vehicle. I glance down and immediately see the cause.
“Evelyn, wait.” She looks at me in question as I hunker down near the front wheel on the driver’s side. “You can’t drive this car anywhere right now. The tire’s flat.”
And the closer I look, I realize the tire hasn’t just gone flat.
It’s been deliberately punctured.
I run my fingertips over the deep, inch-long slit in the rubber that’s been made near the rim and the hair at the back of my neck rises.
A knife caused this hole. And whoever wielded the blade in broad daylight, chose to make the puncture in a way that wouldn’t be readily detected. But who—and why—someone chose to disable Evelyn’s vehicle out of all the other cars in the lot is a question that begs a fucking answer.
And this seemingly random incident on top of the recent peculiarities at L’Opale makes my combatinstincts prickle with foreboding, even dread.
“What happened to my tire?” Evelyn steps around the open driver’s door to see what I’m looking at.
Since I don’t want to alarm her before I have more facts—and definitely not before I have a chance to alert Beck to my suspicion that something is very wrong here—I stand up and insert myself between her and a clear view of the tire.
“I’m not sure yet, but it looks like it’s in bad shape. You’re going to need a new one.”
She frowns. “There’s a donut spare in the back.”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to drive home on that. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the tire. But first, I’m giving you a lift home.”
I step away from Evelyn and call O’Connor. “Yeah, it’s me. I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” she says, no hesitation at all.
“Cover for me for about an hour. Andrew Beckham’s sister’s got some car trouble, so I’m going to run her home. Anything comes up in the meantime, call me.”
“No problem, Gabe. You got it.”
I end the call and slip my phone into the pocket of my jeans. I can’t help giving the lot a surreptitious visual sweep as I settle my hand on the small of Evelyn’s back. “Let’s get you out of here now.”
12
~ Evelyn ~
The drive from the Bronx to my apartment building on the Upper East Side takes about half an hour. Riding next to Gabe in his Lexus almost feels like we’re coming back from a date, especially after the electrically charged moments we shared back at the zoo.
I still feel the current of awareness rolling off him as he smoothly changes lanes ahead of the traffic light at my block of East 86th. It still lives inside me too. I glance out the passenger window and bring my fingers to my lips on a silent sigh. If his friend O’Connor hadn’t walked up when she did, I have no doubt Gabe would have kissed me right there in front of the Thomson’s gazelles and anyone else who happened to look our way.
It stuns me how much I wish he had. How much I still want him to, even though he’s gone from tender andsexy to all-business in the time since he discovered my flat tire. Maybe he’s relieved to have an excuse to avoid talking about what almost happened between us. Then again, he doesn’t strike me as a man who requires an excuse for anything he does or doesn’t do.
Right now, his focus seems rooted solely on getting me home and getting back to his job. Since we’ve been in the car, he’s kept our conversation limited to directions to my place and a brief update on equipment and installation timelines for L’Opale’s new security system next week.
“After I drop you at your apartment, I’ll head back to your car and take care of it for you,” he tells me, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and glued to the road ahead of us. “Do you have anywhere you need to be between now and Monday?”
“No. I’m going out tomorrow night with some friends, but I’m not driving. My friends are picking me up.”
He grunts, still not looking at me. “Where are you going?”
“Some new club in the Meatpacking District. It’s only been open for a couple of weekends. Melanie and I have never been, but our other friend, Paige, can’t stop raving over it. The club’s in a converted warehouse, so it’s got a massive dance floor and the top deejays in the city. Supposedly, there’s also a VIP room with a twenty-grand cover fee, unless you’re accompanying a member as their guest. Anyway, I don’t care about any of that. I’m really just going so I can hang out and have fun with my friends.”
He nods, jaw tense, but I can’t tell if he’s actually listening. I’m sure my plans for a girls’ night at a noisydance club makes for riveting conversation in his opinion, but hedidask.
Rounding the corner onto my street, he says, “I should be able to have your car back in your hands before Monday. I’ve got a cousin who owns a garage in the Bronx. The flat shouldn’t take him more than an hour or so to replace, then I’ll see about having the car brought out here to you once it’s fixed.”
“You mean delivered?”
