Felicia pulled into the West Street garage twenty minutes later. The multipurpose facility provided support to various businesses I owned. It also employed a handful of mechanics who serviced all company vehicles, as well as my personal ones.
Several sets of keys hung in the cabinet—trucks, vans, support vehicles. I turned to Julia. “Let’s see. What should we drive you home in?” I gave her a silly grin in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood. “You want a white service van branded asJoe’s Flowers and Gifts, or one withSmith & Sons Plumbingin bright red? It’s complete with a fake 1-800 number claiming 24-hour service. Or should we stick to the unmarked Ford Ranger 4x4?”
“Does it have a gun rack, oversized tires, and all the radio presets tuned to FM country stations?”
I laughed and agreed it probably did. “Or, here—” I selected a set of keys that were labeledNissan“—we’ve got a 2020 370Z in Chicane Yellow. The color choice for those times when being discreet is not an option.”
“Are you serious?” Julia’s eyes widened. “Why in the world would you have a banana-colored Nissan?”
“There are times when you want a spotter spotted. It’s a diversion. You put a country girl in a halter top—think Daisy Duke—and have her speed through a stakeout or slow down and wave at some cops who you need to take their eyes off someone else. Works like a charm.”
“And we’re all about being non-discreet right now?” Julia’s brows rose, like she thought I was crazy.
“I highly doubt our pursuer would be out looking for us in a car like this.” I walked over to the covered sports car and revealed it like I was Criss Angel pulling a velvet cover off a motorcycle. “Voilà! We’ll stick out like a—um—” I pointed to Julia’s ruined clothes “—hot sauce on a beautiful blouse.”
"It's silk. I'm sure it'll wash out."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah,totally. Let's get out of here. Seriously, I'm starving."
I opened the passenger door. “Let me take you to dinner?”
“As long as you run me home first to change clothes, you’ve got a date.”
“Deal.”
Julia stared at her ruined blouse with the kind of grief usually reserved for funeral announcements. “Nothing with hot sauce.”
“Wasabi okay?”
Julia got in and strapped on the seatbelt. “We’re in a banana-colored Nissan. If you’d suggested anything other than sushi, I was going to call a cab.”
I fired up the engine and eased out of the garage. Once on the street, I channeled The Fast and the Furious and smoked the tires. A grin spread across my face. Julia was sassy, sarcastic, and sophisticated—exactly my type.
Chapter 23
Julia
My head spun.
Someone tried to kill me tonight.
All I'd wanted after leaving work? Home.Fries. Netflix. Instead, I'd survived a high-speed chase with an assassin who'd targeted both me and Quentin.
We shared an enemy.
Something about this felt wrong—off in a way I couldn't quite pin down yet. But I would. I'd get to the bottom of it, even if it killed me.
But not without food in my stomach.
It seemed like Quentin knew where he was going. "You know my address?"
"It's on your résumé." He accelerated, the engine purring as we merged onto the highway. "I make it a point to know where key employees live. That fact might have saved your life tonight—I knew exactly which route you'd take home."
The way he handled the car—smooth shifts, perfect timing—distracted me from the fact someone had just tried to kill me. "I never learned to drive a stick."
Quentin shifted again. "It's fun." The tires screamed as he flew through the intersection right before the light turned red. "I'll teach you if you'd like."
