I curse under my breath and whip off a reply.
LEWIS:Show me the video?
DON:This is gonna hurt, dude.
LEWIS:Show me!!
The footage runs for twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-eight fucking seconds is all it took for them to steal my car.
“Look at that little bitch,” I hiss as the footage runs and runs, over and over.
LANE:Meet at RJ’s.
“Don’t sweat it, we’ll work this out,” Adam says as we head for the garage.
I snort. “You think? It’s probably in a whole other state by now.”
THE HANGAR DOORS HAVE BEENflung wide open, and we park outside the shop, waiting for Lane and Don to catch up before heading inside in silence.
The last time I was here, I was furious at Amy Hitman for hiding her midnight stunts from me. Compared to this, that was nothing.
When I call out for RJ, my voice catches in my throat, and I track the clanking and whirring until I spot his head popping out from under a raised hood. I glance up. Amy is flying down the stairs, stopping in her tracks when she spots the four of us standing there in a line. We must look like we mean business, because slowly, she tugs the headphones off her ears and stares at us, frowning. Scratch that—she stares at everyone but me, her gaze skimming right past me. She’s wearing the same red grease suit from the first time I bumped into her here, her cheek streaked with black, and as Adam and Lane introduce themselves, she gives the smallest of nods.
“Hey, kids.” RJ wipes his hands down on his pants, a worried expression flitting over his features. “Everything okay?”
I ball my fists. “Someone stole my car.”
“No fucking way. Where?”
“The college parking lot.”
“Today?”
“Yup.” Don holds up his phone. “At 10:41 a.m.”
“We literally tore the town apart, but nothing,” Adam explains. “We were hoping you could ask around. See what the word on the street is.”
RJ nods. “For sure. You were right to come see me. I’ll put some guys on it. Wanna share the footage?”
He glances at Amy, shooting her a knowing look.
“Mind grabbing my phone for me, Amy?”
Before she slips off to the office, she finally meets my eyes, and it’s like some of my anger dims despite myself. The way she’s looking at me right now is weirdly soothing—and I’m not sure I like that. I shake my head.
“Take a seat, guys. Let’s grab a beer and think this through.”
RJ hands us four stools and falls back into his threadbare armchair. I crack open a bottle, pressing the cool glass to my forehead as I listen to him checking out the footage, swearing under his breath.
Amy’s back in the room. She tosses RJ’s phone into his lap and leans against a workbench, and though she hasn’t said a word, her face is scrunched in thought. She loves cars just as much as I do, and I know that despite our argument, she understands exactly how this feels. RJ hands her Don’s phone, and she spends a solid minute watching the footage on loop.
“Okay,” RJ starts slowly. “So, there are two options here. Either some little bitch stole your car, in which case it should turn up soon enough.Or, this was a bigger bitch, in which case the problem is next-level.”
I stiffen in my seat. “Next-level how?”
“It could be classic-car trafficking. Does the guy look familiar to you?” he asks Amy, as if she’s an expert.
She probablyisa fucking expert, I remind myself. Just another one of her super sketchy hobbies. I mean, I’m having a hard time imagining her actually stealing cars—but nothing would surprise me at this point.
