“Friend?Is that code for girlfriend? He’s married, isn’t he?”
“He’s married,” Rule said simply.
“So his girlfriend was driving the car, got in an accident, and he doesn’t want anyone to find out?”
“Not a girl,” he said.
I stared out the window, trying to put the puzzle pieces together.
“Oh, shit,” I said when they all clicked into place. I shifted so I was turned toward Rule. “Not a girl, then must be a boy. A male lover?”
His dark eyes cut to me, but he didn’t respond.
“How do you fix something like this? There’ll be an accident report, right? The car’s VIN recorded and all that. It’ll trace back to Rich no matter what, right?”
“I need to get a few things out of the car, then we’ll pay a visit to thefriendand ensure he understands the story he’s permitted to tell.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to rough him up.”
“I’m not.”
He sounded sincere, but I still had my doubts.
“Can I help?” I offered when he pulled up to the impound lot, which wasn’t so much a lot as it was a building. The cars were inside, which made breaking into it impossible.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Can you distract the guy at the desk?”
I glanced toward the building as though that might give me an answer. “Probably.”
“Good. Do that.”
I peered back at him. “Really?”
“Show me what you’ve got, butterfly.”
That nickname caused my belly to churn like a swarm of them had been stirred up.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and got out of the car.
I glanced both ways before crossing the street, adjusting my T-shirt as I went. I tied the bottom into a knot and bared my belly. I pushed the waistband of my jeans as low as I could get them before I sauntered into the building. I only hoped whoever was at the desk liked women; otherwise, my efforts would be in vain.
When I noticed two men working the desk—both older—I freed my hair from the ponytail holder, shook it out, then tucked it neatly behind my ears. It made me look more like a teenager, which was the goal. I figured there were two ways this could work. Either they’d find my youth and naivety endearing, or they’d find it hot. With men, it was difficult to tell which box they would fall into.
“Can I help you?” the younger of the two men asked without bothering to look up at me. I would peg him for his late thirties, maybe early forties. Not quite old enough to be my dad, but he could be someone’s.
Another guy was behind him, sitting in a chair with a book in his hand. Behind him were several monitors with security camera feeds playing on each.
Here goes nothing.
I cleared my throat and summoned my inner Monica, forcing tears to form on my lashes.
“My car…” I stammered and sniffed. “Actually, it’s my mom’s car … I wrecked it.” When they both looked at me, I amped up the drama. “She’s going to kill me. I can’t believe I did it. I just looked at my phone for one second and…” I let out a tormented cry and covered my eyes.
“Miss?”
