style="font-size:15px;"> “You sure?”
“Positive,” he said, the one word managing to convey his utter disgust that she’d even attempt to diagnose the problem. Geez-oh-peets, if ever she needed a reminder of why she didn’t like him, this was it. Funny, she’d forgotten how sexist he could be. That was why she’d taken great pleasure in waxing his doors when they’d been younger.
She glanced away, about to suggest something else, just to irk him. But the sight of a cord cocked at an odd angle as it sat atop the coil caught her attention, and despite herself, she squinted at it, because it sure didn’t look like it was on right. It wasn’t.
“Sooo,” she drawled, “I suppose the fact that that thing over there,” she pointed to a blue wire, “isn’t on right has nothing to do with it?”
It took a moment for her comment to register, and when it did, Blain actually started, shoulders stiffening, head jerking up.
“Of course, maybe you guys invented a new type of coil wire that I’ve never heard of.” She lifted a brow sarcastically. “Laser beam, maybe. Yeah, that must be it…lasers.”
Blain’s eyes narrowed.
Cece crossed her arms, feeling supremely smug as she stood there. Okay, it was luck that she’d just happened to glance at the coil, and luck that she’d chosen power as a possible diagnosis. But it was all she could do not to gloat as he looked in the direction she suggested, muffled an oath, then stormed over and popped the wire on right.
“Try it,” he muttered, straightening.
A crew member shot her an “I’m impressed” look, then came around the hood of the car, reached in and flicked the starter switch.
Cece just about jumped out of her boots as the engine roared to life. She almost glanced down to make sure the things were still on her feet.
“Holy shlamoly,” she cried, covering her ears.
Blain turned to her, shook his head, though she was positive he hadn’t heard her. Nobody could possibly hear her. She was a mouth with no sound coming out of it.
“Cut it,” he yelled over the cacophony, slicing his finger across his neck for added insurance.
Silence descended, silence so instant and so complete it was like walking outside after a rock concert.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling her fingers out of her ears. “I’ll send you the bill from my otorhinolaryngologist.”
“Your what?” Blain asked, and did she detect a hint of curtness in his voice? Could he be a bit embarrassed? Just a tad?
One could only hope.
“Ear, nose and throat guy,” she clarified.
The man that had started the car turned to her. “You just saved us a half hour of work.”
She smiled brightly. “Yeah? Fancy that.”
“Ee-yow,” the other crew member cried. “Blain, where’d you find this girl? Gorgeous and she knows something about cars.”
Gorgeous? Hardly. But she still blushed. Forever a dog in Cinderella’s clothing. “Thanks,” she said.
Blain glared at his crew again. They instantly went back to work.
“Wow. Impressive,” she said as Blain walked toward her. “Can you make them jump through flaming hoops with that look, too? I hear Circus Circus down the road is looking for new acts.”
His face didn’t loosen up one bit as he said, “You know, you are without a doubt the most irritating, frustrating, exasperating woman of my acquaintance.”
She smiled brightly, reached up and patted his smooth-shaven cheek. “Aw, gee, thanks.” She spun away.
“Where are you going?”
“Problem solved, so that means I can go on my tour, right?”
He just looked at her, then shook his head. And could that be…was the sky falling…might that actually be a bit of a smile on his face?
“Thanks for the help,” he said.
Her mouth fell open. An apology, too? From him?
“That was a good call,” he added.
She studied him through narrow eyes, watching to see if his own eyes flicked to the right as he searched the creative side of his brain. It was a way to glean if a person was telling the truth, and she unashamedly used it now.
His eyes darted left. “I checked that cord when I first realized we had a problem. Obviously, I must not have pushed it back in all the way.”
Ah, so this wasn’t actually an apology per se. Rather, it was a saving of face.
“I see,” she said, somehow disappointed. She turned away again, but he grabbed her arm this time, turning her back yet again. Gently, though.
“Wait,” he said, lifting his hand, his face in profile as he stared at the ground and shook his head. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to make excuses. You were right. I was wrong. Good call.”
He really was trying to act grateful. How…bizarre. She’d never had a kind word from the man.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
He nodded and it was then she realized that he hadn’t let go of her arm. He must have realized it, too, because he suddenly released her like a hot exhaust manifold. She knew exactly how he felt because it seemed as if she’d been burned by one herself. She almost took a peek at her arm as she turned away yet again, Blain falling into step alongside.
“You know,” she said—and she couldn’t believe she was going to tell him this. She really couldn’t. “I once tore apart a carburetor only to discover that I was out of gas the whole time.”
“You did?”
She nodded, suddenly feeling as red as a Radio Flyer. Jeesh, why’d she tell him that embarrassing thing? “I was an hour on the side of that road. You wouldn’t believe the number of guys that pulled over to help.” She looked up at him, realizing as she did so that she’d tried to make him feel better. Him. Blain Sanders. The guy who had scarred her for life more times than she could count.
Had she lost her mind?
Thank God her cellphone rang then, because she needed a moment to tighten the screws in her head.
“Blackwell,” she answered, forgetting for an instant that she was supposed to be a civvy and not a special agent.
It was Bob, and as usual, he was to the point. “Got a new suspect for you if this thing pans out.”
“Oh?” she answered, turning away from Blain.
“It’s Sanders.”
CHAPTER
