––––––––
Sean returned to the garage a little after nine that night, feeling more uneasy than ever. None of the others (with the exception of his twin) seem to share his sense of foreboding, though they recognized his and respected it. Sean felt an irrational compulsion to return to the garage, as if whatever was going to happen would happen there.
He wasn’t surprised to see lights on in the bay with the Benz, or to hear the screaming death-metal wailing from the Bose in the corner. He’d known the Benz was going to be a real bugger, and had given it to Nick as something of a test.
He was a little disappointed; he’d hoped Nick would pick up on the problem and be done with it by now, but hey, the guy was still learning. It took Sean the better part of an afternoon the first time Mr. Thompson brought in a similar Benz years ago. And something definitely had the kid’s attention elsewhere the last week or so.
The car was raised about two feet above floor level, light spilling out from beneath. The familiar sound of metal on metal told him the kid was still working on it, but Sean smiled. He was working in exactly the right place.
Sean turned to head into the public waiting area to grab a Coke from the vending machine before he rolled up his own sleeves and gave Nick a hand. And walked right into Nick coming out of the waiting area with two cans, one in each hand.
The look on the kid’s face was priceless. Classic deer in the headlights. “Uh, boss, didn’t expect you back tonight.”
Yeah, no shit. The warning prickle along the back of Sean’s neck was a strong one; the sense of foreboding reached a fever pitch.
“Nick, who’s under the Benz?” His voice was low, dangerous. All of his employees knew that no one – absolutely no one – from outside was permitted in the work area. The last thing he needed was someone getting hurt by being somewhere they had no business being. It went hand in hand with the “nobody works alone in the garage” rule, the one Sean had been deliberately overlooking in Nick’s case.
Nick looked like he’d rather face a pit viper than tell him. For all of his usual bad boy image, Nick was looking more than a little uncomfortable. Of course, Sean’s natural badass persona tended to have that effect on most people, but until now Nick had proven to be relatively unaffected.
Which told Sean that whoever was under the car was really not supposed to be under there.
Without waiting for an answer, Sean walked over to the car and pounded on the side panel. “Get the fuck out,” he growled as he yanked the Bose plug out of the wall. A heavy thud beneath the car, followed by the sound of a wrench hitting the concrete, almost made him wince. He wanted to scare the guy, not give him a concussion.
Sean placed himself before the front of the Benz, feet planted hip-width apart and arms crossed to provide maximum intimidation while fixing his patented lethal glare. He blinked when the feet came out first. Instead of sneakers or work boots, the feet were covered in black leather boots with silver chains. And six inch spike heels.
Sean could feel the pressure in his jaw from where he ground his teeth together. Nick was letting a girl under there? A freaking girl? He turned his glower on Nick, who was growing paler by the second.
Familiar-looking blue coveralls began to emerge from beneath the vehicle. The boots were attached to legs that seemed to go on forever, followed by ample hips, lots of loose material around a probably small, flat waist, and, oh, sweet Jesus, breasts that filled out the coveralls better than he’d ever seen.
“What the fuck, Nick?” said a low female voice as the head emerged, a burgeoning telltale red mark on her forehead marring what was otherwise flawless skin the color of a white peach.
Not a girl. A woman. The woman took one look at Nick and followed his gaze to Sean. She should have been scared. Terrified even. She wasn’t. Her eyes might have widened a little. She might have run her tongue along her upper lip briefly. But there was no fear.
“This your boss?” she asked, inclining her head toward Sean as she stood up. The sky high stilettos put her mouth somewhere around neck level with Sean. Nick nodded.
She smirked, and Sean’s balls tightened painfully. At least now he knew the source of ominous foreboding he’d been experiencing. Outside he remained calm, but inside, his body was in full-scale riot mode.
“You’re right,” she said in that smoky, kitten voice. “He does look like a total hard ass.”
Nick groaned and closed his eyes. “Shut it, Nicki.”
“Excuse me,” Sean said, his voice even lower, deadlier than before. “I don’t think we’ve met.”