“What kind of problem?”
“This is a stolen car.”
White-hot anger burned like acid in my veins. But Jack was a cop, so I held it in check. “What?”
“I think the VIN number was cloned and the title faked to match. The VIN on the title is for a 1966 Mustang, registered in New Jersey. And this car is the same make and model as one reported stolen down in northern California that the feds have tied to this particular group.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You couldn’t have known. It’s a perfect forgery. These guys are sophisticated.”
A sick feeling spread through my gut and I met Jack’s eyes. Possession of a stolen car was a crime. “Do you have to arrest me?”
“No. There’s a clear paper trail that proves you didn’t steal it. I know the agent who’s working this case, so I gave him a quick call—totally off the record. The guy you bought it from is the one listed on the bill of sale?”
“Yeah. Shane Gallagher.”
Jack nodded. “He’s probably a middleman. My friend says he has ties to someone named Felix Orman. Does that name ring a bell?”
I shook my head. “Never heard of him.”
“Okay.”
“What’s going to happen to the car?”
The way he hesitated told me everything I needed to know. “They’ll have to impound it.”
I couldn’t keep my cool any longer. Turning around, I slammed my foot into a stray piece of metal, sending it crashing across the floor. An overwhelming urge to trash the entire shop flooded through me. I wanted to rip everything off the shelves. Take a sledgehammer and smash the fucking car to pieces.
“Fuck,” I roared at the wall.
Jack didn’t say anything while I raged. I ground my teeth together and took ragged breaths. I was going to lose the car. All the time and money I’d already put into it, fucking wasted.
And now I didn’t have anything to bring to the car show, let alone a build good enough to show the curators from the museum.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Jack said. “But I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”
I took a slow breath, still angry, but my temper was under control. “It’s not your fault.”
“The feds will be out here in the morning. I’ll be here to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
He gave me a nod and left.
With my hands resting on my hips, I shook my head at Eleanor. So close. I’d been so fucking close.
And now I didn’t know what I was going to do.
3
Fiona
The best part of this trip was the view.
Mountain slopes rose around us, rocky and beautiful, covered in patches of snow. Forests of evergreen trees blanketed the deep valleys and crawled up the mountainsides. We’d passed a waterfall a few miles back, and I’d been momentarily transfixed, wondering if it had been frozen all winter. How long had it taken for the ice to break free and the water to begin flowing again?
Although even frozen, water was always moving. Always going somewhere. Unlike me.
My father was quiet as he navigated the winding highway through the Cascades. His auburn hair had a sprinkling of gray, mostly at the temples, and his beard concealed a scar on his chin. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, revealing thick, hairy forearms.
A new song came on the radio. Almost without thinking, I started quietly singing along. I didn’t know all the words, but I hummed the parts I didn’t know.
“Do you have to do that?” he snapped.
Without looking at him, I shut my mouth, the lyrics dissolving in my throat. “Sorry.”
We were driving out to a shop in some remote town in the mountains to look at a car. I didn’t know if Dad wanted it for his personal collection or if he was going to resell it. He hadn’t bothered to clue me in, despite the fact that I basically ran his business for him.
Not that he acknowledged that. I was just an admin assistant. Even though I kept the books, worked with clients, and did all the scheduling, not to mention hunting down deals and finding rare parts to finish our custom builds.
That was my dad for you.
“We’re almost there,” he said, breaking his long silence.
“Really?” I looked out the window for a sign of civilization, but it was mostly rock and tall pine trees. We’d driven through a little town a while back—the kind that you’d miss if you blinked—but since then, nothing.
“The guy lives out of the way. Pain in the ass.”
“Then why go to him?”
Dad glanced at me. “He doesn’t realize how good he is yet.”
I wondered if that meant Dad thought he could low-ball him.
“What kind of car is it?” I asked.
“Sixty-nine Super Bee.”
“That’s a great car.”
The normally hard line of his mouth twitched in a small smile. “It’s a beauty. He hasn’t finished it yet, but it’ll go fast once it’s done.”
“And you want to make sure you get your hands on it first.”
“Exactly.”
If there was anything my dad loved in this world, it was cars. He’d been raised in his father’s garage and had grown it from a one-man repair shop to a much larger business. Now we did everything from custom builds and restorations to buying and selling project cars and rare parts.
And his personal car collection was his baby. He’d restored a few himself, but often he purchased finished or custom-built cars from other builders, especially when they had a make and model he loved. I got the feeling he enjoyed letting other people get their hands dirty before he waltzed in with a big wad of cash like a high roller.
I brushed my bangs out of my eyes. Unlike Dad, who wore his Irish ancestry in every one of his features, I had thick brown hair. I’d recently dyed it a deep chestnut brown. I’d gone inky black once, in my teens, but with my fair skin and hazel-green eyes, it had made me look like a corpse. Since then, I’d experimented with a number of shades, but this was my favorite. Especially since my hairstylist had added a few streaks of purple that came out in the sunlight.
Dad turned off the highway and followed a curving road that seemed to be taking us up to a higher elevation again. He slowed a few times, peering out his window into the trees. Finally, he apparently found what he’d been looking for. An unmarked dirt road that cut straight through the scrubby pines.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said he lives out of the way.”
Dad grumbled something incoherent.
The road climbed a steep incline and I started to wonder if it actually went anywhere. Then the trees opened into a wide, flat clearing.
Dad stopped in front of a large building with three garage bays. One of the doors was open, revealing the familiar sight of a custom car garage. But there was no sign, no big logo painted on the side of the building. Just the simplicity of shelves full of parts, tall red toolboxes, and a man crouched next to the frame of an old car.
Further back, almost behind the shop, stood a small house. Probably where he lived.
Dad got out of the car, so I followed, jumping down from the tall SUV. It was cold out. The air felt dry against my face, like it might freeze all the moisture right out of my skin. I huddled in my thick winter coat, glad I’d thought to wear it even though it was probably too big for me. It hadn’t been nearly this cold in Seattle when we’d left.
A large German shepherd appeared in the open garage bay and barked a warning.
Dad walked to the shop like there wasn’t a huge dog barking at him.
Despite the temperature, the man crouching next to the frame of a half-finished Dodge Super Bee wore nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, revealing thick tattooed arms.
And his hands. Was it a trick of perspective, or were his hands that big?
He glanced at the dog. “Sasquatch, quiet.”
The dog stopped barking, but didn’t ta
ke his eyes off my father.
Dad stopped a short distance from the open garage bay—and the dog—and crossed his arms. “Bailey.”
So this was Evan Bailey. I’d never met him in person, but I’d spoken to him on the phone. He sourced parts from us sometimes. He was known for being gruff and short with people, but he did good work.
Evan uncoiled to his full height—which was considerable—and leveled my dad with a hard glare. “Gallagher.”
My heart skipped behind my ribs. Something was going on. The look of menace in Evan’s eyes was unmistakable.
“Is there a problem?” Dad asked.
Evan’s voice was a low growl. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem. You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”
The shiver that ran up my spine had nothing to do with the cold. In fact, I was suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm.
Dad’s shoulders were relaxed, although he kept his arms crossed. “I’m just here to look at the Super Bee.”
“No.”
My eyebrows winged up my forehead. No one talked to my dad that way. Ever.
“Excuse me?”
“You sold me a stolen car.”
Dad’s eyes flicked to me for half a second, then back to Evan. “What car?”
“The ’67 Mustang. Let me guess, you had no idea.”
“I didn’t. I acquired that car from an associate and had every reason to believe it was a legitimate sale.”
“An associate named Felix Orman?” he asked.
My heart sank straight to my toes. That name. I’d never wanted to hear the name Felix Orman again.
Dad, no. How could you?
“Look, this is obviously a misunderstanding,” Dad said, his tone mollifying.
“Misunderstanding? Tell that to the feds.”
“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that—”
“No.” Evan’s sharp reply silenced my dad. “Maybe you didn’t know the car was stolen, or maybe you knew and didn’t think you’d get caught. I don’t care either way. I’m not doing business with you. Ever. So stop wasting my time and get the fuck off my property.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Evan. His thick muscles were tense, veins popping against the skin of his forearms. His sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw could have been carved from marble, save for the careless stubble roughing up that olive skin.
But it wasn’t his body that held me captive—impressive as it was. It was his eyes. Whiskey-brown pools glittering with unmasked anger.
He didn’t appear to have noticed me, which was a good thing, considering I was gaping at him like a crazy person.
“Word travels fast in this business,” Dad said. “It’s never a good idea to make enemies.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
For a second, no one moved. I forgot to breathe. Would Dad walk away? He turned his chin just enough to cast a glance at me.
“Sorry to have wasted your time,” Dad said, his tone indicating he wasn’t the least bit sorry.
Evan didn’t answer. For the first time, his gaze flicked to me. Those eyes reached straight into my chest, filling me with a strange sense of warmth. Which was so odd, because his eyes were ice cold.
Without a word, Dad went back to his SUV, clearly expecting me to follow. My breath felt trapped in my throat and my feet stayed rooted to the ground. Evan Bailey’s shop looked deceptively warm and inviting. A space heater hummed in the background and I could just smell the familiar scents of rubber and oil. He had a vintage Indian motorcycle parked off to the side.
Evan looked at me again, a groove forming between his eyebrows. He was probably wondering why the weird girl was standing in front of his shop, staring at him. That’s what I’d be thinking if I were him. But I wasn’t him, I was me, and I was thinking about the width of his chest and shoulders. The way his forearms flexed. The size of his hands. God, they were enormous.
“Is that a ’57?” I blurted out.
Evan’s brow furrowed deeper. “What?”
I pointed to the motorcycle. “The bike. It’s a ’57 Indian Chief, isn’t it?”
“Fifty-six.”
“Oh, I was close. It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks?”
“Fiona!” Dad snapped behind me.
Brushing my bangs out of my face, I gave Evan an awkward smile, then scurried back to Dad’s SUV and climbed in.
A sick feeling crawled through my stomach as Dad drove down the long bumpy road, away from Evan Bailey’s property.
Stolen car. Felix Orman.
Dad was supposed to have left that all behind. He’d promised.
“Don’t even ask.”
“But Dad—”
“I said don’t ask.”
His tone stole the words from my mouth, silencing me. It was never a good idea to argue with my father, especially when he was angry. And there was no doubt he was mad. I could feel it charging the air, crackling and potent. Dad had never struck me, but he knew how to lash out. And considering I worked for him, he was impossible for me to avoid.
I didn’t want him to make my life miserable for the next week, so I kept my mouth shut.
But… Felix Orman. Dad had worked with Felix back in his criminal days. When he’d used his shop as a front for moving stolen cars and car parts. After narrowly escaping prison, Dad had gone legit. He’d cut ties with Felix and all the others like him. Focused on running an honest business dealing in classic cars and rare car parts. I’d helped him build that business—helped make it successful so he’d never have to steal again.
He’d promised me.
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he said out of the blue as he pulled onto the mountain highway.
“You didn’t know the car was stolen?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “How the hell would I know that?”
I kept my eyes on the passing scenery. “But… did you get it from Felix?”
Dad didn’t answer right away. “Felix knows I don’t do that anymore.”
“I just don’t understand why you’d do business with him at all. If he told you the car was legit, he obviously lied—”
“Jesus, Fiona, let me handle this, okay? It’s not your problem.”
I shut my mouth again.
Maybe Felix had lied to my dad—convinced him the car was clean. A ’67 Mustang was valuable. Dad had probably made a good profit selling it to Evan Bailey. I could understand the temptation to believe him.
But why would he trust a man like Felix Orman?
Dad didn’t think I knew what it had taken to extricate himself from the criminal world, but I did. He’d almost lost everything. He wouldn’t take that risk again, would he?
I knew I was trying to rationalize why my father would go back to doing business with a known criminal. But the thought that he’d broken his promise and was getting involved in that world again made me sick to my stomach.
He couldn’t be.
“Stop worrying,” Dad said, his tone gentle. “This was nothing but a misunderstanding, and I’m going to clear it up. It’s not what you think.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
“I should have known not to come out here anyway. Evan Bailey’s an asshole. He does good work, but he’s a pain in the ass.”
“Sounds like most of the guys in this business.”
Dad cracked a smile.
Looking out at the passing scenery, I took another breath to relax the tension in my back and shoulders, and tried to think about something other than whether my dad was dipping his toes in the criminal world again.
It was surprisingly easy. Because suddenly, Evan Bailey flooded my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who’d told my father no. About those menacing eyes that, for a heartbeat, had seemed to see straight through to my soul.
4
Fiona
Humming along to the music coming through the wall of my apartment—at least my neighbor had decent taste—I tipped my red plastic
watering can, giving Myra a drink.
“You’re looking a little forlorn today, Myra. Are you getting enough sun? Should I move you closer to the window? Maybe you can switch places with Blanche for a little while.”
Yes, my houseplants had names, and yes, I knew how weird that was.
I moved Myra to the windowsill and put Blanche on the side table. “There. Blanche, you’re a tough old bird, you’ll be fine. Myra needs a little extra love right now.”
“Why do you talk to them like that? It creeps me out.”
I glanced back at the sleepy voice coming from the hallway. My best friend and roommate, Simone, blinked tired eyes at me. Her platinum blond hair was disheveled and she’d obviously slept in her makeup.
“You’re a ray of sunshine this morning.”
“I hate mornings. You know this about me.”
“Are you just getting up? We’re supposed to leave for work in five minutes.”
She shrugged, like it didn’t matter if she was late. As always, I ignored her casual disregard for her responsibilities. That was just Simone. I’d grown up with her so I was used to it. She worked with me at my father’s shop, and I was convinced he’d given her the job—and let her keep it—because he felt responsible for her. He’d been friends with her dad before he’d passed away. I figured giving her a job was my dad’s way of helping.
I sprinkled a little more water in Myra’s pot. “Well, I’m not waiting for you. I’ll just see you when you get in.”
“I’ll be late,” she said flippantly as she turned to go back down the hall. “I have a thing.”
Yes, she was a crappy employee—and she’d be the first to admit it—but we’d been friends since we were kids. And I didn’t have many of those. I’d moved around a lot growing up, which hadn’t given me many chances to form long-lasting friendships.
Plus Simone understood me in a way not a lot of people could. She knew about my father’s past and didn’t judge me for it. Her father had been involved. And we’d both lost our mothers, although for different reasons. She knew what it was like to be raised by a busy single father. Like me, she’d grown up in garages, among mechanics and gearheads. And, for a while, thieves. We had history.
Unraveling Him: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 3) Page 3
