Riley grumbled, twisting to make sure she was correct. Nope, she didn't have the right tool.
It was late at night and all the guys had gone home so she couldn’t call out to one of the other mechanics and ask them to hand it to her. Damn. With a sigh of aggravation, she pushed herself out from under the car. Shoving her long ponytail out of the way, she crawled toward the toolbox and rifled through until she found what she was looking for. Loud, thumping music filled the garage from where her iPhone was plugged into its port on top of one of the tool benches.
Turning back toward the ‘69 Camaro, Riley adjusted her lamp and prepared to slide back under. This baby was a thing of beauty. It called to her from the moment it entered her shop, which is why she was still working on it at 2:00am. If she did it up right she’d be able to turn a pretty profit on this little sweetheart and take Cilia on vacation. They desperately needed some bonding time.
The music switched off and a deep voice reverberated through the darkness of the garage. “I’m looking for Mr. Bancroft.”
Riley froze for a few precious seconds before her head snapped up, judging the distance between a shadowed man and the gun in her toolbox. He stepped forward into the circle of her light, closing the distance between them. Riley’s heart slammed against her ribs as his face became visible and she recognized the most ruthless man in the city. Soloman Hart, mafia kingpin, was standing in her garage, staring down at her with cold intent. He now stood directly between her and her gun. Not that she thought it would do any good against a man like him.
Riley felt incredibly small and grimy next to his large, well-dressed frame. She sat crouched on the concrete beneath him, wearing her usual tank top and grimy, oil-stained overalls with the top left to hang down. Her shiny, dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore no make-up.
He seemed to be looking her over, taking in every inch of her with interest. Her eyes narrowed in return. She was used to guys staring. She was a thirty-year-old female mechanic, working in a garage full of men. She looked younger than she was and knew she was attractive. Definitely fantasy material for some guys. Which is why she tended to work in the office and on cars in the back, well away from the clients. Very few people knew who actually owned the garage.
“How did you get in here?” she demanded, pushing herself up and standing to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than him. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. She had a damn good security system or she wouldn’t have been alone in the shop blaring music in the middle of the night.
He ignored her question and raised a dark, thick brow. “Mr. Bancroft?” The single question sent a chill down her spine, letting her know that the next words out of her mouth better be an answer, because Soloman Hart was not a man known for patience.
