LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 2

      Almost three hours later, Stephen woke with the sun and a colorful vow to find something to cover the bare window on the back wall. He supposed he could board it up, but that seemed extreme for a temporary situation. He squinted at the window and considered planting a tree. That would have a lasting benefit even if it didn’t help in the short term.

      Short term, he reminded himself. Kenzie wouldn’t be in his trailer for long. She gave off independent vibes as bright as the sunshine glaring in his eyes. He sat up, scooping his hair back from his face as his bare feet hit the cool vinyl flooring. At least it wasn’t winter, when the freezing temperatures tried to climb right through the heavy-soled boots he wore in the shop.

      With no hope of more sleep, he decided to get to work. He grabbed clean clothes from the pile he’d brought over last night and headed into the bathroom wedged between the office and the storage room. The cramped space didn’t have an ounce of aesthetics, since clean, efficient and functional were all the design elements he’d cared about when he made the improvements.

      Back in the office, he punched the button on the machine to brew coffee, and checked phone messages. Disappointment crept in when none of the callers asked about the restored Mustang he’d listed for sale last week. It had been in rough shape when they found it at an auction. He’d warned his brother that particular car would drain time and money. At least he had a better distraction today.

      Turning, he opened the cabinet over the coffeemaker and pulled a foil-wrapped toaster pastry out of the box. Filling a stainless steel mug with fresh coffee, he carried it and the pastry into the shop and circled Kenzie’s disassembled car while he waited for the caffeine and sugar to kick in. The poor excuse for transportation put a knot in his stomach as he debated where to start. So many options, and the best choice might be scrapping it for parts. Couldn’t move forward on any of it until they discussed what she wanted. Please scrap it, he thought. It would be a public service.

      He drank more coffee, savoring the jolt of caffeine, and shifted his focus to the far more appealing 1967 Camaro SS. This was the car that got Stephen out of bed every morning since the client, Matt Riley, had dropped it off. A total rebuild, inside and out, and despite the need for fresh paint, about as far from Kenzie’s nondescript junker as a car could get. He’d cleaned every inch of the engine until a person could practically use it for a dining table, and now that the muffler was installed the Muncie four-speed transmission was ready for a second test drive.

      Inside the Camaro, the upholstery was in decent shape, with only a few repairs and touch-ups needed. Same with the body. Stephen wondered where Riley had managed to find such a gem and if he’d share the source.

      The Camaro wasn’t the only thing waiting on him, just the most fun. Finishing the pastry, he dusted the crumbs from his fingers and trashed the wrapper. Time to get busy. With a sigh, he turned to the car parked in the last of his four service bays. His sister Megan had dropped off her minivan for new brakes and fresh tires. Naturally, she was hoping he’d deliver it when they were all at family dinner tomorrow.

      Did none of them realize he could smell these setups a mile away? Megan and her husband could pick up the minivan as soon as he was done this afternoon. By insisting on making the exchange tomorrow, they made sure he couldn’t skip the dinner. He supposed he should be grateful for Megan’s willingness to go without her beloved minivan for nearly forty-eight hours. Given half a chance, she’d tell him to appreciate her devoted-sister sacrifice, but he recognized his mother’s influence at work. No one was better at keeping family together than Myra Galway.

      With more affection than gratitude, Stephen turned up the music and put the vehicle on the lift to knock out the single straightforward job on today’s agenda.

      * * *

      Kenzie came out of the recurring nightmare riding the hard wave of adrenaline and confusion. It always started with the same call to the row house fire. The same search protocol. When she found the victim, the nightmare shifted on her. The man was too heavy for her alone and the fire was burning too hot and fast, blocking every route as her team tried to reach her. The victim shouted at her, berating her until his throat went dry, yet none of his ideas was remotely plausible. Huddled in a corner, surrounded by smoke with flames marching toward them, she would wake up with the unbearable pressure of failure in her chest and the sheets tangled around her legs.

      She had not failed that victim. Randall Murtagh was alive because she’d done the right things. She’d pulled him out of a terrible fire with minor burns that were probably healed already.

      She tried to wriggle free of the sheets, nearly ripping them away before she remembered they weren’t hers. Her skin clammy with the sweat of the nightmare, she found herself registering other details. This wasn’t her bedroom. The space was too bright, the mattress too firm, and the scent of the laundry detergent on the linens was wrong.

      Scrubbing at her face, she felt the rest of her situation crash over her like a bucket of ice water. At least the last wisps of the nightmare were gone. She untangled her legs from the sheets and paused as a variety of sounds and smells drifted by her waking senses.

      For a moment she wallowed in the comfort and familiarity of clean motor oil, grease and new rubber tires. She heard the pulse of heavy metal music underscored by the whirr of power tools. All of it mingled with the promise of another hot and humid summer day in Philly.

      She straightened the bedding and then headed for the bathroom, which was almost roomy, considering the limits of the camper. Fifteen minutes later she emerged refreshed and feeling human again. Dressed in denim cutoff shorts and a T-shirt sporting the logo of a local microbrewery, she made a cup of coffee and tried to figure out what to do with all the hours between now and her shift at the club tonight.

      Her stomach growled, but she didn’t feel right about helping herself to Stephen’s groceries, despite his hospitality. Of course, with the loaner car he’d given her, she could restock his supplies easily. It still felt weird going through his cabinets for a bowl and cereal. She added milk and found a spoon in the basket of utensils on the counter. At the table she ate her cereal and used her cell phone to scroll through travel sites, looking for the best prices on decent motels near the club.

      She knew she was hiding from Stephen, and life in general, when she’d washed her dishes and caught herself reorganizing her backpack. Stephen deserved better from her. For that matter, she deserved better. The sooner she got out there and helped him with her car, the sooner she could be on her way. She shoved her bare feet into her tennis shoes and headed over to the garage to say thanks again and refine her plans to get out of his hair.

      The music crashed over her as she approached the garage through the open bay door nearest the office. Though her car was in pieces, she grinned, recognizing one of her favorite heavy metal bands doing a cover of one of the recent pop chart hits. She was about to follow the sound of an impact wrench to the other side of a champagne-colored minivan on a lift when the phone rang.

      Stephen didn’t seem to hear it over the tools and the music. Kenzie assumed he had a machine or service that answered calls for him. He might even have his calls forwarded to his cell phone during business hours. The phone kept ringing and, following impulse, she picked it up. “Galway Automotive.”

      “Hello?” a woman said, clearly startled. “Where’s Stephen?”

      Is this a girlfriend? “His hands are full changing a tire at the moment,” Kenzie improvised.

      “Who are you?”

      Not as much jealousy as speculation in those three syllables. “I’m Kenzie,” she replied, using her best polite-receptionist voice that she’d refined during her first week of administrative duty for the PFD. “May I take a message for him?”

      “Umm, sure. This is his sister Megan. I was checking

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