Chapter 3

The screech of the tow truck's brakes shattered the silence. Ricky backed the rig into the center of the garage and dropped the Maybach onto the concrete with a heavy thud.

Pierce winced. "Hey! Watch the undercarriage, you animal!"

Allison ignored him. She grabbed a heavy black toolbox and walked to the front of the luxury car. She shoved her fingers under the edge of the hood and forced it up.

A massive cloud of boiling white steam exploded from the engine bay.

Allison didn't flinch. She didn't step back. The scalding mist washed over her face, her expression completely dead.

Graham stood three yards away, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes locked onto her.

She pulled on a pair of thick rubber gloves and plunged her hands into the burning maze of V12 engine wiring. Her fingers moved fast, navigating the components like she'd built them herself.

Ten seconds later, she pulled her hands out, peeled off the gloves, and tossed them aside.

"The ECU overloaded," she said coldly. "It locked the fuel injection system."

Pierce scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. "You didn't even hook up an OBD scanner! You expect me to believe you diagnosed a computer failure by looking at it?"

Allison didn't waste breath answering. She reached into her toolbox and pulled out a massive, solid steel hammer. She weighed it in her hand.

Pierce's eyes bulged. He lunged forward. "Are you out of your mind? Put that down!"

Allison didn't look at him. She swung her arm back. The heavy hammer sliced through the air, missing Pierce's nose by an inch. He stumbled backward.

Without hesitating, she brought the hammer down.

CRASH.

The steel head smashed into a pristine metal shielding plate deep inside the engine bay. The plate shattered, exposing a cluster of melted, blackened wires hidden underneath.

Pierce stared at the burnt wires, mouth hanging open.

Graham's breath caught. His top engineers in Washington needed hours and a million dollars in diagnostic equipment to find a fault like that. She found it in ten seconds.

Allison dropped the hammer. It clattered against the concrete. She grabbed a pair of wire cutters and a spool of thick copper wire.

She stripped the wires with her bare hands and twisted the copper together, bypassing the burnt circuits. Sparks flew, biting into the skin of her wrists. She didn't even blink.

Three minutes later, she ripped a piece of electrical tape with her teeth and wrapped it tight. She stepped back.

She looked at Ricky and jerked her chin toward the driver's seat. "Start it."

Ricky swallowed hard, opened the door, slid in, and pushed the ignition button.

The Maybach's engine turned over instantly, settling into a smooth, powerful purr.

Pierce walked around the front of the car, eyes wide. He checked the dashboard. No warning lights. He looked back at the girl.

Allison peeled off the rubber gloves and threw them on the bench. She walked straight up to Graham and held out her hand, palm stained with fresh motor oil.

"Double the price."

Graham looked at her hand, then up to her face. The corner of his mouth twitched.

He reached into his jacket again and pulled out another stack of bills. Instead of dropping them into her hand, he pressed the money firmly into her palm.

His thumb deliberately brushed against her skin. He felt the thick, hard calluses at the base of her fingers. Calluses that didn't come from turning wrenches.

Allison jerked her hand back. Her eyes flashed.

"Watch your hands," she hissed.

Graham held his hands up in mock surrender, but his eyes were entirely serious. "Skills like that are wasted in a place like this."

Allison shoved the money into her pocket. "None of your business. The car runs. Get out."

Pierce stepped forward, his tone shifting into genuine respect. "Seriously, what's your name? If this thing breaks down again, I'm calling you."

Allison turned her back to them and waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. She didn't give them a name.

Graham got into the back seat of the Maybach and rolled down the tinted window, his eyes burning into her retreating back.

As the car pulled out of the dirt lot, Graham pulled a heavily encrypted satellite phone from his pocket and dialed a secure line.

"I want everything," he ordered, voice cold. "Pull the background on the owner of the Pine Creek garage. Every breath she's ever taken."