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“Take these.” He shoved a beach umbrella into my hands followed by sunscreen and a picnic basket.
“What exactly do we need all this stuff for?” I ask, juggling everything in my arms as he put the strap of a pair of binoculars over my head.
“Surveillance.” He tossed a blanket onto the top of the pile and opened the door going into the garage. Clearly, I was the one that was going to be doing the grunt jobs, and with a sigh, I followedhim as he grabbed his coffee from the shelf he’d set it on and headed out the door.
He looks over the cars parked in the garage then looks at me. “Declan thought you should be eased into your first day. I don’t fucking know why, but I’m not the boss either, so we do what he says. Where is your hunk of junk?”
“My what?”
“The piece of crap you drove here with.” He raised his brows at me.
I could forgive a lot of things. I’m mostly a forgiving person, but not when they refer to my vehicle as a hunk of junk.
“Oh, you mean Nellie.”
He stands there looking confused. “Who the hell is Nellie?”
“My SUV, the Chevy Blazer that I backed into your tin can with, that never got a dent it it? That hunk of junk? It’s parked out front. Why?”
His one eyelid starts jumping, and for some stupid reason I feel the need to stop it with my finger. Perhaps poking him in the eye will give him a reason to be perpetually pissed off whenever he’s around me.
“Because we are taking it,” he said, walking over to a set of buttons on the wall. Pressing one, the garage door opened behind a black Caddy, andhe stepped outside.
“Why?”
He spun around, and I nearly collided with him. “Is that all you do is ask why?”
“When it concerns my belongings and the possibility of it being shot at, you’re damn right I do!”
“We are going to the beach, no one will be shooting at us.”
“Fine.” I shove everything I was carrying into his arms and dig out the keys from my front pocket. Unlocking it, I open the back door, and he drops everything inside. “Here.” I toss the keys to him. “You’re driving.”
Rory
She shocked me when she threw them at me. Normally my reflexes are cat-like, they need to be to outrun my mother’s dog all the time. But I never dreamed she would hand over the keys to drive her precious car, and that’s why they smacked me in the head when she whipped them at me.
Stooping down I hear her soft giggle as I picked them up where they fell then looked at her and sneered. Not intentionally, it just happens everytime I’m around her.
I walked around to the driver’s side and pulled open the door. “Good God, how much does this door weigh?”
She laughed at me and for some asinine reason it sounded like music to my ears.
“Believe it or not, it’s around 90 pounds,” she said with a smile. As if she realized what she was doing, that smile quickly fell from her face.
I turn away and look at the instrument panel, familiarizing myself with everything when she points and says, “The keyhole is right there.”
I look and see that it’s on the steering wheel column. “I knew that.”
I really didn’t, but she didn’t need to know it.
I stuck the key into the ignition and started it up and was momentarily stunned when it rumbled to life. “What the hell size engine is under the hood?”
“A 427 big block. It was a gift to my mother from Tomas err… my father.”
A sudden admiration for Tomas flashed through me. “No shit?”
She shook her head as I put it into drive and steered it down the laneway. “When he gave it to her, he said it was souped up to outrun the badguys. She outran him all right. Pregnant with me, she left him in the dust and never looked back.”
