Page 48 of My Beautiful Sin

“We both thank you.”

“You’ve seen that movie at least a dozen times.”

“True. But she’d never seen it.”

“Well, well,” I say again. “And as for Carlton, isn’t he your—how did you put it? Stress relief hookup? Are you telling me going out with Tracy, ah, relaxed you?”

“On the contrary. When I left her, I was still very tense. I look forward to working on that.”

“Wow.” I’m grinning as I grip the wheel.

“I know…”

“Me and Devlin. Brandy and Christopher. Now you and Tracy. Our little trio is spreading our wings.”

“From what I know about me and Tracy, and what I’ve gathered about Brandy and Christopher, so far you and Devlin are the only ones doing any wing spreading.”

“I’m just lucky that way.”

“I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed,” Lamar says. “Not even when I thought he was a dangerous asshole.”

I glow a bit, knowing that the cavalier remark betrays a new acceptance. “So what do you think of Christopher?”

Lamar shrugs. “He’s a thriller writer whose hero is a detective. What’s not to like?”

“Brandy’s certainly happy. And he has the Jake seal of approval,” I add, thinking about the way Jake pads after him, begging for head scratches and belly rubs. “So I guess he must be a good guy.”

“He’s smitten at least.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I think it’s sweet.”

“So do—shit. That’s the exit. I told you not to let me navigate. Christ!”

I cut across three lanes of traffic as Lamar belts out a string of curses.

“Next time I drive,” he growls. But I just grin. My blood’s pounding, I’m with one of my best friends, and I’m on my way to get answers.

Despite an absentee boyfriend, a bust at our first two stops, and last night’s creepy text, I’m actually feeling pretty damn good.

The mechanic who fixed up Shelby, Leon Ortega, still works from the same Thousand Oaks location that’s on so many receipts in the glove box. And from the look of the place, he’s been at the same location since about the time that Henry Ford rolled out his first vehicle.

“So you’re Peter’s niece,” he says, extending a calloused hand with surprisingly clean fingernails for someone who works all day on vintage cars. “Nice to meet you. Was sorry to hear about your uncle. He was a good man.”

“I appreciate that,” I say, wondering if he’s really as clean as his fingernails, or if he’s just managed to keep all his dirty deeds hidden. “To be honest, I was pretty young when he was killed, and now I’m trying to find out more about him.”

He looks me up and down. “A little late, aren’t you? He’s been dead, what? About ten years?”

“About that,” I say. “The truth is, I left Laguna Cortez soon after he died, and I’ve only recently returned. I guess you could say I checked out from my life and never really looked into what happened to him or why.”

“I remember when he was shot. Wasn’t too long after I’d finished working on your car here.” He runs a hand along Shelby’s hood “So your uncle was fresh on my mind when I heard the news.”

I nod, then realize that I’m hugging myself.

“There was some talk that he’d been involved in some nasty criminal business.” He glances at me. “Aw, hell. Did you know that?”

“I did, yes. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. How he got wrapped up in all of that.”

He frowns, deepening the furrows on his craggy face as he reaches up to rub his silver-gray stubble. “Doubt I can help you there. As far as I could tell, your uncle was a straight arrow.”