“Tse, man. Move out of the way.” Yuma appears behind him, his eyes locking on me right away. “Shit. Didn’t know you were home, Lissie. Your truck isn’t here.”
I will my heart rate back to an acceptable level as I walk through my apartment to the kitchen, dropping my gun on the counter.
“Dropped it off for an oil change last night,” I explain, setting about making a pot of coffee. “I’m off this morning.”
Behind me I hear movement. When I turn around, the new guy is standing in the middle of my living room and Yuma is stalking toward me.
“You wanna put some clothes on?” he says in a low voice, his eyes trailing down my body. I’m hardly indecent, wearing men’s boxer shorts and an oversized tee.
“Not on my account,” Tse comments with a provocative grin.
“Fuck off,” Yuma grumbles, blocking the guy’s view while crowding me. “Clothes,” he repeats impatiently.
“I’m wearing clothes,” I snap, annoyed.
“Don’t mind me,” Tse announces, pulling out a stool and sitting down. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy the show.”
“Please…”
The plea is reflected in Yuma’s eyes and I realize this may be about more than him being a bossy jerk. I nod sharply and without a look at his friend, I slip down the hall and into the bedroom.
When I get back to the kitchen, dressed appropriately and my hair no longer a bird’s nest, Yuma is pulling mugs from the cupboard.
“Was hoping to finish up your apartment today,” he says, pouring coffee and handing out mugs like he’s the one living here.
“That’s fine. Once my truck is ready, I have some running around to do anyway. I’ll stay out of your way.” I turn to the rough-looking biker sitting at my counter and stick out my hand, which he takes in his big paw. “I’m Lissie. Sorry about earlier.”
“Tse,” he rumbles with that almost lascivious grin. “And don’t apologize. Haven’t been that turned on in a long time.”
Yuma unexpectedly hauls out and slaps the guy upside his head, only making him grin wider.
“Fuckin’ drink up and let’s get started.” Tse winks at me and tosses back his coffee when Yuma turns back to me. “We’ll tackle the small window in the bathroom first. Leave the sliding doors last.”
“Whatever works.”
I pull my laundry basket out of the bathroom so they can move around, which leads to actually doing the laundry. It takes them less time to install that window than it does me to pull my first load from the dryer. My phone rings just as they’re starting to pull the trim off the doorframe.
“Truck’s ready. We had to put new brake pads on, though.”
“What do you mean, you had to put brake pads on? I brought it in for an oil change.”
It’s not the first time a mechanic’s trying to pull a fast one on me, and I won’t stand for it. They see what they think is a hapless woman and con them into expenses that aren’t necessary.
I notice Yuma walking up, throwing an inquisitive glance my way. I give a brief shake of my head and turn away.
“Standard to check the brakes, ma’am.”
“Bullshit. Even if it was, and even if it needed new pads, you had no right to do any work I didn’t authorize beforehand.”
The patronizing chuckle on the other side works like a red flag on a bull.
“Ma’am, we can’t have you driving an unsafe vehicle.”
Instead of answering, I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket, moving to the front door. Behind me I hear Yuma saying something to Tse, but I don’t know what until I notice him following me out of the apartment.
“Hold up. I’ll take you.”
I start to tell him he doesn’t need to when I realize I have no transportation. I nod instead, but when I see him walk toward his bike I have second thoughts.
“On that?”
“Yup,” he states, lifting up the seat and pulling out a helmet. He fits it over my head, fastens the strap under my chin, and swings his leg over the bike before holding out a hand.
“You coming?”
I take his hand and put my foot on a peg he indicates. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit excited climbing on behind him. I rest my hands loosely on his shoulders, but he moves them to his stomach, pulling my arms around him so I’m flush against him.
“Hold on,” he says over his shoulder, before he starts the engine.
I feel the vibrations under me, which isn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling. I’m a bit tense when he first pulls out on the road, but soon relax into the ride. It’s not until he pulls up to the auto shop and parks beside my truck that my anger resurfaces.
Inside the open bay, the owner I just talked to on the phone wipes his hands on a cloth as he watches me dismount. I quickly take off the helmet, and hand it to Yuma.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, before turning and walking at a decent clip toward the garage.
I’ve taken just a few steps when I hear Yuma’s footfalls behind me.
Yuma
Like hell I’m going to leave her here and drive off.
I understood enough from her side of the conversation to know that some douche mechanic is trying to pull a fast one on her. She didn’t exactly sound like she needed help handling him, but there’s a reason I took her here on the bike, wearing my cut. I won’t have to say a damn thing. If the guy has half a brain cell, he’ll think twice about giving her a hard time.
“Ma’am?”
Even though the smug asshole is probably six two or three, Lissie stretches to her full length and squares her shoulders, making it clear she is not to be intimidated.
“Ma’am me one more time and I’ll have you singing soprano in the Durango Choral Society before you can blink.” That takes the wind out of his sails. “I would like the keys to my truck.”
“You can have them,” he snaps back, clearly not down for the count yet. “As soon as you pay for the work done. Fourteen hundred and twenty-seven dollars, including parts, labor, and tax.”
“You may want to try that again. I brought the truck in for an oil change. That’s what I’ll be paying for and not a penny more.”
The idiot snorts at her.
“Sorry, darlin’, no can do.”
Then he throws me a lopsided grin, clearly misreading my silence as weakness. I take an inadvertent step toward him but as if sensing me, Lissie sticks out a hand to hold me back.
“The name is Detective Bucco.” I watch with some satisfaction as he flinches at that information. “I’m with the Durango Police Department, and I strongly suggest you fetch my keys. Otherwise, I might be motivated to throw a pile of charges at you, just to see which ones are gonna stick. That should be fun, right, Yuma?” she asks me, but her eyes never leave the bastard.
“I’d be amused.”
“Fuck me,” he mumbles, turning on his heel. He grabs a set of keys off the tack board on the wall and tosses them at Lissie, who smartly plucks them one-handedly from the air.
“I still have to pay,” she announces.
“On the house,” he counters; a calculating glint in his eyes, but the woman has more smarts than that.