“Why did you agree to go on the dates?” Adrian asked, his brow cocked.
“It’s better than having the OGs trying to hook me up with God knows who on a daily basis. I go on dates here and there to keep Wilma and her goons happy. Everyone wins.” The OGs wanted her to be more proactive, but tough shit.
Suddenly, the sheriff’s shirt began to talk. It was the radio.
“Excuse me,” he apologized and, moving away, answered the call from the dispatcher. She’d never noticed the guy’s nice, firm ass before. Or the broad shoulders. Shit. Was she ogling him? She put the beer on the floor again. After a “yes” and an “on my way,” he disconnected. “Sorry, duty calls.”
“Unless she jumped through the window, Wilma is at home. Is it Greta or Rebecca, or can I rest in peace for the day?”
He smiled and handed her his beer. “No OG business this time. You’re off duty.”
Thank God. Because she was obviously too drunk to think straight.
He walked down the porch stairs and turned around. “See you at the next OG mayhem?”
She nodded. “I’ll try not to yell.”
He tipped his hat at her, a smirk on his face. “And I’ll try not to arrest you.”
Adrian stopped by the diner after his shift ended, ordered six iced Americanos and a dozen doughnuts to go, and hurried to the garage. He was late due to a last-minute callout, and the boys had been with Rachel for almost two hours. The sheriff’s department hadn’t had any emergency calls, though, so he hoped all was well.
When he arrived at the garage, he found the three punks working on a car, while Rachel sat on a table nearby. No blood anywhere. Good sign.
He lifted the cardboard holder with the coffees. “I bring reinforcements.”
Only Rachel acknowledged him. “We do have coffee.”
“Not iced Americanos, and definitely not these,” he added, showing her the doughnut box.
That tipped the scales; she jumped from the table with a bright smile. “Sugar shot.”
The kids must have been really immersed in whatever they were doing, because they didn’t even notice his presence. “What’s with them? You didn’t cut out their tongues, did you?”
She laughed, grabbing a doughnut. She was wearing a white wifebeater and black coveralls that had been pulled off her upper body, the sleeves knotted around her waist. Her blond hair was tied on the back of her head rather haphazardly, if all the loose strands around her face were anything to go by. “I asked them to strip this car bare and then put it back together again.”
“And?”
“They stripped it in less than half an hour. Then they put it back together, but they keep getting it wrong, because the car doesn’t work.”
“The ignition system seems to be fine,” XL said. “Maybe it’s electrical?”
“I think we checked that already,” Ash replied, never lifting his head from the hood of the car.
Monti didn’t even answer. He was under the car, muttering something unintelligible.
“They’ve been going at it for a while now,” Rachel whispered to Adrian. “After they finished putting the car back together, they had several parts left and not a clue where they belonged. Needless to say, when they tried to turn it on, not even the lights worked.” She took a bite of doughnut, her lips all dusted in white, and continued. “At the moment the car still isn’t working, but at least we managed to get all the parts in the correct places.”
He’d never seen those street thugs so focused on something that wasn’t illegal. He approached them. “How’s it going, guys? Brought you doughnuts and iced coffee.”
Finally he got their attention. They nodded at him, went to the table, gulped down half their coffees in one go and, doughnuts in hand, walked back to the car.
“Tip, guys,” Rachel said after glancing at the open hood. “Check the starter and the connecting cables. And the fuses. With so much trying, you might have blown something and not even realized it. And the fuel pump and the injection system. Make sure the wires are connected. After this, if the car doesn’t start, check for error codes on the diagnostic panel.”
“You heard Grease Barbie. Let’s get to it,” XL prompted. Ash and Monti nodded. They stuffed the rest of their doughnuts in their mouths and went back to work.
Adrian couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m so fucking impressed. What did you do?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I provided a challenge and threw it at them. Learning to change out car parts is one thing. Knowing what makes an engine tick is another altogether.”
Adrian’s knowledge of mechanics was very limited. “If you say so.”
She frowned, looking at the car, and lifted one finger at him. Two. Three. Then there was a big thump as something fell from under the car.
“And there went your exhaust pipe, gentlemen,” she concluded, as if she’d seen it coming. “If you don’t get those pesky little things secured in place, it doesn’t matter if the engine runs or not, because you’ll be screwed.”
Monti let out a curse and dove under the car.
“When they stripped cars, they didn’t have to worry about shit like that. They’re great at unscrewing, not so great at the opposite,” she whispered roguishly and grabbed another doughnut.
They watched as the guys worked. Well, he watched. Rachel came and went, telling them stuff Adrian had no clue about. Her lips were now glazed with sugar, and she kept licking them to get them clean. The more she did that, the redder and puffier they got. And why the fuck he was noticing that, he didn’t know. But he did notice, and his cock did too.
“This week was a calm one,” she said after she jumped back on the table by his side. “You can’t complain, at least not concerning the OGs. I haven’t been summoned to the sheriff’s department nor have I been yelled at because of them.”
She was right, for the most part. “Have I told you someone brought curtains for the holding cells? To ‘lift the spirits of the unjustly imprisoned. Even the justly imprisoned need a little of joy in their lives.’ And I’m quoting.”
Rachel broke into laughter. “So that was what those curtains were for.”
“Yes. Apparently they took measurements while they were in the cell. With one of their bathrobe belts, I heard. My deputies should have taken those away, but they didn’t want to inconvenience the OGs.” Kudos to them—the curtains fit like a glove. They’d even brought pillows for the bench. “Your grandma and her friends may be old, but they can keep numbers in their heads like pros.”
She lifted her hands, her big brown eyes sparkling in amusement. “I swear to God, I had no clue about this. I helped them pick the fabric, but I thought it was for a theater play or one of the clubs they’re involved with. They were looking for something festive.”
That would explain the balloons and the ribbons on red cloth.
“We have one very festive cell now, I assure you.” Thank God they had stopped at that one and hadn’t touched the other. “Because of them, when we put suspects in jail, they laugh their asses off.” Those OGs had such luck. That or they were spying on him, seeing as they had managed to do all that while he wasn’t in the office. Clearly his deputies were softies. “Holly thinks it’s a good idea. She calls it the happy-hour cell.”