Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,80

dissuade me, I detached the padlock and pushed open the wire gate. We slipped inside, pulling the gate closed behind us.

As we had guessed, it appeared we’d entered an employee parking lot. Several fancy cars—Jags, Beamers, and Mercedes—sat parked side by side. But it was one car in particular that caused my breath to catch in my throat.

The Mercedes SUV from the desert.

I knew it even before I checked the license plate. It sat by itself at the far end of the lot, the desert dust still clinging to its tires.

I grabbed Jamie’s arm and pointed with a shaky finger. His eyes widened and he nodded silently, lifting the camera to shoot video of the vehicle. After getting a few shots, he motioned for us to go closer.

“Do you think it’s unlocked?” I whispered. “Maybe we could shoot the secret compartment where we saw them storing the drugs.”

Jamie shot me a worried look. “Aren’t we going a little bit too far? What if they have security cameras and see us?”

“We’ll make up some excuse,” I said, reaching for the back door hatch. The handle turned easily. Not locked. “Yes!” I cried in delight. I motioned for Jamie to start shooting as I lifted the top hatch and lowered the bottom gate. Then I crawled into the back, feeling along the floor for an opening. The James Bond feeling was back in full force and this time I would definitely still have enough energy to shag a Bond Boy when I got home.

“Did you find anything?” asked the Bond Boy in question, still shooting from outside.

“Not yet—wait …” My fingers curled around an indent in the floor and pulled. The secret compartment sprung up. “Open sesame,” I muttered. It’d almost been too easy. “Are you getting this on tape?” I asked.

“Getting what on tape?” asked a male voice—definitely not belonging to Jamie.

Oh, shit. We were caught. Fear shot through me like a lightning bolt as I released the trapdoor, which closed with a damning thud.

In the meantime, Jamie had turned around to address the man who’d approached. “Hi,” he said, and I could distinctly hear the tremble in his voice. “I’m Jamie Hayes, photographer at News Nine. We’re shooting ‘San Diego’s Best Car Dealership.’”

I stared at the man who’d approached us, the fear now crawling from my fingertips down to my toes. No doubt about it. The black curly hair was unmistakable. It was the guy from the desert who had shown up for the drugs! And now he’d caught us shooting video of the SUV he’d stored them in.

“Yeah, well, these cars aren’t for sale. I don’t know how you got back here, but this is the employee lot,” he said with a growl.

I scrambled out of the back of the SUV, ready to turn on every ounce of charm my body had in it. “Oh, really? I’m sorry. It was just that there are some really, really cool cars back here. I mean sure out there you’ve got your Toyotas and Fords, but these Jags and BMWs are truly stunning. Take this Mercedes SUV,” I said, gesturing to the car. “I was just saying to Jamie what a roomy interior it has.”

“I’m going to get Rocky,” the man said.

I felt my face flush with horror. “Oh, no,” I said with a nervous laugh. “No need to trouble Mr. Rodriguez. He’s busy shooting that commercial and all and ... well, we’ve got what we needed anyway.”

The guy narrowed his eyes. “And you needed the inside of Rocky’s personal Mercedes, why?”

I gulped. He wasn’t going to let us go. He was on to us—saw through our weak cover story. Any minute now he was going to pull out a gun and shoot me in the head. “Well, it’s just such a cool car,” I stumbled. “And …”

“I’m getting Rocky.”

“No need. We’re done. We’re off.” I grabbed Jamie’s arm and tried to lead him away as fast as possible. “Thanks again!”

“Hey!” the guy called after us.

“Yes?” I turned around, trembling with fear.

“Who else won?”

“Huh?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “San Diego’s best car dealership. Who were the other finalists?”

I swallowed hard. Think Maddy, think!

“Um ... there was …” Blank mind. Completely blank mind. Probably a hundred car dealerships in San Diego county and I couldn’t even think of one of them. “Actually, I can’t tell you,” I said with what I hoped looked like a sorry shrug. “It’s a secret ‘til the segment airs.”

The man gave us a grimace. I just knew that