the thugs he used to run around with decided to get rid of him, how would they know to look for him on Deadman’s Curve in the middle of the night?” She shakes her head. “I don’t buy it.”
“Me neither.”
She lowers her gaze and worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I used to spend so much time thinking about who did it,” she says. “I couldn’t sleep. I’d sit in the parking lot of the Pretty Kitty and catalogue every man who climbed into a dark SUV. Turns out that’s a pretty fucking popular car choice around here.”
“Whoever it was hit two grown men,” I say.
“I know. And the fucker walked away.” She shakes her head. “It’s not right.”
“No, I mean, Brogan and Nic weren’t small guys. They had to have done damage to the car, right?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Then she sits up. “The list of folks around here driving dark SUVs might be impossibly long, but the ones driving banged-up, dark SUVs . . .”
I nod. “Or the ones who got body work done on their dark SUVs . . .”
“But surely the police already went through this?” she says.
“They say the investigation is ongoing, and they won’t tell me what they’ve done. But you know how the police work in this town.” I wrap my arms around my waist. I can’t stop thinking about what Arrow said about me acting like I died that night. Maybe if I had some answers, living my life wouldn’t feel like betraying Brogan. “What if they’re trying to protect someone? An officer, or the kid of an officer or something?”
“I’ve wondered about that myself.”
“I made some calls this morning,” I admit. “I called around to different body shops in the area to see if they’d give me some information on cars matching that description that had body work done.”
“Any luck?”
“I got a ‘Nice try, lady,’ a ‘Quit wasting my time,’ and a ‘Just who do you think you are?’ So I stopped calling.”
Bailey points at me. “That’s where you went wrong. You gotta do this shit in person. With cleavage.”
I arch a brow. “You really think boobs are going to make people give us answers?”
“We’re not talking about people. We’re talking about men.”
* * *
We start at the most popular body shop in town—Crowe’s Automotive. We walk in the front door and wait at the front desk. To the right of the waiting area is a glass wall that overlooks that shop. I remember when this place was built. Everyone thought it was the coolest thing they’d ever seen.
Bailey steals a mint from the bowl and pops it into her mouth before ringing the bell. “You know what’s sexy?” she asks around her candy.
“What?” I ask. I’m not really interested in her answer, but when she points, I have to look.
“That,” Bailey says with a sigh. “Him.”
There, standing on the other side of the glass in low-slung jeans and a tight white oil-stained T-shirt, is Sebastian Crowe.
“I know him,” I say.
She cocks her head and folds her arms. “I swear, you have some sort of muscle magnet embedded in you. The more muscle they have, the faster they come.” She snorts. “That sounded dirtier than I meant it, but that’s probably true, too.”
“I said I know him. Like, I met him once. He helped me get Dad inside after I picked him up from the Pretty Kitty a few weeks ago. I think he lives in the trailer park.”
“No shit? I thought mechanics were supposed to make good money.”
I shrug but don’t get the chance to answer because Sebastian pushes through the swinging glass door that separates the service bay from the waiting area.
His gaze lands on me first. “Mia. Are you okay? Does your dad need something?” He’s already grabbing a set of keys from a hook on the wall behind the counter.
“Muscle magnet,” Bailey murmurs beside me.
I nudge an elbow into her side. “Dad’s fine. Actually, we’re looking for some information about, um, the services you provide.”
Bailey gives me an exasperated look. “Amateur.” She tugs on the hem of her shirt, and the already-low scooping neckline falls an inch lower. Propping her elbows on the service counter, she leans forward and grins at Sebastian. “I’m doing research for my marketing class. We’re supposed to analyze local markets, and I chose body work.” She drags her gaze meaningfully down his chest. “You know, on cars.”
Sebastian grunts, and I can’t help but like him more for not being impressed