which made the stranger even creepier.
Veronica had watched this exact scene play out in horror movies before. The damsel in distress, and the guy with the hook for a hand. She was going to die. No, she was going to be hacked to pieces first.
“Veronica?” The stranger’s voice was familiar. Gravelly and rough with a smooth lilt. He bent lower, peering through the window. “Car won’t start?”
Veronica squinted, struggling to discern the expression on his face. As her eyes focused, a few features became clear. Warm gunmetal-gray eyes stared beneath a creased brow, and a ruggedly square jaw framed a set of perfectly plush lips.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” she hollered through her closed window. “I’m calling for a tow.”
“Know how long it’ll take to get a truck out here on a Sunday night?” His eyes were gentle. Soft and trusting. “You could be sitting out here for hours.”
Her head hit the headrest. “Just what I needed.”
“I’m not a mechanic, but I know my way around cars.” His lips gave the hint of a smile, and her heart stuttered. “I can give it a quick look if you want? Make sure it’s not something simple like the battery?”
Veronica didn’t know this guy from Adam—he could still be a killer—but there was sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. And he was a member of the Grady family, which meant he couldn’t be all that bad. They were one of the most reputable families in the area, minus Mr. Grady’s uncle who donned too much hair at the full moon.
Besides, ax murderers weren’t this hot.
“Could you?” She shrugged. “If you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t.” He strode around the front of her car. “What’s going on?”
“It won’t start.” Shaking off the last of the fright, Veronica cracked open the door so he could hear her more clearly. “It won’t even make a sound.”
“Your battery might be dead.” He curved his fingers beneath the hood. “Open up and I’ll take a look.”
Sliding her hand down the left side of her dash, Veronica found the hood latch and gave it a solid yank. He dove under immediately. She could only see his hands beneath the crack of the popped hood, so she sized them up as best she could. They were large and sturdy, with long fingers and red, knobby knuckles. He used his hands, that much was clear. He had to be a mechanic. Or maybe a boxer? His hands skimmed from one side of the engine bay to the other, sliding into compartments and tugging on the casing.
“Getting into this thing is like breaking into Fort Knox,” he mumbled. “What year is it?”
Veronica rose up off the seat, struggling to get a better view. “I just bought it,” she yelled. “Right off the truck.”
“That’s odd.” He stopped tinkering and peered around the hood. “I’m going to pull my truck around to give you a jump.”
“Okay,” she said, but he couldn’t have heard. He was already striding toward the old blue Chevy, the only other car in the lot.
Veronica hadn’t realized she was still clutching her phone. She could call for a tow—it wasn’t too late. She hesitated, watching Mr. Grady’s cousin start up his truck and pull it in front of hers, then tossed her phone back into her purse. He acted as though this was going to be no big deal. Like he’d get her car started in two seconds. The truck’s lights were high and swept over the car, blinding her. She shielded her eyes as he jumped down with cables in his hands, and bent over the engine.
“All right.” His voice was husky and low, a lazy drawl that was music to Veronica’s ears. He could’ve been reading the stock ticker aloud, and she would’ve been happy to listen. “Turn her on.”
Veronica cranked on the key. When nothing happened, she turned it again and again. “Nothing,” she hollered.
“Mind if I give it a try?” He was beside her driver’s door before she could blink.
“Be my guest.” She didn’t know a lick about cars. She was lucky to know where to stick the key in the first place.
With one hand resting on the top of the car, he stood aside for Veronica to get out, only he didn’t leave much room for her to pass. Veronica had to slink by. She moved quickly, her body jumping to life with sharp currents of electricity as their arms brushed.
Ax murderer? Definitely not. Sex god? Quite possibly.
“And you said this car was brand-new?” He dropped into the seat like he hadn’t felt a thing, turned the key, and then stomped on the pedal.
“Uh-huh.” She rubbed her arm where it was still buzzing with warm, tingly volts of excitement.
He slid off the seat and swept pass her, veering far and wide on his path back to the front of the car. He leaned into the compartment once more, and muttered a low curse to himself.
…
“Do you work on cars a lot?” Veronica asked.
Logan wished she would back away and give him some space. He couldn’t think straight with her scent clinging to him. She smelled like vanilla, dizzyingly sweet, and he couldn’t stop breathing deeply to take more of her in. Getting fixated on a dame he was hired to protect wasn’t an option. Especially since Jake had specifically asked him to keep his hands off. He shouldn’t have touched her when she moved by him, but damn it, he couldn’t seem to pull himself away.
He buried himself beneath the hood, digging around to find something out of the ordinary. He needed to focus.
“Guess you could say I’m a bit of a gearhead,” he said. “But my experience starts and ends at my truck. Lexuses definitely aren’t my forte.”
Silence stretched on for a few minutes, and Logan craned his neck around to check if Veronica was still there. She quickly averted her attention to the engine and shifted her feet against the pavement. If he wasn’t mistaken, Veronica had just checked out his backside.
Logan flipped open the fuse box. “Well, here’s your problem.”
Veronica stood next to him, leaning over to peer into the engine. She brushed against him once more, sending chills rocketing up his arms, the same way she had before.
“What is it?”
“Someone pulled a fuse out of your fuse box and set it aside.” He held up the fuse for her to see. “Your car won’t start without it.”
“What do you mean”—Veronica’s fawn-brown eyes glossed with worry —“
Logan folded his arms and leaned back against the car. “First of all, your car is brand-new. Unless your car is a lemon, you shouldn’t be having problems so soon after driving it off the lot. Second, if you blow a fuse, it’s going to get a smudgy black mark on it. If it’s pulled out of its slot, and lying there…that doesn’t happen unless someone does it maliciously. Know anyone who doesn’t like you or this pearl-toned machine of yours?”
Better to make her focus on possible enemies than an admirer turned obsessive. Jake didn’t want the authorities alerted, and if Veronica tied the notes and flowers to the vandalism of her car, a simple property damage report could turn into a ton of snooping on the police department’s behalf. That was the last thing they needed.
“No, I don’t think so.” She seemed to drift into thought, her gaze landing beneath the hood, but on nothing in particular. “This whole thing is just so bizarre. What would be the point? Who would do something like that?”
“It was probably just some punk playing a prank.” Logan chose his words carefully. “There’s no rhyme or reason for the vandalism that takes place in this city.”
Logan had stayed behind to make sure Veronica made it out of Seward Park all right. If he hadn’t been sitting in his truck, waiting for her to head out of the parking lot, the stalker would have made his move. Logan was certain of it. Now, though, he wasn’t picking up anything outside the lot—no unnatural noises or voices, and no scents other than Veronica’s.
The stalker was hell and gone from Seward Park, his chance to get Veronica alone busted.
Her lips twisted as she seemed to chew over Logan’s words.
