Page 179 of Ice Princess

Bitter silence falls on the living room and makes me squirm.

That… did not go well.

Mom and dad have only sat with the truth for a little over ten minutes and they’re already tearing at each other’s throats. If the evidence we need is never found and the truth stays buried with us, then all I did tonight was drag my parents into my own personal hell with nothing to show for it.

“I’m sorry, dad,” I say hoarsely.

“You did the right thing, Gunner,” dad says, squeezing my shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

But it doesn’t feel that way. As I watch my father trudge up the stairs, looking just as defeated as Rebel did at the treehouse, it starts to feel like I sent the puck hurtling in the wrong direction at the final moments of the game.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

REBEL

It’s beentwo days since Gunner told me about his grandfather’s will and I still haven’t talked to my mother about it.

I’m hesitant to bring it up with her for two reasons.

First, mom’s conversation about being content the other night felt so real and vulnerable. Until I know that we’re the recipients of the will forsure, I don’t want to unearth her entire life in pursuit of an inheritance she doesn’t even know about.

Second, I’m concerned about putting mom in danger. Money can turn people into very evil, dangerous creatures.

Stewart went as far as to shut our garage down.

I don’t think Clarence Kinsey is going to be much nicer.

Putting mom in danger is an absolute no-go. If it comes down to protecting her or making a stink about the inheritance, I’d rather keep my mother and let them have the money.

A beeping sound draws me out of my thoughts.

I glance at the scanner, noticing that the report has been completed.

Chance generously allowed us to work on the acreage he bought for his future with April. He and Max rigged up three giant tents that act as temporary ‘bays’ to protect us and the cars from the unforgiving sun.

It’s not the best set up—for us and the client’s cars, but it’s better than halting production completely.

“Delia, can I get a second opinion on this waveform?” I bring the recording of the car’s throttle position sensor readings to her. “I tried to compare it to one of the recordings I have on hand, but it’s hard to say.”

Delia hunches over the little plastic table that April borrowed from one of the Lucky Strikers. Planting one hand on the table, she squints. “I think the TPS is fine. You might need to check somewhere else. Maybe the timing?”

“Yeah, I suspected that.”

Delia glances past me. Something beyond my shoulders makes her stiffen. I look that way too and notice two bulky shadows hiding behind a tree trunk.

“Rebel,” Delia says in a cautious tone, “I think those guys are watching you. ”

I shrug and keep my attention on the scanner readings. “I’ll test the sensor one more time before I?—”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Delia hisses.

“It’s fine.” I whirl around, my mind already on the next test. “I know those knuckleheads.”

Delia grabs my arm. “Even the people you think you know aren’t always what they seem. If they’re following you around at work, that’s crossing a line. I highly recommend that you report them.”

The intensity of her stare coupled with her firm grip takes me by surprise. Why is Delia being so insistent?

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