Page 14 of Carrick
He wiped grease on his jeans. “Only when the witness has better instincts than the people trying to kill her.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected.
“You don’t know me,” I said, voice flat.
“Nope. But I know desperation. And I know eyes that are used to watching every exit in a room.”
My throat tightened. “Yeah, well. I didn’t ask for this.”
He looked up, golden eyes sharp. “None of us did.”
I wanted to ask what he hadn’t asked for, but I didn’t.
We continued working in sync, coordinating our efforts surprisingly well. I knew cars. I could usually tell what tools he was going to need and handed them to him without having to be asked. The silence turned companionable.
Eventually, I muttered, “You ever rebuild a carburetor with one hand while trying to avoid a mob hit?”
He snorted. “No, but that sounds like your next Hallmark movie.”
“Not really the Christmas cookie type. I’m more of a crowbar-and-caffeine girl.”
He leaned in. “Caffeine, I can respect. Crowbars are optional.”
That teasing glint returned to his eyes. He was dangerous in that way. Not just in the way he moved or spoke—but in how easily he saw beneath the surface.
I tightened a bolt with more force than necessary. “You flirt with all the witnesses, or am I just lucky?”
He shrugged, the motion loose and unapologetic. “Only the ones who know what a torque wrench is.” The smallest smile tugged at my mouth—uninvited, but real. I hated how easily he pulled it from me.
He noticed, said nothing, just reached out for the socket set like we’d done this a dozen times. We moved in rhythm, silent and strangely attuned. By the time we’d adjusted the timing belt, my arms ached, hands streaked with grease, but something in me had shifted. For the first time since stepping into that police station, I wasn’t holding my breath.
We cleaned up at the side sink. He passed me a towel without a word, without hovering, and I found myself grateful for that too.
“What’s next?” I asked, not sure if I meant the car, the day, or anything else at all.
Carrick tilted his head. “Next, you try not to piss off Maddy, you sleep with one eye open, and you let us keep you alive.”
“I’m not just some mission.”
“No,” he said, meeting my gaze. “You’re someone who matters to someone. That’s enough.”
The words hit harder than I wanted. I turned away, drying my hands slowly while silence folded in again.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said eventually.
“What did you expect?”
He stepped closer. I felt him more than saw him. “I thought you’d be fragile.”
“And I thought you’d be more charming.”
His laugh cut through the quiet, rich and rough around the edges, like whiskey on an open wound. “Give me time, kitten.”
I turned, chin raised. “I told you not to call me that.”
His smirk was pure sin. “Then stop purring when I do.”
I stormed out before he could see the heat crawling up my neck. But the worst part? I wasn’t even mad. I was intrigued.
