Chapter 4 #3
I went inside and slapped the automatic door lift. The dull buzz of the lift motor filled the quiet garage. When Jackson had eased the Lamborghini into the lone empty bay, I closed the door and flipped on the bright overhead lights.
“You know, you’re a pain in my ass, right?” I said as I removed a tablet from a charging dock. “I could be in bed and sleeping right now.”
He lifted the gull wing door and climbed out. “I’m sorry about all this, I really am. I could pay you for your time tonight as well?”
The guy was throwing around money like it was nothing.
Outside, I’d been too confused and too shocked by everything happening to really question it.
Then, the prospect of life-changing money made it look like the deal of a lifetime and blinded me to any questions.
For some reason, though, that last offer made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
Fuck. I was locked in this garage with a complete stranger. One who’d shown up on my doorstep with a very expensive car in the dead of night after business hours.
Have I just fucked up?
“No, that’s fine,” I said. “Once I get the part number, I can put in a request with the dealership and go from there.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “Sounds good.”
He glanced at the car, then at my tablet, his calm exterior stuttering a bit as I read the number off the dash and put it into the tablet. He was nervous, which made me nervous. An uneasy feeling filled my stomach as I punched in the number and straightened.
“So, you’ve got some kind of site that lets you find parts?” he asked, still eyeing the tablet suspiciously.
“Yup,” I said, tapping away on the screen. I kept the tablet turned away, preventing him from seeing what I was doing.
Even a rich son of a bitch would be loath to part with a hundred grand on top of the double he’d already offered. All of this seemed a little more fishy as each second ticked by.
Jackson’s eyes stayed pinned on the tablet as I worked. The replacement mirror popped up in seconds. The cost nearly made me choke. Over five thousand dollars for a mirror? We’d done luxury cars before, but nothing like this. Holy shit.
I swept my finger across the screen, copying the VIN into another search bar on the NICB website.
It only took a second for the car to come back clean.
Not reported stolen. There was a moment’s relief when I saw the green check on the screen, but the smile that had been building on my face vanished when I saw the name the car was registered under.
The name was not Jackson Adelmund, which was what this guy had told me his name was. The name on the screen was different. Alessio Torrence. Torrence? The same Torrence family that used to be Marquel’s customers?
“Is everything okay?” Jackson asked, sounding worried.
“Hmm?” I glanced up, hoping I didn’t look freaked out. “All good. The internet is slow. It’s searching for the part. Give me a second.”
“Okay,” he said, but he sounded unsure.
I had to be sure before I accused this guy of something. I typed Alessio Torrence into an internet search, hoping and praying I was wrong. The first headline that popped up made my stomach plummet.
Young local philanthropist and business owner, Alessio Torrence, headlines the local Bright Night Gala.
The picture below the headline showed a bearded, dark-haired guy, a few years younger than me, wearing a tuxedo and grinning at the camera. He was leaning against a car—a bright red Lamborghini Aventador. The exact same custom color as the one that was parked three feet from me.
After taking over his father’s shipping business at the ripe, young age of twenty-three, Alessio has taken to using his significant wealth to help underprivileged children as well as charities that assist the poor and unhoused.
Over the last several years, he’s become a fixture in the fundraising circuit.
He arrived at the Bright Night Gala driving his self-described, “pride and joy”—a custom Lamborghini—and delighted in allowing a few of the children in attendance to sit behind the steering wheel and rev the engine.
When I finally tore my gaze away from the tablet, I locked eyes with Jackson. Fear, deep and almost overwhelming, surged up. My fight-or-flight instinct made it hard to move. I wanted to run, but I was rooted in place even though my face remained placid and emotionless.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, and he did something incredibly weird. He sniffed the air like a dog trying to catch a scent. His smile slipped, and his eyes narrowed. It was almost as if he’d smelled my fear.
“Hang on, Shyanne,” he said, holding a hand up. “It’s not what you think.”
“Sorry?” I said, shaking my head and giving my best attempt at a smile. “Think what?” My voice came out overly sweet and high-pitched. “I need to go grab a…uh…something from my office real quick.”
I dropped the tablet and spun on my heels, rushing toward the back door. Jackson moved, sprinting across the room with such speed that I barely realized he was running until he’d stopped in front of me. I actually stumbled to a stop, gaping at him. How the fuck had he moved that fast?
“Shyanne, can we talk about this?” He stayed back and didn’t take another step toward me. If he’d done anything aggressive, I would have started swinging my fists.
“Move,” I said, my voice remarkably even given the situation. “Get out of my way right now.”
“I can’t do that. Not until we talk.”
Sucking in a breath, I clenched my hands into fists, trying to stay as calm as I could. “Did you steal that car?”
Jackson stared back at me. He sighed. “Yes.”
I bolted.