Start Me Up. Victoria Dahl
brown curl behind her ear, she climbed up into the machine. It was an old model—a strange lemon color, freckled with rust spots and complete with a small dozing shovel on the front. Quinn must have picked it up from one of his contractors for a steal. And what man wouldn’t want to own a big ol’ construction machine? Lori didn’t even need one, but she was tempted to ask if she could borrow it when Quinn was done. Surely she could find some stuff to move around the junkyard behind her house.
The key was already in the ignition, so Lori turned it. There was a faint electric hum, but nothing else. She let out a breath at the sound. Good, this was probably something she could fix. If it had been a problem with the hydraulics, Quinn would’ve had to call in someone more expensive.
She tried again, listening more closely. It was almost certainly the starter, and hopefully this model had an electric starter and not one of those air-start systems. If it was an air-start, she’d have to refer him to a diesel specialist after all. Lori jumped down to take a look.
Half an hour later, she wiped her hands on a rag and spent a few minutes writing down part numbers and brands. She could fix this, no problem.
“Quinn, I’m going to have to order two parts, but I should have them in a couple of days. I’ll be back then.”
“Great,” was his only response, though he followed it up with a hurried, “Thanks.” The sun was still slanting across the clearing, throwing Quinn even deeper in shadow.
Lori shook her head. Not one of her other customers would say “great” without even asking the price. Then again, she didn’t usually work on the Aspen side of the pass.
She allowed herself one last glance at him, watched him rub his thumb thoughtfully across his bottom lip for a few moments and then Lori headed home.
Q UINN J ENNINGS blinked from his thoughts about angles and sunlight and shadows. He glanced around in confusion, then looked down to the cell phone barely hanging on to the edge of the drafting table. Nope, no call coming in. He looked around one more time, wondering what had changed. Then he realized what had distracted him: the silence.
The backhoe stood alone, still frozen. Lori Love had been here, climbing over the machine and making a racket. She must’ve left at some point, and Quinn was pretty sure he hadn’t even said goodbye. Wincing in guilt, he backtracked his memory. She’d said something about ordering parts, so she’d be back in a few days and he’d be sure to offer her a coffee or something civilized like that.
Just then the setting sun broke through the pines, streaking past the quaking aspen leaves and casting mottled, moving shadows against the big boulder that marked the eastern edge of the clearing. That was exactly what he’d been looking for, just that tone and timing of light.
Quinn threw off any thoughts of visitors and began sketching furiously, capturing his new vision for the entry of the house. Losing track of the world around him was a high price to pay, but it always got Quinn just what he wanted. At work, anyway. And if he concentrated hard enough, he never had to think about the rest of his life, or lack thereof.
The man—she didn’t know his name and didn’t want to—roughly tugged her pants to her knees and pushed her facedown over the table.
“Don’t say a word.”
She nodded and bit her lip in desperate anticipation. When his calloused, unfamiliar hands touched her hip, she jumped and gasped. The tension was already winding tight within her, a serpent looking for release.
Holding her steady with one hand, the man pushed the head of himself against her opening.
No stroking, no preparation. He just guided himself close and shoved hard and deep. It didn’t matter. She was already wet.
Marguerite screamed.
L ORI SET THE BOOK DOWN with a guilty glance around her. Joe hadn’t returned from his towing run yet, but she still felt bad because she was sitting in Love’s Garage, surrounded by her father’s tools, and totally aroused from reading a dirty book. Sure, it was a Saturday, but this wasn’t even borderline professional behavior. She should’ve at least retreated to her house. Maybe to the bedroom. She eyed the clock. Three hours more to go. Although she was the boss….
The phone rang, cutting off any chance she could slip off to her bedroom for some personal time. “Hello?” She tossed the compilation of erotic stories onto the worktable.
“Lori, it’s Ben.”
“Hey, Ben.” He was calling to tell her he’d been wrong. He must be.
“I know I must have shocked you the other day. Are you doing all right?”
“Sure, I’m fine.” Just tense and irritable and restless.
“Good. I’m still waiting on more information. Old cases take a backseat in the state system, of course. But in the meantime, I wondered if you could answer a few questions.”
Lori blinked. “Um, sure. But I wasn’t here when the acci—when he was hurt.”
“I just mean some general thoughts. Did your dad have any enemies? I don’t mean Capulet-Montague kind of stuff. Just some guy he never got along with. Maybe a garage owner in Grand Valley he was stealing business from. A customer accusing him of fraud or theft.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“A woman? Was he dating someone, or maybe a few someones?”
She blinked again, struck by how strange the idea was. “Not that I know of.”
“Okay. That’s fine. It’s nothing urgent. I just want you to keep these questions simmering in the back of your mind. Write down anything you think of. Any reason at all someone could’ve been after your father. Money and passion are the two most common denominators in these situations.”
“Yeah, but…” Lori closed her eyes and rubbed her free hand over her face. “Ben, I’m sure it was just some stupid barroom brawl. Nobody wanted anything from him. He didn’t have anything.”
“You’re probably right, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t consider every angle. I don’t mean to upset you—”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t say I’m happy about this, but it means a lot that you’re looking into it. I’ll help any way I can.”
“Thanks, Lori. Call me if you think of anything, or if you just need to talk, all right?”
Just after she hung up, Joe roared into the lot with a suddenness that made Lori jump. Dust floated up in his wake while she rubbed her eyes.
“Nothing serious?” she called hoarsely when he descended from the cab.
“Flat tire. Nobody can change a flat tire anymore, you ever notice that?”
Yes, of course she’d noticed, and had said as much the first thousand times they’d had this conversation. Still, the auto clubs paid them thirty dollars a pop to fix a flat, so the decline of manly civilization was just fine with Lori. Joe inclined his head toward the phone.
“Another run?”
“No, just a personal call.” She eyed him as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from the nape of his neck. He looked old, suddenly. He’d been older than her father by a few years, but they’d been as close as brothers. And Joe had been like a second father to her.
He’d worked in the garage since before Lori was born. But he’d been more than an employee.
Joe had picked her up from school countless times, applauded her achievements, lectured her about boys and drinking. She wouldn’t have been able to care for her father if Joe hadn’t been there to pick up the slack in the garage. She hadn’t