Operation: Marauder

Chapter 1

"Zoey!"

Zoey Adams paused in the middle of putting the finishing touches on her client's vehicle. There were only a few wires left for her to connect the underglow kit she was installing then she could rid herself of the pretentious douche bag who kept calling in to see when his Porsche 911 would be done--even though she told him it would take a few weeks for the get the kit in. She swore she heard someone in her garage, but when all she was met with was Rob Zombie's voice, she shrugged and went back to work.

"Zoey!" The speaker cut Rob off in the middle of "Living Dead Girl." "Fuck's sake, Zoey, if you're going to blast something, let it be something decent."

Zoey slid out from underneath the Porsche on her roller and glared at the portly man who paid her bills. He wore a red flannel shirt and grease-stained jeans, which matched the dark smudges on his fingertips. "Hey, don't be talking smack about Rob, Carlisle, or we're going to have a problem." She waved her wrench at him for emphasis.

Grunting, he reached down for her and hauled her up to her feet. She came up to his chin when standing at her full height; her short stature didn't stop her from giving him a death glare. "I'll talk smack about Rob and New Years Eve-"

"Day. New Years Day," she corrected him sharply. She tossed her black braid over her shoulder in case he didn't know she meant business. Everyone in the shop knew to just let her do her work--and don't complain about her music. Only Carlisle got away with it because, well, you know, he's the one who gave her this job when no other shop in town would. "Don't tell me you came to my garage to tell me to turn down the music?" She had her own garage in the back where she could do her custom designs in peace while the mechanics in the front dealt with the boring, everyday repairs. She had put her own money into adding some insulation into it so people in the front couldn't hear it. It was either that or no music. Something about breaking bylaws. She would rather shoot her own foot than to work without her music.

"No." He gestured to the front door with pudgy fingers. "I've got a client for you. Interesting fellow."

"Oh?" She liked interesting. She went over to her tool table, grabbing a towel, and wiping her hands of grease and grime. "Do tell."

A fat grin split his face in two; his eyes held a mischievous glimmer, making him look ten years younger. "You'll see."

Intrigued, Zoey couldn't do anything but follow her boss to the front shop. It was an overcast day, a promise of rain in the air. Zoey was quick to follow Carlisle along the gravel path that took her to the back door of the shop; she didn't mind a little rain, but she liked it more when she was inside.

Her fellow mechanics were working away on the immediate right as soon as they entered the shop. No music. Only the sound of power tools whirring and clunking. On the other side of the counter, waiting in the shop's lobby, was a mountain of a man. Like, he was easily ten inches taller than Zoey, maybe more. His shoulders were broad, but not in a bulging way, more lean and tailored, complimenting his tapered waist and fine legs. It was too bad he was going to be a client or she'd be asking him if he was single. Which he totally wouldn't be. That was just her luck with men. The good ones were taken, leaving assholes for all the other unfortunate women. Zoey being one of them.

The man had been watching the cars drive by on the street in front but turned around as they approached the counter. His unique gray eyes--in the shitty white lighting of the shop, there was a touch of purple around his iris--drank her in, head to toe.  If he was surprised to find a woman was going to be working on his vehicle, he didn't show it. He offered a pleased, charming smile. "You are Adams, I presume." His accent was faint,  hardly distinguishable, but it made her toes curl in delight all the same; she was always a sucker for foreign men.