Oath of Valor (Personal Protectors Book 3) Page 5

  I didn’t like the way Elliot made me feel. I was a controlling person by nature. I liked to be in charge, having people listen to me. The smell of fear was one of my favorite scents, and I got off on causing people to lose their cool. Elliot wasn’t anxious around me, nor did he fear me. No, he stood toe-to-toe with me and basically told me to fuck off in not so many words. And that left me feeling… confused.

  And then I found myself wanting to do something that was completely out of the ordinary for me. I wanted to… fuck, I wanted to go after him. I wanted to explain to him that I wasn’t calling him stupid. That it was the action of using his name at work that was stupid, not Elliot. But since when did I care about pissing someone off? No one else’s feelings ever mattered to me before. Not even my son’s—and that actually made me feel like shit to admit.

  Resisting the urge to walk down the hallway to where Elliot had shut himself in his room, I went outside instead. After running my eyes over my surroundings and ensuring nothing was amiss, I walked through the back yard and over to the ramshackle shed. From the outside, the peeling paint and chipped wood made the shed look like it wasn’t in use or didn’t hold anything of value. I could’ve easily had the shed restored, got the wood reinforced and repainted, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to it. From the road, someone driving past would only see an old shed, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  After flipping on the light switch, I instantly walked over to a table and grabbed the remote control. Pressing a few buttons brought the television alive and the screen was split into six smaller screens, giving me views of almost all the rooms in the house. I pressed a few buttons on the controller to adjust the views of the cameras, and then turned to one of my most prized possessions. Grasping the edge of the tarp, I pulled it off and almost groaned in pleasure. I blinked away the dust that got in my eyes and drank in the sight of the black 1970 Chevy Nova in front of me.

  I’d bought her years earlier through an online car auction—sight unseen. I’d always loved classic cars, and during my younger days, I’d spent hours thumbing through magazines and drooling over the pictures of the classic beauties inside. The thought of restoring one back to its former glory had been a dream, and when I finally had the funds—and opportunity—to buy one, I’d jumped at the chance, turning that dream into a reality.

  The advertisement for it had said the car needed some repair. Imagine my surprise when I’d had it delivered to the house, when I saw it was beat all to hell. Apparently, the person who’d owned it before me didn’t appreciate what he had, and wrapped the car around a telephone pole. My eyes instantly went over every dent, ding, and scratch in the frame of the body, and my mind raced as it planned on how to bring the car back to life. The black paint had faded over the years. Oxidation and years of neglect, plus the wreck, had turned what used to be a shiny paint-job into a rusted, dull finish. But I knew if given enough time, I’d be able to restore her back to the beauty she once was.

  Brice knew about the shed, and about my passion that I kept under the tarp, and never stepped foot inside it. When I’d been home, I’d ask him to tinker under the hood with me, and he’d comply so we could spend some time together. After giving it a try a few times, it was clear he didn’t have the same interest in it that I did and would rather spend time creating designs on his computer instead. So, the bonding I’d had hopes for while fixing up a car didn’t happen.

  It’d been almost two years since I’d been out to the shed. Two years since I’d run my hand along the body of the car and felt the coolness of the metal on her frame and allowed my brain to imagine how it’d look once it was finished. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew I’d have to take her to a shop that specialized in body restoration for classic cars. I didn’t have the equipment or talent to do something like that—or the time and patience. But I was enjoying fucking with the engine and trying to get her to run again. I craved hearing the rumble of her engine once I turned that key and heard it fire to life. And it felt good to get my hands dirty with something besides blood. Oil and dust would wash away, but blood always stayed behind. It didn’t matter how many times I’d washed my hands and watched the blood-stained water wash down the drain, it’d always be there.

  I propped up the hood of the car with a piece of wood, and after grabbing a wrench, ducked under the hood and got to work. A quick glance at the camera showed me the house was quiet, which meant Elliot was still probably pouting in his room. I gave one more look at the cameras before bringing my attention back to the engine and allowing myself to get lost in the mechanics of the carburetor. I would stop periodically to check the camera and make sure nothing was amiss before going back to work. Time slipped away as I worked, and it was a low whistle from the door that had me snapping my head up and almost hitting it on the hood.

  “Wow, look at this beauty.”

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” I asked gruffly.

  Elliot was standing in the doorway to the shed, but his eyes were trained on the Nova. “Where did you get her?” he asked in awe, completely ignoring my question.

  I scoffed. “An auction.”

  Elliot stepped closer to the car and hesitantly reached out to run his hand along a huge dent. “She wasn’t taken care of.”

  I quirked a brow at him as I gathered up my tools. “Do you even know what she is?”

  “Of course, I do,” he replied, his focus still entirely on the car as his hand smoothed over it as if he was stroking it.

  “Well?” I challenged him.

  “She’s a ninety-seventy Chevy Nova.”

  I was impressed, but didn’t allow my face to show it. “What kind of engine?”

  Elliot ran his eyes over the front-end of the car and up to the engine. His eyes narrowed as he peered down at the hunk of power that provided the car its life-source.

  “This is a two-hundred fifty cubic inch, six–cylinder engine. And,” he trailed off as he continued to look at what rested under the hood. He bent over the hood and peered down inside. “It looks like it has the semi-automatic transmission called the Torque-Drive, which helps with clutchless shifting.”

  I clenched my jaw to keep it from falling to the floor in shock. I was impressed—more than impressed, actually. I was fucking awestruck, and that was a rarity for me. Elliot knew cars.

  Elliot lifted his head and stared at me, his head cocked to the side and his eyes shrewd. “So, how’d I do?”

  “Grab a wrench.”

  Chapter 7

  “Thank you for calling Mount Pillar Hospital. This is Elliot, how may I direct your call?”

  “I need to speak to my husband’s cardiologist.”

  “What’s your emergency?”

  “Well, my husband was prescribed a water pill, and now he’s constantly going to the bathroom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. He’s using the bathroom every hour, and I know that can’t be normal.”

  “Please hold.”

  Elliot

  Larry was impressed with me. He could try to act like he wasn’t affected by my knowledge of cars, but I could tell by the glint in his eye that he had an appreciation for what I knew. But, I also knew that he was the type of man who didn’t divulge his feelings and would never stroke someone’s ego or give them a pat on the back for a job well done.

  After grabbing the necessary tools, Larry and I worked in the shed for over an hour, tinkering with the carburetor and trying to get the engine to fire again. He barely spoke to me, only answering with the least amount of words possible whenever I asked him a question. But still, it was nice to do something besides lie around or answer phones at a hospital.

  “How do you know so much about cars?” Larry surprised me by asking when he locked up the shed for the night.

  I’d noticed the television monitor inside the shed that showed various rooms inside the house, and when he’d turned it off, I didn’t even bother to ask. The man worked for the FBI for crying out loud; of course, he’d have cameras all over the house to keep an eye on things.

  I shrugged. “I worked a lot of odd jobs to make rent and pay bills. One job I had was as a mechanic. My boss, Cyrus, taught me a lot about cars.”

  Larry nodded and started walking toward the house—ending that conversation.

  I slowly followed Larry back to the house and my mind drifted back to the few months I’d worked for Cyrus. I hadn’t known much about cars and being a mechanic, but I’d been a quick learner and desperate for any kind of work. When Cyrus had looked over my work history, I’d seen the hesitation in his eyes before he’d told me there was nothing available. I’d begged and pleaded for him to hire me. It was near the holiday season, so available jobs were slim-to-none, unless I’d possessed a college degree of some sort.

  Finally, after promising him everything short of naming my first-born child after him, he’d agreed to hire me on a temporary basis. At that point I would’ve taken anything to keep from being out on the street, and after vigorously shaking his hand, I’d promised to be at work the very next day.

  Cyrus must’ve seen something in me that no one else had. The first day there, I’d followed him around like a stray puppy. But I’d been eager to keep the job, so I’d taken a plethora of notes in a tiny notebook he’d given me. When I’d told him I wanted to take notes, he’d shot me a look that was equal parts incredulous and shocked, but scrounged one up for me, anyway.

  That night, after I’d finished for the day, I’d poured over all the notes I’d taken, and then made notations next to any that I’d had questions about so I could ask him the next day. He’d been patient with me, though, and answered any questions I’d had for him and waited for me to write his answers down. By the time I’d had been there for a month, I’d been elbows-deep in car engines and pulling them apart like I’d been working there for years.

  I’d worked at the auto shop for five months and busted my ass there while still maintaining a second job at a diner as a fry-cook. I’d get off late at night from the diner, only to power-nap at home before rushing to spend a day changing oil, fixing brakes, and a copious number of other things. Cyrus, noting the exhaustion on my face, had pulled me into his office and demanded to know what my schedule was. I’d argued with the man, stating that I had insomnia, but he didn’t buy it. Especially when I’d go into work still smelling like grease. Finally, I’d told him about my second job, and Cyrus had looked at me thoughtfully.

  “Son, I know what it’s like to struggle. You’ve proven yourself here over the last few months,” he said, speaking in soft tones.

  “I don’t have any other options,” I replied with a shrug. “My bills have to be paid, boss.”

  Cyrus leaned back in his chair and stared at me. “Quit your other job, Elliot. Trust me on this. Life’s too short to waste it working yourself to exhaustion.”

  “B-but I have to work two jobs to pay my bills.” I clamped my mouth shut to keep from reminding him I couldn’t afford my bills on one job alone. He signed my paychecks, so he knew how much he paid me.

  Cyrus’s only reply was to shoot me a shrewd look. “You will. There’s a car in bay three in need of a tire rotation. Think you can handle that?”

  “Of course,” I replied, knowing the conversation was done, and I’d been dismissed.

  My next paycheck I’d been floored to see I’d been given quite a substantial raise. Because of it, I’d be able to quit my job at the diner and could get more sleep. Cyrus had caught me staring down at my paycheck with tears in my eyes. The lump in my throat had been too large for me to give him a proper thank you, but I think the glistening in my eyes had showed him my gratitude.

  “Next time maybe you’ll trust me,” was all he’d said to me before retreating to his office.

  I’d quit the diner that afternoon. I’d slept peacefully that night, getting more than eight hours of precious sleep, and woken up the next morning feeling better than I had in months. Two months later, I’d walked into the auto shop and found Cyrus on the floor in his office. He’d suffered a heart attack and died instantly. The doctor at the emergency room explained he’d had a blockage in the left anterior descending artery and had called it the widow maker. Without immediate emergency care, Cyrus had had no chance of survival.

  Cyrus had a son he’d left everything to. That was news to me since he’d never mentioned him in the months I’d worked there. His son, Eugene, wanted nothing to do with the shop, and had sold it as soon as he could. The new owners thought the space would be perfect for a new restaurant, so that meant me and the four other guys who had worked there were all out of jobs. Eugene had given all of us a severance that’d cover a month’s pay, but we’d all been back to square one with looking for a new job—or in my case, two.

  “Well, whoever taught you about cars definitely knew their shit,” Larry grumbled before heading into the kitchen.

  “He did,” I replied softly, speaking to the empty room.

  Cyrus knew more than just cars. He knew about life. And he was the father figure I’d needed at the time, because I’d missed mine terribly.

  ****

  “Where are you going?” Larry bellowed at me as I put my hand on the door knob.

  “Uh, to work?” It came out like a question, because where else would I be going at six-thirty in the morning? “Why are you up so early?”

  “Did you forget you might’ve heard a possible murder at work and you could potentially be in danger?”

  I shrugged. “It’s been a day since that phone call. Maybe things have calmed down since then.”

  Larry scoffed. “Or just getting started. Call in sick today.”

  I dropped my hand and turned around to face him fully. I was surprised to see he was already dressed for the day. Jesus, what time did he get up? Four?

  “I can’t. I don’t have enough paid time off built up, and I have to work, Larry. The more money I bank, the sooner I can be out of that gray hair of yours.”

  Larry was the epitome of a silver fox with nearly every strand of hair on his head and face being gray. Mixed in were stray darker hairs that fought the aging process, but he wore the silver-haired look perfectly. The gray hair just added to the authority he demanded and gave him an air of dominance.

  “Your safety is more important than a job,” he argued.

  I sighed. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the guards at work will keep an eye on me if I ask them to. Dustin and I have gotten pretty close.”

  Larry’s eyes narrowed at me. “How close?”

  I cocked my head at the sharpness in his voice. What was that about? “Close enough that his wife packs me dinner when she packs one for him.”

  “I see.”

  “Why? Jealous?” I asked with a smirk. It was a joke, but the way he sounded…

  Larry’s lip curled into a snarl. “Jealousy would require me to actually care. Let’s go.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t trust some rent-a-cop to keep an eye on you. Not when you’re on the cusp of healing from a violent attack.”

  “Y-you… you c-can’t just go to work with me!” I practically shrieked the words at him. “What will I tell my boss?”

  “I don’t know,” he stroked his goatee and pretended to give it some thought. “The truth seems like a good idea to me.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You’re not going to work with me. It’d be too distracting. I’ll be fine. If need be, I’ll send you updates periodically or something.”

  “No.”

  “Larry, be reasonable. I’m sure you have things to do other than sit around in my office all day. Go work on the Nova.”

  Larry stepped around me and blocked the door. “It’ll keep. It’s been waiting for two years.”

  I sighed. “I have to go, Larry. Or I’m going to be late.”

  “We’d be halfway there by now if you didn’t argue with me.”

  “Exaggerate much? You can’t go to work with me, Larry. It’s not conducive to my productivity at work.”

  “Using big words doesn’t impress me. Either I’m going with you or you’re staying home.”

  “I don’t recall hiring you to be my bodyguard or asking you to keep watch, Larry. And I certainly didn’t tell you to cancel your trip with Rusty. Call him up and tell him it’s still on. I have to go to work.”

  “The trip’s off, Elliot. Now, are we going to work, or not?”

  Larry and I locked eyes in the most epic stare-down I’d ever been a part of. The man was stubborn as all get-out and looked as if he didn’t have anything else to do but annoy the piss out of me. I knew I was fighting a losing battle, but at least I put up a fight and didn’t give in to him easily. And the longer we stood there, the more time ticked away on the clock. If I wanted to make it to work on time, I had to leave.

  “Fine. Let’s go. I’ll tell you the rules on the drive over.”

  Larry finally blinked his eyes and stepped away from the door. Once he grabbed his keys, we walked to his truck that was enclosed in the garage. I didn’t even bother to argue with him about driving. It would’ve been a waste of time and air to try. There was no way the man would let me drive my own car. And honestly, I was tired, cranky, and in desperate need of coffee. Arguing with him was only causing a headache to form behind my right eye, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him anymore.

  Once we were on the road to the hospital, I opened my mouth and rattled off the rules to him. “In my office is a little table you can sit at. I can’t have you looking over my shoulder at the documents on the computer because of HIPPA violations. Also, I get extremely busy during the morning with phone calls, pages, overhead announcements, and other things. So I can’t have you constantly interrupting me with questions. The door stays closed at all times, though I do have people who pop in periodically. I can’t have you asking them any questions, trying to conduct some sort of investigation over the call. Mostly, they are hospital administration or nursing staff.”