𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 | ✓

20

To put matters lightly, I look like an idiot dressed in white and trotting around in my heels as we enter one dingy garage after the other, talking to one big-bellied, beer reeking guy after the other.

I hate to admit it, but I'm glad Spencer tagged along with me instead of going on with Sophia. And no, I don't mean it in a way of resting assured that nothing would happen between these two, because I know Spencer enough to be certain he'd rather be hit by a bus than cheat. I'm happy he's with me and doing most of the talking with these creepy men because they're not even bothering to be discreet when it comes to ogling me.

Thankfully, Sophia taught us what to do in means of gathering evidence she might be able to use, and we parted ways to get things done faster.

The garages stink, the stench of car oil and metal is so heavy I fear it won't ever be wiped from the back of my throat. Most men are truck drivers or mechanics. None of them are inclined to talk unless we offer them a sweet hundred bucks bill, only to tell us they don't know the guy and pass us to another man who repeats the cycle.

I climb out of the car reluctantly and rub my back as I warily glance at the garage the previous guy told us to visit. The sun is slowly sinking and not having a full night's sleep along with walking around in heels is taking its toll on me.

Spencer shuts the door on his side and rounds the car. "You could've stayed in the car," he mumbles as we cross the street together.

"What makes you think I trust you enough with the information you might come across?"

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

As we near the entrance, he inhales sharply, pulling himself to his full height and pushing his shoulders back as well as his glasses up his nose before entering the place.

I survey the area, fighting against the involuntary movement of my face's muscle, scrunching up with disgust. I tighten my hold on my purse as I note the man sitting behind an old wooden desk in the corner of the granite-colored garage.

He spares us a glance before continuing to write in his notebook.

"Careful," Spencer says, making me frown with confusion and turn to him.

Just as I open my mouth to question him, my heel catches an uneven patch on the floor causing me to lose my balance.

Spencer's hands shoot out to me, catching me on time and securing me back on my feet. His hands linger on my hand and waist. "I just told you to watch out," he grumbles under his breath, retreating his arms to his side.

"Well, you could've said that three seconds earlier," I snap, smoothing out my shirt, and moving my hair behind my shoulder.

He rolls his eyes and purses his mouth. "A thank you won't kill you."

Instead of answering him, I huff as we make our way to the desk, Spencer walking a step ahead of me.

I cross my arms as he stops in front of the desk, yet the guy doesn't look up at us.

"Can I have a word with you?" Spencer starts.

Finally, the man drags up his gaze to meet us, a greasy blond strand of hair rests on his brows. His pale blue eyes fleet from Spencer to me, raking over my body and lingering longer than needed.

"You a cop?" He shuts his notebook and leans into his seat, glancing at Spencer before zooming back on me.

I clench my jaw, biting back a harsh remark to stop the guy from staring at me.

"No," Spencer answers through gritted teeth.

A corner of the guy's mouth lifts, as he stares at my chest. "Thought so."