Chapter 3

The screech of the tow truck's brakes shattered the silence. Ricky violently backed the rig into the center of the garage, dropping the Maybach onto the concrete with a heavy thud.

Pierce winced, his face twisting in physical pain. "Hey! Watch the undercarriage, you animal!"

Allison ignored him. She grabbed a heavy black toolbox and walked to the front of the luxury car. She didn't bother looking for the latch release inside. She just shoved her fingers under the hood and forced it up.

A massive cloud of boiling white steam exploded from the engine bay.

Allison didn't flinch. She didn't step back. She let the scalding mist wash over her face, her expression completely dead.

Graham stood three yards away, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes were locked onto her, tracking every micro-movement of her hands.

Allison pulled on a pair of thick rubber gloves. She plunged her hands into the burning, complex maze of V12 engine wiring. Her fingers moved with terrifying speed, navigating the components like she was playing a piano.

Ten seconds later, she pulled her hands out.

"The ECU overloaded," she said coldly. "It locked the fuel injection system."

Pierce scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. "You didn't even hook up an OBD scanner! You expect me to believe you diagnosed a computer failure by looking at it?"

Allison didn't waste breath answering him. She reached into her toolbox and pulled out a massive, solid steel hammer. She weighed it in her hand.

Pierce's eyes bulged. He lunged forward. "Are you out of your mind? Put that down!"

Allison didn't look at him. She swung her arm back. The heavy hammer sliced through the air, missing Pierce's nose by an inch. He stumbled backward, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Without hesitating, Allison brought the hammer down with brutal force.

CRASH.

The steel head smashed into a pristine metal shielding plate deep inside the engine bay. The plate shattered, exposing a cluster of melted, blackened wires hidden underneath.

Pierce stared at the burnt wires, his mouth hanging open. He was completely speechless.

Graham's breath caught in his throat. A jolt of pure shock hit his system. His top engineers in Washington needed hours and a million dollars in diagnostic equipment to find a fault like that. She found it in ten seconds. By instinct.

Allison dropped the hammer. It clattered against the concrete. She grabbed a pair of wire cutters and a spool of thick copper wire.

She started stripping the wires with her bare hands. She twisted the copper together, bypassing the burnt circuits in a crude, violent hotwire.

Sparks flew, biting into the skin of her wrists. She didn't even blink.

Three minutes later, she ripped a piece of electrical tape with her teeth and wrapped it tight. She stepped back.

She looked at Ricky and jerked her chin toward the driver's seat. "Start it."

Ricky swallowed hard. He opened the door, slid in, and pushed the ignition button.

The Maybach's engine turned over instantly, settling into a smooth, powerful purr.

Pierce walked around the front of the car, his eyes wide. He checked the dashboard. No warning lights. It was a miracle. He stared at the smooth hum of the engine, his initial rage completely dissolving into a state of absolute, dumbfounded awe. He had never seen anyone bypass a fried ECU with bare hands and a hammer. He looked back at the girl, a newfound reverence replacing his arrogance.

Allison peeled off the rubber gloves and threw them on the bench. She walked straight up to Graham. She held out her hand, her palm stained with fresh motor oil.

"Double the price," she demanded.

Graham looked at her hand, then up to her face. The sheer audacity of her demand made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

He reached into his jacket again. He pulled out another stack of bills. Instead of dropping them into her hand, he pressed the money firmly into her palm.

His thumb deliberately brushed against her skin. He felt the thick, hard calluses at the base of her fingers. Calluses that didn't come from turning wrenches. They came from holding weapons.

Allison jerked her hand back like she had been burned. Her eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated murder.

"Watch your hands," she hissed.

Graham held his hands up in mock surrender, but his eyes were entirely serious. "Skills like that are wasted in a place like this."

Allison shoved the money into her pocket. "None of your business. The car runs. Get out."

Pierce stepped forward, his tone shifting into one of genuine, almost desperate respect. "Seriously, what's your name? If this thing breaks down again, I'm calling you."

Allison turned her back to them. She waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. She didn't give them a name. She didn't give them a look.

Graham got into the back seat of the Maybach. He rolled down the tinted window, his eyes burning into her retreating back.

As the car pulled out of the dirt lot, Graham pulled a heavily encrypted satellite phone from his pocket. He dialed a secure line.

"I want everything," Graham ordered, his voice cold and absolute. "Pull the background on the owner of the Pine Creek garage. Every breath she's ever taken."