The Game by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

“Damn… That’s pretty high tech just to see if a car’s been repainted.”

He smiled as he walked to the wheel well and moved the meter along various places. “It catches ninety-five percent of the undisclosed paint jobs. Insurance companies and police departments love this little thing because most people don’t know it exists and think a cover-up can only be detected with the human eye.”

“What about the other five percent?”

“Gotta feel around the edges of a car. Like this…” He slipped his hand into the back of the wheel well and felt around. “There are a few body shops that can get paint to factory-level thinness. But the factory applies their paint electrostatically, which leaves a smooth surface everywhere you touch. Even the best shops can’t replicate that around edges. There are always a few bumps. That catches the other five percent.”

A few bumps… “I’ll give you some space. But let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Over the next two hours, Aaron and his team moved from car to car. Because the Ford was in the back, it was one of the last to be examined. Finally, Aaron himself started that inspection. Just like he’d done with the others, he began on the inside, jotting down various notes on his clipboard before lifting the hood. Again, he checked parts and made more notes, before eventually starting the car and listening to it run. He was really methodical with his examinations, so I knew after he killed the engine and shut the hood, it would be time to check out what I’d been waiting for all day.

It didn’t take long for his attention to snag on the gap I’d noticed along the hood. He studied it for a moment and then began to place his little paint-meter gadget all around. At the left front quarter panel, he stopped and made a few notes, then ran his hands all over the edges and underside. I’d been watching the entire thing from twenty feet away, so when he looked up, our eyes met.

“The paint meter strikes again.”

I walked over, trying to seem casual. But inside I was anxious as shit. “Oh yeah? Something’s been repainted?”

He pointed. “Gap in the hood was a tip-off that something had happened. But the paint’s too thick to be factory applied. Plus, it’s not smooth like it should be.” Aaron squatted down in front of the headlight. He took a small flashlight out of his pocket and shined it in. “New headlight, too. The ones produced after nineteen eighty-three have a different level of clarity. They changed the technology, so even the ones that are supposed to replicate the older ones have it.”

“Is there a way to tell when it was replaced?”

“Not when it was replaced. But I can usually tell when the part was made by the component number. You want me to look it up for you?”

“Umm…if you can. These cars are driven by someone to keep them in good condition. I wouldn’t know if the damage you found is new or not. But just in case it is, it might help to get a sense of when it happened.”

“No problem. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll jot down the ID number and then look it up on my iPad.”

Finding out the car had been damaged at some point didn’t prove anything, but I was still going to feel a hell of a lot of relief if he came back and said the headlight had been made years after Bella’s mother’s accident, since any cover-up would have been done right away.

But of course, it couldn’t be that easy.

A few minutes later, Aaron walked over with his iPad. “Looks like that headlight was made between fourteen and sixteen years ago.”

Great. Bella’s mother died fourteen years ago, so there went my peace of mind.





CHAPTER 24




* * *



BELLA



“What’s going on with you?”

Christian looked over. He’d been sitting on the couch while I got dressed to go out to dinner, staring blankly out the window. His eyes came into focus for the first time in ten minutes. “What do you mean?”

“It seemed like you were lost in thought.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I haven’t slept so well the last two nights.”

“Is something bothering you?”

He hesitated before shrugging. “Just a big game Sunday, I guess.”

“You’re worried about the Phoenix game? They’re two and five and we’re five and two.”

“Every game counts when we’re getting closer to playoffs.”

“True. But you’ve beaten them the last seven times you’ve faced them—nine if you look only at the games played in their stadium. And Joe Rexon is out, Assad Fenton is in the middle of a divorce, and their head defensive coach is probably getting ousted at the end of the season.”

Christian smiled. “Someone’s been doing her people homework.”

“I’ve actually started googling the top ten players on the teams we play for internet gossip. Then I factor it into my model, which, by the way, has you coming out fourteen points ahead this week.”

“I’ve been replaced by Google.”

“Never.” I smiled and picked a pair of earrings out of my jewelry box, putting them in as I spoke to Christian’s reflection in the mirror. “Did I tell you I’m doing a quick turn for this week’s game? Wyatt has a game Saturday night, so I’m not flying in until Sunday morning. And I have an early meeting on Monday, so I’m leaving as soon as the game is over. I know you guys take a few hours to do the post-game wrap up and talk to the press.” I walked over and straddled his lap with a flirty smile. “Is there anything I can do to help relieve your stress?”