Silas

It had been a week since the “heartbeat” incident, and the heatwave had finally broken, replaced by a relentless downpour and gray skies. I was done. My back ached, my knuckles were raw, and all I wanted was to go home, crack a beer, and forget all I knew about cars.

It was five minutes past closing. I had already killed the main lights and was reaching for the chain to pull down the bay door when that familiar red nose poked through the heavy rain.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

The Porsche didn’t purr this time. It sputtered loudly. Beau killed the engine right in...