Dammit to hell. She hated the thought of having Toby call the sheriff. There would be questions and paperwork and she didn't have time for this crap.
"'But he didn't, Mike. And this flaky blonde is working as fast as she can." She was aware of the mechanics gathering behind her and wanted to groan in frustration. She didn't need this. "I'll have your truck first thing in the morning. I have tonight, according to the contract. I'll be on time." She couldn't afford not to be.
His bloodshot brown eyes raked over her insultingly. "He married him a piece of flashy pu**y, I have to give him that."
Sabella's eyes narrowed as she tensed and ground her teeth to hold back a retort. This was going to be bad enough once gossip circulated. She didn't need to make it worse, she reminded herself.
"Mr. Conrad, Ms. Malone said in the morning." Toby stepped to her side, his voice vibrating with anger at the insult. "It will be ready."
Mike's gaze whipped to the boy as his lips titled in a snide little smile.
"You f**kin' her too, kid? Piece of prime pu**y like that needs a—" He never finished what he had to say, and not because Toby jumped for him.
Before the younger man could cover the three feet of distance a shadowed blur moved past them. Mike Conrad was jerked off his feet and literally thrown from the garage.
Sabella stared in shock at the stranger, Noah, seeing the fury pulsing in his face as he picked Mike up from the blacktop only to toss him against the convertible BMW he had driven into the lot.
One big hand latched around Mike's bulging neck and, icy cold, murderously, Noah Blake began to squeeze.
"Stop." Sabella forced herself to move, to run to the pair, her hands locking around Noah's wrist as she stared into those cold, merciless eyes in horror. "You'll kill him. He's just drunk. Damn you, I said stop!"
Rage glittered in the dark blue depths, the promise of death shadowing and darkening the unusual color as his fingers tightened further, his lips twisting into a snarling grimace.
"Have you lost your mind?" She jerked at his wrist, screaming at him, desperate now as she heard Mike strangling behind her.
Sabella glared up at the stranger, seeing the predatory promise of death in his eyes as he stared down at Mike Conrad.
"Touch her again." His voice was a gravelly sound of rage as he stared into Mike's eyes. "And I'll kill you."
She felt his wrist relax as she saw the rage darken the brilliance of his gaze as it locked with hers. A muscle pounded heavily at his jaw as his lips flattened, his eyes flicking over her shoulder as Mike groaned heavily. The sound of Mike collapsing in the car was easily heard in the silence of the parking lot.
"Rory said the apartment over the garage was available." His voice was guttural, low. "I'll store my gear and finish this bastard's truck myself or I can kill him now. Your choice."
And he meant it.
Sabella shook her head in confusion as the BMW started up behind her. the tires screaming on its exit from the lot.
"Why?" she finally whispered, her voice hoarse as she tried to make sense of it all. Why this, why now? Why had fate thrown someone in her path guaranteed to destroy her, just when she was finally rebuilding her life?
"Choose."
She released his wrist, realizing she was still gripping it with a strength she hadn't known she was capable of.
Finger by finger, she forced herself to let him go. She couldn't answer him, she couldn't choose, but when she got her hands on Rory she was going to kill him.
Ignoring the shocked and surprised faces around her, she turned and moved slowly back to the garage. She had a job to do. she couldn't, she wouldn't, let this interfere.
She didn't need this.
She sat back down on the creeper and let it roll her back beneath the car she had been working on. A few more little tweaks and it should be finished. Just a little bit more.
She picked up the wrench on the cement floor beside her and went to work. If tears rolled from the comers of her eyes and into her hair, then she ignored them. If the pain tightened her chest until it felt as though her heart were being ripped apart, then she ignored it.
Today, there was work to be done. When everyone else was gone, she'd pay Noah Blake for the day and send him on his way. It would hurt. She needed the money and the bank payment was due next week. If she had to, if there was no other choice, then she would sell some more of the jewelry her mother had left her to cover the rest of the payment.
One thing was for sure. Noah was going to have to go. She couldn't handle this. She couldn't handle her instant response to him, and she couldn't handle the conflicting emotions that raged through her at the sight of him. There was something familiar and yet something too dangerous about him for her to get a handle on. Something about him that had made her feel again. Something more than the regret she had resigned herself to three years before. She had finished grieving three years ago; sometimes, now, she just regretted.
She didn't notice the sob that tore from her chest at the thought, but the man standing by the car heard it. Heard it, and hated it.
Noah could still feel the rage coursing through him, burning through his mind like a haze of red. The sight of Mike, the sound of him, the vicious words that had poured from his lips when he spoke to Sabella. Noah had lost his mind. Even now, he wanted the other man dead. A lifetime of history, of friendship, was over that quickly. As far Noah was concerned, Mike was living on borrowed time.
He glanced down at the ground, and the sight of Sabella's legs bent, feet braced on the floor, knees raised against the fender of the car, sent another sort of fury surging through him.
She had no business under there. No matter how damned sexy she looked with her jeans stained with oil and a smear of it on her chin and her cheek.
She was killing herself. Noah hadn't missed the dark circles under her eyes, the weight she had lost, the haunted depths of her misty gray eyes. This wasn't the woman he had left behind. There was no makeup on her surprisingly youthful face, her once honey-streaked light blond hair was a mix of burnished golds and dark blond now. He hadn't even known she colored it. How had he not known that his wife dyed her hair?
He brought to mind the memory of her na**d body. How he had loved her body, curvy and warm, fitting against him perfectly. The bare soft flesh between her thighs had been devoid of curls, so he'd had no idea what the natural color should be.