Overdrive (22 page)

“I swear I didn't know it was your car.” The apology seems ridiculous because I didn't even know
him
when I stole his prized pony. “If I'd known how important she was . . .” I break off because what I'm about to say is a lie. I want to tell him that if I'd known about his parents, about what the car meant to him, I would have left her idling by the curb. But he'd see right through me because back then, the only person I cared about besides myself was Emma. “God, I'm such an ass.”

Nick laces his fingers through mine. “No more than me.”

I stare at my chipped fingernails pressed up against his tan skin. “Makes total sense why you held a grudge against me.” He rubs his thumb across Emma's name tattooed on the inside of my wrist. “I didn't care who I hurt, you know?” I go on. “I did whatever I needed to get money for Emma.”

“I understand,” he says.

“She knows.” It wasn't something I planned on admitting to Nick, but it's eating me up and I need to get it off my chest. “I'm, like, the worst role model in the universe.” A tear trickles down my cheek. “I can't even believe how much I've let her down.”

Nick rubs my cheek dry. “She's not a dumb kid, Jules. Maybe she doesn't fully understand now, but later, when this is all over, she'll figure it out.”

“I have to go legit after this,” I say, with a strength I don't quite believe is achievable. “She can never think this is okay, that what I've done is acceptable. I can't keep justifying my actions.”

Nick looks thoughtful. “I get it. After this, I'm done too.” He flicks his tongue over his lip ring. “The Barris car changed things.”

“Because we almost got caught?”

“I wish.” He squeezes my hand. “But I think the love of the thrill is built into my DNA. I'm always going to crave the adrenaline rush, which is why I want to race. The whole drive back from the Petersen, I kept thinking about the car in the trailer. Barris is my fucking idol”–his voice rises–“and I stole a car from him. Not just any car, but his prized possession.” He points to his chest. “How can I be okay with that? It was the biggest boost of my life and I'm not proud. I'm ashamed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don't want to be that guy anymore.”

“You're not
that
guy, Nick. You just hit a roadblock.”

His eyes search mine. “Is that why you gave up dance?”

I chew on the end of my thumbnail. “Partly.”

“So after all this is over, go back.”

“That's a nice thought, but . . .” I swallow. “That dream's over now, Nick. Making money in the arts is tough. If it was just me, I could consider it, but I have Emma to think about. We couldn't survive on what I'd bring in as a dancer.”

“She'd be happy knowing you're doing something you want,” he says. “You'd be following your dream. What's more inspirational than that?”

It's not enough. Getting back into dance isn't the same as riding a bike. You don't just pick up where you left off. I'd have to practice for hours, retraining my muscles to obey all the tiny little commands they've long forgotten. Even if I could make my feet light again, the heaviness in my heart will always weigh me down.

“Just think about it,” Nick says. “I
saw
you dance and it was . . . magical.” I look away but he tilts my chin so we're eye-to-eye. “You belong on a stage, Julia. That was some of the most beautiful dancing I've ever seen.”

I can't take it. The intensity. The emotion. We're moving too fast. I push away and laugh. “You're not a very good judge. I fell on my ass.”

“And you got up again. Seems like you've got a pretty good track record of doing that.”

I could deny everything he's saying, but we'd both be lying. I
do
miss dance. Is it possible, after all of this is over, that I could find my way back to it again? There's a flame in Nick's ice-blue eyes that lights a fire in me, makes me almost believe in the impossible.

“Careful,” I say. “I'm starting to fall for you.”

It's meant to be teasing, an attempt at lightening the mood, but I can tell Nick isn't joking around when he tilts his head toward me and whispers, “I think I fell for you before I even met you.”

My heart skips a full beat, but I try to play it off. “Well, I
am
a bit of a legend.”

“There's that, too.”

“And I stole your car, which is always a great start to a relationship.”

Holy shit, his car! I yank my hand out of his and shove open the passenger door. My pulse starts to race and I must look like a crazy person because Nick's entire face is creased with confusion. I have so fucked up this moment.

But my apology isn't enough.

Words come out in a gush of air. “Come with me.”

I drag him around the winding corridor that leads to the third level of the Trophy Case. It doesn't matter that the RX-8 will be there–I'm becoming immune to its power over me. Everything happens for a reason, my social worker sometimes says, and it's with growing confidence I believe I was supposed to get caught.

I was supposed to realize what a dick Kevin is.

I was supposed to get Emma away from the Millers.

We were supposed to meet Roger.

And maybe, just maybe, I was even supposed to meet Nick.

I've never been a believer in that fate shit–at least not until now.

“Julia?” Nick's breath comes in heavy rasps. “What is the rush?”

And that's when we both see her.

Vicki.

Her polished Candy Apple paint shimmers under the fluorescent lights. I recognize her–and it all comes back to me. The day, the minute I took her. How easily I popped the lock and slid under the dash. How I almost stalled her trying to push her into second gear.

But it's not nostalgia that makes my pulse surge up a notch.

The expression on Nick's face yanks on the strings around my heart. Unraveling me until I am vulnerable and exposed. Pride fills my chest. I have done this. Given Nick this moment.

“How . . . ?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Is this . . . ?”

I laugh through my tears. “You don't recognize your own car?”

Nick grabs me around the waist and scoops me into his arms. His head nestles against my neck. Shivers run down the length of my spine.

He pulls back, and quirks an eyebrow. “You didn't steal her, right?”

“She's legal.”

He plants a hard kiss on my cheek. My forehead. The tip of my nose. “You're amazing! How did you pull this off?”

“I can't take all the credit.” I hate that I have to admit this, but it wouldn't be right to have him think otherwise. “Roger helped.”

He looks pained. “What did it cost you? If you had to give up something . . .”

I shake my head. “Shhh.”

He pulls me close again. “You're amazing, you know that?”

“I'm not.” A teardrop breaks free. “But I needed to do this.”

Nick lifts my chin. “I forgave you a long time ago.” As if to make me believe it, he kisses me hard on the lips. I'm so shocked I don't even know how to respond. The second time is sweeter, softer. My heart begins to pound.

“I don't know what happens next,” he says, and I'm surprised by the emotion in his eyes. “But I know we make a great team. Not stealing cars–for real. Tell me you feel it too.”

I've tried to slough it off, pretend our chemistry isn't real. But it's impossible to ignore. The future is uncharted, an open map of unknown roads. Maybe our paths will go in opposite directions at some point, the journey will change. But for right now, in this moment and as long as it lasts, I can't think of a better travel companion.

“I'm willing to try.”

Nick pulls me in to him and buries his face in my neck. His hand weaves through my hair to lightly tilt my head upward. I can't take my eyes off his lips. They move to meet mine. Tentative and sweet.

I am completely sucked in.

My bottom teeth scrape against his piercing and he groans. He pulls me closer to deepen the kiss. His tongue probes between my lips as his hand sweeps across my back.

My entire body goes numb.

“You're beautiful, Jules.”

His mouth moves to my shoulder, my neck, behind my ear. Goose pimples cover my skin. Our bodies mold together. I am drowning, sinking, melting into the floor when his hands reach around my waist and scoop me off the ground. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him carry me to the hood of his car.

As he leans in to reclaim my lips, my pulse redlines.

The List

Jack–1970 Dodge Super Bee 426

José–1965 Corvette Mako Shark II

Reggie–1968 Chevy ZL1 Camaro

Adam–1970 Dodge Hemi Coronet R/T

George–1968 Corvette Cosma Ray

James–1964 Aston Martin DBS

Eleanor–1967 Mustang Shelby GT500

JAMES IS IN PIECES.

It's almost like someone went all Bond-action on the Aston Martin–took it out, rode it hard, and then parked it up on blocks to rot. Tragic, since based on its pictures, the car is kind of impressive.

If you're into that sort of thing.

“It's worth millions,” Mat says, as if that should make me want it. He shifts forward on his stool and jabs at a picture of the car on his tablet. We all hunch over the round table in the game room. “I mean, look at it. Machine guns in the front fenders. Tire cutters on the wheels . . .”

Chelsea's eyes widen. “Wow, you are
totally
nerding out.”

Everyone laughs except Nick.

The muscle in the side of his cheek flexes. “Fuck.”

I get why he's pissed. We've spent the last couple of days coasting, hanging out like normal teens, acting like the Barris job was our last. Nice fairy tale while it lasted. But the truth is, we got lazy.

Mat grimaces. “Obviously I can't find another
missing
James.” The Aston Martin has been missing since it was stolen more than a decade ago. “Even if I could locate the replica, Roger wouldn't go for it.”

“Maybe he wouldn't notice,” Chelsea says.

“Oh, he'd notice,” Nick says. “The duplicate comes without all the bells and whistles. The original car was too heavy for the car chases in
Goldfinger
.” At Chelsea's blank stare, he half smiles. “That's the Bond movie this car is from.”

She flops down on the sofa next to Nick and puts her feet up on the coffee table. Her toenails are apricot, like the paint on the Cosma Ray. “Without going all nerd on me, how did you find the car, Mat?”

“Here's the irony,” he says. “The car was stolen from an old airplane hangar back in '97. Yesterday, it turns up here”–he points to an image on the screen–“in a similar hangar just east of the city.”

“Feels a bit coincidental,” I say.

Nick snatches the iPad out of Mat's hand. “Let me see that.”

I peer over his shoulder to take a look. Thick vines cover the outside of a rusted old building that sits on a field of overgrown grass. A forest of trees surrounds the place. “You're sure James is in there? That place looks abandoned.”

And a little like a trap.

“That's the beauty of it,” Mat says. “Those inside shots were taken using some sweet technology Roger hooked me up with. That's why the pictures are a bit grainy.”

Chelsea glances up from where she's begun removing the polish from her toenails. “You took photos of the car from the outside?”

Mat rocks back on his heels. “Not bad, huh?”

Chelsea doesn't seem to notice the way his blush dims under the soft Tiffany light. “Okay, I'll bite. If James is shacked up in some hangar in the woods, why don't we just go get it?”

“It's not whole,” Nick says.

“Roger freaked out over a busted side mirror,” I remind her. “This isn't that.” I squint at the image on the screen. “We're looking at new wheels, and for sure there's damage on the front end.”

Chelsea holds up a finger. “Wait. What color is it?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Silver . . .”

She roots around in a basket tucked under the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of metallic nail polish. My eyes go wide. “Are you matching your nails to each boost?”

“Obviously.” She holds the nail brush midpolish. “I'm stoked for Nightmist Blue.”

Nick steers us back on topic. “We can't do anything about the state of the car. Roger will have to take it as is–or not at all.”

“That's only half the problem,” Mat says. “Security is tight.”

Chelsea looks thoughtful. “Never broke into an airplane hangar before. That's one for the bucket list.”

My lips curl into an involuntary smirk. “You have a bucket list?”

“We pulled off the Petersen,” Nick says.

I can't imagine anything being more complicated than that, but if Mat has concerns, I'm worried too.

“What you don't see is the live perimeter fence.” Mat traces a square around the building with his fingertip. “I can cut the alarms there, and sever the other alarm wires–which is funny, since that's exactly how the thieves ganked the car years ago.”

“Good so far,” Nick says.

“But accessing the property won't be easy. The owner's house is half a mile up on the road–which is surrounded by trees. Probably the closest thing we've got to a forest around here.” He hesitates. “Also, there's a dog.”

“Okay, let's say we get past Cujo, anything else we need to worry about?”

Mat shifts his gaze to me. “We'd need to tow it off the property.”

“Tow trucks are slow,” Nick says.

Not to mention about as subtle as a Volkswagen Beetle on the Autobahn.