Page 117 of Crash Course
At least now he knew and could swap it out, since he had backups of just about every part needed to keep this baby running. Relief took hold, easing the tension out of his shoulders and chest.
He’d done it. Got Dad’s car on the road again.
He’d have to call Reid and tell him the dye worked. And maybe make up some complicated issue that sounded a whole lot better than a leaking plug.
Something that would have been hard to identify because God help him if Reid knew the actual story. That guy would never let him live it down.
All Cruz knew was, for the first time in a few months, he was . . . dare he say it, content. It wasn’t lost on him that the mighty and brilliant Cilla might have a lot to do with it. She’d churned him up in some freaking phenomenal ways. Including itching to get back to his suite where she slept in his bed and he could steal glances of her silky hair against his pillows. Or the way her tall, lean body curved into his while they slept.
Good stuff right there.
Now, he knew how his brothers felt, wanting the women in their lives close.
It wouldn’t change his mind about needing his space, but maybe he could be less of a brat about it. Less resentful and more grateful that the people he loved most were happy.
Yeah, that sounded good. Great, in fact.
Patience. A novel idea.
After swapping out the oil plug, Cruz made his way back to his suite where Cilla still snoozed. Remembering the guilt of Rohan being up so early, he resisted the urge to crawl back into bed and grabbed a quick shower, kissed Cilla good morning, and headed to the Theater.
If Rohan didn’t need his help, he’d get prepped for the 9:00 meeting to discuss the recovery of a three-million-dollar violin. An e-mail containing background on said violin had gone out, but Cruz hadn’t yet cracked that sucker open. He and Ro would most likely be doing the research, so Cruz needed to get his ass up to speed and not disappoint his brothers again.
Still, leaving Cilla sucked.
She’d be on the road by six to get back to Charlotte at a decent time. Between the two of them, they were both working on a Sunday and who knew when he’d see her again? Soon. He’d make sure of it.
Dressed in only a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, he hustled along the path to the Annex.
Inside, lights blazed. As expected, his brother sat at the conference table, fingers flying on his keyboard. The faint scent of fresh coffee caught Cruz’s attention and he glanced at the giant travel mug on the table beside Rohan’s laptop.
"Hey," Cruz said, setting his laptop on the table and logging in before making his way to the kitchenette for some of that fresh coffee.
Rohan didn’t bother to look up or stop typing. "Hey."
"You’re early."
"Could say the same for you."
"I wanted to look at the intel on the Caldwell case."
"It doesn't appear complicated. Divorce situation. The husband is holding the violin hostage. It’s in a temperature-controlled storage facility."
Cruz shook his head. "People."
Storage facilities, however, could be tricky. Busting into one meant dealing with pain-in-the-ass security guards or cameras and gates.
Rohan sat back and stared at his screen. "Coffee is on."
"Good. I need it."
"Cilla still here?"
Cruz flashed a grin. "She sure is. Dude, she might break me in two. I think I’m in love."
Rohan gave him a pained look. "Dude, I didn’t need to hear that."
What? Why? Was that bad? All he’d said was . . . wait.
