Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(2)

“We’ll see about that.” He walks over to the car and crouches down, examining the lock. “Hmmm . . . I guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Do you have anything sharp or pointed?”

I pass him the hairpin, watching in surprise as he studiously begins to shimmy the lock. He looks so clean-cut and business-like, not the kind of guy who bends the rules. I’m so busy admiring the way his pants stretch over his ass, I almost forget what happened when I tried that trick.

“Wait!” I exclaim. “Watch out for the—”

The alarm sounds before I can finish warning him, deafening at close range. The handsome stranger quickly shuts it off again. He straightens up, but instead of bidding me farewell and leaving me to my fate, he rolls up his sleeves over tanned, muscular forearms. “Time for Plan B,” he says, sounding weirdly upbeat. “I’m going to need some kind of wedge, some kind of hook or wire, and some gum.”

“You’ve done this before?” I drag my graze away from his sexy arms.

“No, but I watched a guy who did.” The man flashes me a smile. “My sister locked her keys in when we were out in New Jersey. Luckily, we were right across from a construction site. This whole parade of guys came over to help. They’d seen the cops do it, at least, that’s what they all said.”

I laugh. “Of course they did.” I look around, and spot a convenience store on the corner. “OK, well, I’ll see what I can find. And thank you,” I tell him, sincere. “You’re really helping a girl out here.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” He grins. “I’m Will, by the way.”

“Delilah. I’ll be right back!”

I head towards the store, realizing too late that I have no money or credit cards. I don’t want to go back and ask Will for cash, not when he’s being so generous with his time, so I step into the store and fix the teenage clerk with my biggest smile. He blinks. I flutter a wave.

His jaw drops.

OK, so maybe my bra will be lucky today after all.



Five minutes of sweet-talk later, I emerge with everything Will needed: a door-stop wedge, a wire hanger, and a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum. I even took a moment to straighten up in the bathroom and made sure I don’t have car dirt smeared all over my face. After all, you never know if your knight in shining armor will happen to be single and available for a date sometime . . .

“Got it.” I arrive back at the car to find Will checking his phone. I pause, realizing he might have had other plans tonight than hanging out on the street planning a breakin. “If you need to be somewhere, I’ll be fine on my own,” I add, but he tucks the phone away.

“Nowhere better. I just wrapped up my appointments for the day. Besides,” he adds with a mischievous glint to his grin, “I want to see if this actually works.”

“Nothing like a little light breaking and entering on a summer’s night,” I agree.

“Let’s hope there’s no breaking necessary. Now, let me see if I remember how this goes . . .”

He crouches down, and I’m reminded again that those suit pants are a gift to womankind. “Can you jam this between the door and the frame?” he asks, passing me the door-stop. I do as he says, being careful not to scratch the paint, while he straightens out the clothing hanger wire into a long snaking length with a hook on the end. “Now, we jiggle.”

“Is that the technical term?” I tease, as he snakes the wire through the new gap in the car frame. He angles the wire towards the lock button on the inside of the door, and I grip his arm in excitement. “It’s working!”

“Just a little more pressure . . .” Will feeds the wire through some more. Closer, closer—

“Ma’am? Sir?”

A stern voice comes. I turn to find a police officer standing behind us, hands on hips and a suspicious glare on his face.

“Um, Will?” I murmur, but he’s too focused on the task in front of him.

“Just a second . . .”

“Will!” I yank his arm. The wire drops to the ground, and finally he turns.

“What? I nearly had it there— Oh, good evening, Officer.” He straightens up and clears his throat. “Now, I understand how this might look . . .”

“And how’s that?” The officer looks from us to the wire, to the car, and back again. Before he can react, I step forward and give him my best innocent “who, me?” look.

“This nice gentleman was just helping me out with a little car trouble.”

“Is that right?”

“I went and got my purse stolen, isn’t that silly of me?” I flutter my eyelashes, hoping this stern cop is as easily swayed as the convenience store clerk. He doesn’t seem impressed. “It’s my car, honest. All my registration information is in the glove compartment.”

“And do you have ID to prove it’s you?” he counters.

Drat.

“Not exactly . . .” I hedge. “But I can tell you, there’ll be two lipsticks, a power bar, and a spare pair of panties in there with my registration. I’m a regular girl scout,” I wink. “Ready for anything.”

I hear Will snort beside me, so I jam my elbow in his ribs. The cop pauses, thinking, but before he can slap cuffs on us both and cart us off to jail, his radio buzzes on his hip. He holds up one finger to us and answers, murmuring for a moment before he hangs up and looks back at us. “You’ll call triple A?”