Kellen walked toward the front.
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Please.”
“Pop the hood.”
She reached inside.
The hood released.
Kellen lifted it.
The engine bay looked clean enough to eat from.
He immediately felt irritated.
Not with her.
With the car.
Vehicles like this came with plastic covers designed to prevent owners from recognizing anything mechanical beneath them.
He set the toolbox down.
The woman angled the umbrella over him.
Kellen noticed.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re helping me.”
“You’ll get soaked.”
“I already am.”
She wasn’t.
Not really.
The coat had taken some rain.
A few strands of brown hair clung to her cheek beneath the beret.
But compared with him, she looked like someone standing inside a perfume advertisement.
Kellen removed the engine cover.
“Try starting it.”
She went around to the driver’s seat.
The engine turned.
Caught.
Shuddered.
Died.
Again.
Same.
Kellen listened.
“Stop.”
She returned.
“What?”
“Could be fuel control.”
“Sensor.”
“Something electrical.”
He checked connections.
Rain bounced from the hood edge.
Cold water ran from his hair into his eyes.
He wiped his face with his sleeve.
“What happened before it died?”
“I was driving.”
“That usually helps.”
She looked at him.
He smiled.
She laughed despite herself.
“Sorry.”
“Long day.”
“Mine too.”
She glanced toward his truck.
Through the rain she could see Amara sitting inside, drawing on a tablet.
“Your daughter?”
Kellen followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t mind waiting?”
“She’ll invoice me later.”
The woman smiled.
Kellen returned to the engine.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
“Serafina.”
“Kellen.”
He extended one wet hand automatically, then looked at it.
“Actually, never mind.”
Serafina laughed.
“I appreciate the restraint.”
He leaned deeper over the engine.
Several minutes passed.
The rain grew harder.
Serafina shifted the umbrella.
Kellen followed wiring.
Checked connectors.
Then stopped.
Something felt wrong.
He reached farther down.
His fingers found a loose harness.
Not unplugged.
Damaged.
Kellen pulled.
A narrow sensor lead emerged.
The insulation had been cut.
Cleanly.
Not rubbed.
Not overheated.
Cut.
He stared.
Serafina noticed.
“What?”
Kellen did not answer immediately.
He turned the wire beneath the gray light.
The copper inside was visible.
Both sides were too clean.
His stomach tightened.
He had seen that cut before.
Not on this car.
On a test vehicle three years earlier.
The memory arrived so sharply he could smell the old Vale Automotive engineering garage.
Hot coffee.