“He dropped this.”
She held up the bypass connector.
Clayton’s face changed.
“He works around electrical systems.”
“Yes.”
“That means nothing.”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking at me like it does.”
“I’m looking at you like you trust him.”
“I do.”
“How long?”
“Eleven years.”
“Trust isn’t evidence.”
Clayton stared at her for several seconds.
Then:
“Seven days.”
He walked away.
Maya watched him go.
The line had not been a reminder of the wager.
It had been a warning.
Fix the machines.
Leave the rest alone.
She returned to work.
At 11:40 that night, the second tractor started.
At 12:15, she shut everything down, locked the main shop doors, and dragged an old cot from the parts room.
She slept in her clothes.
At 2:07 a.m., metal scraped against concrete.
Her eyes opened.
She did not move.
Another sound.
The side personnel door.
Maya had not locked it.
On purpose.
A beam of light crossed the far wall.
Someone stepped inside.
Maya slid one hand beneath the cot and closed it around the heavy flashlight she kept there.
The figure moved toward tractor two.
No overhead lights.
Phone flashlight only.
Maya waited.
The person opened the panel she had repaired.
Reached inside.
Maya switched on her flashlight.
The beam hit Logan Mercer directly in the face.
He jerked backward.
For half a second nobody spoke.
Then Maya said:
“You always work at two in the morning?”
Logan lowered his hand.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“You can’t sleep in here.”
“My agreement says unrestricted access.”
“It doesn’t say hotel.”
“What are you doing?”
“Checking your work.”
“At two in the morning.”
“We run early.”
“You didn’t turn on lights.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You didn’t know I was here.”
He smiled.
“Everybody knows you’re here.”
“Good.”
Maya sat up.
“What were you checking?”
He glanced at the tractor.
“Your repair.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me what you were checking.”
“I don’t answer to you.”
“Then leave.”
His expression hardened.
“This is my shop.”
“Clayton gave me control of these machines for seven days.”
“No.”
“He gave you access.”
“Same difference.”
“Not remotely.”
Logan stepped closer.
“You’re getting real comfortable.”
Maya stood.
She was five foot seven.
Logan had at least seven inches and seventy pounds on her.
She did not back up.
“You dropped a bypass connector this morning.”
“So?”
“The tractor had one installed.”
“Coincidence.”
“Three machines did.”
His eyes changed.
There.
Small.
But there.
Maya said:
“I didn’t tell you three.”
Silence.
Logan’s jaw flexed.
“You think you’re clever.”
“No.”
“I think you’re nervous.”
He laughed.