THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

there.”
    “When’s your meeting?”
    “One-thirty.”
    He looked at his watch. “You’re going to be late.”
    She waved the useless phone at him. “I know, and I can’t even call them and let them know.” She held the useless cell phone up in dismay. “My phone won’t work out here.”
    He pulled his phone off a clip on his belt and dialed a number. “Hey, Bobby. I need your wrecker out on Route 58.” He looked around to get his bearings. “Just west of Capron near the old store...Okay...Sure...Black Porsche...Seriously...An hour? Great. Thanks, man.”
    “An hour?” She tipped her head back, frustrated. “I knew I should’ve left earlier.”
    “You can make it if you leave now.”
    She motioned toward the car. “Yeah, well that isn’t happening.”
    “Why don’t you take my car? I’ll wait for the wrecker. Bobby’s place is right there by Huckaby’s shop. We can meet up later today. After your meeting. Sound good?”
    Is he serious?
    “What makes you so sure I won’t steal your car?”
    “I’m not worried,” he said.
    “Shouldn’t take but a couple hours.”
    “You can buy me dinner at Jacob’s Diner around five. Can you get back by then?”
    “Yes. Definitely.”
    “Have you been there? Jacob’s Diner, I mean. Best darn chicken anywhere.”
    Kasey shook her head. “No. I haven’t been anywhere but Huckaby’s, but I know the way there.”
    “It’s on the same block.”
    “Are you for real?”
    “Sure. He thumped the trunk of the Porsche. You did know the engine isn’t up here, right?”
    “Yeah. I thought maybe people weren’t stopping because they thought I had a flat.”
    “Good thinking. I’m sure this classic is as important to you as mine is to me,” he said. “I’d say if you run off with mine and I end up with yours, we’re about even. But you look honest, and you’re a neighbor. You better get going.”
    “You’re not kidding.”
    “No, now scoot. Geez, you city girls sure are full of suspicion.”
    “I’ll need my equipment.” She leaned across the driver’s seat and grabbed her briefcase and camera bag.
    “Need any help?”
    “Thanks.” She handed him the heavy case, then headed toward the T-Bird with the bags hiked up on her shoulder. She put the equipment in the passenger’s seat, then stood with one foot in the car, watching him as he walked back to her Porsche. “I really appreciate this.”
    He turned, smiled, and saluted her.
    She scrambled in her purse for a second, looking for a business card, then ran to his side. “Here’s my card. I’ll see you at five. Promise.”
    He smiled and tucked the card in his shirt pocket without even glancing at it. “I’m not worried.”
    She slid behind the wheel of the T-Bird and started the engine. What a stroke of luck. She opened the door and half stood. “I didn’t even get your name.”
    He turned, walking backwards. “Scott.”
    “Thanks, Scott. I owe you. Big time.”
    “Get moving. You’re late. But don’t speed or you’ll be later.”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard about the ticket-crazy cops out here. Thanks.” The country had its advantages. She pulled the car out into the traffic, waving to her new friend as she passed by.
     

 
    Chapter Twenty
     
    Kasey felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she drove Scott’s T-Bird. The car was so much like Nick’s. She wasn’t sure if it was the same year or not. Even though she’d photographed many older cars in her career, she’d never paid close attention to their model years.
    She turned on the radio. No AM sports station here. The sound of a country song with a catchy beat filled the car.
    She pushed the gas a little harder to keep the T-Bird at the posted speed limit of sixty. This car didn’t have the power of her Porsche, but she was on her way, thank goodness.
    The bars on her cell phone lit up. She picked up the phone to dial Prescott and let him know she might be running late.
    Just as she punched in the numbers, a siren wailed behind her.
    She pulled over so the policeman could pass, but he followed her off to the shoulder of the road. I know I wasn’t speeding. She put her phone on the seat and cranked down the window. A young officer walked up to the car, one hand on his hip, the other on his gun. The gun looked proportionately large for such a small guy
    “Good afternoon.” She smiled her best give-me-a-warning smile. It had never let her down.
    “License and registration, ma’am.”
    She handed him her license, then