As Sloan watched, the mechanic shook out a rag and laid it on the floor. Then, like a mother laying a baby in its crib, he gently placed a part from the engine on it. Finally, he straightened and started around the other side of the lift. As he took off the ball cap, a black ponytail fell over one shoulder. Replacing the cap with the bill facing forward, the mechanic turned and unzipped the grease-stained coveralls.
“Hi.” Sloan offered a smile. “I hope you can help me. I’m looking for—” The words stuck in his throat as he stared.
The mechanic wasn’t a man. He—no, she was Allison Richards. And she was safe.
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