Audibly, openly, the way crowds laugh at something that is genuinely ridiculous to them. The way they laugh at someone slipping on ice or bidding $1,000 on a car that wasn't worth scrap weight. Cole heard the laughter and kept his face neutral and walked to the payment desk. Behind him, he heard Victoria Hale say to someone beside her. Clearly, carrying across the ambient noise the way voices do when they aren't trying particularly hard to be quiet.
I've seen some questionable calls at auction, but that might be the single dumbest purchase I've ever watched happen in person. More laughter from nearby. Someone said something Cole didn't catch. He paid the $1,000, got his paperwork, and walked back to where Emma was standing. She was looking at the people who had laughed with an expression that was very serious and a little bit cold for an 8-year-old.
"Those people are rude," she said. "They're not wrong about the car. " "They don't know what you know. " "No," Cole said. "They don't. " He got the car onto the trailer without incident, which took 40 minutes of careful positioning and two borrowed ratchet straps from the lot staff. The car was light. McLaren always was.
That was the whole point. But what was left of it was structurally compromised in ways that required care. He didn't want anything shifting in transit that would damage whatever physical evidence remained. Victoria Hale appeared while he was setting the final strap. She didn't announce herself.
One moment he was crouching at the wheel well, and the next moment there were heeled boots 3 ft from his face, and he looked up and there she was, hands in the pockets of the blazer, sunglasses pushed up on her head. "You drove from out of state for this? " she said. It wasn't a question. She'd have checked the registration on the trailer. "Arizona. " Cole said.
"You paid a thousand dollars for a car worth less than that in scrap. " "I paid a thousand dollars for a car I wanted. " "But why? " Cole stood up and looked at her. Up close she was less polished than the distance suggested. There was a small scar on her chin, and her eyes were the kind of tired that came not from one bad night, but from a long run of them. She was watching him with attention he recognized from engineers. People who looked at things until they understood them.
"That's a long story. " he said. "The auction's over. " "I have time. " "I don't, actually. " He looked back at the trailer. "I need to get her home before dinner. " Victoria glanced at Emma, who was sitting on the truck's running board eating a granola bar and watching the exchange with considerable interest. "Your daughter? " "Emma. Eight years old and she already knows the phrase circular logic, so be careful. " Victoria almost smiled, almost.
"What's your name? " "Cole Bennett. " "You know what that car is? " He looked at her steadily. "I know what I think it might be. " "And what do you think it might be? " "Like I said. " He moved to the truck door. "Long story. " He could feel her eyes on him as he got Emma into the back seat and climbed in himself and pulled the truck out of the lot. He watched her in the mirror standing in the lot with her hands still in her pockets, and he could see from her posture that she was deciding something. He didn't know yet whether that was good or bad.