Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery Book 1 Jaime Johnesee (best reads of all time txt) 📖

me. Although the bite wasn't exactly an attack. Ugh. Why was I even going through this in my mind? It doesn't matter what he did, or didn't do, or even why. What matters is that I was able to tell him how I saw his little gift and that he understood my point of view.

I had no clue what I was doing, but it's not as if there's some manual or rule book explaining what this process should be like. I don't just mean shifting here, I mean life in general. There is no guidebook, nobody to tell us what the best way for us to go is. It's something we have to figure out on our own.

How weird was it that he was a witness to the murderer that I've been trying to nail? What's weirder is that the agent that was supposed to come by still hadn't shown up. I looked around and saw the clock on the little tower at the head of his condo complex. I realized that I'd been sitting here in my car for about fifteen minutes.

I just picked up my phone to dial Gerry when I saw Sheila's car pull in and I watched her get out and walk to his door. She looked around the lot for me and waved. I blinked the lights on my car and started up my baby.

I'd planned on going home, but, instead, decided I was going for a drive. I love my car and driving it made me feel as close to running free as I could when in human form. The throaty growl of the fully restored 426 Hemi made my heart soar.

She'd been a wreck when I found her. I bought her for five grand from a guy up in North Carolina that really had no clue what he had. Sad for him, but it was one of the happiest days of my life. She was beat to shit, with huge dents and scratches, that were more akin to gouges, all over her faded gray body.

The engine had seized and died a warrior's death; every single one of the eight cylinders was stuck fast and determined never to move again. When Quinn, Chad, and I got her apart, we could tell that she'd been repeatedly run dry of oil. Poor old girl. It took us twenty-three months of evenings and weekends, but slowly we rebuilt my baby into the most beautiful 1971 Challenger R/T that had ever purred. She was even more breathtaking than Kowalski's gorgeous 1970 gal in Vanishing Point.

I opted for a midnight blue paint that was very nearly black. I know it isn’t an original color, but I figured I might as well make her mine. The old rotted interior had been exchanged for newly tooled white leather with custom midnight blue piping.

Other than the non-standard colors, everything looked as it had originally. I'd had all of her chrome parts redone and they just about sparkled in the setting of the dark blue paint. I made sure we put three coats of clear coat on to keep her shiny no matter how dark it got outside.

When things get rough for me, I get in my car and drive. The rumble of the engine and the rush of the wind through the windows, coupled with some classic rock in the background, helps to clear my head and makes me feel alive again. There was nothing that felt too horrible to deal with when I was behind the wheel; she was my sanctuary.

I'm sure it sounds goofy to anyone who doesn't have a love of classic cars, but it's the honest truth. That car keeps me sane and reminds me to keep going no matter how bad life gets. It prompts me to remember that you can pick yourself off the junkyard floor and make something of yourself.

Life sure doesn't owe us any favors, but sometimes it gives them to us, anyway. After all the work I’d put in to my baby she was worth almost sixty thousand dollars. See, what the kid selling it didn't bother to realize was that all the VIN numbers were original and matching. This car was aces; she just needed some love and a lot of work, I felt that way about myself sometimes.

As I hit the highway I turned up the radio and began singing along with CCR's Fortunate Son. It was one of my favorite songs and reminded me of a dear friend of mine from my teenage years. Driving along, belting out my favorite classic rock and blues songs made me happy, for a few moments, anyway.

As I slowed on the exit to I-280, I found myself conflicted with what had been going on in my life. I love being a jaguar, but I don't think it's a life I would ever have chosen, if not for him, my sire.

I pulled up to a stoplight and a redneck in the truck next to me shouted down some nonsense about my car being too much for a little girl like me to handle. When the light turned green I enjoyed leaving him behind. As I drove I thought of Ben and Grisly. Why was it these two shifters were causing me so many headaches?

If Ben had truly seen Grisly he might be in danger. Well, more danger than Sheila hitting on him, which was sure to happen, anyway. Sheila was what one might call overly friendly with guys and— Okay, so the truth is that this chick has been in more beds than every member of The Rolling Stones combined.

I considered turning back, but he was in good hands with Sheila. She wouldn't let anything happen to him. Also, she'd probably scare him enough that he'd be extra chatty when Quinn and I questioned him in the morning. That thought shone through all the others. I love questioning suspects and witnesses with Q. He makes it fun.

As I pulled in my driveway the phone rang.