Saturday morning usually started with the sound of motorbikes pulling into Lawson Customs before I’d even finished my first coffee.
By nine o’clock the workshop was already busy, Ben was working through a routine service. Mia was juggling phone calls and invoices with her usual impossible level of organization and I was halfway through replacing a clutch assembly on an old Harley.
It was shaping up to be another ordinary day but unfortunately, ordinary days never seemed to last very long anymore.
A sleek black luxury sedan rolled into the parking lot followed closely by another vehicle.
I frowned as the first car stopped near the office.
The driver’s door opened and Charles Lawson stepped out wearing an expensive tailored suit that looked completely out of place beside oil stains
