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Shea was unlocking Iron Goddess’ back door when two vehicles pulled into the back lot—Chlöe’s beige Mercedes and a dark green Jaguar convertible. Shea waited by the door as Chlöe got out of her car. A tall woman with dark hair and broad shoulders emerged from the Jag—the same woman who had glared at her a couple of doors down from the Tenth Inning. This evening she was dressed in a sport coat over a dark shirt.
“Shea, this is Ms. Elizabeth Schwartz, one of my associates. She and I have a business dinner later, so I asked her along. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No problem. Come on in.” Shea led the two into the service bay and over to where Chlöe’s bike rested on a bike stand. “Here it is. We’ll be sending off to paint soon.”
“Oh my, it looks great.” Chlöe pointed to something on the bik
