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“Exactly,” Remi said. “When we figure that out, we’re that much closer to clearing your uncle.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“Not to mention,” Sam added, “Chad will be an asset. Regardless of his fake pedigree, he knows what he’s talking about. Still, if you want to back out, we won’t stand in your way . . .”
Remi could see Oliver starting to waver. “The choice is yours, but we need him in our court.”
“Your uncle needs him in our court,” Sam said.
Oliver took a deep breath, then nodded, his gaze fixed on Chad and the car. “I trust your judgment. Let’s do this.”
32
The shop smelled of spray paint. Remi was putting the finishing touches on one of the fenders, which made Sam glad they were handling the drop-off out in the open where the smell wouldn’t be an issue. Still, the most important aspect was the silhouette, and, two hours later, he squinted his eyes, trying to imagine what it might be like if the sun was shining on them, pleased to see that the car’s silhouette somewhat resembled the Gray Ghost.
Close up was a completely different story. The spot welds on the new fenders were obvious, even with the gray spray paint covering them. The chrome work had been buffed to a shine, the rust dabbed with paint. And the seat backs, both front and rear, now formed an arch similar to the Gray Ghost. Surprisingly, the leather and stuffing attached to the support with duct tape blended perfectly with the old upholstery.
Unable to find a perfect color match, Remi had spray-painted the cracked leather, and the duct tape holding it together, a slightly darker blue. “One good thing,” she said, tossing the empty spray can into the trash, “it doesn’t look quite so worn now.”
Oliver looked up from the headlamp he’d been buffing. “Let’s hope they don’t notice the color difference.”
“If Remi’s plan works,” Sam told them, “it won’t matter. They won’t get that close . . . How much longer?”
Chad held up the blowtorch. “One last weld on the left front fender. But we need time to let the paint dry. If they touch the seats, we’re done for.”
“Like I said, we don’t plan on letting them get that close.”
“How’re you going to keep them from seeing the car?”
“We time it right,” Remi said, “the sun will be angled directly behind it, blinding them.”
While Chad finished the welding, Remi went over what he needed each of them to do. Afterward, he looked at his watch. “Wrap it up. We need to get it loaded on the flatbed and put a tarp over it.”
Since their plan had changed, eliminating the need for a sharpshooter at the top of the hill, Sam and Remi flipped a coin to see who was going in the back way to get Chad’s mom out. Remi lost the toss. “Is it wrong that I want to see their faces when they realize the car isn’t the Ghost?”
“Hate to spoil your fun,” Sam said, “but I’m hoping we’re long gone before that happens.”
He rode with Chad, who drove the flatbed trailer, while Remi drove Oliver in their rental car, the four meeting up on the street near the park, where a few teenage boys were kicking a rugby ball around on the grass. Sam and Remi put in their Bluetooth earpieces, and he called her phone. “Ready?”
She patted the gun holstered beneath her shirt, then eyed the ivy-covered wall. “Where exactly is this gate?” she asked Chad.
“See where the boy in the yellow shirt’s standing? Right behind him.”
“Got it. Can they see it from the inside?”
“Only if they go digging through the ivy.”
“Oliver,” Sam said. “You stay with the car. As soon as Remi comes out with Chad’s mother, be ready.”
“I will be.”
Sam and Chad walked back to the truck, Sam going over what he wanted Chad to say when he called the house. “Remi and I will be in touch by phone the entire time. We need to get those two men out of that house and up the hill before that sun goes down.”
“You think it’ll work?”
There were so many variables why it wouldn’t, but Sam wasn’t about to mention any of them. The last thing he needed was to have Chad thinking about the possibility of failure. “No doubt.”