If nothing else, Christa needed to know what his name was.

Perspiration dripped into Jock Peritoni’s eyes as he looked up from the hot, uncooperative engine he’d been struggling with for the past half hour. The test drive he’d just taken the vehicle on had told him nothing. He didn’t have his father’s or Malcolm’s ear. He couldn’t just listen and be able to narrow down a problem.

He’d been only vaguely aware of the squealing tires and the life-and-death race that had taken place in the far end of the minimall. The engine had absorbed all his attention. He’d wanted to fix it before Malcolm arrived at work.

So far, all his efforts had been wasted.

Relief highlighted his grease-streaked face as he saw Malcolm approach. He’d begun to worry that something was wrong and his boss wasn’t coming in today. Malcolm was never late.

It was only ten minutes shy of nine in the morning, but Jock already felt himself overwhelmed. Wiping his hands on the back of his permanently stained jeans, the nineteen-year-old noticed the woman with the little girl in her arms. It looked as if she was hurrying to catch up to his boss, but Malcolm seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

That wasn’t unusual. Working here over the last year, Jock had noticed that Malcolm Evans had an ability to shut out everything around him when he wanted to.

Circumventing the front end of the car, Jock nodded a greeting at Malcolm. “Hi, boss. You had me worried. I thought maybe you weren’t going to come in.”

Malcolm hadn’t missed a day since he’d opened, though a lot of days he’d wanted to. He knew if he gave in to that feeling, he’d never stop. He’d done that once, and it had taken him almost two years to crawl out of that black hole. “I would have called you if I wasn’t going to be in.”

The voice was solemn, even. Jock’s father had told him that Malcolm had been the life of the party during their racing-circuit days, but Jock found it really hard to believe. He had yet to see a smile on the man. When he had once gathered enough courage to ask him about it, Malcolm had pointed out to him that Jock grinned enough for both of them.

Jock nodded toward the woman who had almost caught up to Malcolm. “Don’t look now, but you’re being followed.”

Preoccupied with memories that had suddenly assaulted him, memories he’d been working so hard to lock away, Malcolm hadn’t heard anyone walking behind him. He stopped and turned around abruptly.

Unable to stop quickly enough, Christa collided with him. Malcolm’s hands went out automatically to steady her and the child she clutched to her. He’d thought he’d left her behind with the policeman who claimed to be her brother.

What was she doing following him? Their business was over.

“What?”

He bit off the question the way he might have bitten off the end of a cigar, spitting it out because it interfered with his goal. Having her anywhere around him, having the child anywhere around him, interfered with his ability to blank out his mind. To forget what only caused him pain to remember.

Christa caught herself swallowing before answering. She felt as if she was being interrogated. What was his problem? And why would anyone who was so obviously unfriendly put himself out to rescue her child? He was behaving like someone who didn’t want to become involved. But he had.

Why?

Robin was sinking. Christa shifted her, moving the little girl up higher in her arms. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“You already did.” Malcolm raised his dark eyes to indicate the rear parking lot where her van was standing, buffered by two squad cars.

“I mean really thank you,” she insisted. “Words don’t seem adequate.”

“Then don’t waste them,” he advised mildly.

With that, he turned his back on her and walked into the service area where ailing cars and the various parts that could get them up and running again were housed. In the back was a tiny alcove with a door that served as his office, a place where he retreated to when he wanted to be alone.

He was always alone now, Malcolm thought.

She had no idea what to make of him. Christa exchanged looks with the tall, gangly attendant who in turn raised wide, bony shoulders in a helpless shrug.

A car pulled up to the full-service island, and the attendant retreated. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but he looked somewhat relieved about it.

Christa licked her lower lip and tried again. She took a step forward, only to have Malcolm whip around, his hand raised to keep her back.

“This area’s restricted,” he snapped. “You could get hurt here.”

Christa saw nothing that posed any immediate threat beyond the man’s temperament, but she took a step back, more in reaction to his demeanor than anything else.