“It’s something,” I said. He shook his head, irritated. “So if nobody’s going to claim it,” I continued, ignoring him, “maybe they’ll let us. It’s better than letting it just sit there. Money is money, right?”

“So they’ll prefer to make a hundred fifty on it from us—illegally—rather than sell it at auction—legally—and make a few thousand.” He chuckled. “Nikki, you are impossible.”

“So you’ve told me. Again and again. Can we?” I gestured toward the trailer.

He shrugged. “Why do I have a feeling that fighting you is futile?”

“Because I win,” I said. “Or have you conveniently forgotten all the times I’ve kicked your ass in the dojang?”

“I let you win.”

Our footsteps crunched over the gravel drive. “So you suddenly remember that?”

He grinned. “Don’t need to remember it. I just know it. Like I know the sky is blue.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wait until that leg heals, and we’ll see who needs to let who win.”

“Yes, we will.”

He clomped up the two wooden steps that led to the trailer’s door and opened it, stepping back to let me inside first.

“No, you go ahead,” I said.

“Ladies first.”

“You’re injured. You should go first.”

“Can you just make one thing easy? Please?” He opened the door wider. “Go.”

I sighed. This didn’t fit into my plan at all—which was, of course, never to actually ask someone if we could see the car. Asking almost never worked out well for me. Now I had to think of something on the fly. I walked into the trailer’s lobby, my footsteps sounding hollow on the nubby carpet floor. There were a couple of beat-up chairs with stained cushions pushed against the wall, a dusty fake plant in the corner, and a counter with a window dominating one whole end. Next to the counter was a plain wooden door. Nobody was at the window. Instead, there was a note that instructed visitors to ring a bell for assistance. I pretended I didn’t see the note so I could buy myself some time.

After a few long seconds, he sighed, reached around me, and tapped the bell. We heard the noise of movement in what I guessed was a whole other room somewhere behind the counter. Think, Nikki, think.

I patted my jeans pockets, putting on what felt like the fakest panic look ever. “I forgot my phone,” I said. I tugged down the hem of my shirt so he couldn’t see the outline of my phone in my back pocket.

Chris’s face screwed up. “So? I have mine.” He held it out.

“No, I don’t need your phone. I need mine. I think I might have lost it.”