Dangerous Race (10 page)

“The Sportys.” His brows rose on his forehead. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Forgot what?” Eddie asked, sauntering into the garage like the heir apparent he was. He smiled at Tracey the way he used to, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. They’d never have the same effect on her again.

“The Sportys,” Matthew said.

“Actually. I did forget.” Completely. An awards dinner meant nothing compared to the week she’d endured. She started for the door. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going.”

“Why?” Matthew asked.

Four quick reasons bounced in her head at once. Tracey turned and spouted off the first three on her list. “It’s a stupid award, okay. A Sporty? C’mon. And it’s not as if I have a chance of winning. It’s a boy’s club.” She brushed past Eddie toward the door. “Besides, I’m not going by myself.”

“Trace, wait,” Eddie said. “What if I take you?”

She stopped. Had hell frozen over? Were pigs flying? The man’s brain must’ve short-circuited. Had he forgotten he didn’t want anything to do with her? Tracey shook her head. “I don’t think so, Eddie.”

“Why not? C’mon, it’ll be fun. You and me out for the night. We haven’t…” He studied his feet before raising his gaze to hers. Matthew hadn’t budged from the countertop and he watched Eddie with hard eyes. “I just thought we could spend some time together,” Eddie said softly.

She remembered that sweet cajoling tone from four years ago and never imagined she’d hear it again. His eyes, his voice, everything about him had turned an about-face from his usual coolness to her. Almost as if recent events had him reconsidering dumping her years ago. “I appreciate the offer, Eddie, but I’ve got too much going on to think about an awards dinner.” She had to stay focused on what mattered. The race. Her car. She walked out the door, climbed into her truck and headed back to the hotel to get what she needed for the night.

Mac slid his card key in the lock, surprised that Tracey wasn’t next door doing the same thing. For a split second, relief snaked its way through him, then apprehension squirmed in his gut. He went to his desk and dialed her room. No answer. He knocked on the adjoining door. “Tracey? Trace?” He tried the knob, but it was locked. He called the front desk. They hadn’t seen her. Mac paced the room until his sixth sense got the better of him. He contacted the manager and had him come up to open her room.

Mac met the guy in the hallway, his nerves a tight bundle of wire. The manager opened her door and Mac stepped in, scanning the space. Empty. A tiny speck of relief washed through him. He’d had a nightmare vision of seeing her sprawled on the floor in a puddle of blood. He shook off the picture and glanced at the room again. A pillow and blanket were missing from the bed.

Son of a bitch. He knew exactly where she was. He called her cell phone. Voice mail. He tried the garage. No answer. Either she was smart enough to know it was him and avoid answering or…Shit! He hated this.

He jumped in his rented Camry and headed for the garage. The speedometer climbed along with his anxiety. Tracey had the balls to think she could protect herself and her car. She had no idea what a killer could do.

Mac raced through an intersection. Headlights glared in his side window. A horn blared. Instinctively, he floored the gas as a car ran a red light and nearly clipped him.

Heart pumping, he pulled over. He broke out in a cold sweat and had to pry his hands from the steering wheel. The horror of his accident ten years ago struck him as swiftly as a hated enemy. The impact of his car against the wall. The deafening sound of crunching metal and smell of burning rubber assailed his senses as if it just happened.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. There’d been no reason for that accident, but still he’d plowed into the wall as if he’d miscalculated or misjudged…And deep inside he knew he hadn’t done any of those things.

Unlike Tracey, he’d walked away without a scratch. Also unlike Tracey, he’d been unable to get back in the driver’s seat.

Mac took a steadying breath. After several minutes he put the car in gear and continued on. Ten hair-raising minutes later, he reached the garage. The security guard remembered him from his racing days ten years before and let him in despite the fact it was after hours. The sigh of relief he’d wanted to breathe was non-existent. Tracey’s truck wasn’t by the garage. Damn it. He’d been positive…

A quick flash of light caught his eye. Maybe Tracey wasn’t here, but someone was. He slipped out of the car and turned the corner of the building. Nothing. Grayling Racing occupied the last spot on the long row of garages and adrenaline spiked as he circled the huge structure. Still nothing. Maybe he’d been hallucinating.

After a full circle, he heard something. Someone. In the garage. Damn if he was going to let some son of a bitch screw with the car again. His palms sweated as he punched in the combination code. He cringed at the audible sound of the mechanism unlocking. With his surprise entrance blown to hell, he threw open the door and bolted into the dark room.

A presence and a loud grunt came from his left. He put his arm up in time to shield his head. The thud of something hard against his forearm coincided with a burst of pain that shot down to his fingertips and up to his shoulder. Before the door closed and all light disappeared, his attacker lifted the weapon again. Mac sprang at the guy.

A small guy. Shit! Too late.

The scent of lavender assailed his senses when his shoulder made contact with Tracey’s rib cage. Air whooshed out of her lungs as he twisted at the last minute and tried to cushion her fall, landing hard on the cement floor with her in his arms.

She struggled against him.

“Tracey, it’s me!” Mac rasped.

Breathing heavily, she stilled in his arms. “Mac?” Her pulse raced beneath his hands. She was scared to death.

“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She sagged against him. Her body pressed along his and her warm sigh wafted against his neck. “I thought you were…I thought you were trying to…” She pushed away from him. “God, Mac, are you okay? I clobbered you with that crowbar.”

Mac sat up and rubbed his forearm, fisting his hand to test his mobility. “It’s not broken, but it hurts like a son of a bitch. Nice shot.” He glanced toward her voice but in the dark could only imagine the worry in her eyes. It was the second time since the day they’d met that he felt any type of friendship with her.

He heard her stand in the pitch-black room. “I’ll get some ice for your arm.” she said, heading to the office.

Mac’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as she walked away. He leaned against the row of cabinets behind him. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

The office light snapped on. “Out where?” Tracey called.

“Outside the garage. I didn’t see your truck and I was about to leave when I saw your flashlight.”

Tracey appeared in the doorway. “I don’t have a flashlight. I never left the garage.”

Mac’s gut balled into a knot. He jumped to his feet and moved toward the door. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it until I tell you.”

He went outside, circled the building again and ventured toward the garages on the opposite side. Nothing. Looking around one last time, he knocked on the door. “Tracey, it’s me, open up.”

“Did you see anybody?” she asked, letting him in. She’d turned on all the lights.

“No. Nothing. Whoever it was had the brains to get out fast.”

Tracey handed him an ice pack. The contrition on her face was as much a balm to his soul as the ice to his arm.

“Thanks.” Mac set the pack on his throbbing arm. He took in Tracey’s blue hoodie and hip-hugging sweatpants, which outlined her outrageous figure, before closing the door behind him. “Who else is here with you?”

“No one.”

“Then who were you talking to? I heard voices when I was outside the door.”

“A voice,” she corrected. “You heard my voice.” She didn’t say anymore and wouldn’t look at him as she picked up the crowbar.

“Do you make it a habit of talking to yourself?” he asked.

She flushed but met his gaze. “If you must know, I have a habit of talking to my car.”

He nodded and hid his smile. The first day he’d met her, he’d caught her talking to the car. “As long as the car doesn’t talk back,” he said, lifting a quizzical brow.

A blush reddened her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. His gaze landed on the blankets and pillow next to her car, which confirmed his suspicions. He shook his head and every lighthearted cell in his body disappeared. “Oh, no, no way in hell,” he growled.

Tracey’s nostrils flared. “Why don’t you leave before you say something I don’t want to hear?” She stalked back to her makeshift bed, dropping the crowbar next to her. It landed with a clang. “Do me a favor and hit the lights on your way out.”

Blood surged to Mac’s brain. “You are not spending the night here to play guard dog to your car. That’s what security at the main gate is for.”

Tracey turned on him. “Well, they’re doing a pretty crappy job so far.”

“You think you can do better?” He slammed the ice on a nearby tool counter and moved toward her.

“I think I just proved I can,” she railed.

“You got in one lucky shot,” Mac argued. Actually, luck had nothing to do with it. She’d nailed him good. But…“Once I tackled you, it was all over.”

Color rose high on Tracey’s olive-skinned face, but this time embarrassment had nothing to do with it. Her voice was as steady as a rock and as sure as the bruise forming on his arm. “It was over because you identified yourself. Go back to the hotel and leave me alone.”

Mac sighed, furious at Tracey and her stubborn streak. He reigned in his anger. “Look, between the two of us I’d say we scared off anyone’s attempt to mess with the car so let’s both go back to the hotel.”

Tracey folded her arms across her chest. “No.” She didn’t blink, didn’t budge. She could’ve been a statue in the Hollywood Wax Museum.

Mac ground his teeth together, searching for any remaining fragments of patience. His fist clenched against his thigh. “Tracey…”

“If you think we scared him off then there’s no reason to worry. I’ll be fine. Good night, Mac.”

“Tracey.” He mustered up all the polite reserve he could find. “Please come back to the hotel with me.” The subtle sag of her shoulders gave him hope.

“Sorry, Mac. I’m not leaving.” She didn’t take her gaze from his.

Great. Terrific. Looked as if he’d be spending the night either on a cramped love seat or the cold floor. He rubbed his sore arm in premature misery.

She brought him the ice pack. “Here, keep this on your arm.” She met his gaze hesitantly. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

Mac suspected apologies didn’t come easily for her. He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Yeah. Sure.”

Her shoulders sagged again. “You don’t have to say that so sarcastically.” She opened the door and stood aside. “Bye, Mac. See you tomorrow.”

Mac stepped next to her, just enough to shut and lock the door. They hadn’t been this close together in days. He wanted to run his finger along the pulsing vein in her neck. He smelled her bubble gum breath mixed with her lavender perfume. Or soap. Or whatever it was that was driving him to the brink and reminding him of that kiss they shared in his room.

All he had to do was bend a fraction and he could kiss her again, taste the sweetness of her mouth, her tongue. His blood pounded harder and headed to regions of his body that should stay dormant.

He swore after the first time that it wouldn’t happen again. She was everything he wasn’t and nothing he needed.

“I’m not letting you stay here by yourself and I guess if I tried to carry you out the consequences might not be worth it, so there’s only one alternative.”

Tracey stared up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “What’s the alternative?” She sounded extra husky and didn’t move a muscle. She stood in front of him as if she were safe, as if she had no idea that he wanted to bury his tongue in her mouth and feel her skin against his.

Mac’s body rebelled against his brain. Even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t kiss her again, he bent his head a fraction toward hers. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Heat radiated between them. The deep blue flecks in her eyes turned darker, and fool that he was, Mac gazed at her lips and leaned forward a little more.

Blinking, Tracey backed away. “That’s not necessary,” she said, putting a good five feet between them.

“I think it is.” Mac took a few steps and followed her, his own sanity returning. “Don’t you get it, Tracey? Someone doesn’t want you to run this race. Ed would break my neck if he knew I left you here alone.” Although that was true, Mac wasn’t about to admit his other reasons for refusing to leave. Reasons he could barely admit to himself.

“I won’t tell Ed if you won’t,” Tracey said, facing him. With her arms folded over her chest, she took the stance that was becoming all too familiar.

Had she always been this stubborn or was he meeting a different woman since Joe’s death? Had she ever shown any sign of weakness?

Somehow he doubted it.

“Do you think we could get through one night without fighting? Can you accept the fact that I’m going to stay, and deal with it?”

She clenched her jaw and storm clouds gathered in her eyes, but just as quickly she dropped her arms and relaxed. “Fine. Do what you want. Can you hit the lights behind you? I want to go to sleep.” She stretched out on her “bed” next to her car and turned on her side, clearly dismissing him.

Exasperated, Mac hit the switch and plunged the room into darkness. A tiny shaft of light streamed from the office, but nothing changed the eerie silence. He ambled to the open doorway and peered at the tiny love seat. There was no way in hell he could sleep on that. He stared at a demolished helmet on the shelf behind the desk. He hadn’t taken a close look at it until now. The whole thing was split down the middle.

It had to be from her crash four years ago and even though talking about it was taboo, he asked anyway. “This from your accident?”

She glanced up and realized he was talking about her helmet. Her eyes widened, then she shrugged. “Yeah. I keep it to remind me how lucky I am to be alive.”

“Jesus, the only thing holding it together is the visor.”

Her lips quirked. “Yeah, well, when I do something, I do it big. I thought a flying part hit the back of my head, but apparently I landed
on my head
on one of the flips. That’s the result.” She adjusted the cover and got comfortable as if talking about the fact that she nearly died didn’t faze her.

Mac stared at Tracey and reluctantly admired her willfulness. All curled up in her blanket with her fluffy pillow, the woman had changed back to the girl. The bubble gum breath he remembered matched the vision in front of him. Fresh, pretty, young and tougher than anyone he’d ever known.

“You can’t really be comfortable down there?” he asked.

She pulled the blanket back from the floor, exposing a soft mat. “Yoga pad,” she said, smiling wistfully and giving him a rare glimpse of straight white teeth.

Mac sat near her feet and leaned against the back wheel. “I didn’t know you practiced yoga.”

Tracey shifted and bunched the pillow under her head. “It helps stretch my leg. I discovered it a couple years ago.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have another pad lying around, would you?”

Her black hair shone like silk as she shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

Mac forced his gaze back to her eyes. “Easy come, easy go.”

She shrugged and lifted her brows before her focus skittered away. Silence stretched between them in the dark room, uncomfortable and suffocating. Mac was at a loss when it came to communicating with her. Tracey finally tipped her chin toward him. “Does that hurt?”

He hadn’t realized he’d been rubbing his arm and jerked his hand away. “No, no, it’s fine.”

Tracey rolled her eyes and immediately became a woman again, world-weary and tired of dealing with the opposite sex. She sat up. “Let me see it,” she said, as if
her
patience was gone and
he
was a pain in the ass.

“It’s fine,” Mac groused. Even if it did hurt like hell.

“Now who’s arguing?” Tracey challenged. The blue glint in her eyes dared a smart comeback.

Mac ground his back teeth but removed his leather jacket. The thick padding might’ve been the only thing that saved him from a broken arm tonight. He rolled up the sleeve of his denim shirt. There was no mistaking the point where Tracey’s crowbar made contact. A long thick welt tracked across his arm and had already started turning colors.

“Oh my God!” Tracey’s wide eyes shone with alarm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He laughed. “I didn’t think I had to.”

Tracey’s worry turned to exasperation then empathy. “Believe it or not, I feel guilty that I hit you.”

Now there was another surprise. Tracey admitting a weakness. He didn’t imagine that happened very often. If ever. “Guilty enough to shove over and share your yoga pad?” He regretted the question the second it spewed from his lips.

Her eyes narrowed. Distrust appeared as though a graffiti artist had painted it there.

“Forget it. I’ll manage.” Mac draped his jacket over his chest and arms. He closed his eyes and settled against the tire. Sleeping next to Tracey was a stupid idea anyway. With his luck they’d argue about something ridiculous and spontaneously combust.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Tracey muttered. “Here.” She moved over and adjusted her cover. “But I’m keeping my pillow.”

Mac held back the smile that threatened and changed his mind. He’d take the chance they could get along if only to share her cushion. He slid next to her, bunched up his jacket and stuffed it under his head. “Thanks,” he said, realizing how crowded it was on the narrow pad with their bodies stretched out next to each other.

She sighed and seemed resigned to the idea. “You’re welcome.”

Quiet blanketed the dark room. Tracey’s breathing steadied. Mac doubted he’d get any sleep. In fact, he would have a solid seven hours to contemplate the stupidity of taking this job.

“Why are you doing this?” The small sound of her voice broke the stillness.

That question could apply to so many things. Why was he here now? Why did he feel such a responsibility to a woman he barely knew? “Doing what?”

“Playing chief engineer for Ed?” She’d asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. He’d been asking it himself since the first day. Maybe she’d picked up on it.

“I’m paying back an old debt.” No lie there.

“It must be a biggie to bring you in all the way from England.”

“Big enough.” Big enough to drag himself across the ocean to be someplace he’d rather not be. Although at this precise moment, lying next to Tracey didn’t feel half-bad.

Tracey turned on her side and faced him. Her lavender scent wafted around him and started his blood pumping harder. Again. “How long did you drive for Ed?”

“Three years.” It seemed a lifetime ago. Tracey’s brows furrowed and she looked even younger. “What’s bothering you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just trying to remember you. I mean I knew who you were, I just don’t have a specific picture in my head.”

Funny, Mac remembered her. The dark-haired, blue-eyed tomboy. She was all woman now…except for that addictive bubble-gum breath. “You were young and trying to keep up with Eddie.” From what he could tell, that relationship had cooled considerably.

Tracey crinkled up her nose. “What a waste of time that was.”

“What happened?” Mac grinned. “Did you finally catch him and break his heart?” He caught his mistake as a hollow sadness washed over Tracey’s face and a haunted look deepened her eyes. She turned away from him. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning on his elbow. “I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.” He barely touched her shoulder.

She jumped as if he’d burned her. “Don’t touch me!”

Whoa. “Easy, Tracey. Take it easy.” What the hell had set her off? Figuring out this woman was tougher than finding the balance on a bad car. He wanted to get back to the few seconds of friendly conversation. “I’m sorry. Sorry.” What else could he say?

Tracey slowly turned until she was on her back. Her smooth skin shone in the dark. The more Mac looked, the more he wanted to touch. To taste. Clenching his jaw, he forced back the urge.

“No. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just that…You know what?” She faced him, propped her head in hand with her elbow bent. “Let’s not talk about it. We were talking about you.” She watched him expectantly for a few moments. Did she think he’d spill his life story at her feet? Did she think this was some kind of slumber party where everyone shared their secrets?

“I’m trying to remember Ed’s drivers before me,” she said. “There was Wayne Scofield and Mario Dorchester. Before Mario…” She paused and her brows pulled together. “Before Mario, it was…wait, I’ll remember. He had a gnarly accident, slid headfirst into the wall and…” Her eyes widened and she looked at him. “Oh my G—It was you. You had the accident.” Tracey cocked her head to the side and a lock of hair fell forward. “You walked away without a scratch, right?”

Mac kept his face blank. “Not a scratch.” On the outside. Inside was another story. But he didn’t want to think about the accident, not when her shiny black hair mesmerized him.

“After that, Mario started driving. Why?” She looked so innocent and so young and she had no idea how much this subject turned his stomach.

Mac was bowled over again at her lack of fear of facing anything. He rolled onto his back and stared into the darkness. “My dad got sick and needed me so I went to London to help with his business.”

“What business?” she asked.

He couldn’t stand it anymore and eased the silky strand behind her ear. “He designed and built Formula Ones.”

Tracey blinked at the contact but showed no other sign it ever happened. “Designed? Past tense?”

Mac clasped his hands over his stomach and forced himself to stay with the conversation. “He died eight years ago and I took over.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “He had a good life, lived it the way he wanted. Not everyone can say that.” He sure couldn’t.

Tracey nodded. “I guess that’s true.” She pursed her lips and looked as if she was debating something. “So, if you’re building, you must have a team. Did you race Formula Ones?”

Mac shook his head. “I was too involved in keeping the whole business running.” And too freaked out to get behind the wheel of a race car.

“Didn’t you miss racing?”

He didn’t have the balls to admit the truth. “A little, but I didn’t have the time since I was taking care of my dad. By the time he died, it had been too long to go back.”

“It was only two years,” Tracey countered.

He hated that she was keeping up with the math. Hated even more that they were talking about something he’d tried so hard to get away from. He should’ve never agreed to do this job.

“That’s long enough to lose the edge,” he answered.

A race-car driver who couldn’t drive. Irony at its best. To this day, he was haunted by the fact that he hadn’t been able to control the car. One minute everything was running smoothly and next—Bam. Into the wall. It shouldn’t have happened. He took it as sign from God.

“I’m sure Ed would’ve let you—”

“I liked the business by then. The idea of designing and building was a new challenge. I didn’t have the urge to drive again.”
Understatement.

“Oh.” Tracey nodded. “I guess eventually we all have to quit driving.”

“Guess so.” Mac suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. That cowardice feeling he’d worked for years to avoid found him and settled in the middle of his gut. “Well, it’s late,” he said. “We should get some sleep.” He closed his eyes.

Yeah, sleep. As if.

In five minutes, Tracey had dredged up the part of his life he’d worked nearly a decade to forget.

Tracey looked down at Mac’s hard features. Thickly lashed lids covered his stormy eyes. He’d shut down quicker than a bank on Christmas day. She got comfortable under the shared blanket and stared into the dark room. Mac Reynolds was hiding something.

“I forgot to tell you,” Mac said, turning his head toward her. “I got us an earlier practice time tomorrow.”

He hadn’t discussed it with her first. “Why’d you do that?”

“So you can make the Sportys.”

Anger simmered at his decision. Tomorrow’s forecast called for a hot early morning sun, but clouds were supposed to roll in and cool the temperature as the day progressed. A cool track temperature allowed the car’s tires to grip the road better. The dense air also helped make the engine more powerful and gave the car more aerodynamic down-force. An earlier practice meant a hotter track, which translated to a slower car.

Practice time wasn’t the only thing pissing her off. Why did he think he could control her every move? “What made you think I was going to the Sportys?”

Mac opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake. “I talked to Ed. He told me you were scheduled to go.”

“I was, but I was also supposed to go with Joe and I’m not going by myself. It’s not like I have a chance of winning. It doesn’t matter if I go or not.”

Mac sat up, looking stupefied. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been nominated and have the opportunity to make an impact, not only for the sport of racing, but for all women struggling in the sports world. How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

Tracey sat up too. “That was the reason I was going in the first place, but how am I supposed to attend a stupid awards dinner when Joe just died? It’s ridiculous. I’m not going.” She flopped back down. End of discussion.

“What if I go with you?” That question hadn’t taken ten seconds to pop out.

Tamping down the odd tingle in her veins, she had to be realistic. What would they do all night at an awards dinner? Fight? A vision of them dressed in formal attire having a knockdown brawl on the dance floor flashed in her head.