Dangerous Race (2 page)

Cannondale Motor Speedway, four years later

“How’s it feel, Trace? Over,” Uncle Joe asked, concern clear in his voice.

Sun spilled over the partly cloudy sky in a duplicate of that hellish day. Even the engine screamed as it had that day. Maybe Joe was thinking the same thing.

Tracey smiled at the crackling question over her earpiece. She whizzed past her pit. “Good. Really good.” The familiar vibration was a homecoming. Especially on this track. She’d worked harder than an ox to get back to where she’d been four years ago.

She’d gone through hell and back. Three years of rehab had kept her from what she loved most—racing. She’d spent hundreds of hours in physical therapy, making progress and dealing with setbacks. The days had turned into weeks that morphed into months until she’d finally made it here.

Back at the Arrow 500, the biggest, toughest, most grueling car race in the world—she knew this year belonged to her. She felt it in her bones. She even felt it in the stainless steel rod that now worked as her left femur. No one could stop her this year. She was invincible. And just like her car, made with heart and metal, ready to win.

She darted a glance to the grandstands and tamped down the sudden apprehension of speeding down this straightaway. She refused to be afraid on this track or any other.

“Why don’t you bring it in? Take a break. Qualifying isn’t for another two hours.”

Her leg ached today, but she chalked it up to stress. “Is that an order, Uncle Joe?”

“Yes. That’s an order. If you think—”

“Whoa, wait.” Tracey laughed. “I just asked a question. Slow down. I’m coming in.” She didn’t want any extra aches and pains before qualifying and she didn’t want Joe stressing any more than usual.

He chuckled over the wire. “Roger that.
You
telling
me
to slow down—that’s a first.”

“Well, we’ve been through lots of firsts.” Her first steps in rehab, her first lost love, her first lap around the track almost three years after the accident. Those were just a few. “Why stop now?” she added.

For as long as she’d known Joe, most everyone had called him by his nickname: Uncle Joe. She’d hung around the track for two years before he’d welcomed her into the garage. Besides being a chief engineer, he was the go-to guy for advice. But for four years he’d been much more to Tracey. He’d opened his home to her and seen her through the worst days of her life. He was her best friend and mentor and she wouldn’t be back on the track without him.

Two hours later, with clouds gone and the sun blazing down on the track, Tracey strapped herself in the car. Joe leaned over the side, his large forearms resting on the tub. “Now remember what we talked about,” he said.

“I know, Uncle Joe. I’m not deaf.” She tipped her head, remembering his specific words. “I still hold all the records. I’m only here to qualify. I don’t need the pole position to win, but I have to keep an average lap of two-eighteen to stay with the pack. Is that it? Can I do this now?” Would he ever treat her like an adult instead of a child?

Joe focused his gaze on the track ahead of the car. A half smile curved his lips. “Would you just fucking humor an old man?”

Tracey patted his forearm, glancing up earnestly. “How am I ever going to quit swearing if you keep doing it?”

He looked right at her, saw straight through her and didn’t blink. “Don’t think you can change the subject, Trace.”

Well, at least she’d tried.

“You’re not getting superstitious on me now, are you?” She studied the somber expression on his face. “C’mon, it’s not as if this is my first race back. I’ve been in the driver’s seat for almost a year. Granted, I haven’t won yet, but that’s about to change. This is where I belong.” She rested a hand over one of his forearms. “I’m fine.”

It was true. She knew what her life was about. One goal. One focus. Winning.

Joe swiped a hand across his forehead. “Well it’s a good thing one of us is fine, ’cause the other one of us is still getting too old for this shit. My heart can’t take it.”

Tracey shook her head. “I don’t care what the doctors say, your heart is stronger than a bull’s.”

She saw Matthew Rivers, her best mechanic and close friend, heading toward her with her ex. “Oh, brother,” she groaned. “Don’t look now, but Eddie’s coming. I was hoping I’d get through today without seeing him.”

“Now, how the hell would you do that? Wherever Ed Sr. is, you know Junior is bringing up the rear.”

“I know, I know, wishful thinking on my part.” To be Eddie-free for one full day seemed like a gift she’d never get.

“It’s been years. I thought you two had things straightened out,” Joe said.

Tracey made a sourpuss face that didn’t come close to expressing how she really felt. “He’d like to think so. But why wouldn’t he? I was the recipient of the dear Jane letter, not him.”

“Hey, Trace,” Eddie said, as both men hopped over the short wall from the pit and stood next to Joe. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”

Tracey squinted up at him. “Thanks, Eddie.” For a long time, she thought he was the most handsome man on the planet, but time and circumstances had changed her opinion. He still had a great body, trim and muscular. Beautiful blue eyes and soft blond hair. Too bad he’d turned out to be such a colossal mistake.

She chalked him up to the stupidity of her youth.

“I’ll go one better,” Matthew said as he held out her silver pillbox. “I’ll wish you luck and hand you this. I found it outside the office door. Guess you dropped it. We thought you might want your aspirin before you start.” Eddie produced a bottle of water.

Tracey took the pillbox and waved off the water. The pain relievers had become a necessity since returning to the track after her accident. Without them, her leg was prone to cramping from being in the same position too long. “Thanks. I looked all over for these. I couldn’t find ’em so I grabbed two from the first aid kit. I’m good to go.”

“Always thinking ahead.” Matthew squinted into the bright sun. “Rip it up, girl. I’m going to work.” He hopped back over the wall then climbed two steps into the scoring stand where laptops monitored her car.

“You want me to hang on to that until you’re done?” Eddie asked.

“Nope. I’m good.” She could stuff the small container in her pocket. It was better than hunting Eddie down later to get it back. Conversations with him still amazed her. How could he talk to her so casually, as if he hadn’t ripped her heart into bits and pieces and left her at the lowest point of her life?

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Joe interrupted dryly. “But I’ve got a raging headache. Fork over a few of those pills, Trace.”

She handed him the container, and he pulled out four pills. “Damn, that must be one hell of a headache. Quit stressing, Joe, everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, Joe. Just another day at the track,” Eddie said.

Joe washed down the tablets with Eddie’s bottle of water. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He offered her a drink. “You want some before you start?”

Tracey shook her head. “No. I’m good. The last thing I need is to have to piss like a racehorse while I’m in the middle of qualifying.”

Joe rolled his eyes as if
all
his fatherly advice went unnoticed and handed her the pillbox. “Nice, Trace. Real ladylike.”

“Sorry.” She grinned up at him. “Slip of the tongue.”

Joe bent low and locked her hand with his. “You know what you need to do. Go out there and drive the way I know you can drive.” He squeezed her fingers and winked. The pride in his eyes sent a shot of confidence through her veins. Joe checked his watch, stood, fitted his headset and waved her forward. “Go get ’em, Trace.”

She adjusted her helmet and pulled the visor down. As adrenaline coursed a familiar path in her veins, she revved the car, the need for speed coiling tighter in her belly. She put her foot on the pedal, but Joe’s voice in the headset stopped her.

“Hey,” he called.

She looked over her shoulder.

“You know I love you like a daughter.”

Warm tears stung her eyes. She had no idea why she was being so sentimental. Joe was way too serious. She smiled. “No, you don’t,” she countered, talking through the mic. “You love me like a son.” She gave him a thumbs-up. He frowned and drank some water, obviously trying to cover his own emotions.

Eddie, wearing his own headset, stood completely mute, probably in shock over the talk of love. An emotion he clearly knew nothing about. She could attest to that.

“See you in a few.” She peeled out, burning rubber and trailing smoke. Doing what she loved to do best: hauling ass around the track at two hundred miles per hour.

It felt great. Beautiful. The one place she belonged in life—her car—where everything made sense.

Three laps down and only one to go. Her speed was right up there with the best. She was part of the machine, each lap faster than the one before. She’d broken a sweat early on and she was in the zone.

“Trace, you’re in.” Joe’s voice crackled over the wire. “Don’t push it.”

“This is hardly pushing it. I can score the inside position in my row with another lap this fast.”

“Trace, we talked about this.” Joe sounded as if someone was tightening his belt as he spoke.

Another voice came over the headset. “Joe, hey Joe, you all right?”

Tracey’s radar shot up. “What’s going on?”

Nothing. No one answered.

“Joe, what’s happening? Over.” Again, no response, and her palms prickled. “Joe?” she asked louder. The hair on her nape stood on end.

“Trace, it’s Matthew.” He rarely spoke on the headset, and his voice confirmed her worry. “Look, you’re in so take it nice and steady to the finish.”

“What’s going on? What happened to Joe?” Dread topped apprehension.

“We’re not sure, Trace. He grabbed his arm.”

His heart! Shit!
“Find his pills. I’ll be right there.” Twenty seconds later, she skidded to a stop at her pit, sprang from the car and flew to the crowd of men hovering over Joe. Throwing off her helmet, she knelt next to Eddie. Matthew crouched on Joe’s other side, and Joe still gripped his arm. Panic, fresh and scary, shot through Tracey.

Joe looked up at her with apologetic eyes and gasped for air. “You’re going to have to…do this one without me, Trace.”

She tried to be strong for Joe’s sake. “No way, Uncle Joe. I can’t do that. If this is your way of getting back at me for going over the white line, then I have to say it sucks. Now cut it out, and get up already.”

Joe shook his head and winced. “No game, baby girl. This is…the real deal.” He struggled to breathe.

Desperation twisted Tracey’s stomach in a knot. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not to Joe. She looked around frantically. “Where are his pills?” she screamed.

“Took
’em,
” Joe muttered. “Not working this time.” He gasped again.

“Joe, you can’t do this. I need you way too much for you to do this,” Tracey pleaded. She stroked the side of his face, as if a tender touch was all he needed to recover.

“You be nice to whoever…comes…in here,” he rasped. “You can win this thing…blindfolded. Just be…smart.” His body jolted as if hit by an electrical current. Then he was still.

Hot tears cropped up as she grabbed his shoulders. “Joe!” She shook him. “Uncle Joe!” She couldn’t find a pulse. Oh God, she had to do something. “CPR,” she ordered. “Matthew, help me.” She tilted Joe’s head and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. One, two hard puffs of all the air she could manage.

Matthew started pumping Joe’s chest. They worked together, like their team always had, until paramedics arrived minutes later and took over. In vain.

Chelsea Harding looked around the empty conference room of her Chicago office. Four years ago she’d been on top of the world, but now she wanted to choke on the desolate taste of failure. The last thirteen months had been a downward spiral and she couldn’t do anything but watch the crash and burn. Through glass windows, she saw her last employee close the door behind her for the final time.

Kim Jacobs, her best friend and business partner, walked in and leaned against the doorframe. Despite the somber mood, the hazel-eyed blonde looked ready for a party. Dressed in a tight, green baby-doll shirt, black miniskirt and high-heel sling backs, the woman’s body practically shouted single, willing and able. Of which all three were true if a man had the right qualifications. Number one being a healthy bank account.

“I just can’t believe it’s over.” Kim leaned her head against the wall, the sadness behind her words mirrored in her eyes.

“You know if Tim were still alive, he’d be all over your attitude,” Chelsea said. Tim had given them their start and made it possible for their company to exist.

“Yeah, but he’s not and I blame him for this mess.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for him, we never would’ve had the success we did. Even if it was short-lived.”

Kim shook her head because there wasn’t anything to say. The fact was that Tim had payrolled the company and without him they hadn’t been able to survive. Chelsea’s illustrious advertising career had ended almost as quickly as it had begun.

The shrill ring of the phone shattered the silence. With no one in the office to answer the call, Chelsea picked up the receiver. “Harding and Jacobs. May I help you?”

“Answering yourself now, huh?” a familiar voice said. A trace of pity sounded in his tone and it made her mad. “Turn on the TV. The All Sports Network. You might be interested in what’s on. I think you’ll see what you were looking for. I can’t stay on the line, but I’ll call you back when I get a chance.” Click.

“Charming,” Chelsea said to the dial tone. She hung up the phone, grabbed the remote control at her end of the giant mahogany table and turned on the television.

“Who was that?” Kim asked, walking in to get a better view of the screen attached high on the wall.

“Mills,” Chelsea said. “He told me to turn on the TV.” It took a few seconds to find the right channel and mounting anticipation pushed her heart rate faster. “There. This is it.”

She watched reporters jockeying for position in a conference room, pulling out small digital recorders and notepads. A dozen cameras atop tripods sat waiting to roll. A long table had been set up in front of a red, white and blue ARO backdrop. Two microphones, two metal chairs and a slew of hungry journalists waited for whoever was about to speak.