Dangerous Race (26 page)

Mac returned his lips to hers, his heavy body covering her. Tracey wrapped her legs around his hips as he loomed at her entrance. His tongue plunged into her mouth at the same speed as his hard-on pushed inside her. Delicious sensation streaked through her, lightning-bolt electric.

Each moment crystallized in her mind. Every stroke, every kiss, every touch showed it wasn’t her scar that kept him away. She’d given him every opportunity to leave, but instead he was here making love to her and doing a damn good job of it too.

She wanted to stay in this moment, with him, forever. She even tried to hold off the climax that threatened to launch her into oblivion. But he already knew how to send her off. He cupped her bottom, drove into her until she shattered and flew through a timeless cloud. In three hard thrusts, his own climax reverberated through him then her.

They lay still. Together. Fighting off the intrusion of the real world and the chasm that still existed between them. As much as Tracey wanted Mac, she couldn’t have him. He’d told her he was leaving after the race, wanted her to trust someone else in the future. She didn’t see how that was possible. When Mac walked away, he’d take her heart and trust with him.

Tracey closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of her limbs entwined with Mac’s. She’d never willed a race day away, but there was a first time for everything.

Chelsea absently fingered the credentials around her neck as she stared at the tens of thousands of people filling the grandstands. The buzz of the crowd roared louder. She’d known this was a big event, but the extent of the “party atmosphere” was beyond her imagination. She’d never seen so much alcohol and testosterone at the same time. Not that there weren’t women filling the place too. Actually, closer assessment showed the female population almost as raucous as the men.

Next to her, Kim was all but drooling at the plethora of males surrounding them. “You’re sure you told Matthew how sorry I am that I blew it so big the other night, right?” her best friend said, checking out the stadium.

“Yes, I told him. It’s water under the bridge.”

“And he knows you didn’t stand him up on purpose? You told him you fell asleep in my room and woke up too late to…you know…” she waggled her brows, “…knock on his door and rock his world?”

Chelsea bit back a grin. “Yes, Kim,” she droned.

“I still don’t see how the man told you he loved you and you didn’t say anything in return. Are you nuts?” Kim leveled her with a serious stare. “I haven’t heard you talk about a guy the way you’ve talked about Matthew in…in
ever.
”

“Give me a break. He kind of surprised me, okay. That was the last thing I expected to hear. I mean, c’mon, we’ve only known each other a week. It’s happened so fast. I need to regroup.” Chelsea wiped off her seat with a tissue.

“Who said love has a time frame?” Kim reasoned. “He’s a great guy. I know I said don’t fall in love, but there’s a possibility I might’ve been wrong about that.” She smiled sheepishly then waggled her brows again. “Go for it.” Kim took out a pair of binoculars from her black pack and scanned the crowd.

After Matthew left last night, Chelsea had thought about their relationship. For hours. She didn’t see a reason to disagree. “I think I’m going to,” she said, balling up the dirty tissue in her hand.

Clearly, nothing could’ve shocked Kim more. “Seriously?” her best friend squealed, wrapping her in a huge hug. “That’s awesome, Chels. Fantastic!”

It sure felt fantastic. Chelsea pulled out of Kim’s arms and looked directly at pit road, a little embarrassed to talk about her good fortune when Kim’s luck with the drunk guy had been so horrible. “How did you get such good seats anyway? I didn’t realize we were sitting right at the finish line.”

“I told you I had a connection at the local paper.” The gleam in Kim’s eyes hinted that it was more than just a “connection.” Probably more like the owner of the paper. “Oh my God,” she muttered, looking past Chelsea. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Chelsea turned and saw the Adonis that Kim was ogling. Although the seats were filling up rapidly, he wasn’t hard to spot. Dirty-blond hair cut short, stunning blue eyes a girl could drown in and bulging biceps that stretched the material of his stark-white cotton T-shirt. Walking down the stairs, surveying his tickets, he didn’t notice them staring. Thank God.

Chelsea turned back to her friend. “The place is going to be full of men, Kim, and most of them are already completely drunk. Be careful. I don’t want to see you go through the same thing as the—”

“Other night. I know. Don’t worry, I—Oh God, he’s coming this way,” Kim breathed.

They backed up and gave room to an older couple preceding him before he stepped by. He glanced up, his eyes lit with interest at the sight of Kim’s devastating smile.

“Excuse me,” he said, squeezing by in the narrow space.

“No problem.” Kim could’ve backed up another four inches but apparently she wanted the grazing of his chest against hers.

Good grief.

After a few minutes of shameless eavesdropping on the threesome’s conversation, they got the dirt. Studly’s name was Jason. He’d graduated medical school and had enough money to take his parents, who he didn’t see on a regular basis, on vacation.

Kim’s eyes fairly had the word
score
written all over them.

“Excuse me,” Blue-eyes said, attempting to get past them again. He stopped and glanced at Kim. “Uh…I was headed to the concession stand. Can I bring you anything…as long as I’m going?” he asked.

Kim flashed her gleaming straight whites. “You know,” she began, “I was just going to get a soda. Would you mind if I tagged along with you?”

“I’m Jason,” he said, holding out a neatly manicured hand. “Jason Carlisle.”

“Kim Jacobs.”

Their hands touched and Chelsea saw immediate chemistry spark to life. Any guilt she had about leaving Kim while she talked to Matthew sailed by with the clouds. “Kim,” she said, breaking the spell between the two. “I’m going to find Matthew. I’ll be back later, okay?”

Kim barely glanced in her direction. “Um, uh-huh,” she managed. “Take your time.”

Chelsea left Kim and Jason staring at each other and made her way to pit road, walking under the track toward the infield. Amazed at the number of tourist shops and racing paraphernalia, she decided once the race started she’d come back and splurge on something for herself. Right now she had one thing on her mind. Matthew. She had to see him and tell him she loved him too. Her walk turned into a jog. Every step closer had her hopes soaring.

So full of girlish anticipation, she didn’t hear someone screaming “Trace” until the man was right on top of her. She turned as he grabbed her arm.

“Hey,” he said. His disarming smile seemed forced. Wavy blond hair hung over his forehead, partially covering a bandage and his ice-blue eyes held unmistakable determination. “What are you doing down here? The guys must be going crazy.” He began leading her in the wrong direction.

“Wait a minute.” She tried regaining her arm from his grasp. A sense of apprehension ran down her spine. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m n—”

He shoved her around a small alley and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. Fear shot through her with the speed of an arrow. Cold chills broke out as Chelsea struggled against a cloying, consuming smell. Chloroform. She remembered it from a high school science class.

Someone had to be aware of her struggle. Had to see what was happening. But the noise of the crowd faded and images blurred before her eyes. Unable to breathe, she sucked in a lungful of the chemical.

His smile was the last thing she saw before darkness closed in on her.

Chelsea struggled to consciousness. Nausea blossomed in her gut because of the gag stuffed and taped into her mouth. Her cheek rested on cold, hard cement; her wrists were bound behind her back. Fear reared up and sent her heart pounding double time, pumping rivers of adrenaline. She opened her eyes and the fuzzy walls of an oversized janitor’s closet slowly came into focus.

Two tall metal shelves packed into one corner of the room held cleaning products and the stale smell of mold hung thick in the air. A small portable TV sat on a cardboard box and showed the race about to start. An old clock on the wall confirmed she’d been here almost an hour already.

Tracey’s stalker had done this. It had to be.

The overwhelming urge to vomit coursed through her and she took several deep breaths to quell the impulse. It was one thing to die at the hands of a lunatic, but it was another to die of asphyxiation.

The room was empty. Chelsea sat up and fought a wave of dizziness. She struggled with the bindings on her wrists. After ten agonizing minutes, fear turned to elation as she wriggled a hand free. Unfortunately, the door burst open and the blond who abducted her stepped in quickly and locked the deadbolt behind him. Carrying a large duffel bag, he turned and seemed surprised to see her awake.

Chelsea froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She kept her hands behind her back.

“Hey, Trace,” he said as if they were old pals. “Sorry about the rope and the gag, but I couldn’t take the chance on you screaming and trying to claw your way out of here.” He set the bag on the floor and retrieved a cell phone from his pocket. He looked at her and smiled. “I’m waiting for someone to call,” he said, holding up the phone. “There’s not much time before the race. I’m kind of surprised they’ve waited this long but maybe they think you’ll show up.”

Chelsea’s mind reeled. He thought she was Tracey—she got that much. But what call was he waiting for?
I’m not Tracey,
she wanted to scream but couldn’t because of the damn gag. She shook her head and grunted, her hair falling in her face and obstructing her vision.

“Relax, Trace. It won’t hurt.”

Terror streaked down Chelsea’s spine. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. More chills snaked across her body.

“You know, I take that back,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “It wouldn’t have hurt if you’d been in the car, but now that you’re here and I have to figure out a different way to get rid of you…it might hurt a little.” He grinned, a sinister smile on an angelic face. “You’re tough. You can take it.”

Queasiness bubbled in Chelsea’s stomach. Hot tears burned her eyes. “I’m not Tracey,” she said, but it came out unintelligible around the gag. “God, I’m not Tracey!”

“I can’t understand you,” he said, looking down at her as if all she had to do was speak clearly. “I’ll take the gag off for a minute but you can’t scream. If you do,” he warned, “I’ll make your death very slow and very painful. You understand me?”

Chelsea nodded vehemently, eyes wide, pulse pounding.

“I’m still not sure I did this right,” he said coming closer. “The car is rigged to blow.” He shook his head. “But when I saw you I couldn’t let the opportunity go by. I mean, this way I don’t have to total the car. It’s brilliant. This way, I get to
drive
the race. Fucking brilliant.” He knelt in front of her, his face beaming with pride. “I need to figure out what to do with you. If you’re not going to explode with the car then…” He paused, seemed to consider his alternatives. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

His finger brushed her cheek and repulsion shot through her gut. “This might sting,” he said. He ripped the duct tape off her face and gave her a wax job she’d never forget. The burn brought tears to her eyes as she spit out the rag and nearly puked in the process.

She gulped in stale air and kept her hands behind her back. God, she couldn’t let him see that she’d freed herself.

Tracey’s car had a bomb in it. If she confessed now, she’d be writing her sister’s death warrant. But he was bound to figure it out when Tracey started the race.

Who the hell was this guy? Did he really know Tracey or was he some deranged fan who only thought he knew her? Why did something about him seem familiar?

“You can drive, okay?” she pleaded. Her mouth was parched, stone dry, and she barely got the words out. “We’ll tell the guys that I got sick or I…I don’t know…We’ll make up something and you can drive.”

He laughed at her, his eyes sparkling with immense pleasure. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve disappeared, Trace…never to be heard from again. You’re not only
not
driving this race, you’re not driving any races ever again.”

The certainty in his voice chilled her to the bone.

Sweat broke out on her forehead and palms. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t want to drive anymore. I’ll just walk away.”

“You
had
the chance to walk away, and you blew it.” He began pacing the small room. “Scofield, Dorchester, Reynolds…they all walked, but not you…no, not the invincible Trace Bradshaw. She doesn’t walk away from anything.”

Scofield? Dorchester? Reynolds? What was he talking about? Wait…Reynolds…Mac’s last name was Reynolds.

“Mac?” she questioned cautiously. “What does he have to do with this?”

He stopped in front of her. “He was the first to go. At least the first that I pushed out,” he boasted. “Dad should’ve put me behind the wheel.”

Pushed out? Dad…?

“I was old enough. I kept telling him I could do it, but he never listened. Never fucking listened until you hit the wall. Then he listened.”

Oh God…It all came together in a split second.
This is Eddie.
Blond hair, blue eyes, bandage on his head from the crowbar—Eddie.

“Matthew told…How did you push Mac out?” she asked, almost giving herself away. “I thought he had an accident.”

“He did,” Eddie said. “An accident I created.”

Chelsea’s panic mushroomed. The guy was nuts. “You’ve been sabotaging your dad’s car all along,” she muttered softly.

“Don’t you see, Trace, it should’ve been me driving all these years. Me.” He ran a hand through his wavy hair and exposed the bandage on his hairline.

“But your head?” she asked, confusion setting in again. “I thought—”

“You thought I got hit by someone messing around in the garage.” He smiled broadly. “I was the one messing around in the garage. I got—you’re going to love this—I got Derek Correlli to make it look like an attack.”

Derek Correlli. That name rang a bell. But why? She searched her terrified mind.

“He said he saw you that night at the club. With Matty. Fucking pussy-boy Matty.”

Derek Correlli…Tracey’s rival! Everything began to make sense. He was the one Matthew had wanted to fool into thinking she was Tracey when they’d gone dancing at a local club. Chelsea had seen Correlli meet up with Eddie and they’d left the club together. It was the same night Eddie had been attacked.

“After I planted the bomb in your seat, Derek helped me by knocking my head a little. Bastard. I think he enjoyed it too.”

“Eddie, please,” she begged. “I’ll tell your dad I don’t want to drive anymore. I’ll tell him you should drive. I’ll tell him—”

“Shut up!” he screamed, his fist raised high. “Shut the fuck up.”

Chelsea flinched and drew back. Her hands connected with something round. A pipe maybe? A shred of hope tingled in her chest and she gripped it tightly.

“It’s too late, Trace. It’s too damn late.” Eddie eyed the monitor and kicked a nearby bucket. “What the hell is taking so long for them to call me?” he grumbled.

Chelsea remembered some of the things Matthew had told her about racing. The fact that the car was entered, not the driver. And something else…“The seat,” she said, “Tra…my seat. You can’t drive with my seat in the car.”

“I brought mine. Do you think I’d be stupid enough to go to all this trouble and not bring my seat? I bring it to every race.” Cold, calculating eyes studied her. “Besides, your seat has a sweet, sweet bomb in it. If I’d hit the detonator and the car stopped…” Eddie smiled. “Kaboom,” he whispered. The malicious intent behind the word had Chelsea fighting back sobs. He checked his watch and pursed his lips. “I’m heading to the pit. As soon as Dad sees me he won’t hesitate. You’re not there so he won’t have a choice.” He picked up the rag she’d spit out and pulled out a roll of duct tape from his duffel bag.

Chelsea got queasy thinking about that filthy rag in her mouth. She battled the urge to lunge forward.

“Here you go, Trace.” He grabbed her jaw, shoved the rag in her mouth and taped it in, watching as she nearly gagged. He held her shoulders and stared her in the eyes. “It’s too bad about your accident. It would’ve been easier if you’d died four years ago. Would have saved yourself some misery because there was no way I was going to fuck you with that fucking scar on your leg.” He shoved her away, stood and headed for the door.

A drop of sweat ran down the side of Chelsea’s face as she gripped the pipe tighter.

Eddie reached the door, his back to her, and Chelsea sprang. Wielding the pipe like a bat, she aimed for his head. The sickening sound of steel against skull reverberated in Chelsea’s mind. Eddie staggered sideways, blood spilled from his head and only the wall kept him erect. Chelsea pulled the tape off her mouth, desperate to breathe. In the second it took to do that, Eddie attacked.

Chelsea didn’t get the pipe up fast enough and terror washed through her a split second before Eddie made contact.

He connected with her middle, shoved so hard she slammed into the metal shelf behind her. Pain burst through her chest and head, and light exploded around her before she lost consciousness for the second time.

Checking his watch for the hundredth time, Matthew kept his eyes out for Chelsea. The race was almost over and there’d been no sign of her. She’d promised she’d come to the pit. Sworn she’d have an answer for him. But the whole day had nearly passed and she hadn’t shown up.

Matthew fought the depression of losing Chelsea with the almost certain knowledge that Trace was about to be the first woman ever to win the Arrow 500. She’d battled her way through the pack and been in the lead for the last hour. She’d run a balls-out, take-no-prisoners race. A pile up had sent five of her closest competitors home for the day, and two other freak accidents allowed her to lap most of the other cars. She was practically home free. He should’ve been thrilled for her. He
was
thrilled for her, but he felt miserable. Lonely. Winning this race didn’t matter as much as he thought it would.

Matthew stood at the wall on pit road. Trace had one, maybe two, more pit stops before ending the race. Mac wanted her to come in late and get by with one. Trace wanted to come in early and stay safe with two. An accident at the entrance of pit road decided Mac as the winner of that “discussion.” Trace had to run ten laps under a yellow flag, and in doing so she clinched the lead.

Listening to the banter on the headset, Matthew scanned the group of people crowding behind the line at the pit. He saw Kim waving frantically for his attention.

“Matthew! Matthew!” With his name stenciled on the back of his race suit, there was no way to mistake him for someone else.

He couldn’t hear her with his helmet on but he could sure read her lips. Waving at her, he checked Trace’s position and jogged over. “What’s up?”

“I know this is bad timing, but I was looking for Chelsea. Did she go back to her seat? She said—”

“Rivers!” someone called. “She’s coming in, let’s go.”

“Hold on,” Matthew said, returning to his position, but a sixth sense had kicked in and apprehension ate at his gut.

As the buckeye operator, Matthew needed his concentration to spray water and dilute any fuel after Trace’s tank had been filled. Precision was mandatory. A buckeye operator who doused the driver or the car’s electronics didn’t last in the job very long. Trace’s car screeched to a stop and the crew did their thing. She sped off nine seconds later with four new tires and just enough gas to finish the race. Matthew ran back to Kim as soon as he could. “What about Chelsea?” he asked.

“Did she go back to her seat and I missed her?”

The implication had Matthew’s stomach knotting tighter. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.” Then burgeoning hope suddenly lifted his spirits. “Did she say she was coming to talk to me?”

“Well, yeah,” Kim said, as if he should’ve known this information. “I thought she was with you, but she never came back to her seat. I’ve been waiting and now I’m definitely nervous.”

“How long has she been gone?” he asked.

“Almost four hours.”

“Four hours!” That meant she’d tried to see him before the race. Where the hell was she? Matthew heard his name again and glanced at the pit. “Did you check the bathrooms?” he asked.

“Just the one closest to our seats,” Kim admitted. “I’ll check more on this side of the track and let you know.” She disappeared in the throng of race fans.

The throbbing in Chelsea’s head and chest woke her. She opened her eyes slowly to the same cold cement against her cheek and the same fuzzy walls of the janitor’s closet. The sound of racing cars zoomed overhead, the engines screaming with speed.

Eddie lay sprawled on his side, halfway to the door. Apparently, after he’d attacked her, he’d passed out himself. Dried blood stained the side of his face from the gash she’d given him.

Chelsea tested the knot on her head tenderly before trying to stand. Her chest burned like fire. Eddie must have cracked a rib or two when he’d tackled her. Careful to stay quiet, and with new adrenaline surging in her veins, she eased herself closer to the door and tried the knob. Locked.

She wanted to cry. Scream. Instead, she watched Eddie on the floor, unmoving, still as a dead possum on the side of the road. Tears bubbled. If she screamed for help she might wake him. If she rifled through his jeans, she might wake him. Neither one of those options sounded good. She looked around for the pipe and didn’t see it. Was he lying on it?

Taking a deep breath that hurt like hell, she knelt next to him and carefully patted his pockets for keys. Her heart thundered, terror clawed to the surface, but she continued with each pocket.