Dangerous Race (7 page)

“Not a problem.” Realizing this conversation was going to take place whether she wanted it to or not, she opened the door wider and ushered in both men. “What’s up?”

“Why don’t you have a seat.” The detective indicated to a chair.

The knot in her stomach doubled. She hated the pussy-footing around. “Because I want to stand.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

Mac’s jaw ticked. “He’s not our guy.” He said the words and watched her reaction.

How was she supposed to react to the stupidest thing she’d ever heard? They
were
talking about the man who jumped her earlier. “Of course he’s our guy,” she blurted. “Who else could it be?”

The detective shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an alibi, Trace. I’m sor—”

She put her finger out to stop him. “He attacked me. In front of witnesses. It’s him! How can you think for one min—”

“Tracey,” Mac said, his voice low and calm as if she were some idiot who wouldn’t understand him otherwise. “It’s not him.”

She stopped breathing. Air refused to go in or out. Why should she expect any support from Mac? Because he’d kissed her? Because he’d treated her with kid gloves since the guy had tackled her? Because he’d been sweet and seemed to care about her earlier? Yeah, right. She took a measured breath. “What do you mean it’s not him? You saw him attack me, Mac. What—”

“He says you provoked him,” Mac interrupted, just as softly, as calmly as you please.

Tracey’s jaw dropped open, then she slammed it shut. Anger flowed through her: red, hot and painful. “
Right.
He tells me I should suck dick for a living and
I
provoked
him!
How can you tell me—”

Mac flinched at the words as he moved toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “He has an airtight alibi for four years ago and ditto for the day Joe died. He wasn’t in town on either occasion. He’s not our guy. He’s a chauvinistic asshole who was drunk out of his mind and he lost it.”

Tracey blinked away the blur of Mac’s face. She refused to cry, especially with an audience. Besides, hadn’t she sensed this anyway? Hadn’t she known deep inside that this man wasn’t
the
man? The man who’d irrevocably changed her life. She pulled away from Mac’s warm hands, didn’t want him touching her. She didn’t want anyone touching her. Nor did she want the pity lurking in his eyes.

“So this isn’t the guy. Did you let him go?” she asked the detective.

“Not yet. He’s still in custody. I assume you’re going to press charges,” Hahn replied.

Tracey shrugged. “Why bother? He’s not the guy we’re after.”

Mac’s eyes rounded. “Why bother? Why bother!” He got in her face. “He leapt over a table and tackled you, Tracey. That’s why you bother.”

Tracey shoved him away, afraid she’d fall into his arms for comfort. Afraid that the few minutes of understanding they’d shared earlier on the track was a fluke and might never happen again. “Apparently all that was my fault,” she almost roared. “You were there, Mac. You can be a witness for the guy. I provoked him. It’s all my fault.” Tracey fisted her shaking hands and took a deep breath. “Let him go. It was probably the liquor talking. I won’t press charges.” She looked away from Mac’s outraged face and headed for the door. “Thanks for delivering the news personally, Detective. I appreciate it.” She opened the door. “You guys have a nice night. I’m sure I’ll be talking to you soon.” She waited for the men to leave. So she could hit something. Destroy something. Rage and helplessness roared through her in fierce waves.

The guys shared a testosterone-filled glance and headed for the exit.

Mac stopped in front of her but Tracey didn’t give him the chance to say anything. Didn’t want to feel the heat of his body next to hers, or look into those deep smoky eyes that spoke to her on a level she didn’t understand.

“G’night, Mac.”

His lips pressed together and color rose on his tanned cheeks. He pivoted and followed the detective down the hall.

Tracey closed the door with a definite slam. She paced the room for a few seconds before picking up the closest thing at hand, an empty ice bucket. She heaved it across the room. Though she wasn’t aiming for anything, she knocked over the lamp on the desk. The ensuing crash brought a loud pounding on her door.

“Tracey? Tracey!”

She couldn’t decide if Mac sounded angry or worried. Then she realized she didn’t care. “Go away.”

“Damn it, Tracey, open the door before I…” What? Did he plan on breaking it down? “Just open up.”

Taking a deep breath, she stalked across the room and opened the door. “What?”

Mac pushed his way past her.
Well, say goodbye to an early bedtime.
Tracey clenched her jaw and readied herself for battle number one hundred and seven. So much for the cease-fire from earlier in the day.

Mac got deep into the room before he turned around. “I’m trying really hard to understand you, but you’re impossible to read.”

“No one said you had to understand me, Mac.” Tracey closed the door and faced him. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and quit trying?” Clearly that was the exact wrong thing to say because his jaw clenched and his back straightened.

“I didn’t come all this way to quit anything.” He proved that point as he spent the next twenty minutes lecturing her about everything from safety to trashing hotel rooms.

A crappy ending to an equally crappy afternoon.

The next day, Matthew checked his watch as he jogged to his room. He had at least an hour, probably more, depending on the cold drizzle outside. The crew had broken for lunch since it would still take time to dry the track with blowers once the rain stopped. He’d zipped back to the hotel, itching to find his mystery woman. He couldn’t call from work or an outside line because the hotel required the guest’s name to be connected. Since he didn’t have a name, he had to call from his room.

He couldn’t begin to count the number of rooms he’d contacted since yesterday, but with the gauntlet thrown down, he was hell-bent on rising to the occasion. Luckily, a couple of floors had been blocked off for a convention, and he doubted she was with the seminary group, so his search had been narrowed down. He punched in the next extension on his list. The phone rang and clicked as someone picked up.

“You’re too late. I already took my bikini off and slid between the sheets. This better be good, because I’m ready for dreamland. What’s up?”

Matthew choked, recognized her voice immediately.
Good God Almighty.
“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find you, but I’m glad I did. Do you ever let anyone say anything on the phone before you start talking?”

He didn’t have to see her face to know she was surprised. “No offense,” she said, “but you weren’t supposed to find me.” But did it make her mad or glad?

He should’ve taken the hint, but something about her threw him off base…in a dangerous sort of way. She seemed to know he was the stranger she’d talked to yesterday. Still, finding her relieved an itch he hadn’t recognized needed scratching. “I realized that when I was almost through the entire tenth floor,” he admitted, listening to her shift and imagining a lush, naked woman in bed.

Her hoot of laughter made him smile. “You did not. You’re lying.”

“Ask anyone on the tenth floor. That’s where I started by the way. It took me a while to figure out the way you managed to combine one, seven and two. Anyway, they’ll tell you, along with most of the people on the nineteenth floor, that a guy called looking for a beautiful lady with black hair wearing a black dress.”

“Uh oh,” she said. “Strike one. Never compliment a woman you’ve never met. It makes her feel like you have no idea what you’re talking about, therefore making the compliment useless and hurtful.”

“That’s not fair,” he murmured, circling her room number on his list. “I met you last night over the phone. That has to count for something. By the way, how did the black work out? Did you get lucky?” He didn’t have to see her to know her jaw had dropped open. “Close your mouth,” he chuckled. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you you’d catch flies that way?” He heard her lips clamp together.

“How did you know…? You know, it’s none of your business if I got lucky or not.”

“You’re right,” he admitted solemnly. “That was rude. I had no business asking that and I apologize. Did you at least have a good time with Kim?” This time he pictured her eyes bugged out wide.

“How did you know—?”

“When you called last night, you thought I was Kim, remember? I debated calling her and asking for your number but I didn’t want her to ruin the fun of finding you on my own.”

She paused. “How long did it take you to find me?”

Got her! “Ah, so I finally have your interest.”

“I didn’t say I was interested. I asked how long it took you to find me. There’s a difference.”

“Not in my book.”

“Strike two,” she said. “Never argue with a woman you want to keep talking to. If you’re not going to answer the question I can always hang up the phone.”

Playing hard to get. He liked the chase and the confidence in her tone. “Okay. Let’s see…we spoke last night before six and it’s almost three now…” He tried to figure the hours. “I got to work early…that’s twenty-two minus…wait, then I was sleeping, that’s…”

“Anytime in the near future would be good,” she prodded, and he was positive she was enjoying his calculations.

“A few hours, give or take a few minutes,” he hedged.

“You’ve been calling rooms looking for me for hours?” Her husky voice climbed an octave.

He also liked surprising her. “Well, between last night and today…” No reason to be too honest. “You know, I take that back and I’ll plead the fifth. I’m not going to tell you.”

“Too late, my friend, you already spilled it.”

My friend?
That was definite progress. He smiled. “Damn. I’ll have to work on playing coy better.”

Pause. “Well…”

No way was she getting away a second time. “I guess since last night was the little black dress, tonight’s the littler red dress?” Silence. Either he’d surprised her again or she’d hung up on him.

“How do you do that?” she finally asked. “You know, most men never listen, much less remember anything I’ve said.”

Inspiration struck from out of the blue. “Those men are stupid.” He patted himself on the back. The blatant bashing of his own gender had to be an out-of-the-park home run.

“You’ve got five minutes,” she told him.

Five minutes…five minutes…What could he do in five minutes?

Convince her to meet him later!

Go.

Matthew pulled away from the Arrow car and checked his watch. The evening had flown by and he needed to get back to his room, shower and get dressed. He’d had drinks with women before and didn’t know why he was so edgy. Maybe because he’d never tried so hard to make it happen before.

After washing his hands, he jumped in his car and sped back to the hotel, city lights whizzing past. Trace’s car was in tip-top shape, ready for practice tomorrow, and he had a date with the sweetest sounding woman he’d ever talked to.

Two hours. They’d talked for two amazing hours about everything and nothing, and the anticipation of setting eyes on the woman behind the voice had him more nervous than he’d been in months.

She had one hell of sexy voice. Hell, even her name was sexy. Chelsea.

Actually, Chelsea’s voice sounded a little like Trace’s. Not that he ever had a crush on Trace. She was always more of a little sister than potential dating material. But ever since the accident, even that simple relationship had changed, and not for the better as far as he was concerned.

After the accident and the breakup with Eddie, Trace had withdrawn. Matthew tried to talk to her but she’d pushed him away. He hadn’t been able to do anything for the girl who’d suddenly shut out most of the world.

Matthew got back to the hotel, showered, slapped on some aftershave and dressed in black. Black was safe. Jeans, T-shirt and blazer. Not too casual but not too fancy.

Hell, what was he doing?

Blind dates were
not
his style. Dating was barely his style. Between long hours in the garage and time spent on the road, he rarely got the chance to date. Although he had to admit he was picky. Damn picky. He wanted someone smart, funny and easy on the eyes. Was that asking too much?

One last glance in the mirror to run his fingers through his short brown hair and he was ready to go. He caught a quick elevator, crossed the lobby and stepped into the darkened bar, looking for a lady in red. She wasn’t hard to spot, sitting on a barstool in the semi crowded room with her back to him. Jet-black hair and deep red dress. It had to be her.

Nervous energy had him crunching a mint as he neared her. Then anticipation turned to dejection. He sidled up next to her. “Damn, girl, you look great.” He hadn’t seen Trace in a dress since before the accident. “You should get out of that race suit more often.”

The surprise on her face turned to a reluctant smile. She lifted one long, lean leg then sighed and shook her head. “I guess I should say thank you before I pop your bubble.”

Her sympathetic eyes nearly knocked him over. Despite his claim to think of Trace as a little sister, his stomach did an unexpected somersault. What the hell was that about? But there was something different about her…besides the makeup. He just couldn’t figure out what.

“In that killer dress, I don’t think it’s possible to burst my bubble. Unfortunately, you need to hit the road.”

She looked startled. “I do?”

He glanced around the bar. “Yeah, you’re crampin’ my style. I’m meeting someone here any minute and I don’t want to be seen with you.”

She sat up straight and leveled him with blue laser eyes. “As it happens, I’m also meeting someone and since I’m positive you’ve mistaken me for someone else, I think you’re the one who can ‘hit the road.’”

Matthew’s mouth went dry. The voice. The red dress. Black-as-night hair.

She studied one long, red-polished fingernail and dismissed him. “It’s probably important for you to know that contrary to popular opinion at this hotel, my name isn’t
Trace
or
Tracey,
or
Psst, it’s her.
”

Matthew choked back a laugh, then swallowed hard. Didn’t know if he was in heaven or hell. He narrowed his eyes. “Chelsea?”

She blinked at him as if she’d just made a huge mistake. “Oh God. You’re Matthew?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to cover his surprise with a wry grin, “but you look exactly like my friend…”

Those big blue eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute. Tracey Bradshaw is your
friend?
” Surprise and skepticism sounded in her voice. “You
know
her?”

“Well, yeah. I keep her engine running.” Maybe that hadn’t come out right. “Uh, I mean that in the literal sense.”

She sat there stunned for a few seconds before laughing. “I don’t believe this. I’ve been trying to reach her since I checked in.”

“Oh, yeah. How come?”

Her eyes rounded as if he weren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. “I thought it was obvious. We look exactly alike.”

Matthew didn’t want to pop
her
bubble, but he wasn’t sure where she was headed. “And? What does that mean?” Other than the fact that God had sorry humor.

She sighed. “Well, to be honest, it’s a long story and I’d rather not go into it until I talk to Tracey. But I have reason to believe she might be my sister.”

Matthew’s stomach did another quick flip. If the lady was on the up-and-up then she might actually have a valid case, but since Trace had some weird shit going on in her life, he wasn’t about to reveal anything of a personal nature.

“I’ll talk to her for you,” he said. “Tomorrow. I know she’s sacked out now. She’s had a tough week.” They all had. Mac seemed like a nice enough guy, but everyone missed Joe.

“Yeah. I saw the press conference. Poor thing. It’s devastating to lose someone so close to you. I feel so bad for her.” Chelsea’s eyes held a mountain of compassion.

Matthew nodded. “She’s tough. She’ll survive.”

Cheers erupted across the room from a table of rowdy men. “Hey, Trace,” one yelled. Chelsea looked over and the man raised his drink in a toast. “Here’s to you, babe. I’m counting on you to kick some ass on the track next Sunday.” The group roared when Chelsea saluted them. Then she turned back to Matthew with raised brows.

“People have been calling to me, waving to me, a few have actually asked for my autograph.” She looked guilty and surprised at the same time.

Matthew chuckled, instantly drawn in by her wide-eyed fascination. “So do you like being famous?” He took the empty barstool next to her.

She shrugged one bare shoulder. Her skin gleamed in the bar light. “Not really. I’m happy being plain ol’ Chelsea Harding, to be honest.”

Matthew shook his head. “I can tell you right now, in that dress there isn’t anything
plain ol’
about you.” He was rewarded with a blush and a smile before she looked away. The woman
was
Trace. Yet Matthew couldn’t take his eyes off her. One thing was certain: his pulse had never hammered this hard when he was around Trace.

She glanced up at him shyly. “Uh…”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, realizing he was staring. “You’re just…almost her exact image.”

She pressed her pink lips together and nodded, then looked around uncomfortably. “This is kind of awkward,” she began. “Maybe I should—” She stood but Matthew stopped her with a hand on her arm. Her smooth, warm flesh sent instant heat through his veins.

“Please, don’t go,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just a shock. Let me buy you a drink.”

She did, and they sat at the bar and talked, laughed and flirted like pros, oblivious to the world around them.

Not only was Matthew Rivers the most handsome guy Chelsea had ever been out with, he had a wicked sense of humor
and
he knew Tracey Bradshaw personally. If she’d talked to him longer the first night, she might’ve discovered that information. Instead she’d wasted another day.

Realizing he was her gateway to Tracey, she’d gotten through the first awkward moments and they’d eased into a comfortable dialogue. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Matthew wasn’t going to reveal anything about Tracey. Actually, it only proved he was a good friend. They discussed movies, music and life in general. They compared his childhood growing up with four brothers to hers as an only child. She couldn’t tell him everything, but she gave him enough to keep the conversation going.

Now, tucked away at a table in the corner of the bar, Chelsea laughed and stifled a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, glancing at his watch. “Am I keeping you up past your bedtime?”

Chelsea grinned. “I don’t have a bedtime. I’m a little tired because I was up late last night and got up early for a business call this morning, then some strange man phoned when I was about to take a nap this afternoon.”

“You must have hung up with him pretty quickly because you talked with me for over an hour.” Matthew’s very serious brown eyes didn’t hint that he was joking. Then his brows pulled together in delayed dawning. “Hey…you don’t mean…”

Chelsea chuckled again at his harmless teasing. He had great timing.

His straight white teeth gleamed in the dimly lit room. “I think talking for almost four hours today takes me out of strange man territory and puts me somewhere else.”

The heat in his eyes sent a wave of goose bumps down her arms and conjured up a quick vision of him in her bed sans clothes. She didn’t have time to add a man to the equation. Life was complicated enough already.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling himself out of the booth. He extended his hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

God, had he read her mind? The implication sent a jolt of anticipation through her. He could’ve phrased it a dozen different ways and been much clearer. She took his hand and slid out of the booth. He released her to pay the tab at the bar and she popped a mint. She didn’t plan on anything happening, but better to be prepared. They strolled toward the elevators and Chelsea fought her crazy nerves. Would he kiss her goodnight? Would it hurt her or help her where Tracey was concerned?

They stepped into the elevator with another young couple. No sooner had the doors closed than the pair engaged in the type of lip-lock Chelsea had only seen in the movies.

With nowhere to turn to avoid the two people, Chelsea damned the mirrored walls and braved a glance at Matthew. After looking down at the carpeted floor, he turned his head in time to give her a grin and a shrug. The heat in the small space escalated and Chelsea focused her eyes on a spot on the carpet until the kissing couple exited the elevator.

“I’m not sure they’ll make it to their room,” Matthew said as the doors closed.

“How embarrassing.” She wasn’t much on public displays of affection. Although, with the right guy at the right time, maybe anything was possible. She just had a problem finding the right guy and the right time.

“It’s not embarrassing if you’re alone.” Matthew moved closer to her.

Chelsea shivered. Having him so close had her blood racing. Sex appeal flowed out of the man in rivers.

“Are you cold?” He stripped off his blazer and placed it over her bare shoulders before she could respond. She breathed in his cologne. Sandalwood. Her favorite. He held the front collar together and pulled her closer.

She wasn’t cold in the least. On the contrary, staring into his dark brown eyes, she was starting to burn. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to.

The elevator doors opened to her floor, but they didn’t move. Matthew looked deep into her eyes. Still unsure how far she wanted to take this, Chelsea pulled away. Matthew took her hand, forcing her to follow him. He walked slowly, leisurely, as if he were contemplating something of his own then he stopped in front of her door.

“Thanks for the drinks,” she said, grasping for words to avoid the awkward moment that lay just ahead.

Sweet brown eyes drilled into hers. “Thanks for meeting me.” He stood in front of her, tall and solid. His T-shirt hugged his muscled chest.

Should she invite him in or end the night? “Here. I should give this back to you.” She reached for his blazer, but he stopped her and eased it back on.

“Tomorrow. Give it back to me tomorrow.” He inched closer.

“Tomorrow?” she whispered, unable to move her gaze from his.

His fingers wrapped around her arms and gently brought her closer. “Chelsea, if I don’t kiss you in the next five seconds I might go out of my mind.”

She swallowed and felt her temperature rising. “Maybe you should make it two so you don’t cut it so cl—”

He kissed her and the uneven beat of her heart galloped faster. Strong hands shifted from her arms to her back. His lips moved over hers in a slow deliberate exploration. A quick flick of his tongue across her lower lip sent arrows of sensation all the way to her toes. He pulled away a fraction and seemed to debate the possibility of another.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?” The husky sounding question left her lips before she had a chance to think about it. Obviously the spirit of Kim had taken over.

“Just
one
minute?” His low voice thrummed through her. If he hadn’t had his arms around her so firmly, she might’ve buckled.

They continued to stare at each other and Chelsea scrambled for coherent words and a valid excuse to warrant her bold invitation. “If you’re hungry, we could raid the honor bar.”

He smiled. A quick, devastating flash of white. “Are you sure you want to make that offer to a strange man?” His gaze moved to her lips, conveying exactly the type of offer he had in mind.

He was right, but suddenly Chelsea didn’t care. She was going to live for now and enjoy herself. This seemed as good a time as any. The guy was cute, funny and nice, and the icing on the cake was that he knew Tracey Bradshaw. She’d spent the last two hours talking and laughing with him. Why stop now? Why not invite him in and see what happened?

“I don’t think you’re strange. I think I kind of like you.”

His fingers grazed the small of her back and she felt his heat through his blazer. “I think I kind of like you too.” He leaned in and kissed her again.

Chelsea’s mind went blank as the soft pressure of his lips molded to hers.

The elevator bell rang and a rush of voices and footfalls loomed closer. Chelsea pulled away, breathless, and fumbled for her card key. Her hand shook and she couldn’t slide it in the slot. Matthew’s steady hand covered hers and did the job. Chelsea pushed open her door, flipped on a light, set her bag on the sofa and faced him.