Banging Wheels (13 page)

Callie and Drake’s gaze was broken as they both noticed Travis standing off to one side with aggressively folded arms and a face like a storm. This whole thing wasn’t over yet.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Travis Hutton, manager of Travis Hutton Racing, the team he’d started sixteen years ago, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“The thing is,” said Bill, “I’m paying you, my good man, for my driver to win the title.”

“He beat his teammate — what more do you want?”

“He was lucky. I want there to be no luck involved, as we agreed.”

“Well there’s not much I can do if he doesn’t want to take advantage of his preferential treatment, now, is there?”

“Oh, I think he does, Travis. I just don’t think he realizes yet,” said Bill, fiddling with his bow tie.

They both stared at each other a while. Travis was an old hand, and knew when to keep a strategic silence.

It fell to Bill to break the silence once again. “Drivers should know their place. They’re not the real players, after all. They’re just pawns. But I can hear what you’re saying — ultimately, you’re not in control of your own employees.”

“Are you trying to manipulate me, William?” said Travis. He liked using the longer version of Bill’s name; he felt like it shifted the power subtly in his direction.

“Not at all!” he said, affecting a look of mock-annoyance. “How could you ever imply such a thing?”

“Firstly, I’m fully in control of my employees,” said Travis. “And secondly, let’s not forget that you’re the one who’s allowed his driver’s judgment to be clouded by emotions. Fancy getting romantically involved with your own teammate. What kind of amateurs are you supplying me with here?”

“Well... I’ve paid you for the privilege of having the top driver. But you don’t seem to have the...” he stopped and searched for a word, “...
power
to deliver.”

“Oh please — you insult my intelligence.”

They stared at each other a while, sizing each other up.

“But don’t you worry,” continued Travis. “Drake’s going to be champion. Whether he likes it or not.”

Bill smiled a dark smile and twirled his mustache.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“How ya goin’? I see ya finally grew a pair, then.”

Callie heard Ozzie’s voice and turned around, thinking he was talking to her, but he wasn’t. It was Drake that he was addressing.

“But seriously, good on ya, man. I’ve got a lot of respect for what you did. I used to think you only used to do well because you were a sly, underhanded bugger. Now I know it’s really because you’re incredibly lucky.”

This time it was Drake’s turn to laugh, before they shook hands. She’d never even seen those two talk before. Callie pretended to fiddle with the zipper on her race suit, listening in. Her mind was so mixed up over this. Was he a friend? A lover? An enemy? She didn’t have any idea any more. But she did know she felts butterflies when he was around. Though it was hard to tell where the butterflies were coming from today. In just a couple of hours, it would all be over and maybe she’d be champion. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But at least she apparently had a genuine crack at it this time.

It was the last race of the season, and it was a street circuit, which suited her down to the ground. But there were so many variables, you just never knew how it would play out. She could easily blow it all at the first corner. And they were pretty much neck and neck in terms of points — quite simply, whichever of them finished ahead would be champion.

Her train of thought was stolen by someone else. Someone with baby blue eyes.

“How are you doing?”

She looked up from her zipper, and tried not to visibly melt too much. “Oh, completely relaxed! Not a nerve in my body.”

“Anxious, huh?”

“Or excited, whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m fine,” he said, that old arrogant sheen briefly covering his face.

“Really?”

He sighed. “Okay, no. My stomach’s in knots. I barely slept a wink last night.”

They gave each other as much of a smile as they could afford. She found herself playing with her hair. She couldn’t help but flirt when he was around; it felt so natural.

“Are we good to race then?”

“That’s the plan.” His face changed to a playful smirk. “Well, as long as you don’t mind me beating you fair and square.”

“I’d wish you good luck,” she said, “but I wouldn’t mean it.”

“May the best driver win. By which I mean me.”

They laughed, their eyes locking. But their gaze was broken as his eyes caught something else. She turned around and there was the team boss.

“How are you two doing? Confident?”

They both nodded and smiled, but there was a wariness in the air. Travis had erupted at them in the debriefing following the previous race. How dare they disobey team orders? And Callie knew there was tension on Drake’s side of the camp, given that money had changed hands. But hey — what could you do?

“I’ve had a long think about it,” said Travis, “and I’ve decided that the best thing is if you two just race. You’re both grown adults, and you’re both determined to race. So you should both just go for it.”

They looked at each other uncertainly. Was this for real?

“Just don’t take each other off.” He straightened his suit vest and walked away, whistling.

Back at the car, Ozzie was busy tweaking the suspension. Callie stood watching, thinking, working out what that strange feeling was that she felt on top of all the others.

“Ozzie, this probably sounds like a strange question...”

“Go on.”

“Could anyone have tampered with the car?”

He put down his tools and looked at her.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m just a bit, well... why is everything okay, suddenly?”

Ozzie looked up at her, narrowing his eyes.

“Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Someone’s learning,” he said with a smile. “One thing I’ve learned in this game — if you think something’s up, then that usually means that something’s up. Either that or yeah, you’re just being paranoid.” He flashed her a grin.

“What can we do?”

“Check everything. And I mean everything.”

Callie was suited up and ready to go. She paced about. She felt like she’d been ready for ever, and yet somehow wasn’t ready at all. She wanted to put it off for as long as possible, but she was also desperate to get in the car and get going.

“Tense, eh?” said Ozzie.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I checked every last inch of the car, and I couldn’t find any problems. Oil’s fine, fuel’s fine, steering wheel’s still there...”

She sighed. Something wasn’t right, and she was damned if she knew what. But it was too late to worry about it now. It was time to get in the car and fulfill her destiny. Whatever that might be.

She stood on the seat then eased down into the cockpit, wiggling her backside and sliding into the cramped cockpit. She looked over at Drake. He caught her glance and gave a nod of the head. She gave one back. But their eye contact was broken by a dark mass, walking between the two cars. A suited figure. It was Travis, kneeling down to talk to Drake, who lifted his visor. What was that all about?

Next, Travis turned to her.

“I was just telling Drake,” he started. “You need to do an extra installation lap. These are new engines, and it’s best to do that extra lap before the start of the race, just to know they’re okay for sure.”

Ah, right. As long as it was the same for both of them.

The engine growled into life, and she rolled forward, creeping out of the garage like some kind of wild animal on the prowl. She left the pit lane and joined the track, circulating to the starting grid, but remembering what the team boss had said, went on around and did a whole other lap, checking the revs again, checking the oil again. Everything looked fine. The engine sounded good, solid, strong.

One thing she didn’t see, however, was Drake. He should have been in her mirrors, but he wasn’t there. And when she completed the lap, he was already waiting on the grid. Why hadn’t he done the extra installation lap? What was going on here? Were they trying to screw her somehow? Or were they trying to screw him, by way of punishment? It was all just speculation. She had no idea of the problem. All she knew was that something was up. Dammit, why couldn’t they just race?

Out came the pace car, and the cars peeled away, following it around. Ahead of her was the blue car of her teammate, buzzing about, warming up its tires. She had qualified in second place, with Drake just ahead and Daniels just behind. She was certain she was quickest around the circuit over all, but hadn’t managed to put in a clean lap. The nerves had maybe shown through a bit and she’d made some silly little mistakes — a lock up or two here and there — and had lost out as a result. Drake, meanwhile, had aced it, despite it not being his kind of circuit, perhaps by virtue of being in a good frame of mind after the last race.

She liked this place, though — it was a good, solid street circuit with sequences of 90 degree corners. The buildings swept by in a flash, the barriers a blur. You never actually looked at them — if you did it would be because you were about to hit them. In fact, you never looked at the actual corner you were driving through in general — you always looked ahead, keeping the turn in your peripheral version, and letting your sense of spatial awareness do the rest. People always said this thing about men having superior spatial awareness, but she didn’t pay it much heed. Hers was pretty darned good and that was all that mattered.

The tension that had been building for the whole two weeks since that last, eventful race now reached a crescendo. Any moment now, the pace car would peel off and they’d be away. The tension in her neck, in her chest, in her stomach... it was almost unbearable.

They came around the last corner, and they were away.

Callie fudged the acceleration and made a terrible start. She’d been so eager to stay close to Drake that she was all hunched up behind him, and lost momentum at a crucial moment. Fast-but-timid Daniels pulled out from her draft and breezed past her, comfortably taking the position as they went into the next turn.

She nearly lost two more places going into turn two, braking too late and slithering wide. It was only her lightning reactions that stopped her from going into the wall.

Concentrate, damn it
.

She was still in third place, but under pressure. She was over-thinking things, and she knew it. As soon as you start concentrating too much on what you’re doing, you’re in trouble — all that stuff should be instinctive. Finally, with three laps down, her nerves calmed somewhat and she started settling into a rhythm. Now it was time to stretch those silken legs of hers, the ones that could help her to seduce or to kick ass, depending on the circumstances.

She hustled her way around the dusty 90 degree turns, throwing the car when it needed throwing and guiding it when it needed guiding, threading it like a needle through the chicane, settling into that mental place in which she felt most comfortable. And then she started reeling Daniels in, which she did quickly — like she had a rope attached to the back of his car. So quickly, in fact, that she pretty much caught him unawares, making a smart and unexpected pass on him between two 90-degree bends.

It was a decent enough recovery after the poor start, but second place wasn’t good enough. Not unless you really liked losing. It was time to catch Drake. Off she went in pursuit. It might not have been his kind of circuit, but he was no shirk, either, and he wasn’t even in view for a long while. But finally she came around one corner to see his tail — that tight, manly ass of his somewhere inside — disappearing into the next. Damn, how much she’d love to dig her nails into that.

With Daniels now far enough back to be gone from her mirrors, she started to make inroads into Drake’s lead, slicing off a tenth of a second here, and two tenths there, but not as quick as she would have hoped for. Damn, he was driving well. That pass he’d put on her in that last race had been sublime. He’d really gone up in her estimation after that — the guy could genuinely drive once he parked those sneaky tactics of his. Coming up against someone who was genuinely as good as her was a novel experience, and though problematic in some ways, it was also — dare she admit it? — kind of a turn on.