The Comeback (2 page)

Was he about to renege on his promised
cooperation?
Panic gripped Gaby, loosened her lips. “As far as I can tell,” she said, “you don’t win races at all.”

His head jerked back.

“You do know, don’t you, that Getaway has threatened to pull its sponsorship before the season is up if they don’t see a better return on their money?” She continued, taking advantage of his stunned silence. “I don’t care what you do when
you’re on the track, but when you make an appearance for your sponsor, whether the media are present or not, I want one hundred percent of your concentration.”

No marshmallow would have said that, she thought with satisfaction.

He stood, a movement that managed to be both graceful and intimidating. He was just shy of six feet tall, and his loose-fitting polo shirt couldn’t hide his lean strength. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, which she now realized had a wave in it, one that wasn’t visible in his photos.

“How exactly did you get to be the boss of me?” he demanded, looming so close that she could see a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth.

Gaby caught the clean, fresh smell of soap and mint and man. She gulped, trying to corral her thoughts in the face of sensory overload. “Everyone else chickened out.”

Zack stared at her. Then he laughed.

Darn, she wished he hadn’t done that, despite what she’d said about wanting him to smile. Turned out laughter lightened his eyes and opened his face so he looked almost boyish. And even more devastatingly handsome. Her knees turned to water—she couldn’t have stood if she’d tried.

He grinned, and she had the mortifying thought that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her.

“Okay, Gaby.” Had he said her name before? She thought not, because hearing those two familiar syllables spoken in his deep voice sent a little shiver through her. “You obviously have a bee in your bonnet about this publicity stuff.”

A
bee?
It was her job, for Pete’s sake.

“I like a quiet life,” he said, “which means I need you off my back. In the interests of my own sanity, I’m going to agree that when I’m on the publicity trail, I’ll be all yours. One hundred percent. Deal?”

“Uh…deal,” she said, looking for the catch.

“Now—” he glanced at his watch, dismissing her “—why
don’t you go find a reporter who wants to write about my preference for butter over margarine, and I’ll get back to preparing for my next race.”

This time, his smile was cherubic. Gaby felt like Pandora, right after she let a load of unimagined troubles out of the box.

T
HE
C
HICAGO TRACK
wasn’t as crowded on Thursday, qualifying day, as it would be for Saturday’s race, but still the atmosphere gave Gaby a buzz. The noise level had been steadily building over the past couple of hours, and with the late afternoon sunshine reflecting off the gleaming, multicolored lineup of race team haulers in the garage area, it was hard to worry. She loved this sport—she loved her job.

And she had just the right publicity strategy for Zack this weekend. It wouldn’t matter if Zack made a mess of the great interview she’d scheduled, because it involved his family, as well. Every other Matheson had a gift for dealing with the media, even Zack’s gruff father, Brady.

Gaby flashed the hard-card that told the security guard at the entrance to the garage area that she was attached to Matheson Racing, and headed into organized chaos. Today was almost as stressful as race day—if a driver qualified among the front-runners for the race, he’d have a much easier job when the green flag fell on Saturday.

Zack’s qualifying this season had been “patchy,” as one NASCAR correspondent had described it in a major newspaper earlier this week. But he’d qualified in twelfth position today. Gaby imagined that had been a relief. Having to work his way up past a couple of dozen of the world’s top race drivers was a daunting prospect for anyone, let alone a driver trying to make a comeback.

Fleetingly, she wondered why Zack was so set on this
comeback, when by all accounts his race track simulation software business in Atlanta was a big success. It must be torture, returning to a sport where he’d been one of the brightest stars, only to find his light had faded.

Gaby reached Zack’s garage area. He was ranked twenty-second in points for the season to date, which meant his car and hauler were some distance from the pits. Zack’s brother Trent, sitting fifth, enjoyed a more convenient location.

Gaby found Zack deep in conversation with his older brother and team owner, Chad Matheson, in the office at the front of the hauler. Chad glanced up as she entered.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry…am I interrupting?” Gaby could have kicked herself for her hesitancy. When she’d first volunteered to work with Zack, she and Sandra had met with Chad to explain the change in personnel. Chad had been unconvinced Gaby could handle his brother.

She tried again, with a brisker, “Zack, I’m glad I found you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do tend to be at the track on race weekends.”

Gaby ignored that inanity. “I need to brief you about an interview I’ve arranged with the local Chicago newspaper.”

“I’m busy,” Zack said, “planning my race.”

Chad sat back from the built-in table, arms folded across his chest, interest evident in the alert lines of his body.

“The reporter—” too high and squeaky, Gaby cleared her throat “—wants to talk about the challenges inherent in making a comeback.”

“Is it that guy Pete Jameson?” Zack perked up. The newspaper’s NASCAR commentator was highly respected in racing circles.

It broke Gaby’s heart to answer the question. “It’s not Pete. This guy is more of a…uh…actually, he’s the advice columnist.”

“A
shrink?
” Zack said, outraged.

“He’s writing a feature, a
major
feature that might even end up the lead in the Saturday sports section, on athletes overcom
ing past problems.” She saw the beginnings of a pleased smile on Chad’s face. “The reporter would also like to interview one of your brothers,” she said. “Chad, maybe you could do it.”

Silence.

“I’d be happy to,” Chad said, so neutrally she knew he didn’t mean it.

Didn’t Chad want to help his brother? Now Zack had his arms folded, too, mirroring Chad. The two men eyed each other, Zack’s expression challenging, Chad’s frustrated.

Gaby had no idea what was going on between them, but her hope that Chad would salvage the interview if Zack botched it quickly faded. She groaned inwardly.

“Gaby, how do you think Zack will do in this weekend’s race?” Chad’s tone was casual, but his gaze was sharp.

Truthfully? She imagined it would go the way every race had recently. Zack would struggle to hold on to his starting position, and would gradually slip down to finish somewhere in the twenties.

Zack’s smoky gray eyes met hers. He was challenging her the way he’d challenged his brother a moment ago.

To do what?

My job,
she thought. Her job was to represent Zack to the public, and right now the public included his brother.

“I think Zack’s strong qualifying will boost his confidence,” she said. “Don’t be surprised if you see him near the front of the field.”

Chad didn’t look surprised…he looked astounded.

So did Zack. He didn’t smile at Gaby—he’d probably used up his entire season’s allocations of smiles at their last meeting—but he nodded slowly. His gray eyes were so intense that she felt almost as if he’d reached out and touched her. Her breath shortened.

Before Chad could reply, the office door opened. His wife, Brianna, walked in. Gaby seized the chance to break the connection with Zack and greeted Brianna with a smile.

“Hi, darling.” Chad’s face lit up as he stood. Anyone would think he hadn’t seen his wife in weeks, when in fact Gaby had spotted the couple lunching together a couple of hours ago.

Brianna kissed him on the mouth. Brief though the kiss was, she was positively starry-eyed when she turned to the others. Gaby felt awkward witnessing that kiss right after she’d….
what?
Traded
looks
with Zack?

“Hi, Gaby. Zack, nice qualifying.” Brianna smiled at her brother-in-law, and Gaby was surprised to see one side of Zack’s mouth quirk and his face soften. On the heels of her surprise, Gaby felt something alarmingly like envy—envy that Brianna was the recipient of that mellowing.

“Chad, honey,” Brianna continued, “the Energy Oil guys would like to chat when you have a moment.” She’d recently taken over as team liaison for Trent’s sponsors, of which Energy Oil was the biggest. Her late father had been the founder of Getaway Resorts, and it was Brianna who’d recommended the company sponsor Zack. But after her dad’s death and her reunion with Chad, from whom she’d separated right after their Vegas wedding, the cousin who’d taken over at Getaway had been uncomfortable about a conflict of interest. So Brianna now contributed her considerable marketing skills to Trent’s team.

“Sure, let’s go.” Chad laced his fingers through Brianna’s. As they reached the doorway, he turned back to Gaby. “Don’t be surprised—” he nodded an acknowledgment that he was borrowing her words “—if you’re wrong about the race.”

He and Brianna left. Gaby stared at the door Chad had closed behind him. “Did I hear right?” she demanded. “Did your brother just tell me not to be surprised if you screw up on Saturday?”

No answer from Zack. She turned and found his face shuttered. No sign of that connection that she must have imagined between them.

“Yeah,” he said, expressionless.

“Why would he do that?” she asked, still rattled by that momentary, inexplicable envy of Brianna.

“Chad and I don’t always get along.”

His shrug said it was no big deal, but Gaby discerned pain in his eyes. “What about you and Trent?” Maybe the reporter could get the family perspective from Zack’s younger brother.

“Trent and I definitely don’t get along.”

Great.
Still, some rivalry between brothers was inevitable when they were both after the same thing. “Your father, maybe?”

Zack shifted in his seat. “Dad has a lot on his mind. Julie-Anne’s daughter is about to arrive back in town.” Brady Matheson had eloped with his secretary Julie-Anne earlier in the year; industry gossip suggested the woman’s daughter, an adventure tour guide in Asia, disapproved. “He won’t want to be bothered about some shrink article,” Zack said firmly.

If Zack had a healthy relationship with his father, Brady would drop everything to help his son.

“What you’re saying is, you don’t get along with anyone,” Gaby said.

His eyes narrowed. “I get along fine with my sisters-in-law. And with Julie-Anne. Now, if you’ve finished analyzing my relationships, maybe I could get back to my race prep.”

“We need to talk more about this interview.”

“If you write up a briefing, I promise I’ll say whatever you tell me.” He crossed to the door, held it open.

From the set of his jaw Gaby could tell she wouldn’t get any further with him now.

Pesky NASCAR driver.

As she passed him, only just managing not to flounce, Zack caught hold of her arm. A band of heat formed where his fingers curved around her flesh, locking her in place, triggering a tightening throughout her body.
What the heck?

“By the way,” he said, “thanks for telling Chad you think I’ll be up front in the race.”

“I—it’s called spin,” she stammered. “I was doing my job.”

His hand fell away; Gaby fought the urge to rub her arm.

“So you don’t believe it?” He sounded annoyed.

Not half as annoyed as she was about his lack of enthusiasm for her interview, and his inability to get on well enough with his family that one of them might support him in the media. And about her own reaction to him just now. Deliberately, she didn’t answer his question. “You’ll have that briefing by eight tonight.”

His growl of dissatisfaction almost lifted her spirits. Almost, but not quite.

W
HEN THE GREEN FLAG
dropped on Saturday, Zack made two early passes that had his crew chief, Dave Harmon, smiling through his habitual dourness.

“Zack’s on fire today,” Chad commented to Gaby, who was watching the screen at the base of the war wagon with him.

“He looks amazing,” she said honestly. The cars were on lap forty, about to pit for the first time, and she’d never seen Zack with such control over his car, such mastery of the track.

The pit stop was fast and smooth, and Dave gave the team a thumbs-up as Zack headed out after just thirteen seconds. As the laps went by, he began to pass cars, until he was running fifth. Then he passed Trent.

“Fourth,” Gaby breathed, amazed that her own prediction had come true. “Do you think…”

Chad hushed her with a glance. “We’ve been here before.” The implication was
And then it’s all gone south.
Gaby tried to calm her mounting excitement. But she couldn’t help thinking ahead to today’s interview. If Zack finished fourth or better, the paper’s motorsport reporter would want to talk to him.

Sandra Taney would be thrilled, and so would Getaway Resorts. Gaby pulled out her notebook, began jotting down some possible angles for Zack to address. Whether he would listen to her advice or not was another matter, but…

A roar rose from the crowd—horror, not excitement. Gaby
refocused on the screen, became aware of Chad cursing alongside her. Then she saw it. The electric blue No. 548 car—Zack’s car—had hit the wall. The crumpled mess slid to a halt, cars swerving around it. As she watched, heart in her mouth, Zack’s window-net came down, and his arm emerged in a wave, a sign that he was okay. But his race was over.

“Looks like you’ll have plenty of media interest in Zack’s performance,” Chad said ironically.

Gaby’s heart was still thudding from the shock of seeing Zack’s battered car. “It might help if you had some sympathy for him,” she said sharply. Good grief, what was wrong with her? She pressed her fingers to her lips, silencing any other rogue criticisms of Zack’s team boss.

But Chad’s glance was pitying, rather than angry. “After Zack’s let you down a hundred times, you might have less sympathy for him yourself,” he said.

“Not every crash is avoidable.”

“That one was.” Chad eyed the monitor, where Zack was now standing on the infield. “Zack’s head isn’t in the right place to run well this season, and nothing I do can get it there.”

Gaby wondered how hard he had tried.
None of my business,
she told herself.
My job is to put a good spin on this for the reporters.
Thinking aloud, she said, “I’ll emphasize how strong Zack’s performance was right up until the crash, how it’s a sign of good things to come.”

Chad sighed. “Good luck with that.” He climbed the ladder to the top of the war wagon, where Zack’s crew chief had pulled off his headphones in disgust.

Gaby half jogged to the infield care center, where she knew Zack would have been taken. True to Chad’s prediction, several reporters wanted a heads-up on the crash that had sent her client from fourth place to oblivion. She promised Zack would be available to answer questions as soon as the medics released him.

Inside, she found Zack sitting on the edge of a hospital-style bed, his wrist in a sling.

“Just a precaution,” the doctor explained when she saw Gaby’s alarm. “There’s a little swelling but the X-ray didn’t show any bones broken.”

“I’m fine.” Zack scowled. He looked like a very bad-tempered angel.

“Then take that sling off,” Gaby ordered. The photographers would pounce on the opportunity to snap an injured Zack.

“Good idea,” he said, ignoring the doctor’s tutting.

Turned out that was where his compliance peaked. Outside, Zack dodged most of the reporters’ questions, and offered monosyllabic replies to those he deigned to answer. When the advice columnist from the Chicago newspaper appeared for his interview with Zack, Gaby had a sinking feeling things would only get worse.

They adjourned to the media center where, to his credit, Zack’s first answers were right in line with Gaby’s briefing. But then the journalist asked, “To what extent are your difficulties on the track symptomatic of problems within your family?”

“None of your damn business,” Zack growled.

The guy beamed and ignored Gaby’s attempts to move the conversation into smoother waters. So did Zack. Obviously still smarting from his race, and maybe from Chad’s lack of support earlier, he let fly several colorful comments—none of them positive—about family loyalty, racing and the futility of psychologists trying to analyze this stuff.