Spy Candy

by Gina Robinson

  “Well,” Max’s voice cracked and he crossed his legs, “the elbow-to-the-groin trick was … below the belt.” He suddenly found something fascinating on his plate. John was looking off into the distance.

  “That was an accident,” I said, defending myself. “No, really. I feel like scum.” Which was an understatement. In actuality, I felt more like slimy, lowly pond scum on a toxic-waste dump.

  “I’d rather not be around you next time you have an accident,” John said mildly.

  Max didn’t reply.

  Just then Torq walked into the lunchroom, upright and whole. All conversation stopped as everyone’s gaze bounced between him and me. I blushed and made a point of staring at my food.

  Talk about your relief and assuaged guilt. Evidently his “lower stomach” felt better. In the glimpse I’d gotten of him, I’d noticed that his lip had stopped bleeding and now looked merely puffy, like he’d overdosed on Lip Venom. Now, if he’d gotten his bass voice back, we were in business.

  Rockford, who sat at the head of our long lunch table, took the heat off me and saved us from the uncomfortable silence by launching into a series of war stories—being sprayed with enemy machine-gun fire while hiding out in rice paddies, napalm, explosions, and cigar-smoking, drinking binges. Encountering head-hunting cannibals during a brief stint in the Philippines. Oh, and don’t forget the Vietnamese whores. Whooey!

  Yes, he gave us all the gory details. No one else managed to wedge a word in. Finally, unable to take any more of his exploits in the red-light district, and being strangely reminded of a scene in Catch-22, I said, “And I suppose these Vietnamese whores all beat you over the head with their high-heeled shoes?”

  Rockford looked at me like I was a crazy woman.

  “Like Nately?” I added for clarity.

  He didn’t understand and it was too much to explain. But at the far end of the table, Torq grinned. That was a good sign, right?

  Lunch over, we headed to the driving range and divided into three groups. The two NASCAR guys took the other two groups, and I was with Max and John.

  I looked around for Davie. Instead, Torq strolled over dressed in a driving suit, a helmet tucked under his arm. After everything that had happened and possibly happened between us in the past twenty-four hours, I couldn’t look him in those hot-chocolate eyes of his. I fixed my gaze on Max and John instead.

  “Where’s Davie?” John asked.

  “Called away. Family emergency. I’ll be instructing you today.” Thankfully, Torq’s voice had come down off its elbow-induced helium pitch.

  I felt his gaze on me, but I refused to play that game and peered into the sand, concentrating as if War and Peace were written beneath my feet.

  “I’m also a graduate of the Bondurant Driving School.”

  Of course. What hadn’t he done?

  When I didn’t look at him, Torq cleared his throat. “Today we’ll be tackling the bootlegger hairpin and the moonshine hairpin, which is the bootlegger in reverse. Toward the end of the lesson we’ll team up with the NASCAR guys for a little carramming exercise.” He explained how to perform the bootlegger.

  “Slow to between twenty-five and thirty-five mph. Take your foot off the gas. With your left hand, spin the wheel to the three to four o’clock position while yanking the hand emergency brake. Hard. When the car’s spun ninety to one hundred degrees, release the emergency brake, straighten the wheel and gun it.” He looked around the group. “Got it?”

  We nodded in unison. But I still didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Good. John, you’re up first.” Torq seemed happy enough to be off and out of the tension zone between us.

  John suited up and donned a helmet. Max and I stood on the sidelines beneath the meager shade of a paloverde tree and watched as John pulled out and headed up the straightaway. Halfway down the straightaway John pulled the car off the track into the desert sand.

  I turned to Max. “What’s he doing?”

  “Practicing the bootlegger eats up tires, especially on asphalt,” Max said. “It’s easier on sand and gravel.”

  “Oh.”

  Max nodded. “So what’s up with you and Torq?”

  “Up?” I played dumb.

  “Yeah. Up. You seem uncomfortable around him.”

  I shrugged.

  “You’re not still worried because you got him in the jewels, are you?”

  I shrugged again as Max scrutinized me.

  “We all know you didn’t mean to maim him.” Max spoke with a tease in his voice, trying to cheer me up. When I didn’t perk right up, he turned serious. “It’s not that, is it?”

  I liked Max. He was a sweet guy. But I didn’t answer.

  “It’s about last night and what Rockford said, isn’t it?”

  I looked at Max in surprise. Who knew he could be so astute?

  “Don’t let it get you down. From my knothole, I’d say Torq was putting a real move on you. He’d be a fool not to.”

  I couldn’t help it. I grinned at Max and shook my head to hide my embarrassment. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. And if you ever get tired of waiting around for Torq, I’m here.” He had enough tease in his voice that I couldn’t be altogether certain he was serious. But it was nice of him to say.

  “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” I gave him a hug.

  We fell into companionable silence and turned our attention back to the track. Through the flying sand, we watched John make several decent attempts at the bootlegger before finally nailing one. He pulled up in front of us, grinning like he’d just sealed a billion-dollar deal.

  Torq jumped out of the car and inspected the front tires. Satisfied, he turned to us. “Max, you’re up.”

  Max walked to the car. He paused at the door, shook his head, and waved me over. “Ladies first.”

  He came back beside me and leaned in to whisper to me, “I can’t stand to see you stew. Talk to him.”

  I shrugged and suited up, nervous, but ready for action. Though not necessarily of the talking variety. My heart pumped with excitement and, okay, some fear. Hot car. Hot guy. Tension. Confined quarters. Forced intimacy.

  As I slid into the seat, I turned to Torq and tried to break the ice. “This isn’t another one of those exercises where I end up dead, is it?” I was only half-joking.

  “Buckle up.” He shook his head, but he was grinning.

  “Aye, aye.” I saluted, buckled into my four-point harness, adjusted my seat and mirrors just like Davie’d taught me, and turned to Torq. “Ready to pull out?”

  “I’m never ready to pull out.” The grin again.

  I tightened my grip on the wheel, and my Kegels, too. I warned myself not to read too much into his statement. I really couldn’t handle another fake flirt.

  “But let’s go anyway,” he continued. “Do you remember the instructions?”

  “Slow, spin and pull, release, accelerate.” I tried hard to concentrate on my driving and not on my driving instructor, who despite his treachery was still hot.

  “Go for it.” He adjusted his sunglasses.

  I took us out on the track, accelerating to 50. I had the air conditioning running full bore, but I felt flushed and warm despite that. The car responded to the slightest tap on the brakes and turn of the wheel. I tried to remember what Davie had said about oversteering and understeering.

  “Let’s slow things down,” Torq said. “And head for the sand.”

  “Oh, come on,” I pleaded with more bravado than I felt. “Let me take it hard and fast once around the track.” A real spy would want to drive fast, and besides, it put off the bootlegger while I found my nerve.

  He gave me a look that said he thought I was flirting with him.

  “What? I like it fast.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” He grinned again. “Once.”

  I cruised around the track at 70, feeling the exhilaration of speed pulse through me.

  “Slow her down to twenty-five to thirty-five and
pull off,” Torq instructed.

  I pulled into the sand in a spray of dust.

  “When you’re ready, give it a go,” Torq said, sounding calm and in control.

  Palms sweating, heart pulsing in my ears, I took my foot off the gas, turned the wheel, and pulled the brake. We wobbled but didn’t skid.

  “Damn it!” I said. I had to be good at something spy. I was going to succeed at this.

  “Too slow,” Torq said. “Get back on the track. Go around, get it up, and try it again.”

  I took a deep breath and found myself calming as I took us around again. I pulled into the sand, got it up to just over 35 mph, let off the gas, turned, pulled the brake. No skid.

  “Now what?” I turned to Torq. “I was definitely in the target speed range.”

  “You didn’t jerk it hard enough. You have to be committed to it. Really want it.”

  Was he goading me with a flirt again? It sure seemed like it.

  “Pull over and I’ll demonstrate.”

  I wasn’t so sure I could handle a demonstration, but I pulled over anyway.

  “You take the brake handle like this. Grasp it tightly. Feel it in your hand.” He looked me in the eye, his eyes twinkling with challenge. “Grab it. Jerk it. And it’ll whip right around.” He offered me the brake. “You try.”

  I grabbed the brake and our fingers brushed. I tried to pull back, but Torq covered my hand with his.

  “Give it a good feel,” he said and released my hand. “Grip it. Pull.”

  I struggled with the brake and my scattered emotions. “It’s hard.”

  He looked me in the eye. “That’s the way you want it. With a soft brake, you’d brake too fast, too soon. A hard brake will take you where you want to go.”

  “Right. No premature braking for us.” I was thinking of our baby relationship hitting the skids. His smile told me he’d taken my statement in a different way. I blushed.

  “Exactly.” He nodded toward the track. “Let’s give it another try.”

  I had the feeling, but I’d been wrong before, that he was talking more about us than the bootlegger.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling uncertain and wary, but also the tiniest bit exhilarated.

  I took us around the track, into the sand, and up to just over 35 mph. I let off the gas, jerked the brake, and whipped the wheel around. Sand sprayed everywhere. We came around, but only about 90 degrees.

  “What now?”

  “Frustrated?” Torq asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” In more ways than one.

  Torq pointed to the wheel. “You didn’t whip it around hard enough. Let’s try it again. Once more.”

  “Can I try it on the track? The sand messed me up. I couldn’t see as I came around.” Okay, I was full of excuses. But I couldn’t give the real reason, which was that I was distracted by him and as nervous about this maneuver and our conversation as the day I made my first loan.

  He hesitated. I imagined he was thinking of the tires. I gave him my sweet, pleading look.

  “All right. Take us home.”

  I got back on the track. Coming down the far straightaway I saw Max walk to the edge of the track and give the air a little “you can do it” punch. I flashed him a thumbs-up and concentrated.

  I came around the corner and hit the straightaway in front of Max, slowed to just over 35 mph, speaking Torq’s instructions aloud. “Ease up on the speed. Grab and stroke the brake like so.” I grabbed the brake with my right hand.

  “Jerk the brake.” I pulled the emergency brake. “Whip the wheel.” I spun the wheel with my left hand.

  The car began its spin. My heart raced into overdrive as I realized we were coming around in a perfect bootlegger.

  “Whoohoo! I’m doing it!” It was a pure rush for me.

  A loud pop, like the crack of a gunshot, interrupted my euphoria and our perfect skid.

  “What the—” Torq said just as the front left side of the car dropped and a strip of rubber slammed the windshield.

  The screech of metal grinding on pavement filled the air. Instead of completing the spin, the car tilted, flipped, and became airborne, flying directly at a startled Max.

  I screamed. Torq grabbed the wheel. I saw his mouth moving like he was shouting directions, but I couldn’t make any sense of them.

  As the car continued to roll, a jumble of images flashed by too quickly for me to process—Torq struggling for control of the car, the sky, Max’s horrified face, the sky again, flying sand, random scenes from my life …

  Chapter Eleven

  We landed upside down on our roll bar in a spray of sand and dust, hanging from our four-point harnesses like crash dummies as the blood rushed to our heads. Beside me in the haze and murk, Torq muttered some colorful expletives I’d never heard before.

  “Domino. Dom! Can you hear me?” Torq had his helmet off and was unsnapping his seat belt. I heard the click. “Talk to me. Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “I’m just peachy, thanks.” I coughed. “That was a hell of a bootlegger, wasn’t it? I bet none of your other students have ever added a double fakey with a halfflip. I get difficulty points for that, right?” I sounded braver than I felt. Inside, I was quaking. I coughed again and choked on the dust in the air. The car reeked of burnt rubber and overheated engine, a scent guaranteed never to grace a perfume bottle. I removed my own helmet and stretched my neck. Thanks to the miracle of four-point harnesses, I seemed to have escaped any major whiplash.

  “You’re the first student to attempt it, Dom. I’d give you more points if you’d nailed the landing.”

  “Next time.”

  Torq slid out of his harness and did a Matrix kind of acrobatic flip to kneel on the car’s ceiling next to me. “Domino, we have to get out of the car.” He fumbled at my hips, trying to unlatch my seat belt.

  “A little lower.” I directed him to the buckle. “That’s it.”

  “Don’t distract me.” He grinned at me, but his eyes were serious. “We have to get out. Now.”

  My seat belt unlatched. Torq grabbed me by the shoulders and eased me down onto the ceiling.

  “Why?” I brushed a lock of hair out of my face.

  He ignored me as he rammed the door with his shoulder. When that didn’t work, he gave it a swift kick and it swung open. He slid outside and jumped past the roll bar onto the ground, then reached back in to pull me out and to my feet. I must have been wobbly because he slid an arm around my waist.

  From across the course, a crowd of CTs and the two other driving instructors rushed toward us. Fearing the worst, that Max’d become a pancakethin piece of roadkill beneath our car, I looked around for him.

  “Max! We have to find Max!” I turned back to the car.

  If Max was there, squashed like a bug beneath the car, Torq didn’t want me to see him. He grabbed me by the arms and forced me to look into his eyes. “Do you feel up to running?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Great, and the trick here would be to run fast, stay low, and keep your head down until we reach cover.” He took off with me in tow, motioning with his free hand for the others to get back. They stopped obediently in their tracks as we ran toward them.

  I slipped and slid in the sand as Torq dragged me along faster than my own legs normally carried me. Sand running wasn’t really my thing, though it was supposed to be good for the calves.

  “Pick it up, Domino, before I pick you up.”

  “The sand’s slowing me down.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” he said, picking up the pace as I panted behind him.

  We were maybe a hundred feet from the car when I felt a blast of heat behind me, followed by an explosive roar. I watched as my fellow campers ducked for cover in slow motion just like a scene from an action-adventure movie.

  Torq shoved me to the ground. I fell forward, scraping my palms and forearms as I tried to catch myself. I was already sucking wind and my lungs burned. Hitting the ground took the las
t puff of air from me as I landed with an unladylike “oomph.”

  Torq threw himself on top of me, covering me with his body. I just had time to cover my ears with my hands before another explosion cracked through the air. Little bits of metal, fabric, and rubber rained down around us. Behind us, I heard the car break out into a steady crackle of roaring fire, completely engulfed in flames.

  “I’m definitely getting used to you on top,” I said. “So don’t take this wrong, but you’re squashing me! Do I have to cry ‘uncle’ again to get a little air?”

  I felt him smile as he rolled off me.

  I could breathe again and inhaled deeply. Torq started to speak, but I cut him off. “If you call me a dead woman, I’m going to have to kill you, you liar.”

  “No way I’d call you a dead woman. Not when I just saved your pretty little ass.” He coughed and grinned. “And I’d like to see you try.” He stuck his chin out toward me, puffy lip and all. “You want a piece of me, come get it.”

  In truth, I felt like kissing his boo-boos. It was a real Bond moment—heightened sexual tension in the midst of danger. I couldn’t help it, I eyed his crotch like I might take another shot at it. “You’re wearing a cup, right?”

  He broke out laughing. I started to titter and then lost it.

  Finally, I rolled to a sit, still fighting hiccups of hysterical laughter and wiped my eyes. “It must be the stress. This definitely isn’t funny.” I examined the damage to my hands and arms. Surface scratches and cuts. Nothing some antiseptic and a few bandages wouldn’t cure. “Where are the others?”

  About twenty feet away, Max stood up from where he’d been lying flattened against the pavement of his own accord. I gave a huge sigh of relief and pointed toward him. “Whoohoo! Max is alive.”

  “I knew that.” Torq took my face in his hand and turned my head to look into his eyes. “How about you? Are you all right?”

  I flashed him a huge smile. “Terrific! Fabulous! Never better.”

  I hate to admit this, but safe and high on adrenaline, I felt ecstatic. When I looked into Torq’s eyes, I saw a mirroring rush in his. We simply stared at each other, two adrenaline junkies grinning like we’d just conquered the world.