The thought sent my mood spiralin’ back down. Angel rubbed her hand over my bicep. “We’ll find her,” she said, in a reversal of the way our relationship had gone so far.
I laid my hand over hers and nodded. That was the hope we had to cling to, or we’d probably both give up.
“Come on, I’ll show ya ’round a little more and get ya settled in. You can be my race controller for the next few days.”
She stopped midstep. “What? No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Are you a fucking lunatic? I don’t know the first thing about being a race controller.”
“Well, then it’s a mighty good thing Jackson can give ya a crash course.” The truth was Jackson was gonna manage both the cars as best he could, but he wouldn’t be able to be on both headsets, and I’d much prefer to hear Angel’s accent—so much like the voice I really wanted to hear—than any of the other guys’.
After I’d taken her back to Jackson and told him my plan, I snuck away briefly to make a call to Mr. Reede to let him know how the meetin’ had gone like I’d promised I would. I made a point of tellin’ him about the look Xavier had given Angel and me.
As I’d recounted the story, I tried to avoid lettin’ him know just how uncarin’ Dale had seemed to be about the situation.
It was easier that way.
THE FIRST TIME I had to slip behind the wheel under race conditions, on Thursday afternoon, my mind went straight to Phoebe. What would it have been like to race against her in these circumstances? To see glimpses of her determination through her actions as she pushed the car to its limits? I closed my eyes and we were back on the kart track at the Fun Spot again. She’d given me such a shock that first race when she’d been so good. I shoulda guessed then what she did for a livin’. Usually I could lap most people at those tracks. It wasn’t somethin’ I’d ever done professionally though, so I’d just put it down to me bein’ out of practice.
As Jackson buzzed around me, gettin' everythin’ set up, I wondered how the third race between us might have gone. I was man enough to admit it coulda gone either way.
I closed my eyes and let go of my breath, hopin’ that I could find the focus I needed to get through the race. In one way, Dale was right. It was important to keep the cars on the track, keep the team tickin’ over. If we didn’t, it wouldn’t be good. Not only for any chance at championships, but also because of the sponsors. If we let them down and failed to meet our obligations, regardless of the reason, it wasn’t just a matter of them bein’ upset or demandin’ damages, it could potentially result in the loss of almost a hundred jobs. That was a lot of livelihoods restin’ on whether or not I could control the pack of coyotes Phoebe’s disappearance had set loose in my heart and head long enough to face the track.
Angel came over and kneeled in front of my window. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun, ready to slip a headset over the top, and someone had found her a team shirt.
“What would Phoebe say if she could see me now?” she asked, as she stood and did a little pirouette.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate the effort you were goin’ to.” I turned from her to stare at my hands clenched around the steerin’ wheel. Even though I tried not to, my mind went straight back to thoughts of where Phoebe was and what might be happenin’ to her.
“Appreciate the effort?” Angel gave my shoulder a push as she kneeled beside the car again. “C’mon, if she could see me now, I reckon it’d come close to making her cream on the spot.”
Her comment pulled me from myself, and I had to laugh at the absurdity of it. “Ya know you’re so much like her.”
“You know you are too,” she said, wrappin’ her hand around my forearm in a supportive grip. “For the next, uh, however long this race goes for, you have to get her out of your head. I know that’s gonna be hard, but it’s necessary. You have to focus on the track.”
Exactly how she knew I was lost in thoughts of Phoebe, I had no clue—well, except for her statement that I was like Phoebe. Did Angel have a way of knowin’ when Phoebe was dwellin’ on stuff? Was I wearin’ a similar expression?
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, clearly referrin’ to her being my voice from the pits. “I mean, you could end up in a wall because of me.”
“Unless ya got some way of controllin’ the car remotely, I don’t think I gotta worry about that. At least, if that happens, it ain’t gonna be your fault. Ya just have to relay the information Jackson gives you.”
“Surely there’s some sort of training or something I’m supposed to go through first though?”
“If it were my first rodeo, I might be worried, but it ain’t, and I ain’t, so you shouldn’t be either.”
“Okay, but . . . keep yourself safe out there, won’t you?” She met my eyes, and the worry in her emerald gaze was almost enough to make me turn away. “Phoebe will kill me if you die on my watch.”
I patted the hand that was still on my shoulder. “I will. And you stick to Jackson while I’m out there.”
“What if I’ve gotta go tinkle?”
I chuckled. “You’ll just have to tinkle later. It ain’t that long a race.”
Jackson came over and wished me luck before leadin’ Angel away. I watched as he set her up at his workstation, pointed out the monitor, then set a clipboard and marker pen between them for silent communication.
Because I was in an odd-numbered car, I’d be racin’ in the first Duel. Cash was in an even-numbered one, so he’d be in the second. That meant we could technically get away with Jackson jugglin’ both cars for the night, but it wouldn’t work for the 500, so havin’ Angel start with the Duel, when Jackson could guide her, made the most sense.
Maybe it was throwin’ her in the deep end, but I hoped it’d be somethin’ to distract her for as long as I was in the car for both races she’d be ’round for.
“Are you ready for this?” Angel’s voice sounded in my ear.
“Sure thing,” I replied. “Are you?”
“Not at all.”
I chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”
Not too long after that, I was headin’ out onto the track and linin’ up to start.
As I waited for the start of the race, Phoebe’s voice and the memory of our date at the kart track played at the edges of my mind again.
I’d tried so hard all that day to impress her, and I couldn’t even say why it had seemed so important at the time. Only that my feelings for her were growin’ stronger almost by the hour. I was certain I’d smirked at her when I said, “When I win this race, and, darlin’, I will win this race, you’ll owe me two meals.”
“Don’t be so confident. This one’s mine.”
“This one’s for you, darlin’,” I murmured as I flexed my fingers around the steerin’ wheel.
“Good luck.” For a moment, I’d thought the voice in my ear was hers—Phoebe’s—and my heart skipped. Then reality sank in. It was Angel speakin’ to me. Maybe puttin’ her on the comms wasn’t such a great idea after all. She was likely to be as big a distraction as she was a relief.
The entire race was a test of my ability to focus. It was almost impossible to shove aside thoughts of Phoebe and worries for her safety. I was picturin’ her kissin’ me on the Ferris wheel when the two cars right in front of me collided in a cloud of debris and smoke. Because I wasn’t payin’ enough attention, I was almost a third casualty of the incident. The right of my car clipped the rear corner of one, and I started to spin. Forcin’ myself to focus on the task at hand, I wrestled the wheel to bring the car back under control, losin’ two spots in the process.
“You need to focus, cowboy,” Angel said.
“Ya sound so much like Phoebe over these headsets. It makes me wanna win for her more’n ever.”
“Well, pretend I’m her then, if that’s what it takes to get you through. I can even start talking dirty to you if it helps.”
I couldn’t help laughin’ at her statement. I wondered if she r
ealized other people were listenin’ in. “I think I’ll manage just fine without that, thank ya, Angel. Just keep on doin’ what you’re doin’.”
WHEN I climbed out of the car, Angel rushed over and hugged me. “I can’t believe you came second even with your head everywhere else.”
“I am a professional, da—Angel.” Lost in thought about Phoebe, about how she mighta fared on the track, I started to say darlin’. I cut myself off as it made my heart ache though.
The word had once been nothin’ more than a greetin’ for any pretty young thing that caught my eye. Somewhere along the line though, it’d become assigned to Phoebe. It was a term of endearment for her and her alone.
It was too much to hope that Angel hadn’t noticed my stumble though.
“Da Angel? Is that anything like da bomb? Maybe it’s not just Phoebe creaming about me in this outfit.”
I was a little stunned and didn’t know what to say. She was as good as Phoebe was for leavin’ me in a heap of shock.
“Relax, I’m just joking. It helps keep my mind off . . . well, you know.”
“Yeah.” The mood fell between us and the sullen atmosphere returned. Life wasn’t gonna be bright again until Phoebe came back to brighten it. “Ya wanna get some dinner? There’s a restaurant in the hotel.”
The same restaurant I’d taken Phoebe to after our date at the Fun Spot. It wasn’t gonna be an easy night with thoughts of those happy days dancin’ in my head, but maybe I could reminisce about that day with the one other person who truly understood what it was like to love Phoebe.
WHEN ANGEL AND I headed for the track on Friday mornin’, after spendin’ half the night swappin’ stories about Phoebe, I wasn’t prepared for the storm we walked into.
With my hand on the base of her spine, I led Angel from the hotel, plannin’ on takin’ her straight to a waitin’ taxi.
Instead, a swarm of paparazzi practically leapt on us both the instant we stepped through the hotel exit. Cameras flashed and minirecorders were shoved in our faces. The questions came fast and furious, each one worse than the last.
“Why did you desert your pregnant fiancée?”
“How long have the two of you been an item?”
“Are you stock car racing’s latest playboy?”
“Phoebe was last seen at your property, do you care to comment?”
“What did you do to Phoebe Reede?”
Because they were comin’ from all angles, I was certain there was no way I could fight through them all with Angel in tow. I didn’t want to risk her bein’ hurt. Not when Phoebe’s daddy had entrusted her safety to me. Using the hand I had on her back, I curled my arm around her waist and guided her into position behind me.
“Back up,” I murmured to her over my shoulder as I held my arm out behind me, guardin’ her as best as I could from either side. Retreatin’ into the hotel seemed like the best option. It might mean we were late, but better that than tryin’ to fight through the mess of paparazzi.
I retreated a few steps, watchin’ the paps around me as I went. I’d always had a pretty clean-cut and wholesome reputation, so I hadn’t had too many run-ins with them, especially not like this. But I’d still had the occasional nasty photographer who pushed things too far, the ones who’d snuck onto the property I owned, or had used false pretenses to get into places they didn’t belong to try to bait a response outta me.
Now, it was like bein’ in the middle of a piranha tank, and I had no idea where the next set of teeth was gonna come from. As soon as Angel was back in the hotel, I turned and rushed after her. I grabbed her hand and led her to the elevators, hiding out of the sight of the paparazzi as best as I could.
“Are you all right?” I asked Angel.
Despite her pale skin and wide eyes, she nodded.
The elevator dinged as the car arrived.
“Let’s go,” I said, pullin’ her into the space behind me.
Once we were in the enclosed space, I let go of her hand and leaned against the side of the elevator.
“Goddammit,” I growled as I pounded my arms against the wall.
“They think you hurt her.”
“I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut. It was the worst thing that coulda happened. If the press were focused on me, they weren’t gettin’ the message out that she was missin’ and could be anywhere.
“Why would they think you hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
“D—did you hurt her?” There was an edge to Angel’s voice, as if she was startin’ to question her own safety. As if she was wonderin’ whether I would hurt her too. No doubt she was questionin’ why I’d wanted her to come with me. It was the same sort of doubt that had crept through me with each new possible suspect.
I spun around. “Angel, ya have to believe me. I could no more hurt Phoebe than cut off my own arm.”
She was as pale as a ghost and took slow steps away from me, backin’ up to the other side of the elevator.
“Why do they think you hurt her then?”
“I don’t know.” My voice broke as I said the words as my fear and sorrow broke through. There was only one person I’d ever allowed myself to be vulnerable ’round, and I was bein’ accused of . . .
I didn’t even know what exactly they were accusin’ me of, but the press seemed to think I was somehow involved in her disappearance.
The elevator doors opened onto our floor and I stepped out without waitin’ to see if Angel followed me. I should’ve, but I was worried I’d only frighten her more if I tried to insist she come with me. The best I could hope for was that she wouldn’t leave the hotel alone even if she didn’t stay at my side.
Instead of goin’ straight back to the room, I went to the windows that lined the corridor of the hotel and peeked outside. The throng of photographers and reporters was just as thick as before.
I sensed rather than heard the person beside me, but I guessed who it was without lookin’.
“I didn’t hurt her,” I murmured.
Angel rubbed my shoulder soothingly.
“I love her. She never came back to me like she promised she was gonna. If I’da just taken her to her interview, we wouldn’t be here.” I closed my eyes and sighed. “I didn’t hurt her, but I did fail her.”
Angel just slipped her hand into mine and silently led me back to the hotel room. I swiped the door key and opened the door for her.
“I’m sorry I doubted you, even for a second,” she said once we were inside the room. “That crowd down there just got to me. That was terrifying. I’ve done modelling shoots and catwalk shows, but I’ve never experienced anything like that.”
I waved her off and sat on the sofabed. It was where I’d slept the night before while Angel had taken the bedroom. “I need to talk to her daddy,” I said.
“Would you like some privacy?”
I nodded. I had no idea what I was gonna say to Mr. Reede, or what he might ask. Would he believe I hadn’t done anythin’, or would he assume I’d hurt her like the paps downstairs seemed to?
Angel stood and took a few steps toward the bedroom before spinnin’ back to me. “If Mr. Reede believes them, just let him have his rant. He’ll calm down after he’s had his say. He’s a lot like Phoebe, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Recallin’ some of the arguments between Phoebe and me, I wasn’t sure I agreed with her assertion that I’d be fine. Regardless, I needed to find out what’d happened overnight. And why there was a mess of reporters at the hotel door.
The call went straight to his voice mail. I left somethin’ brief and polite before hangin’ up and throwin’ my cell onto the cushions beside me and turnin’ on the TV.
Scrollin’ through the channels, I searched for anythin’ about me or Phoebe.
“ . . . new information coming to light suggests that Phoebe Reede was last seen entering the Lake Retreat, an exclusive resort owned by her Richards Racing teammate Beauregard Miller. Police are investigating the latest claims. We will
keep you updated as new information is released.”
Now the police were investigatin’? What was the catalyst that had gotten them involved?
The door to the bedroom cracked open before opening fully a second later. “Beau, you might want to look at this.”
Angel had a tablet in her hand. In it was a news report that repeated most of the things the TV had said, but also went into a little more detail. The article suggested an eyewitness had seen me carryin’ an unresponsive Phoebe into my house the day after her interview in North Carolina—the day she was due to come back to me.
“This is hooey,” I said, flickin’ through the article. Some of it was loosely based on fact, but not much of it. It detailed all the examples of public animosity between us. The first meet and greet when I’d driven her home after she’d drunk too much. The New Year’s disaster. An “anonymous source” who’d apparently told the papers that I’d made Phoebe’s life a nightmare ’round Richards Racing. None of it was a lie, but none of it was the whole truth either.
“I think so too. Phoebe told me about some of these, and while you weren’t exactly innocent, they weren’t as bad as they’re made out to be here.”
I threw the tablet onto the sofa beside me. “She tells you everything, doesn’t she?”
“Mostly. At least eventually. We haven’t really talked as often as we used to lately, just because of the time zones between here and home. But whenever we’ve been able to catch up, we’ve caught up fully. There’s so much we’d missed until I got here at the end of January.”
Watchin’ Angel’s expression as she spoke about Phoebe made me see the way she loved Phoebe. Between that and the relationship I knew Phoebe had with her family, I understood more than ever just how much Phoebe had given up to come to the States. “I can’t believe she left you and her family, everythin’, behind. For me. Why would she do that?”
Angel shifted the tablet out of the way and sat beside me. She wrapped her hand around my forearm. “Are you kidding me? If you have to ask that, maybe you really don’t understand how much she loves you.”
Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3) Page 11