“Where’s the car?” Maddux asked, tossing his keys repeatedly.
The man was like a hyperactive child. All nervous fits of energy.
“Route 43.”
Ronan took Cass’s clammy hand and led her into the unseasonably cold night.
Maddux stopped in front of a black Mustang Cobra.
Ronan eyed it. “This your car?” American muscle car. Figured.
“Yep,” The other man’s drawl seemed much more pronounced here—and more grating.
Maddux unlocked the car, and Ronan brushed him out of the way to open the door for her.
The other man grinned.
“Ronan, I am so sorry—” Cass whispered.
“Not to worry, love,” he brushed a kiss on the top of her head as she ducked to climb in. He shut the door behind her.
“That was fast,” Maddux said, nodding at Cass through the window.
“What was?” Ronan stopped in his path to the passenger front door to make eye contact with Maddux over the hood.
“Nautilus Oil?” he said. “Not bad, man. I wish I’d thought of it. Tap that, get Daddy on board.”
“Excuse me?” Ronan’s eyes narrowed, his hand froze reaching for the door handle.
“Miller’s daughter, yeah?”
Was the man implying that Ronan would sleep his way into a sponsorship? It was all he could do not to laugh.
“And Nautilus has had it with Simons. Wish I’d thought of that. Looks like I did you a solid taking Vivienne off your hands.” Maddux opened his door with more force was strictly necessary.
“Maddux?”
“Yeah?” The man settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“Shut the fuck up, will ya?”
Unoffended, the mad man grinned and fired up the V8 engine.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Cass, all right?”
She didn’t say anything, leaned her head back on the seat, and closed her eyes. Ronan could’ve sworn he saw a tear tracking down her cheek, reflected in the light.
• • •
Cass climbed out of the rental car at the hotel lobby while Ronan went to park. She made her way, still drunk and slightly unsteady to the front desk.
“One room, three nights, please,” she said, handing her credit card to the reception clerk behind the counter. It was late. Very late, and Ronan had testing tomorrow at the track. Now wasn’t the time to have it out with him about what she’d overheard. The room wasn’t spinning, but her stomach was heaving. Could what Maddux said be true? Was Ronan’s team eyeing a Nautilus sponsorship? And Anderson had said he wished Ronan were wearing his logo. The man handed her a slip to sign, then gave her a room key in an envelope.
She wouldn’t believe it of him. After his performance this season, he could attract any sponsor this close to the championship. On track to win it all.
But when she’d met Ronan, his team hadn’t been doing so well. He’d been plagued by engine troubles in the first half of the season.
Of course Nautilus wanted to team up with a winner. Its pockets were more than deep. And the owners had a hard-on for the sport. Always had. They’d been in F1 since its inception.
Ronan met her at the elevator.
“Cass, you all right?”
She managed what she hoped was a smile in his direction. She was sick and exhausted. And sick of being sick and exhausted. Maybe the time spent cuffed at the police station was her wake-up call. She hadn’t been put in a cell, but it might have come to that.
She put up a hand to cover her burning eyes.
He rubbed his hand down her back, and it was all she could do not to flinch.
“What is it?”
“How can you even ask me that?” she said.
God, he’d been through a lot of trouble on her behalf. For something that had started out casual, things sure had sped up in a hurry. And him just out of a relationship. Maybe there was something to this sponsorship thing.
The elevator doors opened. She got in, checked the room number on the envelope and pushed her floor button. Then his.
She could feel him staring at her.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“I got my own room.”
The doors opened, and she stepped into the hallway. He followed her out. She turned and put up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“Is there any truth to it?”
“To what?” His expression was genuinely baffled.
“To the sponsorship thing. Anderson.”
“What? Did you hear that?” He took a step back. “Just Maddux talking out of his arse again. That’s way up the food chain. Naught to do with me.”
“It sure would make your life easier though, wouldn’t it? Pantech has been on the rocks financially.”
“That could be said of any number of sponsors this season, in this economy.”
“Let me put it plainly then. Are you with me,” the words caught in her throat, “because of Nautilus?”
A flush rose up, darkening his jawline, his cheekbones. His expression contorted into anger—no, rage. She’d never seen that particular look on his face, and she backed up a step.
“After everything?” He turned and punched the button for the elevator. “How could you even ask me that?” The elevator was still there and the doors opened. He stepped inside, pushed his floor button and turned to look at her. His expression of hurt, pain mixed with anger, took her breath away. He never lost eye contact with her as the doors closed.
She put a hand to her mouth. Oh dear God. She was cracking up. Officially losing it. She pulled out her plastic room key and stumbled down the hallway to her room.
Chapter 17
Cass pushed two fingers against a throbbing temple. She’d had a headache for a day and a half thanks to that bout of drinking. It had been the hangover from hell, and she’d begged off all Anderson’s invites. The sun and the roar of the cars weren’t doing her any favors. She was still rehydrating. Depression had settled in, and even watching Ronan race didn’t muster up enthusiasm. It mustered dread.
“Anderson?”
“Yes?”
“Is Nautilus looking to sponsor Ronan’s team?”
“Unlikely.”
“Why?”
“If they win, it’s a boon to Pantech globally. Despite the setbacks the company has had this year, I don’t see it dumping the team. Pantech is new to F1, but they’ve had great success—its engineering team is genius. And Nautilus isn’t looking to be a secondary sponsor. We want our name front and center. So the short answer is no, not as things stand. But it’s been a consideration.”
So there was something to it.
“Does Ronan know?”
Anderson looked surprised. “I’m sure he’s been in meetings where it’s been discussed. Alternative sponsorships and the like, given the last two dismal years Pantech had financially. Why?”
“I just … I didn’t realize it was in the works.”
“It isn’t. Are you thinking this has something to do with you?” he said, gently.
She nodded.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of man Ronan Hawes is. He’s many things, Cass. Single-minded, certainly arrogant. But he’s not calculating. I’m a pretty good judge of character, hon.”
“Yes. So am I,” she said quietly. She pretended to turn her attention back to the track.
“That can’t be right.” Anderson checked the stopwatch and gave it a brisk shake.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“I can see by your expression it’s not nothing, Anderson.” Cassidy turned back, her binoculars trained on Ronan’s car as he did his victory lap after the preliminary race for starting position.
“He’s faster than anyone out of the turns. That lap time was phenomenal,” her father finally admitted, raising his own binoculars.
“Too fast?” she said. “No such thing. If he wins tomorrow, he
’ll be within a point of Maddux going into the final race. I think he said something about new tech they’re trying out.”
Her father’s gaze swung to her. “New tech?”
Crap. She shouldn’t have said anything. Top secret probably.
“Never mind.”
“What new tech?” Anderson pressed.
“Dad. You’re asking me?”
“I heard they were developing something preseason. But it flamed out, literally, in testing.”
“What?”
“Burned up a car. It was fast, some kind of legal traction control. It was all very hush-hush. I thought they stopped development on it after the incident.”
“What incident? Dad, you’re scaring me.”
“We’re probably not talking about the same thing, Cass.”
“There was an incident?” she pressed.
“They had some new legal system of traction control, something that bypassed all the regulations against it; at least that was the rumor. They were on the accelerator faster than anyone else out of the turns, setting track records last winter in preseason testing. And then there was a fire. No one was seriously injured.”
Cassidy fought to keep her nerves under control and turned to look at him.
“Shall we go down and congratulate him?” her father asked with what she recognized to be feigned heartiness.
Cass pulled him down into the chair next to her.
“I’m a little freaked.” She tightened her grip on his arm.
Anderson looked away.
Cass’s eyes narrowed. “You think they’re using this thing, whatever it is, in his car, don’t you?”
Anderson toyed with his stopwatch. “His times have dropped today. End of season, this close, there’s a lot at stake.” He shrugged.
Horror flooded her brain, but she fought to keep her voice clam. “This change could be dangerous.”
“If they’re using it, they’ve worked out the problems.”
“I need to talk to him about it.” She rose from her chair.
Anderson grabbed her wrist. “Cass, you can’t just go charging up—”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not—he won’t … he won’t be receptive to your concerns.”
“And if they haven’t? Worked out the issues? ”
“That’s what I think you don’t understand, Cass. That you’ve never understood. These guys are willing to die or risk serious injury to win a race. They strap themselves into an engine that careens at two hundred plus miles per hour around circuits made just for these cars and around city streets all over the world. They’re not just competitive, they are the most competitive bastards on the face of this earth.”
Cass stared at him, open-mouthed.
He shook his head. “Ronan’s not a bad guy. He’s earned my respect with the way he cares for you, but you’re not going to change who he is.”
“Someone willing to burn up in a car for the chance to win a race?”
Her father sighed. “Cass, every last one of those guys will do anything to win. It’s part of what makes them great—driver, engineer, crew—the whole lot of them. This is the pinnacle of vehicle engineering. That race. The car. And you, my dear, are an idealist if you imagine otherwise.”
“I can’t believe you would condone something like that.”
“I’ve seen this sport through most of its incarnations. The engineering, the money, the fame. You’ve only seen a hint of it because you’re American, but people worship these guys—they are larger than life. When they win, the nationalism, it’s—you’ve never seen anything like it. The World Cup is the only thing that comes close. Your American sports events can’t touch this sport for worldwide appeal.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“I didn’t say that. But these people know what they are walking into with F1. From the driver on down. Traveling with a vehicle seven months of the year is like a circus: pull down, tear down, travel hundreds or thousands of miles, repeat, over and over. All for the chance to be the best in the world—or contribute to the team that makes that happen. It’s so much more than just a car race; it’s a feat of engineering. If you’re not at the top of your game in your capacity, you’ve no place in F1. You’ll be chewed up and spit out. These decisions about the vehicles are made by owners, by Pantech-Windsor. The driver—he’s the icing, not the cake.”
He was beginning to sound remarkably like Ronan. Or rather, like how Ronan had spoken to her when they’d first met. “What if it isn’t safe? ”
“These vehicles have all the safety bells and whistles. They don’t want to kill a driver or wreck a car, But fortune favors the bold.”
“And if it’s not legal, this new, faster, more dangerous technology?”
“They’ll be penalized.”
“Permanently?”
“Nothing is permanent in this sport.”
“Death is,” she said bitterly, slumping back in her seat.
• • •
At the press event after the prelims, Cass spied Ronan before he saw her. She eased farther back into her alcove, watching him glide through the excited crowd, scoping out the scene with hawk-like vision. His body language said “tense”—as tense as she was feeling. His progress was hindered by shoulder pats, excited female squeals of joy, air kisses, and real smooches. Someone even tried to plant a Texan cowboy hat on him, but he smoothly wriggled away from his clusters of admirers. There must be some other explanation for his times. She couldn’t believe he’d risk his life and the life of the other drivers for some potentially dangerous new technology.
She caught his eye.
His step faltered.
“You did fantastic—really quick.”
“Thanks.” His expression was distant. “Well …” He indicated the people waiting to talk to him.
“No, go ahead,” she said, her heart aching in her chest. So this is how it would end. In a hallway, after a race, because of a drunken, unforgivable accusation. If she could just talk to him. Explain. But with the race tomorrow and whatever was going on with the car, he didn’t need the distraction.
Ronan had taken two steps down the hall away from her when Anderson broke away from the group he was talking to, turned around, and shook Ronan’s hand. “Well done.” He looked at him quizzically. “You certainly pulled it all together in last four laps.”
“Thanks, Mr. Miller, but as you know, it all comes down to tomorrow.”
Cass turned from her father and almost collided with another tall man. She looked up into the Maddux’s sculpted face, his green eyes glittering with some unidentifiable passion. Whatever it was, it was directed at Ronan. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Hawes,” he drawled, mimicking Ronan’s accent, badly. His arched eyebrows lifted as he turned to her, allowing his gaze to wander from her forehead to her chest and back up again. Without a doubt, she was being mentally undressed. “And you, Ms. Miller—looking quite … sober today.”
“Screw you,” she replied.
Maddux grinned and raised his glass of neon orange Supernova in the direction of the bar. There she was, Vivienne McCloud. Flirting with a group of men in Supernova Energy gear. “And there’s Viv. Socializing as usual,” he grinned.
Ronan didn’t respond and didn’t look up.
“You seem mighty worked up, Hawes,” Maddux said, clasping him on the shoulder. “I suppose you’re thinking, so near and yet so far.”
“You’ve no idea what I’m thinking,” Ronan said, knocking off Maddux’s arm.
“Here’s what I was thinking.” Maddux lashed on the Texan accent now. “I was thinking you were damn fast out there today. I sure don’t know how you did it getting out of the turns so quickly.”
Ronan took a long swig of his drink.
Maddux never moved his hooded eyes from Ronan’s face. “Or maybe I do know but don’t wanna.”
“Go to hell, Maddux. Just take care not to take anyone along with you.”
Maddux exhaled, eyes
narrowing. “I could say the same. You better be pretty damn sure whatever you’ve got going on won’t endanger us all, y’hear?”
• • •
Less than twenty-four hours later, Ronan yanked off his helmet after the race and took two steps toward his smiling engineer, Benny.
“What in the bloody hell is going on? Is this damned machine ready or not?”
The other man’s smile slid off. “You won, didn’t you?”
Jaw clenched, stiff with fury, Ronan grasped the man’s elbow, his fire retardant gloves starkly white against the crimson jumpsuit. He dragged him a few feet from the rest of the crew who were watching silently. “Yeah, but I don’t fancy burning up to do it. It’s hot in there.” He gestured to the car. “The engine temp was up, way up.”
“We’re so close, mate. So close. Only Hockenheim—”
“The hell man, this is the same problem we had preseason, before the fire. I had same indicators flashing at me that I did in the test runs, the same warning signs Gregor had before the fire. I was told the issues had been resolved.”
“They’re still toying with it. Setting parameters—”
“Toying with it. Toying with it?” His voice rose an octave. “This is my life here, man. And the lives of the other drivers. Either it’s ready—as in fail-safe—or it isn’t. So which is it?”
“It’s bloody well genius, that’s what it is, and you know it. You were out of the turns faster than anyone else—”
“Yeah, just like Silverstone. Until the bloody thing blew, and Gregor barely escaped the car! Jesus, Benny.”
“One more race. We need this.”
Ronan put a gloved hand to his forehead.
“I’ve seen the weather for Germany next week.” Benny said. “It’ll be a monsoon, and you know how Maddux does in the wet. I wouldn’t want to be on the racetrack with him, and it’s just one more win at stake, mate.”
Ronan was already shaking his head. “No.”
“It’s not your decision, is it?”
He took two steps from his engineer. “It has to be all there or nothing. No half measures in this sport.”
The other man shrugged. “Comes with the job. If you were to ask any man there,” he nodded in the direction of the drivers and crew gathering post-race, “do you know what they’d say? They all want to win. They would use the tech, ready or not.”
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