by Roz Lee
“I haven't forgotten, but that was then. If he wanted to take me out of the race, he wouldn't offer to draft with me, he'd just shove me into the wall and keep going. He doesn't need my permission to kill me.” Dell fisted his hands on his hips. “Look, Caro. You'll just have to trust me on this. We know the risk. We won't draft unless I need the extra speed to win. I know you have the fuel injector thing down, and we have the fastest car on the track. I purposely held some back in qualifying so no one would know what we've got under the hood. But this is insurance, Caro. Just in case.”
“The only kind of insurance anyone from Renfro is offering is disaster insurance, Dell. This is guaranteed to be a disaster.”
“I don't think so, Caro. I've hated the guy since I first laid eyes on him when we were kids, but he seems sincere. I trust him. He wants to leave Renfro. If you get Hawkins Racing in the black, maybe we could take him on next year. Field two Cup cars instead of one. I'd like to see Hawkins as successful as it once was.”
Dell had grown two heads, or maybe she was seeing double in her rage. “Don't do anymore thinking for me, Dell. Just drive the fucking car, and do it without Dickhead or anyone else associated with Renfro. I won't stand for it.”
Dell squared his shoulders. Even the air seemed to stand still as he stared down at her. “Well, Ms. Hawkins. I don't give a good goddamned what you will or won't stand for. I've got money at stake here too, and if I can use Dickey to win this race, by God, that's what I'm going to do.”
Dell left without a backward glance, collected his new buddy and headed in the direction of the track. Echoes of Butch Renfro's words rang in her ears. Maybe Dell was after more than what was in her fire suit. Maybe he was using her body to get what he really wanted, her company. Maybe he was conspiring with Renfro. It didn't seem likely, but nothing that happened since she took over Hawkins Racing seemed likely.
She pasted on a smile for the cameras and joined in the pre-race festivities, all the while her heart was breaking, and her confidence waning. How could she have fallen for Dell? Somehow, he convinced her he was the one person in the business who believed she had every right to be a team owner. She'd bought into his act too. He was no better than Renfro – maybe even worse. At least Renfro was straight up about his intentions – offering to buy her out, and when that didn't work, offering to fuck her to get what he wanted.
Dell had gone about it in a more underhanded way. He seduced his way into her heart and her bed, made her believe in him – then he snuck his way into her company. She'd given him her heart and believed his financial backing was given out of friendship and his genuine belief in her. And all the time, she'd done exactly what Butch Renfro accused her of. She'd sold her body for money. Dell's money. And in the process, she'd lost control of Hawkins Racing.
Dell and Dickhead would do whatever they wanted, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop them.
Caro almost forgot about her misery as the race progressed. Dell held track position throughout the race, seemingly without effort. He stayed out of every crash and skirted disaster with a steady hand on the wheel. While others tried drafting with various levels of success, Dell cruised into second place early and hung on.
He'd have to pit again for tires and fuel, but barring any unseen accidents, Dell could make a serious bid for the lead, and ultimately, the win in the last few laps. Everything he did looked like it was scripted. A few drivers made serious bids for his position, but he'd cut them off with skill and finesse.
“The temperature dropped,” Caro advised. “You should see a drop in engine temperature soon. Open her up when you think the time is right – she'll give you all the power you need.”
“I can feel it, Caro. Damn, this car is responsive – kind of reminds me of someone,” Dell said.
“Shut up and drive, Dell,” Caro warned.
Caro kept a close watch on Warner. He'd run fourth for most of the race, and in a few instances it appeared he might actually be protecting Dell's back. She shook her head to dislodge the ridiculous notion. If Warner was sticking close to Dell, it had to be so he could make sure Dell didn't win. No way would she believe Warner had Dell's best interest in his heart, fully apologetic half-brother or not. It didn't compute with what she knew.
“Pit with everyone else, Dell,” Caro said. “All the leaders are coming in under the green flag for tires and fuel.”
“Ten-four. Coming in,” he said.
Twenty laps to go. Dell and the other top ten leaders made it to their pits and back out in record time. A few lost track position due to poor performances from their pit crews, but not Dell or any of the top four.
“Thanks, guys. Great job,” he praised the crew, then opened up his lead.
“No one can catch you, Dell,” Caro said.
“Roger that. No drafting today. I'm on my own.”
She couldn’t contain her excitement, despite her earlier dark thoughts. Dell was going to win this one, and he was going to do it without any help from Warner, or Renfro, or anyone else. All the work she'd done on the engine, on the fuel injection system was finally going to pay off. Victory was theirs. She felt it in her bones.
“Bring it home, Dell.”
“This one's for you, Caro.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It felt fucking great to be back in Victory Lane. Dell smiled for the cameras and splashed champagne on everyone – Caro included. He didn't have a clue what had been going on in her head before the race, but she was smiling now. It was ridiculous, but he was glad he had a part in putting the smile on her face, and he planned on putting a different kind of smile there as soon as he could get them both away from this media frenzy.
Her engine was amazing. Even before the cold front moved in and the temperature dropped, he sensed she had it in her to win. He'd never driven a smoother ride, or one with the kind of power this one had. If Caro were able to duplicate the results, she'd set the racing world on its ear, and he'd have all his goddamned money back in no time.
He pushed thoughts of Caudell's money out of his head. He'd figure out some way to get rid of it, but he didn't have to be in a hurry. At least it served some purpose, helping Caro get over the rough spot and on the downhill slide to true success. He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Her ponytail had fallen down and her champagne-soaked hair was plastered to her head. Her face glowed with vitality and victory as she answered a reporter's questions. Soon, the whole world would know about the female team owner who also designed and helped build the engine of the future.
And she was his.
Someone dumped more champagne on his head and he turned to return the favor. Caro was his. He could share her for these few minutes knowing he'd be the one to peel her wet clothes off her body tonight. He imagined the way her skin would taste, the distinct flavor of Carolina with a hint of champagne.
“Hey, Trent,” he called to one of the pit crew. “Grab one of those champagne bottles and stash it in my locker in the hauler.” Trent hustled off to do Dell's bidding.
Dell accepted macho man-hugs and gave as many champagne showers as he got, all the while planning his own private celebration later. When he'd have Caro all to himself.
* * * *
Dell moved aside as the crew pushed the car to the garage under the watchful eyes of the track officials. The teardown and inspection would take several hours – hours Dell intended to spend naked with Carolina. He scanned the thinning crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen. His gaze landed on the lone figure standing near the fence.
“Dickey,” Dell said, extending his hand. Their palms connected in a civilized handshake.
“Dell. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the help. I didn't see it, but I hear you blocked Johnson from making a run at me near the end.”
Warner shrugged. “He wasn't going to take the lead, but he might have caused all kinds of havoc trying.”
“Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate it, and I'm sure Ca
ro does too.” He scanned the area again. Still no sight of her petite frame among the remaining celebrators.
“I've got to go,” Warner said. “I wanted to offer my congratulations. You didn't need my help today, and with the new engine, I doubt you will ever again, but just in case…”
“I appreciate it, Dickey. I really do.”
Warner nodded. “Okay then. I'll be going now.” He took a few steps and turned back. “Look, Dell. I'm not going to pretend we're friends, but if you need anything, anything at all, just shout.”
He didn't wait for a reply. Dell watched Warner's retreating back until someone laid a hand on his shoulder, commanding his attention for yet another interview.
It was later than he expected when he finally returned to his motor coach. He showered quickly, anxious to find Caro for the private celebration he'd been mentally planning ever since he crossed the finish line. He made some adjustments to the plan. By now, she would have changed out of her champagne-soaked fire suit, and that was a damn shame.
He was fishing for his shoes under the bed when his cell phone rang. He grabbed it off the bed with one hand while the other snagged one wayward shoe.
“Hey, Russell.”
“Dell. Can you come down to the garage?”
Dell fished the other shoe out and sat on the end of the bed to put them on. “I've got plans, Russell. Can we save the celebration until we get home?”
“Trust me, Dell. You wanna be here for this. Now get your ass down here. Now.”
Russell's clipped tone sent a cold spear of dread through Dell's body. “Okay. I'm putting my shoes on. I'll be there in a few minutes.”
He tried calling Caro, but the call went immediately to voicemail. This couldn't be good. It wasn't unusual for little things to come up in a post-race inspection, but he couldn’t imagine what it might be. The car met all the specifications to the letter. Caro was too meticulous for it to be anything but perfect. And she was too smart to think she would get away with cheating.
His feet felt like he'd put on concrete shoes instead of his favorite running shoes. He kept his head bent, avoiding eye contact with the people he met on the way. It surprised him how many people were still hanging around. Most of them were fans who were probably planning an early start with their motor homes in the morning instead of fighting the crowds clogging the roads tonight.
The lights blazed in the garage. All work had stopped and about a dozen people stood around talking in small clusters. Dell recognized the Hawkins crewmembers and a few people from NASCAR. The men in the white fire suits were the observers, there to keep an eye on everyone and everything. His gaze stopped on Caro. She stood off to one side, dwarfed by the cluster of men around her. None of them looked happy, especially Caro.
“Hey,” Dell said, approaching the group. “What's going on?”
A flash of relief crossed her face as she looked up at him, but she masked it so fast Dell wasn't sure he'd seen it at all. He shook hands with a few of the men who offered. He recognized most of them. These were the men who enforced the rules, the ones who seemed to delight in suspending him at every turn. The cold spear of dread he felt earlier turned to a block of ice in his gut.
“I'm glad you're here,” Caro said. “It seems we have a problem.”
Dell ignored the officials, locking his gaze on Caro. She was trying to be strong, but the stress was taking a toll on her. Her shoulders slumped and dark circles rimmed her beautiful eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until he could make all the bad things in her life go away. “What kind of problem? It can't be with the engine. She's special, but well within the specifications,” he said.
“Not the engine – the fuel.”
Dell glanced around the group of somber faces. “What about the fuel?”
“The post-race tests show an illegal performance-enhancing additive,” this from the guy with Stan stitched over the pocket of his white NASCAR shirt.
“How did it get there?” Dell asked.
Silence. Half a dozen pairs of eyes turned to him. Dell held up his hands.
“Whoa. You don't think I had anything to do with it.” This was unreal. From the looks on their faces, it was exactly what they were thinking. He ignored them and looked at Caro.
“Not you too. Caro. Seriously?”
More silence.
“Fuck!” Dell turned and walked away, stopping when he got to the car. He tried to process the information. Of course the officials would think he'd done it, but Caro? Her lack of faith cut him to the core. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think. How could this happen? Who could have done it, and why?
Well, the why was easy enough. He could think of only two reasons to use an additive. Either someone wanted to give the car an edge, or someone thought he had a chance of winning and wanted to make sure the car got disqualified if it did.
Everyone in their garage believed the car was good enough to win. None of them would use an additive to give them an edge. That left the other reason, and Dell didn't have to look far to find a host of people who would want his car disqualified.
Someone touched his arm. He recognized her touch. Caro.
“Dell,” she said.
“I didn't do it, Caro. I can't believe you would think I would do something so stupid.”
“They searched the hauler. The empty can was in your locker.”
“You're shittin' me, right? Do I look stupid, Caro? And when was I supposed to have done this? While I was circling the track at one hundred and ninety miles per hour? Or maybe I hopped out during one of the thirteen-second pit stops, ran to the hauler, grabbed some fuckin' additive, ran back to the pit, somehow managed to get it into the tank without anyone seeing and ran back to the hauler to stash the empty can in my locker where anyone could find it, and still get back in the car and out on the track. Yeah, I'm guilty.”
“I don't think you did it, Dell. I know you didn't. But someone did.”
“Well, it damn sure wasn't me.”
“The car is disqualified and they're talking about taking the win away as a penalty.”
Dell raised his face to the ceiling and counted to ten. This couldn't fuckin' be happening.
“I think I know who did it, or at least who's behind it.”
Dell snapped his head down. “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea myself. But how did he do it? He has to have someone in our garage or the pit crew.”
“Or maybe someone who has access to the gas cans before they get to the pits.”
Dell ran it through his head. “No. There's no way of knowing which cans are going to which pits until they get there. It had to be done after the can was delivered to our pit stall.”
Caro nodded. “You're right. And anyone could have put the empty container in your locker. The hauler is open, and there aren't any locks on the lockers.”
“That narrows it down, at least.”
“I can't believe one of our own could do this to us,” Caro said, scanning the clusters of men standing around waiting for instructions. “Maybe they thought they were helping.”
“I thought about that too, but they all believed we had a winning car. They're all behind you, one hundred percent, Caro. I talked to them a few weeks ago. None of them would have done this. The only reason to do it was so this would happen.” Dell waved his hand to indicate the fiasco around them. “Someone wanted the car disqualified, and you and I both know who it is.”
“Yes, we do. I never thought he'd go this far. I thought he was more into personal intimidation.”
“What are you talking about? Personal intimidation? Did he do something else you haven't told me about?” He'd kill the fucker if he laid a hand on Caro.
“I wasn't going to tell you, but tonight pushes the bounds of fair play. Renfro has gone too far this time.”
Dell listened as Caro related the incident in her motor home. The block of ice in his gut turned to cold, hard steel, sharp enough to cut anyone in his way into tiny pieces. And But
ch Renfro was in his way.
“I'm going to kill him.”
“No! Dell!” Caro ran after him.
“You can't stop me, Caro,” he yelled over his shoulder. “The bastard had no right to touch you.”
Caro caught up to him and stopped him by yanking on his arm. He stopped long enough to dislodge her fingers from his sleeve. “Wait, Dell. Let's do this the right way. I'll tell the officials what happened. They'll believe me now. They'll handle Butch.”
“You're mine, Carolina. No one touches you. No one assaults you and gets away with it.”
“Dell, you have to stop. I know you want to beat up on Butch, but it won't solve anything. It will only make it worse.” Caro stood her ground. She had to make Dell see before things got out of hand.
“I'm not going to beat him up, Caro, I'm going to kill him.” Dell turned and she grabbed at his sleeve but missed.
“Dell!” Oh lord. Why did she tell him about what happened in her motor coach? Now he was going to go off and get into the kind of trouble that couldn't be solved with a fine or by taking away a trophy. Caro sighed and took out after him again.
She caught up to him seconds later around the corner of the garage. He'd come to a halt, and she saw he was talking to someone. She closed the distance between them.
“Out of my way, Dickey,” Dell said as he tried to sidestep his half-brother.
“Wait, Dell.” Warner put a hand on Dell's chest to stop him. Caro wanted to kiss him for slowing Dell down enough for her to catch up.
“I won't say it again,” Dell warned.
“Look, Dell, news travels fast around here. I know what's going on, and I think you should hear me out. I may be able to help.”
“Dell,” Caro said. “Let's hear what Warner has to say. We could use all the help we can get right now.” It was a testament to her desperation that she was willing to listen to anything one of Renfro's drivers had to say, especially this one. She didn't trust Warner as far as she could throw him.