Full Throttle(13)

Mere seconds had passed since the moment she’d held his hand, but Lexie retreated to the back of the pack, knowing he was a world away. He was a champion. A hero. She was instrumental in his win, but she wasn’t with him. She probably never would be. And yet that didn’t make the win less sweet.

As she wiped Gatorade from her stinging eyes, someone grabbed her elbow. She turned, expecting to find another crew member and instead encountered Danny Lockwood.

“Congrats,” he said.

Having no idea why he’d thrust himself into their victory celebration, Lexie tensed. “Thanks.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t want a win at the expense of another driver.”

“Happily, we don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yes, you do.” A muscle along his jaw pulsed. “Your driver tried to put me into the wall.”

“Not from where I was standing.”

“That would be in the biased fifty-three pit.”

“You’re also standing in our Victory Lane.” She smiled.

“Do you need somebody to show you to your motor coach?”

“I’m not leaving.”

She’d encountered angry drivers in her years on the circuit, but none of them had ever been so aggressive and disrespectful. And she’d had enough of this clown’s whining. “Take your hands off me before I drop-kick your nearsighted, arrogant butt out of my victory party.”

He angled his head. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously, buddy, you’ll want to move along before somebody on my team notices you’re in my personal space.”

Almost before the words had left her mouth, James slid his hand around her waist. “Picture time. Let’s do the hat dance.”

During the dozens of photos, in which the team smiled beside the trophy, changing ball caps for every picture so they could feature a different sponsor’s logo each time, Lexie put Lockwood out of her mind. Bristol brought out all kinds of aggression, and he’d obviously gotten caught up in the moment. She recalled tales her father had shared, how drivers saved their confrontations—and even the occasional fist fight—for a fast-food drive-through in Mooresville.

Right or wrong, the rumbles had settled everything privately, without a media play-by-play, without PR reps or commentary. It seemed nearly archaic these days, but Lexie liked the principle of facing your adversaries on neutral ground, of handling things honorably instead of throwing a national-TV tantrum.

But it was also a sport of people, not just machines, so the drama of life was emotional and often made public. Being a wildly competitive person herself, she’d never judged anybody who got caught up in the moment.

Unless they came at her, her team or her driver.

Small compared to everyone else in the garage, female like virtually no one else, she might be dismissed by some. But that was a mistaken assumption.

As Danny Lockwood found out rather quickly.

After the TV interviews, she, her father, Kane and James shuffled through the crowd toward the elevators that would take them to the media center. The only disadvantage to winning was that they couldn’t rush to the airport and fly home immediately. There were media appearances to deal with first.

Hours later, when the press crush was over, she and James hustled Kane out the back door and headed across the near side pit road, then into the infield and past the rows of darkened, deserted garages. The rest of the team—and the company jet—was long gone. Her and James’s luggage had been in the hauler, where it was being stored in anticipation of leaving that night, but one of the crew had e-mailed James on his BlackBerry during the media interviews that they’d transferred their luggage to Kane’s motor coach. At least her shampoo and toothpaste weren’t on a one-way trip headed south on I-77.

They’d probably wind up riding back in the motor coach. Maybe even driving it. She hadn’t thought to ask James if Kane’s home-away-from-home driver and unofficial team chef had gone back with everybody else on the company jet. Regardless, she, Kane and James were stuck together, bunking together—in a one-bedroom nine-hundred-square-foot mobile apartment.

Oh, boy, that’s just what I need.

They had gotten about halfway down the line of garages when Danny Lockwood appeared.

“Go away, Lockwood,” James said as the rival driver fell into step beside them.

Lexie glanced up at Kane and watched his easy demeanor disappear from his body and face.

Not good.

She moved closer to him, hooking her arm through his. As if that would stop him from doing something crazy. Ha! It had been a long day. Obviously, she was delusional. And tired. And really not in the mood to deal with more driver drama. She wanted a nice, long, hot bath and a book.

Of course, Kane didn’t even glance her way.

“Wanna tell me why you spun me out, Jackson?”

“That was your deal.”

“Wrong, pal.”

Kane ground to a halt and squared off with Lockwood. “I’m not your pal.”

“You’re not a driver, either, but that doesn’t stop you from screwin’ up the race for the rest of us.”

Lexie exchanged a panicked look with James, who stepped between the men, while she tugged on Kane’s arm. “Come on, guys. You wouldn’t fight in front of a lady.”

Lockwood smirked. “You’re not a lady.”

Even as Lexie flinched, red rage suffused Kane’s face. And before either she or James could react, Kane had thrown his forearm against Lockwood’s throat and pinned him to the garage wall.





CHAPTER SIX




“WRONG MOVE, PAL,” Kane said through his teeth.

Fury coursed through his body. Sweat rolled down his back from the effort of not punching Lockwood’s lights out.

“Kane, please let him go. Please don’t do this here. And now.”

Here and now seemed like the perfect time to Kane. He glared at Lockwood, who didn’t look quite so cocky anymore.

“Apologize to Lexie.” He said it slowly in case he was cutting off so much oxygen that the idiot’s brain cells were starving. More than usual, anyway.

“I just meant she was part of the team,” Lockwood gasped. “Like one of the guys.”

Kane shook his head. “If you can’t see she’s a woman, then you need your eyes checked along with your ass kicked.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, man. I swear.”

“Kane, please,” Lexie said urgently from behind him.

“James, help me. What if somebody sees?”

Nobody was around at this time of night. It had to be after 1:00 a.m. Though that hardly mattered. Even if his father strolled by, he wasn’t moving.

He was tired of being nice and polite. He was sick to death of taking crap from punks like Lockwood because the media or a sponsor or a fan might see, or, worse, be offended. He appreciated his fans and sponsors, and he loved his job. He was a professional, but he couldn’t be a puppet. And while Lexie might think he was out of control with anger, he felt more in control at this moment than he had in a very long time.

“If you ever,” he said to Lockwood, “look at Lexie again, much less say anything to her or about her, I’ll finish this.” He pushed back and walked away, leaving the other driver gasping for air.

Lexie and James caught up to him as he stalked farther down the row of garages.

“Nice work, buddy,” James said with a grin.

“You two are crazy,” Lexie said. “Do you know how much trouble—”

Kane laughed. “I thought you wanted me passionate.”

“On the track! You can’t go around—”

“Lexie, I’m really not in the mood for one of your speeches.”

“Beer?” James asked.

“Beer.”

Lexie said nothing more until they got to his motor coach and he and James had settled on the couch with a couple of cold beers, but he could hear her silent fuming as if she’d been yelling the entire time.

She stood in front of them with her hands planted on her hips. She looked so damn cute, he grabbed her hand and tugged her into his lap.

James raised his eyebrows but laughed.

“I was passionate on the track, you know,” Kane said.

“I noticed,” she said, squirming to try to escape his lap. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, it worked. Sixth to first. I also never suggested you punch anybody. There’s a fine line.”

“Yeah, well, the rookie who spun me out last week just made a mistake.”

“Whereas Lockwood was born a jerk,” James added.

He and Kane clicked beer bottles.

“I’m outnumbered here,” Lexie grumbled, finally stopping her squirming and crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’m really getting tired of it.”

Kane patted her hip. “But we like having a little beauty and class on the team.”

She glared at him. “I’m a professional, not a beauty.”

“You’re both.”

“You’re patronizing me. And changing the subject.”

James ruffled her hair. “Not at all.”

“Sweetie,” Kane finished.

She caught him off guard by surging to her feet. “I’m taking a shower.” She stormed down the hall, grabbing her overnight bag—which some thoughtful crew member must have dropped off—on the way.

“Your butt looks really cute in that uniform,” Kane called after her.