Dangerous Race (20 page)

With her head down and mouth ready for another bite, she met his gaze. “The dogs…is gooood.”

Mac sat back and laughed before finishing his lunch.

Late that night, Tracey paced her hotel room, hating the feeling of being locked up.

The last two days with Mac had been an eye-opening experience. If she had to admit it, she respected the guy. She liked him too.

Blurting out her plans about a race school had seemed to shock him as much as she’d shocked herself. She never intended to share that information with him. So why had she? Because he’d bought her two of the best hot dogs she’d ever eaten? Because he’d made it easy to talk to him? Because she
enjoyed
talking to him? If she didn’t watch herself, she was going to be in deep. Way too deep.

Still, the car had been running great and Tracey’s spirits had soared with each passing hour. All she had to do was get through the next two and a half days. Sixty hours of knowing Mac was within earshot. Three thousand six hundred minutes of having him near and repressing the urge to touch him. She could do it. She’d come this far.

It shouldn’t matter that he’d touched the scar and made love to her anyway. The fact remained that he hadn’t seen it and didn’t know what he’d done. Not really. If only her nights hadn’t become so unbearably long…and filled with visions of Mac touching her, kissing her.

Keyed up after an afternoon of staring at her hotel room walls, and dreading climbing into bed and thinking of Mac, she threw on a baseball cap and swiped her card key off the dresser. She needed space and felt relatively safe in the confines of a crowded hotel. She opened the door. Quietly.

Unbelievable.

All the stealth in the world wouldn’t have made a difference. As usual Mac’s clock coincided with hers. He stood at his door in the hallway. For some reason she felt as guilty as he looked.

But then his eyes narrowed. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

Tracey nodded, unaffected by what was obviously meant to be an imposing look. “Yeah, I thought I might play a game of pool down at the bar. You?”

Mac studied her briefly and shrugged. “Same destination, different objective.”

Didn’t it figure? Tracey started down the hallway, thrilled that he hadn’t reprimanded her for attempting to go someplace alone. “Why, Mac Reynolds, you didn’t strike me as the ‘drown my sorrows in a bottle’ kind of guy.”

Mac fell into step next to her. “Ah,” he nodded and a wry grin spread across his face. “Usually I get the opposite assumption because of my Scottish heritage.”

“I hate stereotypes.” Tracey tipped her head and raised her brows. “But that’s probably because I’m not the stereotypical race-car driver.”

They both reached for the elevator button at the same time. Their hands came within a hairbreadth of touching before Tracey pulled back. Being in his presence was tough enough, but touching him could lead to all sorts of paths that she didn’t particularly want to explore.

They waited silently.

“So, you couldn’t sleep either?” Tracey finally asked, unable to live in the quiet moment. Strangely, talking to Mac as if they shared a normal friendship wasn’t that hard.

Mac scuffed his boot across the maroon carpet. “No. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

The elevator arrived and they entered.

Maybe she shouldn’t have, but Tracey felt relief at the topic of conversation, glad it wasn’t of an intimate nature. “You don’t think my stalker is done?”

Mac shook his head. “I think he’s regrouping. I think he’s planning the next attack.”

Tracey held back the urge to shiver. “I’m hoping that once he realized he couldn’t drown me, he gave up the hunt and went home crying to his mama. It’s been three days and nothing’s happened. I think we’re in the clear.”

Mac cocked his head. “
We’re
in the clear?”

“For some reason, you’ve appointed yourself my personal bodyguard. Anything that happens to me happens to you. Case in point, the car in the lake. To be honest, if something happened to you because of me…” Tracey shook her head. She couldn’t think about the guilt.

Mac turned to her. For a second, Tracey thought he might pull her against him, but the elevator doors opened and she stumbled out. She couldn’t deny the attraction for him but she didn’t have to act on it either. No matter what she saw in his eyes. Because she knew, deep inside, the only reason he was around was the debt he owed Ed, and maybe the sympathy he had for her deformity.

Thankfully the darkened bar wasn’t crowded. She made her way to the back where a group of men were leaving a table. She groaned at her bad luck. Derek Correlli led the pack. He had dark hair, dark eyes, a thick nose and an even thicker head. Of all the men on the circuit, Correlli had treated her the worst. They despised each other.

“Well, if it isn’t Trace Bradshaw, Girl Wonder and apparent party animal,” he said. “I hear you’ve got your car trouble straightened out, little girl. I’d hate to miss running circles around you on Sunday.”

Tracey had no idea where the party reference came from, but his last comment made her snort. “Wake up, Correlli. You’re dreaming again. Maybe you haven’t been paying attention, but my laps have been consistently faster than yours.”

“They won’t be when it matters.” Correlli glanced behind her and saw Mac. “Hey, Reynolds,” he said, extending a hand. “I heard you were back in town.” Mac shook his hand, but didn’t seem particularly happy to do it. “I wouldn’t get any hopes up of winning the race, buddy.” Correlli smiled. He didn’t say anything else to Mac, but the look he gave
her
said plenty.

Mac still gripped Correlli’s hand. “I don’t see any reason why Tracey won’t leave you in the dust,” he said. “Maybe you should concentrate on your own wheels.”

The handshake turned into a pissing contest and Correlli’s hand went white under Mac’s. He finally yanked free. “Obviously, you two were made for each other.” He glanced between them.

“A word of warning,” Mac growled. “I’d better not hear that you’ve said or done anything that even remotely affects my driver. You got that?”

“What the hell do you think you’d do about it?” Correlli held his ground.

“You were just leaving, right, Derek,” Tracey said, stepping between the men. Having Mac defend her so openly sent a strange thrill through her, but she didn’t want the situation to get any hotter. “I’d hate to think we were keeping you from something.” She smiled. “Like taking a hike.”

Correlli gave her a deadly glare before focusing on Mac. “You’ve been gone a long time, Reynolds, so I’ll cut you some slack. It’s going to be my pleasure to smoke your team on race day.” He brushed by with his friends behind him.

“Prick,” Tracey muttered. Mac started to say something, but Tracey stopped him. “No, we’re not talking about that asshole. We’re forgetting this exchange ever happened.”

She racked up the balls on the pool table and ordered a beer, a huge indulgence. She rarely drank at all, much less so close to race day, but the events of the past week seemed to warrant a break of the rules.

Mac sat on a barstool with his own beer and watched her. For whatever reason, he had let the Correlli incident go. Although Derek was an asshole, she didn’t consider him a suspect. He still had thirty-one other drivers who might beat him on race day. Killing her didn’t guarantee him anything. Maybe Mac realized it too.

Tracey tried to ignore the feel of his gaze as she moved around the table and sank the balls one by one. She struggled to deny the attraction, knowing he couldn’t seriously be interested her. She glanced at the doorway, searching for some hot chick who might sashay in and command his attention. Yeah, she wanted that to happen as much as she wanted to wreck her car.

“You’re not going to sink that one,” Mac’s voice thrummed behind her.

Tracey pulled out of her thoughts and studied her shot. She adjusted a fraction and sent the ball whizzing into the pocket. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Anytime.” He took a hit off his beer. “So, why were you always hanging around the track?”

The question came out of nowhere and surprised Tracey. She stilled before taking another crack at the two ball. “Why not? It was fun.”

“You practically lived there. You were there in the morning and still there when I left at night.”

“I didn’t know you noticed.” Tracey missed her shot.

“I noticed a skinny, dark-haired, blue-eyed ragamuffin kid who worshipped Ed Grayling.”

Tracey smiled at the dead-on description. “That’s true. I did worship Ed. I still do. If it wasn’t for him…” Tracey missed another shot and the table got blurry. She wiped away the threat of tears, thankful Mac was behind her.

Glass shattered by the bar and Tracey jumped a mile. Her heart thumped and she saw Mac had jerked around too. She hated the constant tension of strangers and noise.

Mac adjusted back on the stool. “If it wasn’t for him…what?” His low inquisitive voice zinged through her.

She concentrated on her next shot and sank the eight ball. “I’d probably be a prostitute, in jail, or worse.”

“That’s a pretty broad statement. Any evidence to back it up?”

“Just two foster brothers in prison, one who’s headed there, one foster sister working the streets and one that’s dead.” She didn’t have to turn to see the expression on Mac’s face. She heard it in the silence. The last thing she wanted was more sympathy. God, what the hell had possessed her to spew out the sordid truth of her foster siblings in the first place? Scare the guy. If her leg couldn’t do the job, her upbringing certainly would. No sense waiting for rejection when she could chase the guy away sooner.

“Yeah, my foster parents, the Pickets, were real PTA types. Marty held down an eight-to-five job by the tips of his hangnails, and Justine drank her way through most days. But anytime someone came to the house to check on us, they pulled it together to be the all-American family.” Tracey lined up another shot and whammed the ball into the pocket. “It’s amazing what people will do to ensure a fixed monthly income. That’s all we were good for. All six of us.” She straightened and ventured a look to Mac.

He sat on the barstool and stared at her with the softest, smokiest eyes she’d ever seen. “So you stayed away as much as you could?”

“And then some,” Tracey admitted.

Mac shifted on the stool. “What happened to your real parents?”

“That’s a more complicated question than you think,” she said. “My adoptive parents died in a house fire. That’s why I ended up in foster care and I didn’t know about my biological mother until Chelsea showed up at my door. According to her—”

“Wait a minute,” Mac said with his head cocked to the side. “Is it a little suspicious that Chelsea has suddenly entered the picture at the same time you’ve got someone stalking you?”

“The same could be said of you, Mac,” Tracey pointed out.

“I didn’t get here until after Joe died.”

“Neither did she.”

Mac stared at his beer. “You don’t know when she got here. You only know when she made herself visible.” His gaze locked onto hers.

Tracey shrugged. “She has no reason to want me dead. She’s got no motive.”

He nodded and watched her. “Right. Good point. Sorry. You were saying that according to Chelsea…something about your biological mother…”

“Yes. According to Chelsea, my
mom
died about a year ago. I tried to talk to her about it, but she got pretty upset and I didn’t get very far. Apparently, the lady felt ashamed for leaving me behind? Huh, don’t know why. She had the courtesy to bundle me up real good before leaving me in front of a church.” Tracey took a hard hit off her drink. “Don’t look so devastated, Mac. I survived. I always survive,” she added under her breath. Beer soured in her stomach and made her sick. At least
something
made her sick.
Could it be the topic of discussion?
“Well, this was a ball of fun.” She set the pool cue across the table and started to leave.

Mac stood in her path. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Don’t go.” His pleading eyes bore into hers. “Hey, I’ll even spring for another beer.”

A burst of laughter erupted from Tracey. “If we’re bargaining here, I can think of a couple of things that would make me stay more than a bottle of beer.”

Mac tipped his chin toward her and narrowed his dark eyes. “Such as?”

The soft timbre of his voice, the spark in his eyes made Tracey think of a few things but she kept it business. “Such as…let me run the race my way on Sunday.”

Mac pressed his lips together and thought about it. “I’d rather buy you a beer.”

Tracey smiled despite the attempt not to. Should she stay or go? Mac was damn hard to resist when he was in a playful mood. Who was she kidding? He was hard to resist most of the time. But after the stressful week, she found him way too endearing.

“I’ll buy my own beer.” She signaled the waitress for another drink, turned, racked up the balls again and handed the pool cue to Mac. “You break,” she said.

The surprise on his face was quickly followed by a grin of straight whites. “I might give you a run for your money.”

“You’ve been doing that since the beginning,” Tracey mumbled.

“Ditto,” he muttered back.

They locked eyes, a sort of truce. Tracey hated how her pulse quickened. Disliked the feeling of always wanting him. Especially when he looked at her as if he might devour her at any minute.

Mac bent over the table and scattered the balls with a hard shot. “So, you’ve been hanging around Ed’s track since you were tiny and your dream was to race cars.”

“Hardly.” Tracey smiled, remembering what she originally wanted to do. “You’re going to laugh.”

A grin spread across his face. “Why?”

She took off her cap and replaced it on her head backward. “My first dream was to be a trophy model.”

He did laugh. The low sound rumbled through her body and made her warm inside. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Driving didn’t occur to me. I’d never seen a female driver before, at least not on Ed’s track. It never entered my mind.”

“When did that change?” Mac asked. He missed his shot, giving Tracey a chance at the table.