Speed Demons (3 page)

Evie remained on the sidewalk, people occasionally brushing by her in the warm Indian-summer evening, laughing, talking, or just walking. She stood there and followed Blythe with a strange sensation in her chest. Pressing a hand against it, she didn’t know if she was trying to capture the feeling or perhaps hide it, push it back, but she couldn’t deny the truth. Blythe Pierce didn’t leave her indifferent or cold. Something about this woman of obvious courage, who still displayed such discomfort in social situations, had surprised Evie.

She was used to keeping people at bay. She maintained emotional barbed wire to ward them off—her father, fans, the press, paparazzi, and people out to make money from her name. Now this deceptively fragile woman had somehow found an angle, a loophole, into her inner circle. A very narrow circle at that. Watching Blythe drive away, Evie approved the fact that not only did Blythe drive an Audi A8, but she clearly wasn’t above pushing the accelerator where it belonged.

To the floor.

Chapter Two

Blythe looked up at the foreboding sky where dark clouds gathered. Plymouth was crowded in the summer, but during early fall the tourists abandoned it for attractions farther south. Glancing at the sea, Blythe shuddered as the dark gray waves created foam where they crashed against the shore. On the horizon she could detect large ships, but nobody in their right mind would go out in a small boat on a day like today.

Hoisting her overnight bag over her shoulder, she took the camera bag in her free hand, the weight of it, the sense of normalcy it created settling her onset of nerves. She turned her attention to the house that her GPS had guided her to. With its light blue exterior, white trim, and black roof, it looked like many other houses around Cape Cod Bay. Blythe snorted. At least if you compared it to other wealthy estates.

A flagstone garden path led to the front door, and she took a firmer grasp of her camera bag as she approached it. She raised an eyebrow at the oversized door knocker in the shape of a growling lion before she used it. Immediately the sound of quick steps filtered through the door before her hostess flung it open.

Evie wore light gray sweats, the expensive type, and a white T-shirt. For the first time, Blythe noticed the scar along the left side of her neck, slightly discolored and wrinkled. Her dark brown hair hung loose around her face and covered some of it. She looked much more relaxed than at the restaurant the other day. Perhaps being on her home turf put Evie at ease?

“Hello. You made it.” Evie motioned toward Blythe’s bags. “Can I take one of those?”

“Sure.” Blythe handed her the overnight bag. Nobody carried her cameras but her. “I’m the first one to arrive?”

“Yeah. My friends Colleen and Don won’t be here until dinnertime. I figured we’d get a chance to talk before they do. You know, about the details of your proposal.” Evie tilted her head, smiling. “Want to come in?”

“Oh.” Blythe realized that she was still standing on the doormat, fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her camera bag. She had to literally force herself to continue talking. “Sure. Sounds good. Us talking, I mean.” Hating how staccato her speech pattern became when her nerves got the better of her, she kicked off her shoes and stepped into a bright hallway that was part of a living room. Large windows gave a spectacular view of the rough sea. “What a lovely house.”

“Thank you. My mother tried to influence my dad’s more bohemian and wild taste while they were married, so anything stylish and elegant you see is her doing.”

Blythe managed a shy smile. “So I take it your father chose the lion?”

“The li—? Oh, the door knocker. Yes. Yes, he did.” Evie laughed. “He used to bring stuff like that home when he returned from whatever country his latest race took place. Mom was less than thrilled.” Evie’s eyes darkened as she briskly pushed her hair behind her ears. “Let me show you to the guest rooms. Since you’re first to arrive, you get to choose.” She walked over to a dark wood staircase, Blythe’s bag dangling over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. “We have one overlooking the ocean or one overlooking the garden.”

“I’d love to have an ocean view.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” Evie grinned, and if she noticed Blythe’s warming cheeks, she didn’t let on.

The room was typical New England. Dark wood, nautical theme, white and blue, with a splash of red. The only thing that stood out was a large abstract painting that hung above the headboard of the queen-size bed.

“Don’t tell me. Your dad?” Blythe indicated the painting.

“You catch on quick. The year he came second in the Monaco Grand Prix.”

“Your father is quite the legend in the racing world.”

“He sure cultivates that notion, anyway.” Evie’s lips looked tense. “Don’t get me wrong. Together with Fittipaldi, Lauda, and Stewart, he was among the best of his generation. These men, they lived this larger-than-life way that consumed them. It left very little for anything else. Or anyone.”

“Must’ve been hard for a young girl, being separated from her father during the racing season.”

“It was, and the seasons lasted beyond the actual dates of driving.” Evie didn’t volunteer anything else, and Blythe knew when to back off. She shied away from asking about personal matters like this up front. It was easier to be inquisitive and curious through the lens of her camera. It showed the truth better than words did.

Evie motioned haphazardly around her. “Want to see the rest?”

“It’s a beautiful house, so yes, I’d love to.”

“No pictures, though.” Evie glanced at Blythe’s camera bag.

“Of course not.” Reluctantly, she put the bag down on an upholstered chair in the corner before following Evie around the house. Each guest room was decorated in eclectic New England style, except for the items Evie’s father, the legendary Malcolm “Mad Mal” Marshall, had added.

“This is my favorite part of the house.” Evie opened the door to a large deck that stretched the entire length of the back of the house. “Damn, it’s windy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, those clouds don’t look too promising.” Blythe was impressed with the view, but the black clouds growing at the horizon left her feeling uneasy. “Still, I can understand why you like it out here. What a view of the ocean.”

“I never get tired of it.”

They stood on the deck, Blythe acutely aware of Evie’s unwavering gaze as they talked about the view and the history of the house.

“Honestly, I prefer my own beach house in Pawleys Island,” Evie said, holding the door open for them to get back inside. “This house has…too many memories and it’s still my father’s, not mine.”

“I see what you mean.” Blythe remembered her first condo, a small loft that she actually still owned, but sublet to an employee. “You strike me as a very private person. In fact, you did from the beginning. I’m grateful that you’ve let me and my camera in.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve made a mistake.” She walked ahead of Blythe into the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Just some water, please.” Blythe propped her hip against the counter. “How can I put your mind at ease?”

Moving gracefully, Evie grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. As she handed one over, her fingers grazed Blythe’s. Hiding a gasp, Blythe pressed against the counter. Something had passed between them, and she couldn’t blame static electricity. Right now, her fingertips tingled and she trembled as she opened the bottle. She took a deep gulp of water.

“I don’t know. I think it’s about me and my control issues.” Evie jumped up and sat on the kitchen island. “I’m all about that. Most drivers are. If we’re not in complete control, every tenth of a second, we could get our ass killed. Well, you know. You saw.”

“Does this need for control spill over into your everyday life?” Interested, Blythe jumped up on the counter beside her.

“What everyday life? I live, breathe, and eat racing.”

“Even during your convalescence?”

“Especially then.” Evie dangled her legs sideways. “Every day at the rehab clinic, from six a.m. to eight p.m., I followed the schedule we set up.”

“Every day of the week?”

“Yes.”

“No rest? No fun?”

“I wouldn’t have beaten the paralysis and gone through the skin-graft transplants without discipline. I had two years.”

“Why two years?” Blythe was intrigued now. Evie looked defiant and passionate at the same time.

“My contract with my main sponsor, Besto Oil, stipulated that if I wasn’t back on my feet and able to drive, I’d have to find another car, another sponsor.” Evie’s smile clearly wasn’t a happy one. “So, I set the goal, what I had to accomplish each day to get my life back.”

“Did your family stay with you? Your father?”

“Mad Mal? Hardly.” Evie snorted. “He didn’t show his face after the first media frenzy died down. While there were photo ops, he was there, the doting father, but once the reporters directed their cameras to something else, he was gone. Well, after having given me his latest adamant speech about how I’ve chosen the wrong path.”

“Doesn’t he want you to race? I mean, is he concerned for your safety, as a father?” Blythe could understand that a parent would freak out watching his kid ride a vehicle that could become a death trap.

“Oh, no. It’s not that easy. Mad Mal thinks I should race, all right. He loves having a famous daughter. He hates NASCAR, though. He always pictured me following in his and Granddad’s footsteps.”

“Your father wants you to race the Formula One cars?”

“Yup.” Evie sipped her water, slamming the bottle back down on the counter hard enough to make Blythe jump. “In his mind, and in several other people’s, Formula One is the ultimate way to compete in racing. Formula One drivers are royalty. NASCAR drivers are the common man heroes, hardly worthy of his time. For his daughter to prefer the NASCAR circuit…it’s like an insult.”

“Really?” Blythe wondered if Evie knew how much hurt was visible in her eyes. “He should be proud of your success, of how you’ve set one record after another, not to mention that you’re the best female driver, ever.”

Evie snorted. “I wish. Not going to happen.” She jumped off the counter and placed her bottle beside the sink. She moved her hands in a restless pattern, until she seemed to notice her action and hid them behind her back.

Blythe had to defuse the situation. “Is it all right if I take a few shots from the back porch?”

While having their first conversation, she’d sensed Evie had shared as much of her life as she was ready to. Honestly, this was also about as much as Blythe could take.

Pearl had labeled her socially awkward, at best, even a virtual hermit. But Pearl only said such things out of exasperation, or even desperation, when Blythe had disappeared to work on her photos. In the digital era, Blythe could withdraw to either the darkroom or her office, depending on which camera she’d used. That was where she was the safest and most at ease.

“Sure. Go ahead. Just hold on to your equipment out there. The clouds are beginning to look scary.” Evie tossed her dark hair over her shoulder with a sharp twist of her wrist. “I think I’ll go check the Weather Channel, just to be safe.”

“See you later, then.” Blythe knew she appeared aloof, but Evie actually seemed to appreciate the reprieve as much as she did.

Chapter Three

Evie wanted to smack the TV remote against her forehead as she watched the Doppler image on the Weather Channel. How could the meteorologists have missed this? Living on the coast, Evie always kept the weather situation in the back of her mind, whether she was staying in Plymouth or on Pawleys Island. Nobody had breathed a word about this damn “Perfect Storm” scenario unfolding a few miles outside Provincetown. It was clearly heading straight for the East Coast.

She jumped when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Evie, it’s Colleen. You’ve seen the weather news?”

“Just looking at it, Colleen.” Evie sighed. “Guess you’re not going to make it, huh?”

“Nope. Sorry, kiddo. Don and I have to board up this house as well as my mom’s. Looks like it’ll be pretty bad. The fleet is returning as we speak.”

Colleen’s brothers owned four fishing boats, and she sounded relieved that they’d be back before the storm made landfall.

“I better get the house in order too.” Evie walked over to the window. “God almighty, what’s she doing?”

“What’s who doing?” Colleen sounded confused.

“Blythe Pierce. The photographer I told you about. I swear to God she’s insane.” Evie moved fast between the furniture to reach the French doors leading to the deck. “She was going to take pictures of the bay from the deck, and now she’s perched way up in the freaking oak tree.”

“She…she climbed up? Now? During the beginning of a storm?” Colleen gasped. “She sounds even wilder than you. Isn’t she, like, older?”

“Older?” Evie entered the backyard, having to hang on to the door to keep the wind from slamming it back against the wall. “She’s not old. She looks like a kid up there. I’ve got to go, Colleen. Talk to you later.”

“Okay, later. Be safe.”

After closing her phone, Evie shut the door and ran toward the old tree. Blythe clung to the trunk six feet from the ground, snapping pictures with an impressive-looking camera. Her blond hair whipped in the strong wind.

“Are you crazy? Get down from there!” Evie yelled as loud as she could, but Blythe didn’t seem to hear her. “Blythe! Blythe, it’s dangerous. We have to go inside.” Groaning, Evie climbed up the first set of branches and managed to reach Blythe’s foot. Not about to waste time, she took hold of a slender ankle and squeezed it hard. “Blythe!”

“Oh, hi! Isn’t this great?” Blythe beamed down at Evie. “The waves are fantastic.”

“And you’re crazy. Get down before you break your neck. We have to board up the house.”

“What? Oh. That bad?” Blythe hooked the camera over her shoulder and climbed down with impressive ease. “Show me what to do.”

“Don’t worry. It’s pretty automatic, since I have it done by remote when nobody’s here. We have to go inside first, though. Do you have everything you need from your car? I don’t have any more room in the garage, or I would’ve let you protect it in there.”