Chapter 9
Hank tightened the last bolt on Julie’s rear set and sat back on his heels.
The afternoon sun had climbed high enough that heat baked off the packed sand of the pit area; sweat slid down his spine under his T-shirt.
Around him, the controlled chaos of race prep had settled into a steady rhythm.
Engines revved, air guns chattered, and someone shouted for a torque wrench.
He liked this part. The checklists, the mechanics, the way everything had a place and a purpose. It kept his mind focused; it kept the noise in his head down to something manageable.
“You keep crawling around on the ground like that, old man, we’re going to need a crane to get you up,” Brian said.
Hank glanced over his shoulder. Brian leaned against the trailer, water bottle tipped up, sweat darkening his ball cap. Colby sat on a folding chair with a laptop balanced on his knees, logging times and adjustments from the morning runs.
“Keep talking, Viking,” Hank said. “I’ve got a list of jobs with your name on them.”
“Make sure one of them is a taste tester when those food trucks open.” Brian crumpled his empty bottle and lobbed it toward the trash can. It hit the rim, bounced out, and rolled. “Close enough.”
Colby didn’t look up from the screen. “You’re a disgrace to the Navy. Pick it up.”
“You’re a disgrace to fun,” Brian shot back, but he bent to snag the bottle anyway.
Hank grinned and stood, stretching his back until his spine popped. The familiar ache in his right leg complained, but it was a background grumble now; he could work with that.
He looked automatically toward the hotel. Third-floor balcony, far right. No Bree in sight. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
“She’ll be out there tomorrow,” Colby said quietly, still typing. “If she’s smart, she’ll sleep this afternoon.”
Hank frowned. “You watching my balcony now?”
“Not yours,” Colby said. “Hers. She’s good for you.”
Brian snorted. “She’s bad for his concentration. Did you see his face at breakfast?”
“I qualified just fine,” Hank said. “Julie did exactly what she was supposed to do.”
“Julie always does,” Colby replied. “You, on the other hand, are human. Try not to forget that.”
Hank shook his head, more amused than annoyed. “You two want to run this show without me, feel free. I’ll go find a hammock somewhere.”
“Liar,” Brian said. “You’d last ten minutes before you started worrying we torqued something wrong.”
“Because you would,” Colby said.
Hank turned away before the grin broke free. He checked the pit again. Tools in place, fuel jugs full, spare tires stacked. The Red Dragons had set up at the far end of the row, their massive hauler a gleaming black contrast to everyone else’s trailers.
He tried not to look.
It didn’t work.
The Red Dragons’ area buzzed with a different kind of energy. Loud music blasted from their speakers. Two of their guys leaned against a truck, beers already in hand, even though qualifying had just ended. Someone spun a rear tire in the air, smoke curling up as rubber burned.
Careless. Sloppy. Exactly like last year.
Hank ground his teeth as Marcus strutted between bikes, sunglasses on despite the glare bouncing off chrome, talking with his hands like some kind of celebrity. The man loved a crowd. Loved making everything a performance.
A flash of blue caught Hank’s eye.
His breath hitched.
Bree.
She stood just inside the Red Dragons’ tape line, that soft blue sundress from the café swapped for fitted jeans and a pale shirt that made her eyes look almost turquoise from this distance.
Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, sunglasses perched on her head.
She held her sketchbook against her chest, fingers tight on the spiral edge.
Carmen stood beside her, talking, one hand moving as if she were explaining something. On Carmen’s other side, a woman in fire-engine red shorts, four-inch heels, and tanned legs perched on a stool, crossing and uncrossing those legs like she knew exactly who was watching.
Heidi, Hank guessed.
His chest went tight.
“What the hell,” he muttered.
Brian followed his line of sight. “Uh-oh.”
“Don’t start,” Hank said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Colby closed the laptop and stood. “You’re not really surprised, are you? Carmen’s sister works their pit. Of course, she’d drag Bree over there.”
“She didn’t drag her,” Hank said. “Bree’s standing there just fine on her own.”
And she was. She looked a little unsure, but she wasn’t backing away. Marcus stepped closer, shaking Carmen’s hand, leaning in to say something. Heidi’s laugh cut through the distance, high and breathy, as she tossed her hair over one shoulder.
Bree’s mouth tightened.
Good, he thought savagely. She can see for herself what kind of circus that is.
Marcus turned toward Bree. Even from across the pits, Hank saw the way Marcus’s gaze swept down her body and back up; saw the way he adjusted his posture, shoulders back, chin up, smile turned on full wattage.
Hank’s hands curled into fists.
“Easy,” Colby said.
“I’m just watching,” Hank replied.
“Your jaw says otherwise,” Brian added.
Marcus said something, and Bree shook her head, a small, firm motion. Carmen shifted, putting herself slightly more between them. Heidi swung one long leg, crossing it over the other, and rested her elbow on her knee in a pose that screamed Look at me.
Marcus didn’t. His attention stayed locked on Bree.
That was enough.
Hank grabbed a rag from the table, wiped his hands, and started walking.
“Here he goes,” Brian said quietly behind him.
Colby’s sigh followed. “Sam’s on duty. If this turns into a thing, at least we know who’s going to be writing the report.”
Hank ignored them. The distance between the pits felt longer than usual, each step punctuated by the roar of an engine or the clang of a dropped tool. He kept his pace even, his expression neutral. The last thing he needed was to look like he was charging in.
He wasn’t her keeper.
He just didn’t like seeing her in the middle of a pack of wolves.
By the time he reached the edge of the Red Dragons’ taped boundary, he’d smoothed the worst of the heat out of his tone.
Mostly.
He stopped just outside their line. They’d strung red caution tape in a neat rectangle, stakes hammered into the hard-packed sand. A sign on one post read, “Crew Only”.
Carmen saw him first. Relief washed over her face, quick and unguarded.
“Hank,” she called. “Hey.”
Bree turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him; surprise, a flicker of guilt, then something warmer that hit him square in the chest.
Marcus pivoted lazily, then smiled, all teeth.
“Hank James,” he said. “What a coincidence. I was just getting to know your friend.”
“Yeah,” Hank said. “I saw.”
He kept his gaze on Bree, not Marcus. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face. “Carmen brought me over to see the other side of things.”
“So she could see how a real team operates,” Heidi added.
Up close, Heidi was all sharp angles and shine; glossy black hair, red lipstick, a tank top that showed off toned arms, and a lot of skin. She swung her leg again, the movement deliberate.
Carmen shot her a look. “Heidi.”
“What?” Heidi spread her hands. “It’s true. Some people like vintage. Some people like winning.”
“That must be why you’re here watching us,” Hank said mildly. “Research.”
A few of the Red Dragons’ crew snickered. Marcus’s smile tightened a fraction of an inch.
Bree pressed her lips together, fighting a smile of her own.
“You’re welcome to look around,” Marcus said. “We don’t have anything to hide.”
Except you do, Hank thought, but he didn’t say it. Not yet.
He shifted his weight, the ache in his leg reminding him to keep it short. “Bree, Colby’s got some telemetry he wanted to show you. Thought you might want the data for painting the lines around the track.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Colby had mentioned something like that. He just hadn’t intended to use it as an extraction tool.
Bree hesitated, glancing between him and Carmen. “We were just…”
“She was just about to come with me,” Carmen said firmly. “We’ve got that thing, remember?”
Heidi rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, you two are so dramatic. We’re not savages. We’re just fast.”
“And loud,” Carmen said. “And one of you almost took my head off with a flying socket ten minutes ago.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” one of the crew muttered.
Bree shifted her sketchbook under her arm. “I appreciate the tour, Heidi. Marcus. But I should go see what Hank and his team are up to.”
Marcus studied her for a second longer than Hank liked. “Suit yourself. The offer stands. You want to ride with a winning team; you know where to find us.”
She smiled, polite and distant. “I’m not here to ride with anyone. I’m just here to paint.”
Her tone made it clear that was the end of that.
She stepped over the tape line, careful not to catch her foot, and moved to Hank’s side. He felt the subtle brush of her shoulder against his arm and had to bite back the urge to slide an arm around her and walk her out of here like they were a unit.
“Carmen?” Bree asked.
Carmen shot her sister another warning look. “I’m right behind you.”
Heidi hopped off her stool with exaggerated grace. “Don’t be long. We’ve got fittings to finish.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen fell into step on Bree’s other side. “Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone.”
They’d barely cleared the tape before Carmen blew out a breath. “Well. That was a lot.”
Bree let out a quiet laugh. “You weren’t kidding about intense.”
“Marcus is a jerk,” Carmen said. “Einstein’s tolerable. The rest are a hazard to themselves and others.”
“Einstein?” Bree asked.
“Nicknamed Einstein,” Hank said. “He’s their tech guy. Smartest one in the bunch. Knows engines inside out, but he doesn’t say much.”
They’d reached the safer stretch of sand between pits. Hank slowed his pace a little so they could talk without shouting over every engine.