Burning Rubber: Extreme Racing, Book 2

by Pamela Britton

  Someone, the other EMT, grabbed his wrist, took his pulse. “Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?” the man with the flashlight asked.

  Derrick waved at the man. He assumed his toes were wiggling. It felt like they were. Whatever he’d done must have satisfied the EMT because he wrapped a blood pressure couplet around his arm next.

  “Anything hurt?” the man—his name tag said Paul—said. “Any tingling in your extremities?”

  “At first.” He tried moving a little. “Gone now.” He was able to breathe better now also. Wind knocked out of him.

  “Pulse rate one-ten” his partner said.

  “Blood pressure normal. Let’s get him on a backboard.”

  “Think I can walk,” Derrick said.

  “No,” Callie contradicted. “The force of the…of the…” He saw her swallow. “Blast knocked you into the pit wall. We don’t know if anything’s broken.”

  Well, that explained why he was on the ground.

  “Don’t move,” the EMT ordered.

  Ironic he would need to be taken to the hospital not because he’d wrecked his car, but because of something else. “What happened?” he asked, the paramedic opening the Velcro on his white firesuit so he could listen to his heart.

  Callie shook her head, squeezed his hand harder. “I don’t know. Fuel line? Fuel tank? I don’t know. But, Bill…”

  Hadn’t made it.

  Derrick had only to look into her eyes to know the truth. “Not your fault.”

  The tears began to fall then. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. Someone brushed by her. All he could see were legs. Then a microphone was thrust in front of him.

  “Derrick Derringer, will you continue to drive for the X-TREME Racing League given the recent developments?”

  “What the fuck is this?” someone asked. Chet. The crew chief grabbed the reporter by the back of the shirt and tossed him aside. “Get the hell out of here, you jack ass. Can’t you see we’re trying to get him to a hospital?”

  Paul fitted a collar around his neck before saying, “Okay, we’re going to lift you. One, two—” Three was the lift. Derrick gasped at the pain it caused. Crap. Maybe he really had broken his back.

  “Let’s go,” Paul said.

  “I’m going with,” Callie said.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to follow in a car.”

  “But—”

  “Want her to come,” Derrick said.

  “Sorry. No one’s allowed to ride along. Company policy.”

  They hefted him into the back of the ambulance before he could say another word, Derrick’s last glance of the race track was of a column of black smoke.

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  Callie turned toward Veronica right as a camera was shoved in her face.

  “Veronica Adams, what are your plans for the X-TREME Racing League now?”

  “Hey,” Callie cried. “Leave her alone.”

  Veronica turned toward the camera as if this were a planned press conference. “Nothing’s changed,” she announced. “This is just a terrible accident. The X-TREME Racing League will go on.”

  She hooked an arm through Callie’s and guided her toward Veronica’s black rental. They were inside before someone could hurl another question in their direction.

  “Hang on,” Veronica said. She gunned it so hard Callie had to do exactly that, all the while wiping away tears. When Bill’s car had exploded…

  Bill.

  She swallowed, hard, jammed her fingernails into her pants. It hurt, but she didn’t care. She needed the pain. Needed to ground herself. It felt like a bad dream.

  “We need to get a handle on what we’re going to say to the media,” Veronica said before they’d driven a quarter of a mile. “Get our stories straight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Clearly, Callie, somebody is targeting the X-TREME Racing League.”

  It was so close to what Callie had been thinking she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. It seemed impossible Veronica had jumped to the same conclusion, and yet she had.

  “We don’t know that for sure.” But Callie was really thinking out loud. “A fuel line might have come loose. It might have been leaking fuel all night and when he started the engine, the fumes ignited.”

  “Callie.” Veronica’s tone tinged on condescension. “I dated a stunt driver. That was not a fuel-related explosion. That was a bomb.”

  “We don’t know that,” Callie insisted, and they didn’t. Not really.

  “Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a bomb, but it was the latest in a long line of freak accidents. I don’t believe in so many coincidences.”

  To be honest, Callie didn’t either.

  “So we need to be prepared.

  Bill. He’d looked…Dead. The word echoed in Callie’s head, ping-ponging around her mind even though her brain found the notion impossible to compute.

  “I want to hire someone to do an internal investigation.” Veronica seemed to be thinking out loud too. “You know how the police are. They don’t like to share. I want to know straight away if something is up, and if it is, to alert the media.”

  “Alert them?” Callie asked, swiveling in her seat. “Why would we want them to know?”

  “It’s called spinning a story. If someone is targeting our racing league, it’ll make headline news. We’ll be a household name by the time all this is over.”

  Callie couldn’t believe Veronica’s cold-blooded assessment. Then again, she shouldn’t be surprised. The woman wasn’t normal. That much was clear.

  “And if Derrick…” she swallowed, the word getting lodged in her throat, “…dies?”

  “He’s not going to die.”

  Callie’s eyes widened even further. Her boss sounded almost disappointed. “He just got knocked over by the blast.”

  Was she for real? They didn’t know the extent of Derrick’s injuries. He could have internal bleeding. Shrapnel lodged in his body. Callie’s imagination went wild. If he died…

  She felt tears fill her eyes.

  “When we get to the hospital, let me talk to the press.”

  “You think they’ll be there?”

  “Not right away, but they’ll get there eventually. And so we need to be prepared. Don’t say a word. I’ll do the talking.”

  Which was fine with Callie. All she wanted to do was be with Derrick.

  “Do we know how Bill is?” Veronica asked.

  When would she have heard about Bill, Callie wanted to ask right back. “No,” she said instead.

  “Text Chet and ask.”

  She didn’t want to. She really didn’t. Frankly, she didn’t want to know how Bill was given that the answer seemed obvious. Bill was dead. He had to be. Nobody could have survived a blast that large and lived.

  DOA.

  That was the response Callie got.

  “He’s dead,” Callie said.

  Veronica nodded sharply. “That’s what I thought. We’ll have to craft a response to that too.”

  Is that all she cared about was the media? It certainly seemed that way. Callie turned away, fighting back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Veronica. She’d liked Bill. A lot.

  “We’ll need to alert our attorney as well. That damn Release of Liability he created for us better hold up in court.”

  “Veronica, please. Can we talk about this later?”

  Her boss glanced at her sharply. Callie almost recoiled. There was so little sadness in her eyes. No pity. Not even concern.

  “Whatever.” She waved her red-tipped hand.

  They made the trip in record time, Callie fighting tears the whole way. When they arrived at the ER, Callie learned she wasn’t allowed to see Derrick. She almost started bawling.

  “Only immediate family,” the duty-station nurse told her.

  So she was forced to wait, and it was agonizing. The whole time she wondered—had she done the right thing? Should she have said yes to Derrick’s offer to
move in with him? Had she been a coward to say no? They might have been able to make it work. Shouldn’t she have at least tried…if she loved him?

  Loved?

  She scrubbed a hand over her face because there was no sense in denying it anymore.

  “Callie Monroe,” a pink-jacketed nurse called.

  Callie sat up abruptly. “That’s me,” she answered, wiping at tears she hadn’t even known she’d been shedding. She kept thinking about Bill and his family…

  The nurse, a kindly-looking older woman, smiled. “Mr. Derringer is asking for you.”

  Her heart leapt. She shot Veronica only the briefest of glances before racing to the nurse’s side.

  “Right this way.”

  “Is he okay?” she asked. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

  They entered a narrow corridor, one with white walls and floors and that led to an open area at the end, one filled end-to-end with beds surrounded by green curtains.

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” The nurse motioned to her left with a smile.

  “Derrick,” she murmured, rushing toward him and little caring the tears shot out of her eyes. He winced a bit as he opened his arms to hug her. She drew up short. He wore a green hospital gown, Callie grateful it wasn’t stained with blood. “Can I touch you?”

  He smiled a bit, a wonderful, crooked smile which tugged at her heart strings and made her realize she really had been a fool to say no to him.

  “Bruised ribs. From my impact with the ground. But that’s all.”

  “You’re okay?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

  “I’m fine,” His smile faded. “And Bill?” Do you know what’s going on with him? I’ve asked, but he’s not in the ER.”

  Callie tried not to react, she really did. She didn’t want to upset Derrick, but she couldn’t keep her face from revealing the news.

  “He didn’t make it, did he?”

  She shook her head.

  She watched as he tipped his head back, covered his eyes with his hand, his oath seeming to sum it all up. “Son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  He’d known it would be bad news. Of course he’d known, but it still didn’t soften the blow for Derrick as he lay in the hospital bed.

  “Do they know what happened?” he heard himself ask.

  “No. It’s too soon to say. Chet and I talked about a fuel line. Or a short near the tank, but the force of the explosion…”

  He removed his hand, looked Callie square in the eye. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  She pursed her lips, looked like she might deny it. “Veronica doesn’t think so.”

  “And you?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” she mused. “But I’ve never seen a fuel tank go up like that. Never.”

  Neither had he. It’d knocked him away from his car. The doctor had said if that hadn’t happened, he’d have been severely burned.

  “But I still can’t believe that someone would—”

  Kill someone, he finished for her. He couldn’t believe it either, but they had to consider the possibility. “Maybe we shouldn’t get too worked up until we know for sure what happened.”

  She nodded, appeared about to say something, but the male nurse who’d been with him through X-rays and a CAT scan interrupted them with a verbal, “Knock, knock.” He smiled at the two of them. “Got your discharge papers right there.” He waved a packet of information at them. “You can go ahead and get dressed. Might hurt a bit. You’re going to be sore for a few days. We’ll give you prescription for pain meds. Just sign right here.”

  It hurt to sit up even though they’d already given something for the pain. He hurt from head to toe, every bone in his body feeling as if it’d been run through a shredder and spat back out again. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t broken anything. He’d been through multi-car wrecks that hadn’t hurt him as much.

  “You’re going to need a ride back to your hotel, aren’t you?” Callie asked.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Veronica drove me here.”

  Crap. “We can take a cab.”

  “We could, but we’d need to check in with her.”

  “Why would we need to do that?”

  Her brows lifted above the rim of her glasses. “Because she’s my boss.”

  “So?”

  “I need to check in with her.”

  “No, you don’t.” Man, she just didn’t get it. “That woman walks all over you. It’s time you started standing up to her. Hell. Tell her I told you not to check in with her. I don’t care. I just can’t stomach the thought of seeing her right now.”

  Her expression seemed to say she understood perfectly. “What if Veronica spots us leaving?”

  “We’ll go out the back.”

  She seemed to accept the fact he wasn’t going anywhere with Veronica. “I’ll see if there’s a back way out of here.”

  Ten minutes later they were on their way, though Derrick wondered how he’d manage to get on a plane the next day when it came time to go home. It’d damn near made him sick to his stomach it’d hurt so much to get dressed. Crap, it even hurt to breathe. He could barely walk. When it came time to climb into the taxi, he couldn’t keep himself from gasping in pain.

  “Thank God it’s a short ride to your hotel.”

  His face had broken out in sweat, his teeth hurt he’d ground them together so hard.

  “It feels like I fell out of a plane. Damn it. I’ll take rolling over in a race car any day of the week.”

  Her eyes had begun to glisten. Derrick reached toward her. “Shhh,” he soothed. “It’ll be okay.”

  She shook her head, the tears falling down her cheeks. “No, it won’t. Bill’s dead and I’m responsible.”

  It hurt like hell to lean toward her, but he did it anyway. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I designed the car. What if I missed a bad fuel cell? Or if something I designed was wrong? What if I caused his car to explode?”

  “Then we’ll deal with it.”

  She lifted her glasses, wiped at her tears. “You make it sound so simple.”

  He tipped her face so she was forced to stare into his eyes. “It is that simple.”

  Those stunning gray-green eyes of her looked away from his. “I keep thinking about Bill’s family. Wondering if anyone’s called them. Or if I’m supposed to call them. I want to speak to Chet to find out what’s going on…” She shook her head, appeared to swallow back more tears. “But I’m too afraid.”

  “Then I’ll call Chet.”

  Her glaze snapped to his. “You’d do that?”

  “Callie,” he said gently. “When are you going to realize I would do anything for you?”

  She didn’t look away.

  “I really would. When I was sitting in that hospital, all I could think about was you, about how much I wanted you to be with me. I’ve never felt this way before. I think I love you. This has to be love.”

  “I know,” she admitted softly.

  “Do you feel the same thing?” he asked, cupping her face with his hands.

  “I do.” She blinked, swallowed again. “I really do.”

  He smiled.

  “But the timing’s all wrong.” She took a deep breath. He could hear tears wobbling around the edges of her words. “Especially now.”

  Her cell phone rang, both of them jumping, though Derrick’s movement was immediately followed by a gasp. She pulled the cell from her pocket, her expression falling. “Veronica.”

  He took the phone from her and took the call before she could protest otherwise. “She’s taking me home,” Derrick clipped.

  “Excuse me?” he heard Veronica say.

  “I’ll have her call you when she’s finished.”

  “I don’t think so—”

  He ended the call before Veronica could get another word in edgewise. “And that’s how you handle Veronica,” He smiled at Callie.

  “If only it were that si
mple.”

  The phone rang again. Derrick shut the thing off, handed it back to her with a smile.

  “It might be about Bill. Or some other horrible thing that’s happened at the track.” Pain drifted into her eyes again.

  “You can lean on me, you know. I can help you deal with this.”

  “No, you can’t.” The words came so suddenly, so quickly, he was taken aback.

  “Why not?”

  He was feeling woozy from the drugs, but had his wits about him enough to notice the way she squared her shoulders, the way she seemed to face off against him. “I swore I would never be my mother.”

  “What?”

  Her eyes flicked away for a second. “I loved my parents, don’t get me wrong. They were married for thirty years.”

  “I don’t understand what the problem is then.”

  Her mouth flinched, almost as if her memories were painful. “It was what my mom gave up for my dad. Everything. She lived for my dad.”

  “So? What’s wrong with that?”

  She pinned him to a wall with her glare. “I want to have a life.”

  “You could.”

  “No,” she huffed out. “Tell me what driver’s wife has ever had a life?”

  “Plenty of them have. A lot of them even have their own businesses.”

  She leaned toward him. “Centered around their husband’s driving career.”

  “Not true. Some are teachers. A few work for other race teams. A few even have careers outside of racing.”

  “Like who?”

  He searched his mind. “Well, I can’t think of anyone at the moment, but I know they’re out there.”

  Callie shook her head. “Derrick, I’ve been around racing for a long time. I know what it’s like. Sooner or later the wife of a driver is sucked up in supporting her husband’s racing career, and if they’re not doing that, they’re raising kids.”

  “You don’t want kids?”

  She tipped her chin up. “Not right now. Maybe not ever.”

  He appeared thunderstruck, as if he’d never given thought to the idea she might not want children—and likely it hadn’t. She turned away, peering outside the taxi’s window, for some reason inexorably sad. It was all too much, she thought. Bill’s death. Derrick’s vow of love. The fact that someone might be sabotaging her cars. Or maybe not. Maybe this was, in fact, all her fault.