Total Control

by Pamela Britton

  Maybe, just maybe, he’d choke on them.

  She put her foot on the chrome ledge that jutted out from the back of the boat, suddenly afraid to lift her other foot because what if the boat drifted off when she moved? Or if the boat tipped? Or she slipped or something?

  And then the boat did start to drift away, its colorful stern bobbing on the water…ever farther away.

  She lunged.

  Her worst fear came true.

  Her foot slid off the slick metal. She gasped, flinging her arms over the back end. Todd grabbed her and heaved.

  He landed beneath her, Indi sprawled atop his surprisingly muscular chest. She drew back, her palms digging into the scratchy indoor/outdoor carpeting that lined the bottom of the boat.

  Now it was Todd Peters’s turn to seem unhappy. “Well, now,” he drawled, the expression on his face belying the sexy drawl of his words. “If I’d known you wanted to do that, I’d have asked you aboard sooner.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE WANTED TO DIE.

  Todd could see the desire plainly in her eyes.

  Either that or she wanted him to die. Maybe both. Either way, she wasn’t happy.

  He shifted beneath her, setting her aside. He had no idea why he’d just made such a suggestive comment. Guess old habits died hard. But he felt immediately disloyal to Kristen, even though he had no reason to feel that way. She’d made her choice of boyfriends—scratch that, it was fiancé now—plain enough.

  “In the future you might want to move a little faster when climbing aboard,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  “I’ll remember that,” she muttered. “If I’m ever blackmailed into getting on board one of these things again.”

  Blackmailed. Yeah, he supposed he’d done that. But it served her right for making him wait while she got her damn cell phone.

  “Can you try calling Jennifer now?” she asked.

  “Nope. I’ll call her when we’re out on the lake.”

  “What if you don’t get service out there?”

  “We do,” he said, starting the engines again. The speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour in the tiny cove where his house and three others sat.

  Todd never did the speed limit.

  “Where do you want me—”

  He gunned it.

  “Yipers,” he thought he heard her say, glancing back. She’d fallen onto the ice chest he’d put behind the passenger seat.

  “Sit here,” he warned, pointing to the spot next to him.

  She heaved herself forward, sprawling onto the white chair. “Slow down,” she yelled.

  Nope, he thought, a tight smile coming to his face. His neighbors knew what to expect. He left his dock in a blaze of glory, rooster tail drenching the wooden slats. Sometimes the spray would reach the edge of his lawn.

  “Hang on,” he warned, then turned right.

  “Hey—”

  He brought the engines up to full speed; the long prow rose higher, and even higher. He loved this part. Loved blowing by the houses that lined the shore. Loved scandalizing the uptight old biddies who lived nearby. They were always lodging complaints. He ignored them.

  Out onto the lake they zoomed, a small smile coming to Todd’s face. This. This was what he lived for. The feel of the wind. The mossy smell of the water. The roar of two big block engines.

  “Do you mind slowing down?” she called, her words torn back.

  “Yes,” he called, tilting the wheel just a bit. They shot to the right and out onto the main portion of the lake. This time of day there were others out, too. The Jet Ski that had passed by earlier was far, far ahead of him, the water still rippling from his wake. A sailboat cut through the water on his left. He smirked and turned his Scarab in the boat’s direction.

  They roared by. A couple seconds later he glanced back. The sailboat rocked like a hammock in the wind, a gray-haired man standing near the middle of the ship, left fist clenched, right hand raised, middle finger—

  That wasn’t nice.

  He chuckled, faced forward again. It was the first time he’d laughed in weeks.

  “If you were trying to sink that boat, you failed,” she yelled.

  His amusement faded as quickly as it’d come. Yeah. He really should cool it, and call Jennifer. He felt bad about standing that kid up, although to be honest he hadn’t exactly been in his right mind recently. And in his own defense he really didn’t know where he was going from one minute to the next. Sometimes he glanced at his itinerary, sometimes not. More often not. Ultimately, though, it was his choice to follow his schedule and lately, he’d been blowing off a lot of people, much to his PR person’s dismay.

  “If I’d wanted to sink him, believe me, I could have,” he said, easing off the throttle.

  “How heroic of you,” she called.

  He drew back even more. The front of the boat dipped into the water like a goose coming in for a landing. The lake stretched out before him, the gray-blue water seeming to mesh with the sky like a two-toned paint scheme. On the left and right a tree-studded shore concealed multilevel homes from his view, some hugely ostentatious—like his—some far more plain. The older homes had been around a while, the lake having been developed some thirty odd years ago, long before it became trendy to build on the shores of Lake Norman.

  He cut the motors.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Can’t find any new targets to drench?”

  She clutched the edge of her seat as if she expected to be ejected. Her hair looked as if it had suffered through a lightning storm. And her eyes. Well, her eyes called him every dirty name in the book.

  He swiveled sideways on his captain’s chair, the boat drifting along the water. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, faking innocence. “You’re my favorite driver in the whole wide world.”

  “You can cut the sarcasm. You’re right. I should be boiled in oil for standing up one of your kids. That was inexcusable, and I’m sorry. Now, hand me your phone so we can set things right.”

  Her mouth had dropped open. He held out his hand. She stared at him a second longer, her eyes sweeping over his face like a timing light. He thought he heard her let out a little “humph” before fishing into her pocket and handing him her cell phone.

  If he’d been thinking clearly earlier he’d have grabbed his own cell phone off the kitchen counter. He could have used Direct Connect to page Jen. Now he was stuck dialing numbers, none of which she answered. But he left messages, used the pound key to have her paged at one point, Todd having to ask Indi what her cell phone number was.

  “Now we wait,” he said a few minutes later.

  “Out here?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  The wild-haired thing worked for her, he noticed. It made her seem like a model, one who posed for a shampoo ad, albeit one where the picture had been freeze-framed right as a giant fan had been pointed in her direction.

  “I’d rather go back, if you don’t mind.”

  “And I’d rather you tell me about Benjamin.”

  “Benjamin?” she asked in surprise, smoothing her hair back from her face almost as if she could sense he’d been looking at her hair.

  “Yeah,” he said, glancing up as a ski boat motored by.

  “Go number twenty-six,” the skier yelled, Todd rolling his eyes at the mention of a competitor’s number. Figured he’d be recognized, and that he’d run into someone who felt the need to rub his nose in it. Then again, his boat had been profiled in enough NASCAR magazines that the boat’s paint scheme and specs were no secret. Most fans knew he had a super crankin’ stereo system on board (as one magazine put it), as well as a surprisingly spacious bunk below.

  “Tell me about him,” Todd ordered again.

  “What’s there to tell?” Indi said, her gaze moving back to his. She’d been studying the ski boat, too. “He’s your typical little boy. Loves football, hockey, but mostly anything to do with NASCAR.”


  “What’s he sick with?”

  She lifted her chin. “Chronic myelogenous leukemia.”

  Todd felt his stomach burn. “Poor kid.”

  She turned her head, her profile every bit as—all right, he’d admit it—beautiful as the rest of her. She was one of those women that he would bet other women loved to hate. Perfect skin. Slim figure.

  A breeze caught a strand of hair, sunlight turning that skin pale ivory. The anger seemed to have drained out of her, he noticed, replaced instead by sadness. “He’s only ten years old,” she said, lifting her chin. “Ten and he’s fighting for his life. Every time I see him he’s weaker and weaker and yet still, still…” she said, her jaw jutting out as if she either fought the urge to cry or to hold back her anger once more. “All he wants to talk about is racing, or more specifically, you. But you…you stood him up. Twice.”

  She wanted to kill him, she really did. Todd could see that.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You should be.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “I hope not,” she said, inhaling so loudly he could hear it over the sound of water slapping the side of the boat. She turned away from him, Todd was certain, so she could collect herself.

  Indi. He liked her name. It suited her in a weird way.

  “Benjamin’s lucky to have you,” he said.

  She squared her shoulders and faced him again. “Yeah, well, for every Benjamin out there there’s a dozen others just like him.”

  A couple of months ago she’d have been just his type, but that would have been before Kristen, the woman who’d tossed him over for another man.

  Kristen was now with Matt.

  “Have you worked for Miracles long?”

  “A few years,” she said.

  “It must be tough. All those sick kids…”

  “Are you kidding? It’s the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.” And suddenly she seemed ferocious again. “Just last month we sent one of our kids to Montana, to an archeological dig. He loved dinosaurs, could name just about every one of them. Helping out on that dig was the highlight of his life. For weeks afterward he glowed, until…”

  She shook her head and stared out at the water again. “It’s not easy watching kids fight for their lives, but at least Miracles brings a little joy to their lives. I quit my job as a broadcaster to do this and I’ve never regretted it, not even for a minute.”

  “You worked for a network?”

  “Just a local affiliate, nothing big. What I do now is much more important.”

  She reminded him of Kristen, Todd thought. There was so much passion in her voice, such a light in her eyes….

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had no idea—”

  Her cell phone rang. She jumped. They both glanced down at it. Indi pressed the green button and handed it up to him.

  “Todd Peters,” he answered.

  “Hey, Todd. I wondered who was calling me,” Jen said. “What’s up?”

  “Hey. Sorry to bug you after hours, but I’m standing here with Indi Wilcox.”

  “Indi Wilcox,” Jen murmured, as if repeating the name in an effort to jog her memory.

  “She works for Miracles.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. They used to be called Wishing Tree. How strange. I called her today, but they said she was out of town.”

  “She’s here, with me.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  “Not really,” Todd said wryly, deciding to forego an explanation. “She told me about Benjamin.”

  “Yeah, poor kid.”

  “Do me a favor. Next time, don’t let me cancel appointments with sick children.”

  “I tried to tell you—”

  “I’m sure you did,” Todd said, shaking his head. “In the future just slap me upside the head if I’m not listening.”

  “Will do,” Jen said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

  “I think I owe Benjamin an apology,” he said, glancing at Indi.

  “I would say so,” Jen agreed.

  “Why don’t we fly him to the race this next weekend?”

  “Great idea,” Jen said. “I’ll start working on it right away.”

  “He can hang out with me.” He met Indi’s gaze. “If it’s okay with his doctors, of course.”

  Indi nodded encouragingly.

  “Sounds great,” Jen said. “I’ll let you know what I come up with by tomorrow.”

  “Oh. And one other thing.” He smiled back at Indi. “Make sure Ms. Wilcox gets passes to the race, too.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I DON’T WANT TO GO,” Indi said the moment she walked into their shoebox-shaped office.

  Maggie Taylor looked away from the computer screen she’d been studying and met Indi’s gaze. “I know,” she said, glancing back at the monitor, tapping some keys, then pushing her keyboard back under her desk and giving Indi her undivided attention. They had desks that faced each other. Because the two of them had combed garage sales for office decorations, the walls were adorned with an eclectic selection of art and the room was filled with used office furniture. But they didn’t care—their clients rarely visited the space.

  “You have to go,” Maggie said when Indi remained mutinously silent.

  Maggie Taylor was not just her boss. She was Indi’s best friend. They’d met five years ago when Indi had chucked her broadcasting career to go to work for Miracles. Indi hadn’t known what to think of the soft-eyed, perpetually kinky-haired brunette. She was a single mother whose perky attitude and energized personality always astounded Indi. Coming from the über cutthroat world of broadcasting, Indi had been taken off guard by Maggie’s crinkled, sometimes coffee-stained clothes. But Indi had soon learned that Maggie didn’t care what she looked like, just that her “kids” were taken care of.

  “Are you sure there isn’t any way I can get out of this?” Indi asked, shifting on her leather chair. The things were about as comfortable as amusement park rides.

  “Not if you don’t want to disappoint Benjamin.”

  Indi sighed. Benjamin. He deserved this trip. But Indi’s joy at having secured the elusive Todd Peters was overshadowed by Benjamin’s latest test results. According to Linda, Benjamin’s mom, the chemo they’d flooded his bloodstream with wasn’t working. Soon they’d try something new, and if that didn’t work…

  Indi refused to think about it.

  “I just wish someone else could go.”

  Someone like you. At least Maggie knew something about NASCAR. She even had a crush on one of the drivers—Mike Morgan. But apparently she hadn’t wanted to get close to the object of her infatuation because she’d passed this NASCAR task to her.

  But she didn’t point that out to her friend because it was completely unfair to expect Maggie to go, especially when her reasons for not wanting to attend the race centered solely around one egotistical, misogynistic race car driver.

  Maggie pushed her chair sideways so that it was more centered to her desk, and if she’d been wearing glasses, Indi was pretty certain she’d have peered over the top of them.

  “Indi, I know you hate racing—”

  “I’d rather go get a pap smear,” Indi muttered.

  “—but you need to think about Benjamin.”

  Indi held up her hand. “You don’t need to say it,” she said. “I’m going.”

  She just wished the trip came without Todd Peters. The man bothered her, and not just in an I’m-a-famous-race-car-driver-and-I-do-as-I-please way. No. There was more to it than that; she just didn’t know what yet.

  She looked out the window to the left of Maggie’s desk. They’d taken space in a single-level office complex, one whose rent the property owner donated as a write-off. Donated space meant that they were at the farthest end of the flat-faced building. The only view the space offered was out the front, and it was of a wall that was supposed to shield them from one of the Bay Area’s busiest freeways. However, Maggie was convi
nced the wall amplified sound rather than kept it away from them. Recently someone had spray painted graffiti all over it and, Indi had to admit, the colorful display was a definite improvement.

  “How is Benjamin, by the way?”

  The woosh-woosh-woosh of cars roaring by was nonstop, the sound worse on rainy days like today when tires sloshing through the rain added a whole new decibel level. “What’s that?”

  “Benjamin,” Maggie said, getting up and resting her back end against the front of her desk. She always smelled like cinnamon, and today was no different. Indi knew the smell came from her addiction to Hot Tamales. “How is he?”

  Indi had to look away. She focused on a raindrop that dashed down the window only to stop abruptly. Sometimes her life felt that way, especially on days like today when she couldn’t get Benjamin off her mind. She knew why, too. He reminded her of her nephew. Even their diseases were the same. They looked alike, too.

  “Sick. In pain. Tired of all the needles.”

  She looked back at Maggie just in time to see her friend’s gaze lose focus for a second. “Sometimes I wonder why we do this for a living.”

  Indi sighed. She knew why she did it. What she hadn’t told Todd was that she did this just as much for herself as the kids she helped. “And then you remember the look on their faces when a wish is finally granted,” Indi said. “And you know why you do it.”

  “For a day at least, they feel well.”

  “Like any normal kid,” Indi added.

  It was a conversation they’d had many times before, and it always ended the same way.

  “It’s the best job in the world, and the worst job in the world,” Maggie said, true to form.

  Indi nodded, recalling the glee in Benjamin’s eyes when she’d told him not only would he be flying to Virginia that next weekend—doctors permitting—but he’d be Todd Peters’s special guest for both days. His whole face had lit up like birthday candles, the exhaustion and misery that had filled it only seconds before momentarily banished.