Total Control

by Pamela Britton

  “Is that was this is all about?” she asked. “You tracked me down all the way out here just so I could apologize?”

  No, he instantly realized. That wasn’t it at all. He’d sought her out because he’d wanted to see her before he climbed into his race car. Because for some reason, it was important to him that she not think him a complete jerk while he drove around the track, although the scowl on her face indicated he’d missed the mark by about a mile.

  “Actually, I tracked you down because I wanted to do this,” he said, cupping the back of her head so she couldn’t move away while he pressed his lips against her.

  She stiffened.

  Todd didn’t care, because once their lips connected he admitted to himself that he liked Indi, and not in a way that felt like anything he’d experienced before. He actually felt something ache inside of him when she stiffened in outrage. He pulled away before she could haul off and hit him. He’d kiss her again after she calmed down.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Indi Wilcox,” he said, looking deep into her outraged eyes. “I needed you to know that before I climbed into my car.”

  Her eyes softened, and just for a moment he thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Whatever it was gave him courage.

  “And I was just teasing about the whole apology thing. You don’t owe me anything. In fact, I owe you. Let me buy you dinner.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He’d known she say that, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. “Maybe you’ll feel differently after I win the race.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “I’ll see you after.”

  “Yeah. After.” But there was a big old unspoken “maybe” after that.

  Little did she know—there was nothing “maybe” about it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “SO, DID HE FIND YOU?” Linda asked when Indi walked up to the hauler where she and Benjamin were camped out until the start of the race. Night had yet to officially “fall” but overhead a myriad of bulbs shone down on them. The lights were everywhere, shining over the infield and around the perimeter of the track. Even so, there were certain parts of the garage that looked as dark as haunted houses.

  “Yeah. And thanks a lot for telling him where I was.”

  Linda and Benjamin exchanged glances and Indi resisted the urge to groan. It was obvious they were trying to play matchmaker.

  Pul-leez, Indi thought, resisting the urge to wipe at the spot where Todd’s lips had rested against her cheek. It still buzzed where he’d touched her.

  “Indi Wilcox?” a voice asked.

  Indi turned, surprised to find a female crew member standing behind her. From what she’d seen so far, the man-to-woman ratio was pretty lopsided.

  “Hi,” the woman said, her eyes friendly behind a pair of glasses. “I’m Kristen McKenna.”

  “Hi,” Indi said back, wondering what the woman could want. She glanced at Benjamin, thinking it must be about him.

  Sure enough, the woman said, “And you must be Benjamin.”

  “You’re the team engineer,” Benjamin said.

  Leave it to Benjamin to recognize one of Todd’s crew members.

  “Actually, Dr. Ralph Helfrick is the head engineer. I just work for him.”

  “But you’re engaged to Mathew Knight,” Benjamin added. “The team owner.”

  “Well, yeah,” Kristen said. “Jen’s going to be busy dealing with the media during the race so she asked me to keep you guys company. Benjamin, Todd insisted you be up on the pit box tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” Benjamin all but shouted. “Right on.”

  When she caught Linda’s eye, they exchanged smiles. Seeing Benjamin so happy, watching the color fill his cheeks and his little body straighten up with renewed energy brought a lump to her throat.

  “Okay, then,” Kristen said. “You guys can follow me. The crew’s lining up for the National Anthem, but they’re going to help you up on top of the box while the pace car’s out on the track. Come on.”

  That was the start of a night that Indi would never forget. She’d never been much of a NASCAR fan—all she’d ever done when she’d been a broadcaster was read the stats—but hearing the crowd cheer after the National Anthem, and then having to plug her ears a split second later when jets flew overhead, and then just about jumping out of her skin when forty-three cars started their engines…well, she’d have to have been born without blood not to feel the electricity in the air.

  “Isn’t this neat?” Linda asked.

  The two of them were sitting on a short stack of tires, Linda peering up at her son from time to time. A pit box, she’d learned, was actually a mobile toolbox complete with giant wheels and inlaid television screens. She could watch the race on TV if she stood in the right spot.

  “He’s having the time of his life,” Indi said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  And they had Todd to thank for it. And so, while a part of her still fumed over his audacious behavior earlier, a part of her felt flushed with gratitude for his kindness toward her little charge. If he’d been trying to make amends, he’d succeeded in spades.

  That feeling only increased throughout the night. Benjamin got to wear a team shirt, which he pulled on so fast he darn near knocked his headset off. He cheered when Todd came in for a pit stop, which Todd did frequently because the night was fraught with caution flags. And through it all Indi learned the ins and outs of stock car racing. Even more so when Kristen offered her a headset, too, which enabled Indi to listen to Todd’s conversations with his crew.

  “How many spots did I lose, Dan?” she heard Todd ask after one particularly long pit stop.

  “You lost four,” Todd’s crew chief replied. The man sat atop the pit box with Benjamin, Kristen and a man Indi learned was the team owner. Mathew Knight was recognizable from magazine covers and the bestselling book he’d written last year. She hadn’t officially met the man, but he’d given her a warm smile before climbing up to sit next to Dan.

  “Don’t worry,” Dan said. “You got four tires out of the deal. The other guys took two.”

  In one of the seats atop the toolbox, she saw Kristen squeeze the side of her headset. “You’re sitting in tenth, Todd. That’s good enough to get you into the Chase.”

  “Roger that,” Todd said. He sounded different over the radio. More tense. Less boyish. She supposed that was to be expected given the gravity of the situation.

  She’d been told by Kristen that tonight was an important race. And so even though Indi didn’t know much about racing, she still wanted him to do well—for the whole team’s sake. She knew enough about the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series to know that making the Chase for the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup was a big deal.

  “Just keep out of trouble,” Mathew said. “We don’t need a win tonight. Just a clean race.”

  “Yes, we do,” Todd said. “I want Benjamin to stand in Victory Lane.”

  “Ten-four,” she heard Mathew say. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  She saw Benjamin grin, and in the muted light of the racetrack he looked like any normal boy. He even wiggled in his seat from time to time, his legs dangling off the edge of the chair. He waved at a television crew who came into the pit stall to film Dan up on the box. On the LCD screen, she saw Benjamin’s smiling face just before the network cut to a commercial.

  Dan looked at Benjamin and the little boy smiled like a kid at Disneyland, and the grin reminded her so much of her nephew Kyle’s, she had to look away.

  “Hey, Todd,” she heard Dan say. “We’ve got ourselves a television star. The network just showed a shot of Benjamin waving to the fans back home.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Todd asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Well, it won’t be the last time he’s on TV tonight. They’ll get another good shot of him when we’re in Victory Lane.”

  For some reason, those words set Indi’s
heart pounding. Todd sounded so determined. She believed him.

  She watched the television screen intently. Everyone around her appeared equally tense. Even Linda nibbled her bottom lip, her attention never leaving the screen.

  On the track, cars picked up speed again. The thing that surprised Indi most about Richmond was that she could see into the faces of the fans across the track from them—they were that close. Thus their cheers sounded like the roar of rushing water. Before she’d been given a headset, she’d had to plug her ears every time the green flag had dropped.

  “Clear outside,” someone said. Indi wasn’t sure who the guy on the radio was, or where he stood, but she knew his job was to keep Todd from colliding with other drivers. This appeared especially true on the restarts when the cars were lined up two by two, lapped cars on the inside, front runners on the outside. Someone had told her this was a dangerous time. Drivers who were lapped often played dirty pool. Their number-one goal was to get their lap back, and they didn’t care how they did it.

  “Take it easy on those tires,” Dan said. On TV, Indi watched the front of the pack begin to stretch apart like taffy. She couldn’t see Todd. He was too far back for cameras to follow, but she could see him when he passed by, which he did a few seconds later, the rush of cars causing her ears to ring even with the headset on.

  “Do you think he’ll win?” Linda asked after Indi pulled her earpiece away from her ear so she could hear.

  “I think he’s got a shot,” Indi said because over the years she’d learned a little bit about the sport. By sitting in tenth, and on a fresh set of tires, Todd was poised to overtake more than a few cars. Would it be enough to win? That remained to be seen.

  “How many more laps?” Linda asked.

  Indi turned toward the leaderboard. It was behind pit road but it was tall enough and brightly lit so that she could clearly see the numbers. Next to number ten was Todd’s number.

  “We have about eighty to go.”

  “Is that a lot?” Linda asked.

  “It’s enough that nothing’s for certain yet.”

  A few laps later Todd passed the car in front of him. Then the front-runners started fading back and before Indi knew it, he was in third place and Indi’s heart pounded like shoes in a washing machine.

  “Twenty-two-twelve,” Dan said. “That’s a good lap, Todd. A real good lap.”

  “What are the leaders running?”

  “One-eighties. You’re the fastest car on the track.”

  Todd didn’t say anything. Indi scooted closer to the television screen, as did Todd’s crew. Nobody looked away, not even when Todd zoomed by in front of them.

  And then something happened.

  The first and second place cars touched. She saw the whole thing on television. One car’s rear end shot out. It touched the door of the second car. Both cars began to turn.

  Boom!

  She heard the sound of the collision over the roar of the crowd. Both cars bounced off the wall, the two sliding down low as if connected by tethers.

  They were directly in Todd’s path.

  TODD SAW SMOKE.

  “Caution, caution, caution!” rang through his ears, the words a split second too late. Oil splattered his windshield. Through the murk he saw the image of a car. It hung in front of him like it might dissolve like the specter it resembled. It didn’t.

  Todd jerked his wheel right.

  He hit oil. Or water. Whatever. He lost it. His car spun as he burst through the debris cloud. He faced the grandstands. Trackside lights blinded him. Then…nothing. He faced the infield, and the eighty-nine car. It sat in front of him, stalled. His car slid down two degrees of banking, heading right for it.

  “Low, low,” rang out in his ears.

  “I know,” Todd muttered, bracing himself for impact.

  But they never hit.

  Another patch of oil shot him to the right. It also started him spinning again. He faced the grandstands once more. The fluorescents turned his windshield white. He faced backward next, then forward, backward again. His tires squealed in protest.

  When he had a clear shot, he gunned it.

  The motor responded with a crack of exhaust. His back end pitched left and right. Todd corrected. His body shot back. One, two, three thousand RPMs. He glanced at his gauges. All looked good. Had debris punctured a tire? Or worse? A radiator?

  He’d know in a few seconds.

  “You okay?” Dan asked.

  “Fine.”

  Someone streaked by him on the outside. Then another and another car. But Todd drew even with the fourth-place car, fading back to take fifth.

  No lost lap.

  “Good job there, driver,” Dan said.

  “Thanks,” Todd said. The hand he used to push open the mic shook.

  “How’s it feel?”

  He keyed the button on the steering wheel again. “Like someone’s jackhammering the tires. Definitely a flat spot on all four. But the gauges look good and I’ve still got brake.”

  “Keep an eye on things,” Dan said. “They’ll open pit road in a sec.”

  He would, but he didn’t need to tell Dan that. Throughout the caution lap Todd kept an eye on things. There was no increase in temperature. No loud boom of a blown engine. And when he jerked the wheel left and right, the steering felt okay. No broken sway bars or tweaked shocks.

  “Okay, they’re opening pit road next time around.”

  “Roger that,” Todd said, taking note of where he was. Turn Three loomed ahead of him. Four more to go.

  When he pulled in for his pit stop less than a minute later, Todd caught a glimpse of Benjamin’s anxious face.

  Relax, kid. I’ve got it handled.

  The right side of the car tipped up. Then the left.

  “Go, go, go,” Dan yelled a few seconds later.

  Todd braced himself for other drivers to pull out ahead of him.

  Only three did.

  “Way to go,” Todd yelled. “That was a hell of a pit stop, guys.”

  “Why thank you very much,” Dan said, amusement plainly evident in his voice.

  Todd smiled. A year ago he and his crew chief had exchanged harsh words. Todd had been blown away to discover most of his crew hated him. Something that wasn’t surprising given how he’d treated them. Actually, he’d treated everyone that way—his teammates, the media, other drivers…especially other drivers. He’d always been front-page news—and not in a good way. That had changed and Todd reaped the rewards of his crew’s newfound loyalty by getting pit stops like the last one.

  “Everything still look good?” Mathew asked tensely.

  “It’s fine, boss. We’re okay. Tell Benjamin to practice his Victory Lane smile.”

  “He’s already smiling,” Kristen said.

  “Well, that smile’s about to get a whole lot bigger.”

  He set his sights on the car in front of him. Adam Drake was known for racing clean and so if Todd could get the jump on him, he felt certain Adam would let him go.

  They rounded Turn Four. Ahead of him, up on the flag stand, Todd could see the starter lift his hand.

  The green flag dropped.

  “Go, go, go, go,” echoed in Todd’s ears. He sensed, rather than heard, the crowd cheer. The thirty-five cars left in the race surged toward the start/finish line.

  “Take it easy on fuel,” Dan warned before Todd had made it through Turn One, Adam’s car dropping low so Todd couldn’t pass. “Kristen tells me we’ve got enough to make it to the end, but I’d like to make sure.”

  “Roger that.” But Todd would take it easy only after he took the lead.

  A few laps later, the front-runners’ cars drifted high and to the left. Lapped traffic blocked the bottom, but there was just enough room….

  Todd pointed his front bumper between the two sets of cars.

  “Outside, inside,” his spotter said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Todd muttered, his hands clenching the wheel. His car wanted to
slide up the track, a sure sign that he had a push. But Todd couldn’t afford that, so he fought the wheel with everything he had, his arm muscles burning at the strain. If he could avoid hitting the brake just a moment or two longer…

  Adam faded back.

  Yes!

  The field shot out of Turn Two. Well, at least the leaders did. The lapped cars faded back.

  “Clear low.”

  “I’ll just take that low spot, thank you very much,” he muttered, his sights set on the second-place car. It was a black car or maybe dark blue. Hard to tell beneath the fluorescent lights. Frankly Todd didn’t care. Whoever he was, he was going down.

  Todd’s jaw clenched. He threw his car into Turn Three. The driver in front of him didn’t. Todd almost ran into the back of him before jerking the wheel to the left.

  Not enough room!

  He backed off the gas. Bits of rubber that signaled his proximity to the wall hit his undercarriage, ping-ping-pinging the heck out of it. He slid toward the wall. The pinging went away—never a good sign. Todd braced himself. His car shuddered. Contact. Uh-oh. He tried to duck left. He didn’t expect his car to respond, only it did. His car worked next to the wall. It worked good.

  He shot past the second-place car as if it stood still.

  “Clear low.”

  “Good job, Todd,” Dan said.

  “Think I left some paint back there.”

  “Yeah. Thought for a moment you might leave more than that.”

  Todd almost laughed. That’d been awesome. He caught sight of the next car. Bright orange. White star in the middle of the bumper.

  Lance Cooper.

  “Tell Lance he’s going down.”

  There was no response. Then Dan said, “Don’t know that Blain Sanders will appreciate hearing that.”

  No, Lance’s team owner probably wouldn’t. But that was okay, because Todd intended to show the man exactly how good a car he had. He intended to show everybody that he didn’t need to drive dirty to win a race.

  Lance checked up before the next corner, which closed the distance between the two of them quickly. It was easier to pass on this kind of track than, say, Talladega in a few weeks. If he could just keep that high line a few times, he’d have him in maybe five laps.