Dangerous Curves. Pamela Britton
race fans out. Like me.”
It worked. He didn’t smile, but his expression lightened in the way the sky slightly brightened just before dawn. That was better.
What was better? she asked herself. Surely she didn’t care if Blain Sanders smiled?
Right?
Right?
“Yeah, fans like you,” he said, and for a brief second he smiled. Cece felt triumphant—but then the smile wafted away like so much smoke.
Triumphant?
“Look, I…” She gazed out over the grandstands, at the cars in their stalls, the race crews milling about, the security folks dragging some guy away…. “What the—”
Blain followed her gaze. Just then some man wearing a team uniform bent down to inspect his car.
“Oh, damn,” Cece said, furious with herself that she’d been so distracted by Blain that she hadn’t even noticed the commotion in the garage.
“Someone must have snuck in.”
“Yeah,” she said, turning to dash off. But why?
CHAPTER SIX
THEY RAN.
Cece kept ahead of him, though Blain managed to catch up to her from time to time. Their first stop was at the entrance to the infield tunnel, and it prompted Cece to reach for a badge Blain hadn’t even known she was carrying. The woman who guarded the entrance waved Cece through. Frankly, she hardly paid any attention to either of them, despite the fact that they’d run up to her, were wet and obviously in a hurry.
“Cece, wait,” Blain said as he moved to catch up.
But she didn’t slow down. By the time they made it through the fluorescent-lit tunnel, Blain was feeling out of breath and grudgingly impressed with Cece’s stamina.
“Which way?” she asked as they emerged into the rain again.
“This way,” Blain said, turning toward the two-story VIP suites blocking the view from the pit road. There was an opening near the end of the building, and Blain wiped the rain from his face as they entered the garage.
Cece stopped abruptly. Blain looked toward where the security personnel had been a few moments before. Gone. He inhaled deeply, his heart pounding to the point that he could see his shirt move in rhythm to the beat.
“Took him away,” Cece said, sounding far less out of breath than Blain.
They had. A lone security guard stood talking to Jeff Burks, crew chief of the number twenty-one car.
“We can go talk to Jeff,” Blain said, setting off again.
But Cece didn’t follow. He stopped, turned. Her hair had collected drops of rain like blades of grass, the team jacket she wore darker on the shoulders. Her chest barely rose and fell.
“You coming?” he asked.
“No.”
His puzzled eyes must have asked the question he didn’t.
“I shouldn’t reveal my presence here,” she answered.
He looked as confused as he felt because she said, “I know I ran down here like I was, but in hindsight, announcing the fact that I’m an FBI agent might not be such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because my boss doesn’t want people to know I’m here. And because this is still just an investigation. If I go around questioning people, it’ll raise flags.”
“So raise them.”
She reached out and touched Blain’s arm. He hadn’t put on a jacket, so it was bare and wet, and her palm was so warm it startled him.
“I was told to keep a low profile, Blain. Flashing my badge around is not low profile.”
He gazed at her in frustration.
“Look,” she said. “I sincerely doubt a bad guy would tinker with a race car in full view of race fans and television cameras.”
Blain turned back to where said bad guy had stood. Jeff laughed at something the security guard had just said and it made Blain irritated with the whole situation all over again. Man, this uncertainty drove him nuts.
“They took the guy into custody, Blain. I’ll get someone to call security and ask what all it was about, but not right now. I’d rather be more subtle.”
“Fine,” he said, glancing back at Jeff and the security guard. They were walking away, the crew apparently satisfied that all was well.
“I’ll call my office and fill them in on what just happened.”
He nodded.
She touched him again. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Blain. I just don’t want to answer the inevitable questions that’ll be raised if word gets out that an FBI agent is snooping around the racetrack.”
And as much as he wanted her to do the exact opposite of what she suggested, Blain found himself saying, “Fine.”
She released his arm. “It’s probably nothing.”
He wiped a hand over his face, rain dripping off the edge of his palm. It probably was.
Damn, but he wished he could believe that.
“Let me make some calls and we’ll find out for sure.”
AND SHE’D BEEN RIGHT. Turned out some overzealous race fan had wanted to stuff a good luck sock into the frame of the car.
A sock.
Ridiculous, but not unheard of, and as Blain returned to his hotel room later that night, he found himself grateful that Cece had kept her head, that she’d been the calmer of the two, and that she’d been subtle in her handling of the situation. She’d impressed him. And she’d also made him think that maybe, just maybe, the feds were right. This was all a wild-goose chase.
He hoped so, he thought as he knocked on her hotel room door.
“Hey,” she said in a tired voice after the door swung wide.
“Here’s the information you wanted.”
“Thanks.” She took the papers from him as she leaned against the door frame. She looked beat. Exhausted. As if she’d worked nonstop since coming back to the hotel.
She probably had.
“Did you find out anything more about that guy?”
She nodded. “Nothing more than a race fan, complete with car-tire coffee table at home.”
Blain’s shoulders loosened. Maybe it was time to let it go. Maybe he had been overreacting.
“You finished working?”
She shook her head. “Looks like it’ll be a long night. I want to get this wrapped up by tomorrow.”
So she could leave. Head back to San Francisco.
He wished she didn’t have to go.
“Have you had anything to eat?” he asked.
“No. And I don’t really feel like going out to grab a bite, either.”
“There are other ways to get a bite than going out,” he said, pushing on her door so he could enter.
“What are you doing?” she asked after stepping aside.
“You need nourishment,” he said, sparing the room hardly a glance as he went to her nightstand and picked up the phone. “You’re no good to the investigation if you drop dead from starvation.”
He didn’t even hear