exited the corner, she eased out from out of the wall of spray and pulled alongside. The two cars screamed down the straight, firing water up behind them, like the tails of two magnificent birds.
Come on! Come on!
Callie willed her car to go that tiny bit faster. But it was no use — they were neck and neck. Inseparable. There were mere inches between the spraying tires, the wet bodywork almost begging to come into contact, yet determined to stay apart.
The next corner was rapidly approaching — a fast left-hander with only one clean line through it. There was no room for two. One of them would have to back out, and it wouldn’t be her. She’d had enough of his bullshit — it was time to get down and dirty with him and show him who was boss.
As they got closer and closer, he flashed her look and she flashed him one back. This was a game of chicken if ever there was one. One of them had to yield or it would all end in disaster.
Give it up, you madman!
This turn was like a bravery detector — flat out and hold on for dear life. There were no half measures here — you had to go in hard and fast, completely committed.
The corner arrived.
Neither of them lifted.
Contact.
Suddenly the road was no longer ahead of her.
Water... paintwork... flailing tires... tarmac... flying gravel... sky... ground... sky... ground... sky... ground...
And then nothing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darkness.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Drake tried to open his eyes. Were they stuck shut, or were his commands not getting through? Finally, light seeped in through the gaps, cold and hard.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
He blinked, and blinked again. His eyelids clearing the mucous, the world becoming progressively less blurred, a blink at a time. He was lying down, semi-propped up, in some kind of scratchy cotton.
His eyes cleared some more. Hospital. He was in a hospital. Why? He felt pain breathing in — was that related? Then his memory started to warm up. What was he doing last? He got a memory of being on a plane. Was it a plane crash? No, he remembered landing — must be after that. He searched around in his memory, for something more recent. Putting on his overalls in an RV, rain drumming on the roof. Okay, a wet race. Did he drive in the race? Yes, that was it. He remembered the mist, the looking sideways. That was it — he was racing. Did he win? He searched for a memory of the podium and found nothing.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Wait — he collided with someone. He got an image of trying to pass someone, a memory bound together with the emotion of utter determination.
Whose was the other car, though? He played it back again in his mind, fishing for the clues amid his brain’s piecemeal offerings. It was a blue car. What were the blue cars? Oh yeah — his own team. Shit. That wasn’t good. Then the rest of it came back in a flurry — a woman with her helmet off in a pit garage, shaking her hair out. Oh yeah. Her. The beautiful enemy.
But if he was in the hospital, what had happened to her?
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
He sat up quickly. Too quickly — a stab in the chest area arrested him. He felt his chest with his hand — heavy bruising, or maybe broken. He was having to take shallow breaths in order to breathe at all.
He tried again, slower this time. Grimacing and holding his breath, he eased up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He was in a pristine room with a single bed. With another surge of pain, he pushed himself to a standing position, the floor cold and hard to his bare feet.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Sensing he was still tethered, he pulled the heart rate clip off his finger and gingerly began walking, his head banging. It felt like he was drunk. He emerged into a corridor of sorts, where he could hear activity but see none. He continued walking on, and took a gamble on the next door.
It was a linen cupboard. She
Come on! Come on!
Callie willed her car to go that tiny bit faster. But it was no use — they were neck and neck. Inseparable. There were mere inches between the spraying tires, the wet bodywork almost begging to come into contact, yet determined to stay apart.
The next corner was rapidly approaching — a fast left-hander with only one clean line through it. There was no room for two. One of them would have to back out, and it wouldn’t be her. She’d had enough of his bullshit — it was time to get down and dirty with him and show him who was boss.
As they got closer and closer, he flashed her look and she flashed him one back. This was a game of chicken if ever there was one. One of them had to yield or it would all end in disaster.
Give it up, you madman!
This turn was like a bravery detector — flat out and hold on for dear life. There were no half measures here — you had to go in hard and fast, completely committed.
The corner arrived.
Neither of them lifted.
Contact.
Suddenly the road was no longer ahead of her.
Water... paintwork... flailing tires... tarmac... flying gravel... sky... ground... sky... ground... sky... ground...
And then nothing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darkness.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Drake tried to open his eyes. Were they stuck shut, or were his commands not getting through? Finally, light seeped in through the gaps, cold and hard.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
He blinked, and blinked again. His eyelids clearing the mucous, the world becoming progressively less blurred, a blink at a time. He was lying down, semi-propped up, in some kind of scratchy cotton.
His eyes cleared some more. Hospital. He was in a hospital. Why? He felt pain breathing in — was that related? Then his memory started to warm up. What was he doing last? He got a memory of being on a plane. Was it a plane crash? No, he remembered landing — must be after that. He searched around in his memory, for something more recent. Putting on his overalls in an RV, rain drumming on the roof. Okay, a wet race. Did he drive in the race? Yes, that was it. He remembered the mist, the looking sideways. That was it — he was racing. Did he win? He searched for a memory of the podium and found nothing.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Wait — he collided with someone. He got an image of trying to pass someone, a memory bound together with the emotion of utter determination.
Whose was the other car, though? He played it back again in his mind, fishing for the clues amid his brain’s piecemeal offerings. It was a blue car. What were the blue cars? Oh yeah — his own team. Shit. That wasn’t good. Then the rest of it came back in a flurry — a woman with her helmet off in a pit garage, shaking her hair out. Oh yeah. Her. The beautiful enemy.
But if he was in the hospital, what had happened to her?
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
He sat up quickly. Too quickly — a stab in the chest area arrested him. He felt his chest with his hand — heavy bruising, or maybe broken. He was having to take shallow breaths in order to breathe at all.
He tried again, slower this time. Grimacing and holding his breath, he eased up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He was in a pristine room with a single bed. With another surge of pain, he pushed himself to a standing position, the floor cold and hard to his bare feet.
...beep... beep... beep... beep...
Sensing he was still tethered, he pulled the heart rate clip off his finger and gingerly began walking, his head banging. It felt like he was drunk. He emerged into a corridor of sorts, where he could hear activity but see none. He continued walking on, and took a gamble on the next door.
It was a linen cupboard. She
Similar Books
