Chapter 14

 

Harry chuckled to himself. In the years since Gina, he’d accumulated some stirring memories. Except for his last victim—Susan, the one he’d give anything to forget.

A movement to one side caught his eye, and he turned. His captive froze, half out of her chair.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was a growl. She had dragged him away from the best times of his life.

“Just to the washroom.” The guilty look on her face suggested otherwise.

“Well, be quick. And don’t get any ideas. My reflexes are still fast enough to catch you.”

He watched the race with half an eye while she was gone. Hauser had what it took to win, but given the chance, Harry could beat him—he’d have to. Or be defeated by a Christian.

The bathroom lock clicked. Harry turned to see the door swing silently open. His lip curled.

“Forget about a sneak escape.” He patted the seat beside him. “Come over here and sit with me. You are here as my date.”

He watched her quell a shiver. She sat at the far end of the couch. Harry caught her hand and pulled her nearer. “You stay within reach. I can’t have you deciding to go for a walk in the rain. Or do you want me to tie you up again?”

“This will do.” Her voice held no emotion.

Keeping a light pressure on her trembling hand, Harry returned his attention to the race. Hauser in the number three car was still in the lead, fighting to hang on. McClelland had notched up the pressure. One slip from the younger driver was all it would take.

The two rivals held their cars at the edge of safety, straining for extra speed. The announcer’s voice rose to the edge of hysteria as he described the battle.

Harry washed the last bite of sandwich down with a long swallow of beer. He should have grabbed some chocolate from the store while he was at it. A flicker of regret made him grimace. He was a rapist and a murderer, for crying out loud. Why’d his conscience kick in over a petty theft?

He shot a glare at the woman beside him. Of all the blind luck, to grab not just the wrong one, but one who’d known Susan? He squeezed her hand until she winced. Squeezed more. She glanced at him and looked away before he could lock her gaze.

Her jaw set, as if to keep from crying out. He tightened his fist around her fingers. Water glinted at the corner of her eye, and her lips pressed together until they went white around the edges. She pulled a shuddering breath through her nose.

Much more pressure and he’d crack some bones. He turned it up, and a gasp burst from her lips. Her tear-filled eyes met his, the whites grey with pain. She whimpered, and he gave her a slow smile. “See, you need to learn to play the game. Give me what I want, and it’ll be easier. You might even like it—at least at first.”

He opened his fist so her hand fell against the sofa seat, but pressed down hard before she could pull it away. This woman wouldn’t have it quick like the others. He had plenty of time to terrorize her before he let himself loose. How dare she forgive him for Susan? How dare she stir the memories of his downfall? She might not attract him, but oh, she’d pay.

Susan. She’d ruined him. When testing started for the new season, she followed him south in his dreams. The echo of her words caught him off guard, sometimes even when he was awake. He knew it was all in his mind, but the memories haunted him as effectively as any spectre.

He couldn’t sleep, had to force himself to choke down regular meals. By the end of the second month, he was as edgy as a smoker in nicotine withdrawal. His track performance retained his place on the team, despite increasing flare-ups with both management and the pit crew.

Most people stopped asking what was wrong, tired of being snapped at or ignored. Eddie finally wormed an evasive answer from him about a girl he couldn’t forget.

“Must be some girl.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie punched him lightly in the arm. “Find another one. There’s plenty around who would jump at the chance. You know what your problem is, buddy? You’ve been way too isolated lately. Videos can’t take the place of real life.”

Harry turned away. “It won’t help.”

Nothing could banish the memories. They shot through his nights and days, growing in intensity and frequency. He began to wonder if there were such things as ghosts after all. If her spirit couldn’t rest after what he’d done to her, perhaps he was living her vengeance.

April came, and he awoke on the morning of the season’s first race shaking and drenched with sweat, the horror of his nightmare clinging to him. It took all of his willpower to force his eyes open. What if she were there in the room?

Swearing bitterly at himself, he fled to the bathroom. A long, hot shower slowed his drumming heart. The mirror accented his pale face, eyes dark-rimmed from weeks of torment.

He couldn’t face the thought of breakfast, so he forced his shaking body into sweat pants and a tee shirt. He had to make it to the track. Once he got into the car, he’d be fine.

The pit crew eyed him warily when he arrived but kept their distance. As he finished putting on his racing gear, one of the men detached from the group and strolled too casually toward him.

“Harry? You okay?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

The other man was undeterred by the ice in his tone. “You don’t look so hot. Want me to call the doc?”

“Get off my case.” Harry spun away and strode through the garage. The sudden motion wrenched the pain in his head. He heard grumbling behind him as the mechanics followed.

Andersen, the team owner, approached before he could pull out. Harry knew from his frown that the pit crew had been talking. His boss leaned into the car, inches from Harry’s signature silver helmet. A firm hand lifted the visor, and cool grey eyes locked onto his.

“You okay?”

Harry leaned back, but there was nowhere to go inside the cockpit. “I’m fine,” he growled between clenched teeth.

The grey eyes hardened. “Then what’s up?”

“Look, I may have a touch of flu or something, but it won’t slow me down. I’ll rest after the race.”

Andersen folded his arms across his chest. “If you say so. But if you feel worse on the track, pull into the pits. There’s always next time to win.”

Harry glared at him. “I know what I’m doing.”

Angry red stains suffused the team owner’s cheeks. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “Something’s been going on the last few months. You’re not yourself.” His lips thinned. “You’ve been pushing awfully hard. Maybe we can work a short break after today.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “That’s not necessary. Guess I was too hard on the crew this morning. Must be this bug.”

Sweat prickled his scalp as he pulled out of the garage. Take time off? He had to stay, and not just for the championship points. She couldn’t reach him while he was driving.

At the signal, he rolled his car forward with the others, tightening into formation and gradually increasing speed as they followed the pace car through the warm-up lap. He had pole position again. His thoughts focused on the first corner. If he lost ground there it could be a long, hard race.

The flashback hit him without warning. Susan’s voice echoed in his mind. Her pleading face hovered between him and the taillights of the pace car. He gasped. Not here. Not now.

The pace car peeled off. Harry crossed the starting line. The green flag waved. Harry jammed his foot to the floor. His vision cleared, and he set a blistering pace, as if all the demons in hell were after him. Jagged panic caught his throat. Perhaps they were.

Speed. His only hope of escape. No one in front of him. Desperation kept the accelerator to the floor as he entered the first curve.

A lesser driver wouldn’t have made it half way around the turn. Harry held the car on the racing line past the apex but lost it before the track straightened. He arrowed into the wall. The right front tire took most of the impact, but the car body still hit with a bone-jarring slam.

Track marshals swarmed the car, foaming it with extinguishers and readying to pull him out. He tried not to think about the full fuel tank. Death on the track was part of the risk, but give him fast death. Not incineration.

He moved his toes. No pain, maybe no injury. At least nothing worth roasting for. His brake drums wouldn’t be up to full heat yet, but how hot did they have to be to ignite a fuel leak? He nodded to the men who gripped his arms. “I think I’m just pinned. Let’s go.”

Feet braced against the twisted race car, they hauled. Harry felt the leg of his fire-retardant jumpsuit rip. Then he was free. The marshals helped him stand. He surveyed the wreckage and let out a slow whistle.

The other cars roared past on their next lap, warned away from his wreck by the waved yellow caution flags. His legs wobbled, and he was glad to lean on the marshals as he crossed to the waiting ambulance.

Harry dragged out his visit with the track physician. He could evade the reporters, but there’d be no dodging Andersen. As if on cue, the team boss barged into the examining room, white-lipped and radiating fury.

Dr. Rodriguez’ professional smile didn’t slip. “He’s a lucky man. Smart enough to let go of the steering wheel before impact, so no broken wrists. The left one’s sprained, his right leg has some bruising, and he’s complaining of a headache. There may be a mild concussion, so I want him to take it easy for a bit.”

Andersen waved away the words and advanced on Harry. “I’ll have that car triple-checked, but I’ve seen the preliminaries. That was no equipment failure, mister. That was driver error. Over half a million dollars into the wall for nothing. Lee’s in for you next race. Or longer.”

Sitting on the edge of the examining table in his underwear, Harry didn’t have much clout in the negotiations. His stomach roiled at the implications of Andersen’s words. “My contract has two years left. This was an accident. Everybody has them from time to time.”

Andersen’s grey eyes were hard as slate. “You’ll be back in the cockpit when you’re fit to drive. You could have killed someone. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

He thanked the doctor and turned to leave. At the door, he looked back. “Doc says rest, Silver, and you’ll rest. At home. Your local GP can supervise your recovery.”

Harry jumped to his feet. His sore leg buckled, and he grabbed the examining table. “Don’t do this to me, Andersen. Give me a chance.”

“Home. Canada.” The door swung shut behind him.

Harry slumped against the table. And so it ends. His career down the tubes. He glanced at the doctor, who was ostensibly busy filling out paperwork. What was he thinking?

They’d all be wondering—Andersen, the press, his fans and sponsors. But they didn’t know why it happened. Harry straightened. So long as nobody knew, he had a chance.

He’d fight this—he had to. Maybe get some sleeping pills so he wouldn’t dream. If he could sleep at night, his brain wouldn’t be tired enough to let the nightmares into his day.

As smoothly as his aches allowed, he dressed. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be back, and in better form than ever.”

He caught a flight home the next morning after another fragmented night. A new idea formed as his plane touched down at Pearson International in Toronto.

If he could find another girl, the pleasure might exorcise his torment. Before, he’d tried to avoid potential victims. Any girl could be his last. This time, he would go looking.

It took two days to find a blonde to start his passions burning. Her panic-fired eyes warmed him as he dumped her, bound and gagged, into the trunk of his car. She’d set him free. She had to.

That’s when they took him. Four of them—guns shining in the glow from their flashlights. Before reality set in he was manacled to the largest officer in the back of a squad car. It was over. Someone had given the police a tip. He’d wondered since if it was Eddie.