Chapter 37
414 Words
Chapter 37
Theresa checked her e-mail from the computer in her RV parked at the Lynnwood racetrack.
No Dana.
Tommy and Jane had rolled out the car and were touching it up from last night’s race. The roar of her engine and other racing engines screamed right through the RV’s sheet metal as if it were going to cut it in two at any moment.
Hesitating in a way that wasn’t at all like her, Theresa logged into Chraze, but carefully didn’t enter any of the play areas.
No Dana.
The scent of high-octane fuel and motor oil, like a sweet wine, wafted through windows open against the heat.
The b***h had bagged out.
Going into the Chraze grid and kicking some more car driver butt sounded like a fine idea. But she didn’t want to meet up with Mr. Weird again. The man with no name tag who could switch off her synapses sent a cold shiver that she had trouble suppressing.
She’d spent a whole chunk of the afternoon, while she and her crew worked over the car, trying to convince herself that it hadn’t happened. That an asshole had slipped her a Mickey Finn in the bar last night which explained all the weird events of this morning.
She pushed away from the laptop and paced down the middle of the RV. There in the middle of the bed was her first winner’s trophy ever, a tall award with a heavy marble base and a massive steel winner’s chalice with wings for handles. Though she hadn’t remembered taking it to bed. The plaque had been engraved even as she ran the cool-down lap, so that it had borne her name by the end of the race. How slick was that.
No question. She was hot. Damn straight. Fastest woman alive. Or at least the fastest one last night.
After all, the land-speed record cars were so far out that you needed to be more aircraft pilot than driver. Not that she’d say no to trying a jet. Just wasn’t worth joining the military to get near one. If she thought the heat on the stock circuit was bad, she’d heard the fighter jocks were a whole other level of macho psychosis.
No, stick with the demon you know. That was her motto. Besides, she still had serious butt to kick on the tracks of America.
She tried Dana on the cell, but just got the answering machine with Talin’s musical nonsense assuring her that she’d reached the right number but at the wrong time.
Where had that girl gotten to?
- Writer
