Full Throttle (11 page)

“Don't they always?”

Kane flipped channels. The baseball playoffs were boring, so he focused on the college football polls. Florida was doing well, so James would be happy. Maybe they could invite a few of the alumni players up for a race if they made the top ten. Well, definitely they could if they didn't make it, since life as they all knew it would come to a sudden, grinding halt. Given this week's warning by Bob Hollister, some of them—especially Kane—might be out of a job.

“I think he's up to something,” James said, though he was slumped in the recliner and didn't look like he was planning to pursue the topic too strongly.

“Maybe, but what?”

“Publicity for him when you make the top ten?”

“What does he need my publicity for? Half the people he knows don't even consider what I do a sport.”

“True.”

He wanted to find something to be aggravated about with his dad's visit, but either nothing was there or he was too tired and too full to care. “The hell with it.”

“You always have me,” James said.

Kane glanced over at him. With both his professional and personal lives converging and chaotic, friends like James were so important. “Thanks, buddy.”

“At least until a really big-busted blonde comes along.”

 

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Lexie paused before she knocked on the door of Kane's motor coach. The newspaper she clutched in her hands was damp with sweat. The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. Happy Hour practice was still a couple of hours away, and Kane wasn't his best in the morning, but she knew he'd want to see the article.

Well, he wouldn't
want
to see it, but he had to. And it was up to her to be the bearer of lousy news.

She had diagnostics to run, parts to go over, operations to review, a team to lead and last-minute orders from her father to follow. But this morning she was Messenger Girl.

Ah, the luxurious life of a NASCAR car chief.

She opened the paper and glanced down at the front page of the sports section of the
Richmond Times-Dispatch
.

Lexie cringed again. She'd never been much of an Anton Jackson fan, but the article was just plain mean. She had no idea who the “source close to the team” was, but from long experience she recognized it could be anybody from a member of another team who happened to walk by their garage to Bob Hollister himself.

Bottom line?

They didn't need this. Not now.

But they would have to deal with it. Now.

The media—both print and visual—was just yards away. There was no way the journalists could pass up the chance to question Kane about the hot-button father issue. Their distance had been a whispered thing in the garage for years, and most people had dismissed it as gossip, but now it was out there. Part truth, part sensationalism.

And
out there
.

Before she could knock, the door cracked, and James's head appeared around the corner. “Did you want to come in, or just hang out there?”

She was so glad to see James, she nearly cried. Though he stayed in a hotel on race weekends, he sometimes crashed on Kane's sofa if they had stayed up late the night before playing video games.

“Is Kane up?”

“That's rhetorical, right?”

That meant no. Just as well. She could use a cup of coffee to fortify her. And maybe a shot of whiskey. And maybe some cucumbers over her eyes and soft music playing in the background—hey, she'd learned a lot during that makeover Cheryl had forced her into.

Once she'd settled at the bar with a mug of James's famous French-roast coffee, he nodded at the white elephant in the room—the newspaper she'd laid beside her. “Anything interesting this morning?”

“Yep.”

“Good?”

“Nope.”

“Bad?”

“Yep.”

“Gee golly, Betty-Sue, did the Russians drop the bomb?”

“Somebody did.”

“You know you're making me crazy.”

Lexie blew on the surface of her coffee, then sipped. “Yep.”

“Give me the damn thing.”

She handed it over without comment and continued to sip as he read. The warmth that spread through her body wasn't just because of the coffee. She now had an ally for facing Kane. It would still be bad, but she wouldn't be alone, and with James's help, maybe they could come up with a response before the rest of the NASCAR world even rolled out of bed.

“Hell,” James said, setting down his mug.

“Yep.”

“Who's the ‘source close to the team'?”

“Got me. Have you given any quotes to Terry A. Lufton lately?”

“Humor? You think you're funny this early in the morning?”

“It's gotta be better than crying or screaming.”

James dropped the newspaper on the bar. “This isn't good.”

“Nope.”

“He was here.”

She looked over at him. “I hope he's still here. We have practice.”

“Not Kane. I meant Mr. Football. He was here last night.”

“Kane's father was here?”

James took a deep gulp of coffee. “He showed up at the hospitality tent last night. He and Kane signed autographs for a while, then he came back here with us and had dinner. We wondered what was up.” He paused and met her gaze. His eyes were no longer bright and teasing. “I guess we know what it was about now.”

“I guess so.”

Lexie hadn't come close to anticipating this turn of events. The article was accurate in saying that Kane's father probably couldn't find his way to the garage. He hardly
ever
came to races. But she considered the details of their relationship private. Plus, Kane had enough to worry about without adding family drama.

Still, she wondered about Kane's dad. Had he been tipped off to the release of the article? And, if so, was he
that
concerned about PR? Did it really take negative publicity to bring him to his son's side when he needed him?

She didn't want to answer any of the questions zooming around her head. Neither, she assumed, did James. “Is there any liquor in this joint?”

“It's seven-thirty in the morning.”

“You got a better idea?”

“No.”

Still, they didn't go on a search for booze. They groused into their coffee and played poker to determine who had to break the news. By the time Kane shuffled into the room, their tension had reached ridiculous proportions.

Kane walked by them, poured himself a cup of coffee, then watched them over the rim of the mug. “What's up?”

Rendered embarrassingly speechless by the sight of Kane strolling by, exposing his abs and shoulders by wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants barely hanging on to his hips, Lexie simply stared at him.

With a long-suffering sigh, James laid the newspaper on the bar. “Something you need to read, buddy.”

Men! He couldn't just spring it on him like that. She reached for the paper, but Kane had gotten there first. Her hand wound up covering his. He stilled and glanced at her.

“Problem?” he asked, his blue eyes sharp and focused despite the early hour.

Heat radiated up her arm. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised to see smoke emanate from her fingertips. Why did he always manage to affect her this way?

Just like the other night at the club, when she'd been so determined to cast him as the fun-spoiler bad guy, he'd bowed like freakin' Rhett Butler and left the party he'd been so determined to disrupt. His passion and focus on the track at Bristol had been amazing, exactly what she'd been pushing for all season. His passion and focus with her had her thoughts scattering and her practical side desperately searching for a reason to find fault with him, so she could protect her heart.

If only his body wasn't such a distraction…

She jerked her attention back to her poker hand. “I, uh, does a flush beat a straight or the other way around?”

James tossed his cards on the bar. “Oh, please, woman.”

She glared at him.
“Woman?”

Fueling her anger and frustration was the sudden recollection that James had been the one who'd invited the curvy blonde to lunch. Hoping to distract his buddy from her, no doubt. The traitor. “Listen, PR Boy, I've had about enough of you and your—”

“Time out, guys,” Kane said, grasping the newspaper from beneath Lexie's hand at the same time. “How bad can it be?”

“It's—”

James kicked her lightly and shook his head. “Just read it,” he said to Kane.

While Kane read silently, Lexie glanced at James's cards, which lay faceup on the bar. “I had a straight, by the way,” she whispered, laying her cards out in a fan. “That beats your two pair without even breathing hard.”

“What's with you?” he said in a low voice while Kane read.

She pressed her lips together. “I'm just thinking I could use a blond lunch date.”

“I was trying to help,” James had the nerve to whisper back.

“Stop. Immediately.”

“You want me to set you up with a blonde, too?”

“No. I can handle my own social life, thank you.”

“What social life?”

Their whispered argument was interrupted by Kane tossing the newspaper on the bar. “I guess we know why Dad was here last night.”

“Maybe not,” Lexie said. “He may not even know about the article.”

“I'm getting in the shower,” Kane said, snagging his coffee mug off the counter as he walked by.

She grabbed his arm. “We're here if you want to talk.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Thanks.”

She watched him go. The casual expression on his face, the calmness in his voice didn't reveal how much this was affecting him. He was bottling it up, swallowing his anger and disappointment. Again. She'd rather see him fly into a rage.

“Go talk to him,” she said to James.

“What for?”

“He needs somebody to talk to.”

“I heard you offer and him say thanks. Talk over.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're such a man.”

James grinned. “Thank you.”

She leaned toward him. “His father is
using
him for good publicity. He's hurt and angry. He needs his friends' support.”

“He has our support. That doesn't mean we have to
talk
about it.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You're such a woman.” Before she could argue, he went on. “And we don't know what Anton is doing here. Maybe he read that article, felt guilty and decided he really did need to show his son more support.”

“Oh, you mean he's admitting he was wrong.”

He frowned. “Okay, maybe not.”

“But he feels guilty.”

“Well, maybe not.”

“Anton Jackson is doing what he does best—protect his image.”

“Of course he is.”

“You were ready to give him the benefit of the doubt thirty seconds ago. Why is that? Some football-star code of brotherhood?”

“No way, I—”

“That's how he gets away with the way he treats people, you know. Because he's a
star
.” She slid off her stool and paced by the bar. “Fans clamor to get to know him. Women fall at his feet. He's coddled by his agent, his manager, his wife—everybody he encounters, in fact.” She paused long enough to shoot him with a fond glare. “You and Kane would be the same way if you didn't have me to kick you both back in line.

“Of course, Mr. Superstar takes his fame and talent a couple of steps further. He stands in the spotlight like it's his God-given right. And all the while Kane tries to stand beside him, his father does everything in his power to keep him in the background. Plus, he makes sure everybody around him—and around his family—meets his superior standards. And that especially includes his son's girlfriends. Can't muddy up that exceptional gene pool with an inferior candidate.”