Page 1 of Speed Trap

CHAPTER ONE

SUNNY

Ared streak crossed the finish line as the sun fully breached the horizon pouring undiluted gold light over the scene for the perfect photo finish. I poked the photographer, making sure he got every shot, every angle, peering over his shoulder as he flicked through what he’d taken.

Satisfied with his work and knowing my boss would be too, I breathed out my relief into the chill morning air. With a little touching up, we had the perfect promo shots for my driver, Benson Crantz. Hauling my ass out of bed before the sparrows sang was totally worth it.

Keep telling yourself that.

I ignored the tiny voice that called me a liar with every shiver I suppressed beneath my branded white leather jacket and slapped a too-cheery smile on my dial.

“Perfect. They’re perfect. And thank you,” I added to our on-call photographer, Randy.

The man had crawled out of bed in the quiet hours of the night and, along with the rest of Benson’s team, hauled himself to the track at my beck and call. Randy was used to my last minute requests, mostly as my boss was an impulsive taskmaster.

I pushed blonde curls that clung to my cheeks back from my face. Those had been a whole lot bouncier at two am when I pinned them back in the dark before I left home. Blonde wasn’t my natural color—I’d highlighted my hair to help blend in, but the hint of my accent still gave away my Serbian heritage so many years after escaping my homeland.

“Never a problem, Sunny girl.” Randy grinned back at me.

I winced at the nickname as his gaze flicked my way. Randy looked me over, too-bright blue eyes lingering over my legs and stomach in the sort of objective, glazed over stare that usually stayed at the bar along with too many empty beer glasses. Unable to avoid him, he left me wishing I’d worn more clothes.

Like another full layer.

“Have you, uh, been up all night with someone? Or are you free?” He spoke slowly, as though I might not understand his intent.

I blinked at his cringe worthy attempt at a pickup line to a girl he clearly thought was dumb as hell due to an accent, glancing down at my ensemble. Beneath my jacket, my matching white one-shouldered top sat over black skinny jeans. A fleck of glitter ran through the material that reflected like a beacon in the brightening day. Pristine red Blahniks, my favorite heels, buckled at the ankle to complete the outfit. My heavily branded motorsport racing jacket completed the look. It was tailor made and cropped so I didn’t swim in it, but without it, I’d freeze my ass off at the track.

“Uh, no.” I offered the stuttering photographer a dismissive flutter of my wrist as my smile faded. “This is the unofficial uniform of Benson Cruz racing.” My assistant delivered a tower of takeout coffee cups and I hid behind them, grateful, though I did pass one to Randy. “Thanks again. Send the files to me?”

“Yeah, 'course.”

The weight of Randy’s heavy gaze followed me across the tarmac as I made my escape. My heels clicked in a regular rhythm as I worked through my morning schedule to their beat.

Benson likely had training and tweaking on the car to do—he couldn’t walk away without tinkering. Or he’d direct some underpaid grease monkey to tinker on his behalf. When he hit the gym later I’d be free to head back to the office. I’d left my laptop case there the night before which meant I couldn't park myself in the garage office. The lack of productivity ate at me, leaving me with the sole option of squinting at my phone for the next three hours.Thatwasn't happening.

I sipped my third reheated coffee, letting the now late morning ambrosia hit my system in a much needed fuel injection. If the photographer thought he’d been up for a while, maybe he should try working directly for Benson rather than for himself. There was no sleep for the wicked. For the scant hours I managed to catch through the week I must have been very naughty in a previous life because I sure as hell didn’t get the spare time to play up in this one.

“Sunny.” Our crew chief, Nigel, darted into my line of sight, rubbing the back of his neck with one large hand. “I need your diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy is not the skill that got me the job.” I smiled.

Nigel sent me a harried look. “He’ll lose his shit over this one.”

Ahh.

“What’s happened?” I picked up my pace as much as my heels allowed, trotting after him. “Nigel?”

His sideways look turned grim as shouts reached us. “You’ll see.” Nigel broke into a run, leaving me far behind.

By the time I caught up my breath came short, but when I rounded the corner into our pit garage I stopped breathing altogether.

Benson pinned a barrel-chested nugget of a man I’d never seen before to the wall by his grip on the smaller man’s shoulder. Bonus round, he yelled directly into the other man’s face. Spittle flew as Benson called his victim out for everything under the sun while the rest of the crew tried to pull them apart.

Gravel scraped as a nudge bumped my foot. I glanced down at where Randy crouched on his knees by my Blahniks, clicking away merrily. His lens rested almost on the ground as he stared up worshipfully at Benson to get his shot, a perspective which would make the action seem that much larger than life.

A shout drew my attention back to the action and just like the rest of the crew—apart from those trying to pry the men away from each other—I stood frozen, a bystander to Benson’s formidable temper tantrum in action. Having seen our boss fall in his regular insta-rage rage too many times to count there was no way I would step between the two men, though I offered his latest victim my sympathy. From a safe distance, of course.

Without tearing my gaze from the conflict unfolding before my eyes I bent to pluck the camera from Randy’s clinging hands, hauling him up by the strap that looped around his neck.

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