Page 2 of Speed Trap

“Delete them.” I tapped the lens, uncaring if I left a perfect fingerprint as evidence on the glass, or not. “Every single one, Randy.”

He nodded in my periphery. The pictures on the screen he offered up blanked out as his trembling fingers worked the buttons, though like me his attention never wavered from Benson. Both of us managed our mini-drama on our own sidelines. Even filled with rage, and not a skerrick of the picture perfect driver in sight, Benson still had thatoh-so-watchablex-factor that made him the stuff of legend.

On and off the track.

The man was born to be a diva.

Something in Randy’s expression changed, enough to distract me from the popcorn worthy event hosted in the pit. I whirled around in time to see a shadowy blur in black and white launch into the where the remaining crew attempted to dislodge the two men. Benson flew backward, landed on his leather-clad ass, and skidded a little on the cement floor. The group of mechanics flocked to their fallen leader, leaving the newcomer to tend to the previously attacked man.

I gave Benson a sideways glance to where he still lay on his side, his team pandering over him, though I noted the hand cradling his cheek. Not out of injury, but to protect his million dollar plus face, of course. No real harm had been done there except to his ego which cushioned his fall nicely.

That freed me—and my curiosity—to pick my way across the short distance, blessedly unobserved, to where the two other men stood. The taller silhouette leaned over the figure Benson had attacked. His long fingered hand rested on the nuggety man’s shoulder in the same position though in a gentler, more familiar grip as he checked him over.

Dark, wavy hair flopped over his forehead. Though I couldn't see his eyes, a sexy five o’clock shadow graced the edge of his jawline, providing sharp definition against the matching white leather racing jackets they both wore, though the badging differed from mine.

Recognition slapped me in an instant.

KC Hawking—Hawk—was Benson’s newest rival, a hot shot who had risen through the ranks of recent talent at a slightly faster pace than my driver. I thought back, but couldn't remember who had arrived onto the circuit first. Benson sensed the threat early on, and they had been at each other’s throats since they’d first raced during the last season.

And there had been a distinct strain of animosity between the two racing teams as the drivers went head-to-head on more thanjust the track. The arrogance—from both drivers—astounded me. Benson’s temper tantrum was the least of it. Paid the teams might be, but no one was hired to deal with the level of anger and stress their ongoing feud lay down.

I gripped my coffee too tight as I watched their interaction. A dribble of dark liquid bubbled over onto the back of my hand as I reached the driver and his friend.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I asked the shorter man Benson had attacked, ignoring the driver. “I’m Sunny Cooper. I’m on Benson’s PR team.”

Both Benson and Hawk were to blame in this situation. I was sure of it. Neither seemed inclined to back down and take their mutual animosity out on the track like the rest of the racing teams. If Benson hadn’t been the driver who hired me, I would have reported him in a hot minute. But if I could smooth things over between the teams it would make less of a media shitstorm when something inevitably leaked out.

I glanced over my shoulder to find Randy still taking pictures. Pressure expanded in my chest until I could have emitted a voiceless scream that went on and on. The level of testosterone overflowing the pit was unbelievable. I closed my eyes, tried not to snort in frustration and failed magnificently.

“It’s okay, I got it.” Hawk’s honey yellow gaze of his namesake pierced me when I pried my eyes open. A lopsided grin spread over his face, the expression he—and most of the other drivers—used as his media mask.

How attractive can an asshole be?

I blinked and looked away, willing my ovaries to calm their strut. “Uh, okay.”Eloquent, Sunny. So eloquent.I turned to the shorter man. “Are you okay? I am so sorry Benson got out of hand. He gets riled after he’s raced.” It had been a practice run, an untimed lap, but I wasn’t about to go into the incriminating specifics.

“Ryan Hadley. And you shouldn’t apologize for a man like that.” Ryan fixed me with a gaze too full of understanding for my liking. “The boys run pure octane in their veins.”

“That doesn’t excuse this sort of behavior.” I squeezed Ryan’s shoulder. The jacket wasn’t too padded; his bulk was his natural size. “Do I need to send for a medic? Can we offer you physical therapy?” It wasn’t my place or my job exactly, but I was used to picking up the shattered pieces Benson left trailing in his wake.

I checked over my shoulder. Benson was still surrounded by his groupies who had hauled his ass off the tarmac. For the moment everything seemed calm, but I knew how fast that situation could change.

“Nah,” Ryan shook his head, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Is it terrible to say I’m used to it?”

“Yes. It fucking well is,” a deep voice behind me growled.

I pivoted and came face-to-face with an angry driver of my own, though it wasn’t the one who employed me. The face KC Hawking showed the world slipped to expose the real man beneath, and I couldn’t work out which driver was worse. To me, they all fell into the same category. The only difference was that one paid me, and this one didn’t.

While Benson’s face had turned red right before he diva-ed right out, Hawk’s rage glittered in a cold fury that danced behind those golden primal hunter eyes.

And I was the tiny white rabbit, pinned by the predator. My coffee cup trembled as I clutched it too tight, denting the takeaway cup.

Prey, indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

SUNNY

He didn’t even need to touch me and I already reacted to his physical presence.

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