Page 111 of Close Contact
“I don’t know how that helps anything,”Takedaargued.
“Those two are practically inseparable. She’s attached to him. You take him out of a race or two, and it’ll fuck with her head. She’ll make mistakes. Then his lead is knocked down,”Schreiberexplained.
“If you’re going to take out one Vanguard, you may as well take out both. Marco is a solid number two this year,” Morel suggested. “But it has to be done in a way that looks accidental, do you understand? It’s time for Fraser’s run to come to an end, and Vanguard can afford to lose the Constructor’s for once.”
I shook the memory away. Dwelling wouldn’t help. Even though I had tried to fix it. I’d taken the recording straight to theFIAwhen I got to Barcelona.Callumwas right; I couldn’t ignore it. Their words echoed in my head every time I closed my eyes.
I’d sat in that sterile meeting room, replaying the conversation for them, my stomach twisting as they dismissed it as “locker room talk.” A warning was the best they could do. Nothing concrete enough to warrant action.
It felt like a slap in the face. These men were openly discussing targeting not just me, butCallumand Marco too,and the governing body that was supposed to ensure our safety shrugged it off as if it was nothing.
My voice wavered as I pushed back, trying to make them understand. “They’re planning something. You can’t just wait until someone gets hurt. Someone could get killed.”
One of the officials, a man with a crisp British accent and an infuriatingly calm demeanor, had leaned forward,steepling his fingers. “Ms.Dubois, Formula 1 is a high-stakes environment. Tensions run high, and words are often exchanged in the heat of the moment. Unless there’s irrefutable evidence of intent to harm, we can’t act on speculation.”
Speculation. That’s what they’d called it. Theheat of the moment.Like planning something in a private room of a hotel wasn’tpre-meditated. As if I hadn’t just handed them a ticking time bomb wrapped in audio clips.
Now I sat in my paddock suite, staring atCallum’stext, biting the inside of my cheek like it might keep the tears from forming.
I wanted him.
Iwanted him.Publicly and loudly.
But if anything happened to him because of me? Because of what I knew and failed to stop? I would never forgive myself.
I made my way through the paddock with my head down. PR said it was better to “look focused.”
I didn’t give a shit about appearances anymore. All I cared about was getting through this race alive—and making sure the men I cared about did, too.
The crowd buzzed around me, journalists with mics, fans with signs, engineers shouting overcomms. It should’ve felt normal. Routine.
Instead, it felt like walking into a storm.
I caught a glimpse ofCallumin the Vanguard garage as he leaned over his car. All the breath left my lungs, my feet stalling before I forced myself to keep walking. He looked so fuckinggood, his hair freshly cut and his facial hair trimmed neatly. I could feel his presence like gravity, pulling me in even as I tried to resist.
He didn’t see me and it hurt.
I kept walking.
Then I felt the tension in the air shift. Eyes on me. I turned and saw Morel heading toward me, flanked bySchreiber,Takeda, andKowalski.
I rolled my shoulders, bracing for his confrontation.
“Dubois,” Morel spat, stepping into my space. “You think you can spread lies and get away with it?”
I barely flinched. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“You cost us grid positions.”
“One place,” I said flatly. “Cry about it.”
He shoved my shoulder. I stumbled but stayed upright.
TheLuminismechanics rushed over. Raised voices, security watching. Cameras snapping.
“Good luck out there today,” he hissed. “You’ll need it.”
My mouth went dry.
