Speed Demons

Table of Contents

• Synopsis
  
• By the Author
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Prologue
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-one
  
• Chapter Twenty-two
  
• Chapter Twenty-three
  
• Chapter Twenty-four
  
• Epilogue
  
• About the Author
  
• Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
  

Synopsis

A year ago, NASCAR star Evangeline Marshall barely escaped death in a tragic crash. Evie is plagued by nightmares and fears racing again, but she doesn’t want to give up her dream. Blythe Pierce, renowned photographer, struggles with her own demons, having worked in one warzone after another.

Blythe witnessed Evie Marshall’s crash through her camera and is impressed by Evie’s courage. She persuades Evie to allow her to document her recovery and return to racing. Blythe finds Evie irresistibly attractive and fears she can’t hide it. Evie in turn is mesmerized by the loving but enigmatic Blythe.

But as Blythe’s past catches up with her and Evie’s fears grow as her first race nears, can they find the strength to triumph over their pasts and find love together?

Speed Demons

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Speed Demons

© 2012 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-719-6

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: August 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Shelley Thrasher

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

Cover Art By Gun Brooke

By the Author

Course of Action

Coffee Sonata

Sheridan’s Fate

September Canvas

Fierce Overture

Speed Demons

The Supreme Constellations Series:

Protector of the Realm

Rebel’s Quest

Warrior’s Valor

Pirate’s Fortune

Acknowledgments

This novel was the hardest one to write, to date. The topics hit close to home, my mother passed away, and I was a bit unfortunate myself, healthwise. You can imagine that I harbor even more gratitude toward the people who helped make this story better.

My first readers—Sam (South Africa), Maggie (Sweden), Georgi (Scotland), and Jan (Australia)—you helped me not make a fool of myself before I sent my manuscript in. Your thoughts, pointers, and—a few times—complete puzzlement made me go back into the story and bring the characters out better. Thank you! You are true pearls.

Radclyffe, aka Len Barot, thank you for reassuring me that you keep having faith in me. I adore our BSB family, and with Rad as our captain, we sail toward even better times.

Dr. Shelley Thrasher, my editor, my guide, and my very good friend. I owe you so many thanks, and it’s amazing to think we’ve worked on ten (ten!!!) novels together, and some short stories too. I can’t imagine going through the process without you. You know me and my style—and my weaknesses as a writer—so well, our work is fast and seamless.

Sheri—we work well together when it comes to the covers, don’t we? I love working with you and hope to do it a lot in the future.

Lori, Cindy, Sandy, Toni, and the rest of the people at BSB who help create the final product, thank you for all the hours you put in. There would be no books published without you.

There is a special group of women (mostly) online, who, like me, are obsessed with
The Devil Wears Prada
fan fiction. You all know who you are. Thank you for the spirit-lifting distractions!

Lastly, my family in Sweden, my extended family in Rhode Island, and my book circle friends, I’m glad that you support me and believe in me. It would sure be an uphill battle if you didn’t. I’m especially grateful to Elon, who this year (our thirty-first) has had to deal with everything I couldn’t. I also want to mention my children, Malin and Henrik, who bring joy to my life by their mere existence.

For Elina—my granddaughter who came into this world as I was working on this novel. Welcome, our beloved little girl.

For Lilian, my mother, who passed away as I was in the editing phase. I miss you endlessly and you never failed to state how proud of me you were. I love you and I hope to one day be as strong and resilient as you.

Prologue

The sound of roaring engines drowned out everything else. Blythe Pierce had her left eye pressed to the viewfinder of her Hasselblad, not about to miss any spectacular images of Evangeline Marshall entering the Daytona International Speedway pit. Her crew was prepared to change her tires, and Blythe was ready to capture the image of Evangeline through the net covering the opening in the side of the car. She hoped she could manipulate the photo digitally to make out Evangeline’s features through the helmet visor.

“Five seconds,” Ben Mason, the team leader, yelled over the communication system. “Go!”

The red Dodge Viper rushed toward them and stopped perfectly within the markings.

“Damn it, Benny. The engine’s still getting too hot.” Evangeline’s growl was unmistakable through the headset. “Tear the fucking plate off.”

Mason didn’t hesitate. “Pete, do as she says. We’ve got to cool it down, or it won’t last through the last few laps.”

A seventh pit crewmember jumped the wall and tugged at some plating in the front.

Blythe moved lithely among Evangeline’s team, careful not to be in the way or to trip over the crew’s equipment. She kept snapping pictures, shooting through the net over the window and always focusing on the woman in the car.

The crewmember in charge of the jack let the car down and Evangeline took off. Soon she was speeding around the track, making faster laps than before. Blythe climbed the makeshift platform she had built to stand on because she was so short. She followed the Viper through her lens until it was out of sight, then patiently waited for it to reappear.

Suddenly the voice over the speakers grew excited. The audience’s roar nearly drowned out his words. “Paul Gardner is in trouble and now also Leo Schwartz, in the blue Honda…”

A loud noise cut the speaker off. Instead Blythe heard Evangeline’s voice over the headset.

“There’s smoke up ahead and I can’t see shit. What’s going on, Benny?”

“Several cars crashed at the next corner. Go low. Go low.”

“I can hardly hear you.” The headset crackled, breaking up Evangeline’s words.

“Go low, Evie!”

Blythe kept looking through the viewfinder, her hands steady. Smoke billowed around the corner before the pit, and if Evangeline went low like Benny said, she would clear the pileup.

“Damn it, Evie, two more cars are involved, don’t go through.” Benny tore at his headset and began to run. “She’s not going to make it!”

Staring through the viewfinder, pressing the shutter release over and over, Blythe thought her heart would stop dead in her chest.

The red Dodge Viper, Evangeline’s beloved car, shot through the smoke, and she went low exactly as her team manager advised. Two other cars had just turned over and slid down the eighteen-degree bank. Evangeline’s car T-boned the second car, spun around in a mad dance, and slammed sideways into the first. From behind, a black Chevy repeated the maneuver with Evangeline’s Viper.

Mechanically, Blythe kept pressing the shutter release and clinging to her camera with ice-cold hands, even as the first flames erupted.

Chapter One

Blythe pulled into a space by the park on Main Street in the center of Branford, a small town east of New Haven. She was way too early, as usual, and remained in her seat, watching people stroll by. The warm Indian-summer evening clearly had coaxed the Branford population outdoors to enjoy the nice weather. Checking her watch again, Blythe grimaced, then flipped down the small mirror behind the sun visor. Her blond hair lay in curls around her triangular face, and her freckles had multiplied during her latest assignment in Afghanistan.

She deliberately steered away from those memories. Even editing her latest photo book was almost too painful, and she’d rather not dwell on the upsetting images from Afghanistan just before she met Evangeline Marshall again. It had been more than eighteen months since she’d photographed Evangeline’s crash. Two rookie drivers had died that day, and Evangeline and two other drivers were seriously injured. In fact, nobody had thought any of them would make it, let alone race again, but here Evangeline was, about to prove everyone wrong.

Blythe had never used any of the pictures she’d shot that day at the Daytona International Speedway. She had printed them, only to tuck them into her safe together with two backup disks. Countless magazines and news networks, not to mention the tabloids, had offered her a lot of money. Blythe couldn’t care less about any monetary temptations; she valued her dignity more than that. A cynical inner voice added that it was easy for her to stand on such high moral ground, she who was financially independent. However, that hadn’t always been the case. Blythe also remembered vividly when she arrived in New York more than twenty-four years ago with less than fifty dollars.

“And even that wasn’t really mine.” Blythe snorted when she thought of how she’d stolen it from her father’s wallet. She’d paid him back in less than a year, but she’d never returned to her parents’ home in Myrtle Beach.

Blythe picked up the thick manila envelope holding more than one hundred photos she’d taken the day of Evangeline’s crash. She had spent the last two days scrutinizing them and was surprised at their quality, despite the horrific subject. This was the norm when it came to many of her photos. Bosnia, the Balkans, the Twin Towers, Iraq, Afghanistan—the theme was human courage versus human suffering. Some of her colleagues claimed to be there to document, to stay objective, to be non-political. But Blythe believed that everything you did in life, action or non-action, was political. She was assigned to document, to use her talent and her eyes to show other people what she saw. How could her opinion not color what she deemed important enough to capture?