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“I know the kitchen isn’t open, but I was hoping you’d help us out.” She offered a big smile to the man who happened to be standing behind the bar. It was just gone six p.m., and the place was empty still. “My friend was injured at the track, and we missed lunch. We can’t go out because he’s in pain, and we can’t order in since everyone is closed. We’ll take whatever you can throw together.”
The barman sighed. “The kitchen is closed, but I will go speak to someone.” He turned and left the room. Greer plopped down on a barstool and prepared to wait. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. Her chest ached. Nothing compared to what Dalton must be feeling, she guessed, but it still hurt.
Seeing Dalton pass out had panicked her. She’d screamed like a crazy person until someone had come. Thank God Rory and Jordana had arrived to take over. She’d backed out of the crowd and leaned against the side of the truck to catch her breath. She’d been kidding herself to think she’d gotten over him. Seeing him out cold and lying lifeless in that puddle had made her attraction to him rush back. She’d been kidding herself thinking this, them working together, was going to be okay, that she could be next to Dalton and not be affected by him. She’d been madly in love with him. It was only reasonable to still have some feelings, right?
She stared out the window. All that rain. Everyone had assumed that the car careening toward them had been an accident. The crowd had asked what happened, and a driver from some other team had said someone had driven by them, going too fast for conditions.
Maybe that was the truth. She desperately wanted to believe that’s all it was. But it seemed incredibly unlikely to her. Too coincidental. She’d spent the day poking around and asking questions about Moore’s death, announcing up and down the paddock that she was an insurance investigator, and suddenly someone aimed at her with a car? Yeah, the chances of that being coincidental were less than zip.
Given everything, she was increasingly convinced Moore’s death was not just a heart attack. But how the hell was she supposed to prove that? An image of Dalton lying passed out in the rain came to mind. And did she want to prove it? Maybe all they needed to do was wait it out until the police officially declared it a heart attack. She could keep her mouth shut about the wing and it would be over. Dalton would get the cheque.
But then someone would get away with causing Moore’s death. The idea was abhorrent, and she knew Dalton would never go for it. He might be fighting for his family’s company, but in the end, he’d never let the company’s continuation overshadow the truth. He always did what was right. It’s why he’d quit racing. Because looking after his family was more important than his racing career.
She let out a sigh. She quit racing because of her family but for totally opposite reasons. Rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, she swallowed another sigh. She was exhausted, and this just wasn’t going according to plan.
Her cell phone rang. The word Mom appeared on the screen. She thought about ignoring the call, but her mother would just continue to try if she did that. “Mom,” she answered.
“Greer, your sister is very upset you’re not coming home for the bridal shower.”
“I already told you, I’m working. I can’t come home.”
“Yes, well, she’s still upset.” Her mother’s voice was off somehow. She was the one who sounded upset.
“What’s really wrong, Mom?” Greer asked gently.
“Your father called.”
Greer frowned. Why in the hell would he do that? She didn’t want to know the answer, but she didn’t think she could get away with not asking. “What did he want?”
“Are you at a track? He said you’re getting back into racing. Is that true? I thought you were done with all that nonsense. I thought you’d finally outgrown it and decided to have a normal life and be an adult. I’m very disappointed in you.”
Greer closed her eyes and cursed her meddling father in her head. Her mother could be such a bitch. Always wielding the “I’m disappointed in you,” line. Of course, she only did it to Greer. Never her precious sister Lyric.
“Mom, I’m at the track for work. I am investigating a claim. I’m not going back into racing, but even if I was, I am an adult and I will do what makes me happy. Remember when you asked me why I had to leave California? Why did I have to go to Europe? Well, Mom, it’s to get the hell away from my family. You have never supported me. The rest of them”—she laughed bitterly—“I always knew didn’t care about me but I thought you would at least try. You never have. You made your choice. Lyric is the daughter you wanted. I am not. You, your current husband, and my father have made that abundantly clear. None of you want to support me in any way shape or form. So, I’m done. Take care, Mom.” She disconnected the call and dropped her phone facedown onto the bar.
She thought she would be more upset. She’d been thinking of doing this, cutting her mom and other family out, for a long time. Shouldn’t she be far more upset about giving in to that urge? Maybe later guilt or remorse might kick in. But now? All she felt was numbness and an enormous amount of relief. What did that say about things?
“This is the best I could do.” The barman’s re-entrance interrupted her rambling thoughts. He set a charcuterie plate and a basket of bread and crackers in front of her.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “Any chance I could get a couple of beers as well?” She sure needed one.
“That is easy,” he said with a smile. He poured her two of the local beers and then walked with her back to room eleven. She knocked on the door, and Dalton opened it. The bartender helped her bring everything over to the coffee table, and then Dalton tipped the guy on the way out and closed the door behind him.
“Sorry it’s not more, but the kitchen is closed.”
“Not a problem,” he said as he came over and gestured at the couch. She sat at one end, and he sat down at the opposite end. “It’s one of the hardest things to adjust to about Europe is that hard stop after lunch and don’t open until seven-thirty for dinner. If you miss out, you starve. I lost ten pounds in the first couple weeks I was here. Never could remember to eat at the right time.”
She laughed. “I can see the problem.” She picked up her beer and clicked the rim against his glass. “Here’s to being dry.” Then she froze. “Wait, you shouldn’t be drinking beer. God, I’m so sorry.” She shot to her feet with a wince. “I’ll go get you something else. Do you want coffee or soda? Wait, you probably shouldn’t have caffeine, either.”
“Greer, it’s okay. Sit down.” He gestured to the sofa. “I’m not going to drink ten of them. I’m probably not going to drink the whole thing. If anything, it’s just a mild concussion. I’ve had a few and this doesn’t feel like what I’ve experienced before. I promise you I’m fine.”
She sat back down as he took a small sip and then put the beer down. He reached out for a piece of cheese, and Greer felt rather than heard the groan. He was in pain for sure, and she was the cause. That thought kind of killed her appetite.
“Dalton, I think we have to face the fact that someone tried to hit me on purpose.”
“Agreed.”
She swallowed and met his gaze. “It’s scary to think someone wants to hurt me. I mean, I suppose it could have been an accident, but we were at a racetrack with a bunch of diehard drivers and crew. People like that are trained to notice obstacles when they drive. I guess it could’ve been someone’s guest but, seriously, what do you think the chances of that are? Not to mention how fast they disappeared.”
