AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Where are they now?” he asked.
“Jordana took the family over to the medical center. She’s with them. And I have no idea where the entourage is at this moment.” Mario shrugged.
Dalton stood up. “I’ll head over. Get me on the radio if you need anything.”
Mario nodded. “Will do.”
Dalton had started out of the trailer just as Timo came in. “The drivers want to know what’s happening.”
“What do you mean? Nothing’s happening. The whole place is shut down. If they look down pit lane at the paddock, they’ll see everyone is back in their respective garages. No one is moving. We have to wait until the polizei finish their initial investigation. What the hell were they expecting? Someone dying on the track is a big effing deal. Nothing is going to happen for today and possibly the weekend.”
Shoulders hunched Timo mutely stared at him, and Dalton suddenly realized he’d been yelling. “Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, Timo.”
“Don’t worry about it. What I mean is that I think they’re scared. It’s like, suddenly, they realized that racing is a dangerous sport. They think there’s a chance they could die on the track.”
Dalton blew out a breath. “I get it. I’ll talk to them. They need to know—” He stopped speaking. He was about to say that Moore’s car had been sabotaged and this was murder, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share that just yet. He assumed the polizei would come to talk to him. He’d tell them and then see about telling anyone else.
“They need to know,” he repeated, “these cars are incredibly safe, and the chances of this happening again are more than one in a million. Hell, the chances of this happening in the first place were astronomical. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” Timo said, “I’ll go tell them and let them know you’ll come talk to them.”
Dalton followed Timo out of the trailer and down the stairs. “I have to go speak with Mrs. Moore, but then I’ll be over.”
Timo gave him a wave and headed back to the other trailer. Dalton started walking toward the medical center. As he passed other teams’ trailers, drivers and staff eyed him. Looks of pity and sympathy were etched on their faces. Their stares, the entire situation, made him feel ill.
Could he be mistaken and the wing wasn’t oscillating? He wanted… He must have been mistaken—the accident really was a combination of pilot error and bad luck—but he knew that wasn’t the case. He nodded to several of the drivers from rival teams as he walked the length of the paddock. They stopped talking as he approached and just stared. Then they spoke in hushed voices as he passed. This death would be something that would hang over him and his team for a long time. It was as if he’d broken some unspoken bond with all the other teams and they were retreating from him lest they catch some horrible kind of luck from him.
Day one of the new season and one of their drivers dies. He couldn’t remember the last time a driver died. He needed Hans Muller and the American, Tatum Chandler, to stay for the season, or Hughes racing was done. Finished. He needed another driver, or possibly two, to fill the slot that Moore just created. And he needed some kind of miracle to keep his team, his people, moving forward.
He ran a hand through his hair as he crossed the parking lot to the medical center. And what kind of an asshole was he for even thinking this way? Jesus. The man hadn’t been dead for more than an hour, and Dalton was already looking for replacements. The whole thing made him want to take off for the U.S. and never come back. It was a shit show. But, if Hughes Racing was going to survive he had to think this way. He had to be realistic, and sometimes reality was not all that nice.
Fingers wrapped around the door handle, he paused and hauled in a deep breath before pulling open the door to the medical center. His step faltered when he spied his sister, Jordana, sitting next to a woman with pale blond hair pulled back into a bun. The stranger was dressed in a pale blue sweater and dark blue jeans. Some kind of fur stole surrounded her shoulders. She looked to be at least twenty years younger than Moore. In her early thirties, if Dalton had to guess.
The man sitting beside her had to be Moore’s son. He looked like a watered-down version of his father. Same dark wavy hair but maybe a bit less of it. His eyes were a washed-out blue and his jawline was a little less firm than his dad’s. He was older than the woman sitting next to him. That had to make for interesting times in the Moore household.
Jordana stood. “This is my brother, Dalton.” She gestured to the two on the bench. “Claire and Brian.” She offered her brother a quick smile. She looked so much like their mother. especially with her dark curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. A wary expression lurked in her big green eyes.
“I am so incredibly sorry for your loss,” Dalton said.
Claire Moore stood up. “How could you let this happen?” she demanded, pulling the fur wrap tighter around her shoulders. “He didn’t even get to race! These cars are supposed to be safe. This is all your fault!”
Her words were delivered shrilly with a level of hysteria behind them, but somehow it didn’t ring true. Her eyes were clear, and if anything, she looked almost bored.
“I am so sorry. There was nothing I, or anyone else, could’ve done. The cars are safe, but accidents happen. I still don’t understand what went wrong for your husband, but I can promise you I will be looking into it, as will the local police and the racing officials.”
Brian Moore put a steady hand on Claire’s shoulder but she shot him an icy glare and he removed it. He cleared his throat. “If this is your fault, we’ll sue for wrongful death. We’ll clean you out,” he snarled.
That wouldn’t be hard, nor would he get much of anything. “Mr. Moore?—”
The door opened behind Dalton, and a uniformed officer entered along with a man in a suit. Dalton assumed the well-dressed man was in charge. Probably a detective. Austria didn’t have much crime, and certainly not murders. He couldn’t imagine the polizei had much experience dealing with them. That was a worrying thought.
“Mrs. Moore?” the sergeant asked.
Claire stood and wobbled slightly. Brian took her arm to steady her. Again, Dalton was sure it was an act. None of it rang true. Brian’s outburst was more emotional, but it still didn’t quite sit right.
“We need to have a talk,” the man in the suit said.
“Of course,” Claire responded, keeping her voice soft.
