Page 2 of Heartbreaker

“That’s right, pretty boy. I’m here to kick your ass,” I say with a beaming smile before grabbing the helmet a tech is holding out to me and sliding it over my head. When I catch the look of utter confusion on his face, my smile only grows.

God, I love my job.

Practice lasts for four hours, during which I meet a dozen people I’ve already researched, with photos printed and pinned to suspect lists that decorate my hotel room. Still, Roman avoids me after our initial meeting. It’s interesting to watch the way he seems to lock in the moment he slides into his truck, all evidence of that cocky asshole melting away until there’s nothing but determination left on his face.

And I hate to admit it, but he’s damn good, and I spend more of the practice than I’d like to admit analyzing his driving style and trying to learn as much as I can from a distance.

I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally, as I walk out of the arena, every inch of my body coated in a thin layer of sweat and red dirt. After waving at one of the drivers who wasn’t a complete ass to me, I veer off toward the women’s locker room as I sort through my thoughts.

When I enter, Demi, my partner at the Mavens, is sitting on a bench with her laptop, probably hacking into some government website just to pass the time. The owner of the Mavens tries to pair investigators by skill set, one tech guru with one forward-facing agent. While Demi is a genius at all things computer-related and hacking, I’ve been named the Chameleon, able to change who I am and shift my personality to convince you I belong somewhere.

“Honey, I’m home,” I say with a grin, and she scrunches up her pert nose, brushing her long brown hair behind her shoulder.

“You look like you spent the day out on a farm.”

“I probably smell like it, too,” I cringe, knowing the ventilation in this suit isn’t great.

“Go take a shower. I’ll sit outside, and we can go over the day,” she says, grabbing an iPad to take notes. We’ve been partners for over two years, so she knows by now I like to debrief while my mind is fresh.

Once I step into the steaming hot shower, I begin. “Everything moved smoothly. No one knew I was coming, and my licensing and certifications seem to be up to date. Practice itself was okay. I don’t think I made too much of a fool of myself.”

“I was watching from the stands: trust me, you didn’t look like a fool. You’re such a badass,” she says, and I smile as I scrub the sweat from my hair. It felt good to be out there on a track again, something I haven’t done in years. “Did you meet Roman?”

“Oh yeah, I met him. Can’t say I blame someone for wanting to end him,” I grumble, and Demi lets out a loud laugh.

“That bad?”

“He thought I was a fan and offered to give me his autograph. I kind of want to punch him in the face myself,” I say contemplatively.

“Okay, well, maybe we hold off on the assault. That wouldn’t really do much in trying to get close to him to find out what’s been going on here.”

I groan, knowing she’s right. We’re here to find out who has been messing with the circuit and committing various acts of sabotage. They started with small inconveniences and things to ruin the fan experience, but recently it’s escalated. The final straw that led to a call to the Mavens was when someone changed the gasoline in four trucks, causing Roman’s to seize mid-flip and come crashing down. They’ve been playing it off as a simple mistake, but it’s clearly something more nefarious. Whoever did it knew exactly where to move to avoid cameras and timed it so no one would notice until it was too late.

“How was Phil?” Demi asks.

“I don’t know. I can’t get a read on him,” I say of the owner who was happy to see me but seemed a bit frazzled.

“Do you think he’s a suspect?” Demi asks.

“Too early to tell,” I reply. “He hired us, but he wouldn’t be the first person to underestimate the Mavens. If his business was dipping before all of this started, it could be that he’s sabotaging to garner interest. The crash got a lot of media attention. He could easily think we’re not going to find anything and then pull a see how concerned I was? angle.” Demi nods, smiling, and I know she’s already thought that out as well.

“And Roman? He could be self-sabotaging for the opposite reason, making his team feel bad about suspending him from IndyCar.”

“It could, though the video of the crash was bad. I can’t imagine wanting to do that to yourself intentionally.” “But until we know more, you know the rule.”

“Everyone’s a suspect,” Demi says with a smile.

TWO

Suspect list for sabotage based on current intel:

Everyone

THREE

You can do this, I tell myself, taking a deep breath to clear my mind. You personally inspected the truck. It’s all good, no issues. Nothing can go wrong. It’s the mantra I’ve had since I was cleared to slide back into the truck. A few people told me I should take a break, skip the next few races, but I knew in my gut that after a crash like that, I needed to get back in the seat before I could overthink it.

Just like I know I need to nail a front flip, the trick that ended in a terrifying crash of metal and smoke, before that fear wins.