Stacked Deck

Anne Hurley didn’t wait for him to open her door. Instead, she slid into the narrow passenger seat and eased herself into it. The Bugatti wasn’t built for comfort, it was built for speed.

“This baby flies,” JD said. “Only street car that gives me the same feel as a true racing machine.”

“Anything that can go zero to sixty in two-point-four seconds better give you that racing feel.”

“I take it you have a thing for speed?”

She gave him one of her little guttural laughs and said she actually craved speed. He liked that laugh, it had the sound of badness to it. As if underneath all the refinement, this was a lady to get down and real with.

Maybe, before this night was over, he was going to owe Salvatore a big thank-you.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s do it.”

He turned the key in the ignition, and the roar of the engine vibrated throughout his body.

She turned to him. “God, it’s almost as good as sex.”

“Wait,” he said. “It gets better.” And drove out of the garage.

Chapter 7

In truth, Beth had never ridden in a Bugatti before in her life, though she’d read about them and knew how rare and expensive they were. The roar and thrust were exhilarating.

“Nothing like it,” she said, watching his hand shift gears. A surge of excitement ripped through her.

“It’s definitely got something special under that hood.”

“Let’s do part of the race course,” Beth suggested, knowing that any wheelman worth his salt couldn’t possibly refuse such a suggestion. She was into her Anne Hurley character now and loving every moment.

JD smiled his approval. “Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets.”

As they drove through the streets up the hill from St. Devote in Casino Square, she thought this might be the time to ask a few questions. “How long have you been associated with Giambi?”

“Couple years. Actually I met him after I wrecked in San Marino.”

She knew JD had lost his ride shortly after that incident and he was having trouble finding a new team.

He turned toward the Hotel Metropole then turned again toward the Monte Carlo Grand. Traffic prevented him from getting into any kind of speed as he shot past the Virage Du Portier and into the tunnel.

He said, “I’ve done around one-seventy in here. That’s the top speed on the course.” But the traffic prevented him from even going the speed limit.

“I saw you drive in Bahrain two years ago,” Beth said, drawing on all the videos she had watched in her villa. “In my opinion, you weren’t doing any illegal blocking. I totally disagreed with the black flag. They stole that race from you.”

“I like the way you see things. They sure did steal my race. I owned it,” JD said, anger creasing his brow. “Thank you. That idiot behind me acted like he was running NASCAR. He was trying to bump-draft me with an air cushion. I had to move out. It was purely a defensive maneuver on my part to keep control of the car.”

Once out in the French countryside, he opened up the car. They were driving the roads of the Grand Prix now and she was loving it. Beth felt as if she were in a movie, or the actual race, taking in mile after mile of some of the best-known roads in the world. She let herself relax as JD took complete control of this fantastic machine. It was thrilling to watch his transformation, from Southern gentleman to a totally focused racer who loved the thrill of an open road and a grip on the steering wheel of a fast car. The smells of the night and the nearby ocean flowed over her from the open windows as they flew along the narrow streets. The Bugatti hugged the road as if it was on rails; the G-forces, when he cornered and then opened it wide, were like taking off in a fighter jet.

Though the shifter in the Bugatti was nothing like the type on the wheel that was used in Formula One, JD shifted gears so smoothly she wouldn’t have known except for the change in the whine of the engine.

He slowed, and glanced her way. “What do you think?”

“I think I need one of these,” she purred. She wanted to tell him to keep going, continue driving the course until daylight, but she knew that was impossible. It was time to get down to business if she was ever going to find out the details behind Giambi’s blackmailer and uncover his connection to her father. She was here in Monaco for a reason, and that reason didn’t include racing around the countryside with an incredibly charming man in an obscenely expensive car…or did it?

He laughed, and for a crazy instant she thought he could hear her thoughts. She stiffened as he said, “It’s really an amazing piece of machinery. Salvatore drives it like it’s a damn golf cart.”

She relaxed again, and sat up in the seat. “That’s terrible for the engine.”

“This car is a racehorse. It has to run.”

“Absolutely. I couldn’t agree more.” They passed a small bar with people spilling out onto the sidewalk in front of it. “That place looks like fun. Can I buy you a drink?” Beth asked.

JD pulled in behind the bar. The small quaint town had cobblestone streets and dim street lighting. The place almost looked magical.

Before he could get out, she touched his arm and said, “JD, I’m a professional at reading people. I play poker with the best in the world. What are your instructions? Giambi didn’t send you on this escort mission in the middle of the night without a purpose.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She decided to put it right to him, get their situation clear. She said, “I’m sure you are. Look, it works both ways. You’re supposed to either woo me, or check out if I’m really serious. You’re on a mission. We’re going in to have a drink and get to know each other. I like you. I know what kind of talent you are. I’m very familiar with your career and when I heard you might be coming back into it, and that you were with Giambi, a man with a shady past and financial issues, I decided to see what I could do. I have a lot of money and I want to invest it in a sure thing. So let’s be honest with each other. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, but his eyes told a different story. His gaze had darted behind her for just an instant, and she immediately picked up the truth.

Beth smiled. Well, JD, you’re lying through your pretty bleached teeth, but I’ll play along for a while. “Great. I’m so glad we can be honest with each other.”

At least she now knew how to read JD. So far, so good.

He escorted her in through the back door of the bar.

The bar was extremely noisy. Everyone inside was into a soccer match on the TV above the bar, so JD took her out onto the patio where they could have some privacy.

They ordered drinks and chatted about racing, then she jumped right back on him.

“So tell me. What are Salvatore Giambi’s concerns?”

He took a sip of his vodka martini before answering. “I don’t really know, other than he just wants you to get a good feel for what we’re about. See the high-tech shop he’s building. Get to know what you would be investing in. Which, of course, includes me.”

“It’s important we learn to trust each other,” she said, trying once again to get him to open up to her. “I’m potentially investing in Giambi because of you, not him.”

“So what’s this all about?” JD sat back and studied her, his eyes burning into hers. His entire disposition had changed in a heartbeat. Gone was the smooth, cool Southerner. Now she was looking at a tough sell, but she’d already learned he was very susceptible to the Anne Hurley type, and she was all in.

She leaned on the table toward him, knowing her breasts were in full view. His gaze immediately dropped, and a rush of heat swept over her. She lingered in the moment, enjoying it, then sat back in her chair. “Like I said, I’m not interested in Salvatore Giambi.”

“So what exactly is this about? You want me to leave Giambi for another team? Is that where we’re headed here?” His voice was sharp, taught, defensive.

“Right now, he doesn’t have a team. And he may not get one. What I’m interested in is you. With or without Giambi.” She had his attention now. “It’s the talent I’m looking at. I want to invest in Giambi not because I want to be a silent partner in his racing team. I know his financial woes. I know his precarious situation here in Monaco. Giambi might not last very long.”

“What do you mean? You know something we don’t know?” He moved in closer, sliding his chair up to the small round table.