When the Devil Drives Read online

  Jack zipped up the suit. “Let’s do this.”

  Ethan’s smile made Jack’s breath catch in his chest. “Do let’s, old bean!” As did his use of the words Jack had said right before they made a two-man, no-camel assault on a paramilitary compound in the desert.

  All the doubts of the past minutes fled and Jack laughed. This was why he was here. This sense of connection and shared moments. The idea that laughter could be born from one of the most harrowing events in Jack’s life all because of the man standing beside him. The man whose unabashed smile could make Jack think dangerous thoughts.

  Together, they settled their helmets in place, got into the low-slung car, and headed out to pit lane.

  The idea of driving around and around in circles had never appealed to Jack, but then he’d never been in the jump seat of a racing car before. Sure, he’d been in the car when Ethan had performed some fancy moves while avoiding their police pursuit, but that wasn’t this.

  Ethan took the first couple of laps slow, like he was on a leisurely Sunday drive, commenting as he went about how he would have to take each corner, when and how hard to brake, frowning at the hairpin turn and scowling at the chicanes. The second straight, longer than the first, ran alongside the beach and, through Ethan’s window, Jack caught sight of yellow sand and flawless blue water between the grandstands. They slid gracefully around a series of corners Jack wasn’t looking forward to at top speed, and then back on the first straight, this time with palm trees and high-rises outside Ethan’s window.

  Third and fourth laps were faster. The Vanquish responded beautifully, gliding over the road, swishing through the chicanes and hugging the barriers around the corners. Ethan’s one-sided discussion dropped away, reduced to a few mutters, as he tested the angles and available space. He seemed to mould into his seat, becoming more and more a part of the car the faster they went, knees pumping rapidly as he shifted through the gears with well-practiced ease.

  This was Jack’s man—peaceful, perfectly in control, finally at one with the world that was speeding by so fast it was just a blur of light and shade. It didn’t even matter that Jack seemed to have disappeared from Ethan’s perceptions. Getting the chance to see this again was worth the invisibility.

  Two more laps like that and then, coming through the tangle of turns at the far end of the track, Ethan flashed Jack a tight smile, working Victoria back up to top gear.

  “Ready, Jack?”

  “For what?” he asked, stupidly.

  “For a real circuit.” Ethan grinned and then, sinking even deeper into his car-trance, added, “Hold on.”

  The car leaped forward down pit lane straight. Jack was pressed back into his seat and the world outside the car was no longer a blur, it wasn’t even there anymore. All that existed was the black ribbon stretching out before them and the sleek machine carrying them along it. Ethan’s hands shimmered in his peripheral vision, the left flashing between wheel and gear stick, the right twisting and turning them through the chicane, hitting lots of curb. Hard on the brakes and they took the hairpin turn so tight Jack could have brushed his fingers against the barrier, if the speed wouldn’t have snapped his arm right off. Down the beach straight, hitting the next chicanes so quickly they were gone before Jack felt the bumps. Then the rapid-fire corners—left, left, right, curve, hard left—and Ethan opened Victoria back up on the pit lane straight.

  Then it all happened again. And again. Each lap time seemed to get shorter. By the fourth one at top speed, Jack was cool with it. Swaying with the car around corners, thrilling at the tight in, wide out on the hairpin, loving the two-wheel bumps on the chicanes, feeling like he needed to cheer whenever they flew down pit lane straight.

  Then it was over.

  Coming out of the final corner, Ethan didn’t increase speed, just coasted Victoria, slower and slower until the world rebuilt itself around them again—tall buildings, swaying palms, concrete barriers, splashy sponsor ads and excited spectators in the grandstands. Rather tamely, Ethan swerved them into pit lane and cruised sedately to where Brendan stood with Vicky and Katie, all of whom gave them an enthusiastic thumbs up.

  Only when they were at a complete stop did Jack feel the quivering in his stomach. The rush of the speed, the electrifying sensation of balancing between precise control and wild chaos, the nearly orgasmic sight of Ethan so focused. It hit him all at once. He fumbled with getting his helmet off, and then the harness, letting it snap back over his shoulders so he leaned forwards, breathing hard, trying to decide if he was going to vomit or laugh.

  A hot hand landed on his back. “Jack? Are you all right?”

  Gone was the Australian accent, back was the British. A familiar touch, rubbing up and down his spine. Ethan had replaced his helmet with the more familiar sunglasses. The world tipped back toward normal.

  “Yeah.” Jack straightened, taking several deep breaths. “Just haven’t felt anything like that since my first parachute jump.”

  Ethan’s smile was hesitant. “Is that a good thing, or bad?”

  Christ. It was back. That goddamned grenade in his chest. Mixed in with the lingering effects of the drive, its explosion wasn’t as crippling as it had been in the past, but it tugged him toward Ethan, as if the only way to suppress the shock wave was to smother it with this man.

  “Yeah.” It was about the only sound Jack could make right then.

  “Yes?” Ethan leaned in, voice lowering to the husky timbre that rattled Jack so nicely.

  “Yeah, good.”

  Whatever Ethan might have said in response was lost in a sudden rush of people around the car. It was only Brendan, the women and the two officials, but it felt like a veritable horde invading their moment. Still, Jack’s irritation was mellowed with relief as he got out of the car. His legs trembled a little but steadied smartly when Brendan made like an arrow for Ethan, laughing and exclaiming about the return of Rampaging Roy. Vicky, too, was bouncing between Ethan and the Vanquish, as if she couldn’t decide which she wanted to hug more. It was Katie who came to Jack.

  “First time on a track with him?” she asked shrewdly.

  Jack scraped together a faint smile. “First time ever.”

  She glanced toward Ethan, who was demurely denying his prowess to his two fans. “You picked a good one, then. I wish I drove like Roy. He could go professional any day and yet he won’t. I don’t get it.” She shook her head. “And his devotion to the Vanquish . . . With a better car, he could own any track.” On that note, she went to offer her compliments to Ethan.

  Jack had no chance to talk to Ethan. The officials occupied Ethan with more instructions and details and before long they were motioning him onto the track again. This time, with a closeup audience, Ethan was extra careful when exchanging his sunglasses for helmet so he wouldn’t be blinded by the sunlight, or expose his white irises to his fellows. How any of them would react to Ethan being a Sugar Baby—the child of a woman addicted to the drug Sugar, born with tissue over his eyes, the removal of which left his pupils unable to adjust to light grades—Jack had no clue, but it was another feature that could be used to link Roy Carter to Ethan Blade, so best left hidden.

  Once again, the Vanquish hit the track. From a standing start this time, Ethan had four laps to get his time as low as possible, to get a good starting position in the race the following day. Katie and Vicky took Jack to the closest grandstand, to better see the track as well as the big outdoor screen hanging from the roof of the stand opposite theirs. Brendan stood not far away, not quite ignoring Jack, but not acknowledging him either.

  Nose to the starting line, Victoria the Vanquish looked like a black panther ready to hunt. Jack kind of wished he was back in the car, about to witness Ethan in his element again, but at the same time was glad he wasn’t. He didn’t want anything to distract Ethan, wanted him to get the best time he could. He needed Ethan to experience that ephemeral rush of control, that sensation of being in command of his life—an escape from the rest of
his deadly, dangerous world.

  Without fanfare, the starting light went from red to yellow to green. Rubber burned for a second, grey smoke curling up from the Vanquish’s tyres, and then she was gone, roaring away so fast Jack lost sight of her momentarily. Surely she was already at top speed when, in the distance, her brake lights came on and seconds later, she vanished around the hairpin.

  On the big screen, Jack watched, breathless, as the black car came out wide of the sharp turn, rear end swinging even wider for a second, before straightening up and burning down the beach straight. Katie murmured about overcorrection and pressed her lips together. Vicky assured her Roy’s practice laps had been perfect and that he would undoubtedly recover. Sure enough, he navigated the mix of turns at the far end without issue and Victoria roared past them a second later, powering into the second time trial lap. There was no overcorrection this time and when the car roared past again, the entire grandstand cheered.

  There was a timer in the lower corner of the big screen, but Jack ignored it, consumed with watching the car, both thrilled and scared. A weird mix of terror and excitement was in his belly, accompanied by a low-level fear. In the car with Ethan he’d felt secure, able to see Ethan in total control, to know implicitly he was okay. Now, watching from outside, he worried with each turn, with every bump over a chicane. He knew Ethan wasn’t in any more danger now than he had been during the practice laps, but that didn’t quell the anxiety. Part way through the third lap, Vicky put her hand on his arm and gave him a small, understanding smile. She got what he was feeling. For a moment, he wanted to tell her she shouldn’t feel that for Ethan, but when her gaze slipped to Katie, he understood.

  Victoria flew past, heading into her final lap. Jack’s heart climbed into his throat. He still refused to look at the time, willing to count it a win if, when, Ethan got out of the car in one piece. A perfect lap and at last, the Vanquish roared over the finish line.

  Katie and Vicky dragged Jack back down as Ethan took a slowdown lap, cruising into pit lane as they reached the designated spot for number thirteen. Brendan, of course, sauntered over as well, but everyone held back as Ethan climbed out of the car. Replacing helmet swiftly with sunglasses, he turned toward the big screen. After a moment, the image of the empty track vanished, replaced with a series of numbers.

  TOTAL TIME – 4.46.0821

  FASTEST LAP TIME – 1.10.6732

  AVERAGE LAP TIME – 1.11.5205

  CURRENT STARTING POSITION – SECOND

  The grandstand whooped wildly. On the screen, a little animation came up, a silver Lamborghini raced past, followed by a black Vanquish, followed by a succession of animated cars Jack missed because suddenly Ethan was right there and throwing his arms around Jack’s neck, laughing. Startled, Jack barely got his arms around Ethan before Ethan was pushing him away.

  The cheering crowd faded in Jack’s perception as Ethan stepped back, no longer laughing. He kept his hands on Jack’s chest, a gentle pressure holding him at a distance. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, Jack wanted to take the glasses off him and see his eyes. He knew they wouldn’t tell him anything more than the straight line of his lips and the sudden tension in his shoulders, but it didn’t stop him wishing.

  In a sudden gesture, Ethan moved one hand to his cheek and leaned in to kiss the other one swiftly. “Thank you,” he whispered mysteriously, then turned to greet Vicky, who excitedly dragged him back to the car to gush for about two seconds, before launching into a lecture about what he needed to do to make the car handle better.

  Confused, Jack dragged his gaze off Ethan’s back, only for it to land on Brendan.

  If looks could kill, Brendan’s expression was a nine-mil bullet smashing right through Jack’s skull. It certainly burned through Jack’s confusion like an incendiary grenade, leaving him upset by Ethan’s behaviour, which he redirected at Brendan, giving him his best SAS soldier stare. Neither a glare nor a snarl, it was a flat, cold-eyed expression that promised complete and utter annihilation if so required. It had cowed Taliban fighters in Afghanistan, terrified human traffickers in Cambodia and made a pair of terrorists in Singapore wish their car bomb hadn’t broken down where it did. Here, it made Brendan swallow hard and suddenly find something else he had to do right now, somewhere distant.

  The guilt wasn’t as bad this time. That one look had proven that even if Ethan and Brendan had fucked in the past, it wasn’t happening now, and that Brendan really wanted it to.

  “Where did Brendan go?” Ethan asked, coming back to Jack. His cheeks were flushed and his smile was wide and unabashed, all signs of his earlier hesitation gone.

  “Don’t know. Must have had somewhere else to be. What happens now?”

  “My part is officially over for today. There are still a few practices and time trials to be done. I’d like to stay here. Katie’s driving next hour and I want to watch some of the other drivers as well. I’m only familiar with a couple, so I’d like to get a feel for them on the track before tomorrow . . . and I’m rambling.”

  Caught up in the sight of a happy Ethan, Jack grinned. “I’m used to it. You do what you have to. I’ll occupy myself well enough.”

  “You’re always welcome to stay here. I know it’s rather boring for you, but I like having you near.” They were standing close, but Ethan shifted a little closer, voice lowering to a husky rumble. “In fact, I’d like to have you much closer right now.”

  Holy fuck. Jack forgot all about the earlier brushoff and was half-hard in an instant. “Jesus, quit it. There’s nowhere private here and you don’t have a real backseat in your bloody car.”

  Ethan shivered and for a moment, Jack thought the lack of privacy might not matter. Shit. They were on the Gold Coast, with a hotel or two on every block. After witnessing Ethan drive, Jack was pretty certain he could get them somewhere secluded within minutes. Even as he was seriously considering it, Ethan moved away from him.

  “Later,” he said. “I’d really like to be here for Katie and Vicky. And Calhoun is driving last today. I need to see him drive before the race.”

  The temptation to argue was strong. Jack wanted to try to convince Ethan the women didn’t need him as much as he did right then. But it went as quickly as it came, reason reasserting itself before Jack made a total fool of himself.

  “Okay. Later. Want me to put Victoria back in the shed?”

  Ethan handed over the keys. “Thank you. Are you going to go ogle surfers?”

  “Maybe. It seems some crazy bastard got me all fired up then left me hanging. Might need to find someone . . .” He trailed off as Ethan’s sunglasses took on a distinctly disapproving tilt. “To sell me a kabab or something for lunch. What about you? Hungry?”

  “I could eat. Could you possibly bring me something?”

  “See what I can find. I’ll just look for the hot-pink Ferrari, shall I?”

  Ethan waved him away and strolled off to find the women. Satisfied with Brendan’s current state of not-being-near-Ethan, Jack got in the car and carefully returned it to shed thirteen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Changed back into jeans, Jack closed up the shed and wandered back towards the main pavilion, hoping someone there would be able to give him a direction to head in for food. He noted the pink Ferrari was gone, probably sitting in pit lane awaiting its turn on the track. If he found sustenance in time, he’d head back to watch Katie drive.

  He was pulled up short, however, by the sound of a raised, angry voice coming from one of the sheds. Several others had stopped as well, curiously peering into the shadows. Two people stood behind a midnight-blue Porsche, a man in a white racing suit and a woman in jeans and blouse, holding a small tablet. She tapped away on it while the man raged at her about contracts and unfair expectations.

  Mid-rant, the driver stopped and said, “You’re not even listening to me, are you? Is that him you’re constantly messaging? Tell him I’m not driving this piece of shit. I need a real car if I have any chanc
e of placing in this stupid race.”

  Calm as you please, the woman neatly sidestepped the man’s swipe at the tablet. “Remember, Calhoun, you came to my boss and pleaded for this. Beggars, choosers, blah blah blah.” She turned her back on him and walked towards the front of the shed.

  This was Todd Calhoun, Ethan’s arch nemesis on the track. He didn’t look like much physically, a short, wiry man with more attitude than bulk, but the furious way he swung after the woman, fist raised, meant business.

  Jack skipped around the bystanders, racing to stop Calhoun. Peripherally, he was aware of another person rushing in as well, a tall streak of blue uniform reaching for his radio as he moved towards Calhoun.

  Neither Jack nor the cop should have bothered. Before Calhoun even got close to grabbing the woman, she spun and caught his hand. In a flash, she had his arm up behind his back and chest pressed into the side of the Porsche. All without dropping her tablet or shaking even one strand of hair free of its tidy bun.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” Calhoun whined, cheek mashed into the top of the car. “That’s my gear shift hand.”

  “And if you want to drive today, keep it to yourself from now on,” the woman snapped. After a momentary increase in pressure on his bent wrist, she let him go and stepped back. “Any more questions, Calhoun?”

  He slunk off, massaging his hand. “No. I’ll drive this heap of junk, but I’m going to call my lawyers. This isn’t what your boss promised me.”

  “You do that.” She continued out of the shed, nodding to Jack and the cop as she went past. While not big, she wasn’t whip-thin, either. A compact but lean body with sturdy legs and it looked like she spent more time lifting weights in the gym than Jack.