Speed Demons Read online

  Evie pushed away from the table and stood. Her movements caught Blythe’s eyes and Evie nodded. The spotlight directed at Blythe made the rest of the room seem darker. Evie didn’t think too many people wondered why she was on her feet. Several others stood too.

  “Some of them will never come home any other way than through these photos. Precious lives of young men and women. Of children.” Blythe’s voice became steady again, her eyes steadfastly looking into Evie’s. “I’m honored that the committee has chosen to recognize my work, but the only way for that to make sense is for us to continue to acknowledge the ones who will live on only in these images. We must also remember the people who loved them and who are left with nothing but their memories. If we don’t…then the pictures in this book are only pixels on paper. This is the true significance of this award. It acknowledges not so much the person behind the camera, but the individuals seen through the lens.” Blythe stopped talking when thunderous applause echoed throughout the ballroom. Now her cheeks colored faintly in the stark light. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She took the glass sculpture and the envelope from the podium and walked off the stage.

  Evie moved closer to escort Blythe back to the table of honor. Blythe gripped her hand so tight with her ice-cold hands, Evie’s bones ground together. “You did a marvelous job. Very eloquent.”

  “I panicked,” she whispered.

  “You choked up on a sensitive subject that every single person here can relate to. You didn’t screw up. You just showed that you truly care about your work, about the people you photographed.”

  They sat down and Blythe had to suffer through the praise from the people who shared the table with them. As Blythe’s award had been the most prestigious one, the ceremony was coming to an end, and people began to migrate toward the bar and the dance floor.

  “Now that you’ve endured that part, can I get you a real drink?” Evie winked at Blythe, who pursed her lips.

  “Why not? I usually don’t drink, but tonight’s special. A cosmo would be nice.”

  “Coming right up. Hey, there’s a guy looking like he wants something.”

  Blythe glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, that’s the nice young man who’ll make sure my award gets shipped to the right address so I can drink, dance, and enjoy myself without having to worry that it gets stolen.”

  “Okay. Do your thing and then I’ll be back with the first part of that plan.” She moved toward the bar area, realizing she would have to stand in line since a lot of other people had the same idea. She kept looking at Blythe, who was handing over her award to the young man.

  “You’re Evie Marshall, aren’t you?” a male voice said from behind, interrupting her thoughts.

  She gazed behind her where a handsome man in his forties leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. He smiled, displaying white teeth that contrasted against a deep tan, which Evie suspected was sprayed on.

  “Yes. Nice to meet you,” she said politely, and turned to move forward toward the bar.

  “What can you possibly be doing at a geeky event like this?” The man laughed at his own so-called joke. “I’m Gary Niles.” No doubt he figured Evie had heard of him. She hadn’t.

  “If that’s the case, what brings you here?” She didn’t bother to conceal the chill in her voice.

  Gary didn’t look entirely pleased about not being recognized. “I’m sure you’ve seen my show on the Weather Channel, if you think about it.”

  “The Weather Channel?” Evie felt impolite giggles begin as tremors in her stomach. Readjusting her features, she looked at him over her shoulder. “You’re really a weather boy? Sounds like fun.” Not. She looked around for Blythe, but couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “I saw you when you arrived.” Gary didn’t give up easily. “With the guest of honor, no less. Perhaps I should give you a heads-up.” He moved unpleasantly close to Evie. “A gorgeous girl like you should mind your step around the famous photographer. A friend of mine on the Military Channel did a whole segment on her, and when they were researching her background, they couldn’t find shit about her before she magically appeared in New York as a teenaged prodigy photographer.”

  Furious at Gary’s conspiratorial tone, which was a joke since everybody around them could hear him, she said, “I really don’t care what you have to say about Blythe.”

  “You have a reputation to protect, don’t you? I mean, you’ve been accused of stuff after your spectacular crash.”

  How could anybody possibly consider this guy charming? His ugly sneer combined with his malicious tone heated her blood to a volcanic temperature.

  “You can say what you wish about me, since I don’t give a fuck,” Evie said, her voice a low, reverberating hiss. “But for you to degrade the woman who’s the reason for everybody who’s anybody on the East Coast when it comes to journalism, TV, and publishing to be here tonight? That’s not only stupid, it’s career suicide. If you were trying to get into my pants by badmouthing my date, well, let me tell you, buddy. That doesn’t show much intelligence either.”

  “Evie.” Blythe suddenly stood next to her, taking her hand. Her blue eyes were dark gray, and she looked back and forth between Gary and Evie with disdain.

  “I’m sorry, Blythe,” she said, swallowing tears of fury and disappointment. This situation was getting out of hand and destroying Blythe’s big night. “He’s a jerk. I shouldn’t have let him—”

  “Ms. Marshall, we heard everything,” a woman said from behind her. “So did a lot of people at the bar. People who admire Ms. Pierce greatly, and yourself as well. We don’t, however, care much for people like Gary Niles. Common courtesy would be enough, but envy is ugly no matter what form it takes.” The tall, blond woman stepped closer and extended her hand to Blythe and then to Evie. “My name is Annelie Peterson.” Evie knew instantly who the woman was—a wealthy publisher and successful Hollywood producer that nobody in the business would want to rub the wrong way.

  Annelie Peterson effectively excluded Gary Niles by turning her back to him. “Congratulations on your well-deserved award, Blythe. I’m on the committee and, trust me, you’re in a class all your own.”

  “Thank you.” Blythe clung to Evie’s hand.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy your evening and not let any nuisance destroy it for you. Have fun now.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Peterson. We’ll do just that.” Evie nodded approvingly at Annelie. “Come on, Blythe. Let’s go dance. We can have a drink later.” She tugged at Blythe’s hand, pulling her gently toward the dance floor.

  “Dance?” Looking slightly panic-stricken, Blythe followed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  *

  Blythe was sure Evie meant her suggestion as a joke, or a reason for them to escape all the unwanted attention. She’d overheard the last part of Gary Niles’s venomous words and was concerned what Evie might think. It surprised her that Gary hadn’t added the rumor of Blythe being a lesbian to the mix.

  “Sure. Oh, look, it’s Noelle Laurent. Wow. For real.” Evie sounded positively in awe.

  The famous singer-songwriter sat at the piano, singing a soft ballad, her warm, husky voice easily recognizable. Before Blythe could stop her, Evie shifted her grip of Blythe’s hand and wrapped her other arm around her waist. Gently, she guided Blythe across the floor, keeping pace with the love song.

  “Evie.” Her heart hammered. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m not.” Evie stroked her back gently in soothing circles. “I’m many things, but I promise you I’m quite sane. Just enjoy the music.”

  “But…” She didn’t know what to say. People were staring, they had to be. It was impossible to relax at first. She tried to think of what to say to Evie to convince her that they needed to leave the dance floor, but nothing came to mind. Instead Evie’s hand slid softly along her arm and then around her waist again. Evie skillfully steered them away from some overzealous guests who were trying some unorthodox dance moves.

  “See
?” Evie murmured in her ear. “Everybody’s looking at those fools. Nobody cares about us.”

  “All right.” Actually, Evie could be right. She forced the hand that rested on Evie’s shoulder to relax. Slowly she slid it farther up, gently cupping the back of Evie’s neck under her hair. “Better?”

  “God. Um. Yes.” Evie ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. “Yeah.”

  It was good to know that she could still keep Evie on her toes. Evie was bolder and braver than her, especially considering her occupation, but every now and then Blythe felt like evening the score.

  “You were wonderful tonight.” Evie bent her head and whispered in her ear. “I’m so glad you asked me to be your date.”

  “Date. Yes.” Now Blythe fumbled for the right words. “You were the first person who came to mind. I’m glad you’re here. I really am.” She looked up at Evie and allowed herself to take the opportunity to drown in her eyes. It wasn’t just Evie’s good looks that pulled her in, even if Evie was easily the most stunning woman at the event. She couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps a combination of physical attraction and loyalty? Since Evie had suggested that they dance, Evie might just find her a little bit appealing too. She hadn’t heard anything about Evie being gay, but then again, she hadn’t seen anything in the rags about her dating any men either. Granted, she stayed busy with her career, but even the most hardworking people had significant others occasionally.

  Blythe suddenly realized that she was dancing so close to Evie that their thighs were brushing together. Her skin buzzed and she was afraid she might start to pant.

  “Maybe we need to sit down, Evie? I mean, we should consider your leg. Right?”

  “Aw, Blythe, and we’re having such a good time.” Evie bent down and spoke quietly into her ear, her lips sliding against Blythe’s temple and sending tremors through her upper body. “You sure? My leg is fine. Really.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “How about that drink?”

  “Or you could call for that limo buddy and have him drive us home.”

  Evie sighed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She pressed closer for a wonderful, short moment. “Too bad. Still, I understand that this was a lot for someone who doesn’t like crowds or being center stage.”

  Of course Evie would understand. Feeling guilty, Blythe held on around Evie’s neck as they danced toward the exit. “For what it’s worth, I loved being here with you, and the dance was the best part.”

  “I agree.” Evie magically produced a cell phone and pressed the speed dial. After a few murmured words, she looked regretfully at Blythe. “Car will be here in five minutes. At least there’s no line at the curb.”

  “Good.” Blythe reluctantly let go of her with one hand, but decided not to let the chance to keep holding her hand slip by. Dancing so close to Evie, inhaling her scent and feeling the warmth of her against her fingertips…she had felt so safe. She still did, clinging to Evie’s hand. Sooner or later she’d have to let go, but she chose not to think of that just yet.

  The limousine glided up to the curb within a few minutes. Valets assisted them with the door, and once she and Evie were inside, a strange mix of nervous calm settled between them. Blythe sat quietly watching the streetlights of New Haven that they passed by. She wasn’t looking forward to the impersonal hotel room, but at least she was in the same town as Evie.

  Furtively glancing at Evie, she found her sitting with her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the neck rest. Their hands had lost their connection when they entered the limo, and taking Evie’s hand now would have a completely different meaning. Before, it had half showed they were at the function together, yet kept people guessing, a little tongue in cheek. Now, when they were alone, with no spectators to either impress or confuse, holding Evie’s hand would be like a come-on.

  Being honest with herself, Blythe wanted nothing more than to take Evie’s hand, for all the right reasons, the obvious reasons. She wanted to bury her head against that strong, warm neck and just feel secure. To kiss those full lips and feel Evie kiss her back. As wonderful as that would be, could be, it was a dream she couldn’t dwell on.

  Still, it broke her heart to know that wouldn’t happen.

  Chapter Ten

  The acrid smoke filled Evie’s throat and nostrils. Unavoidable, it began to choke her, made her gag and cough uncontrollably. She was in the car, with it careening and tumbling among flames of fire. Around her voices screamed and tearing, buckling metal screeched. Her harness kept her in place, and the cage inside the Viper kept its body from collapsing on top of her.

  “Oh, God.” She sobbed loudly. “Please. Make it stop. Please.”

  Instead, the car halted, but the flames rose higher around her. The sickening smell of burning flesh hit before the pain did when the fire gnawed through her suit. Crying out, Evie tried to reach the hands that grabbed for her. Sometimes the hands were those of gloved firefighters, sometimes they were small, slender woman’s hands, holding on to a camera. The light of the flash hit her eyes again and again.

  “Blythe. Help me.” Evie tried to grab the camera strap that dangled unscathed among the flames, but it stayed just beyond her reach.

  The flames had now incinerated her suit and her skin turned black and bloody. “No. No!”

  Evie sat up in bed, almost toppling over the side. Hardly able to catch her breath, she tugged at her soaked T-shirt. She fumbled for the switch for the bedside lamp, gasping for air. The soft light helped her figure out where she was. Her Branford condo. Her bed.

  Trembling, she yanked her sweaty T-shirt off. Then she hurried into her ensuite bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped inside, keeping it as cold as possible and trying to eradicate the haunting memories of the flames licking her body. The water usually helped, but nothing shut out the noise and the voices crying out in pain.

  Out of the shower, Evie wrapped herself in an enormous bath towel and returned to the bedroom. She looked indecisively at her bed and then the alarm clock next to it. Four in the morning. After padding over to the La-Z-Boy rocking chair by the window, she curled up and tried to drown out the echoes of the ones in the nightmare. This happened almost every night, unless she’d worked out so strenuously she was more unconscious than asleep. She’d even tried alcohol before bedtime, but it exacerbated the horrifying dream-sequences.

  She couldn’t stop trembling. The cold shower hadn’t helped much, but the thought of going back in for a hot one was worse yet. She knew, or could guess, why her nights were worse than usual. Tomorrow, she, Blythe, and her team would start training on Darlington Raceway. She’d put in enough training sessions to move farther south. At least she could stay at her beloved beach house, her true sanctuary where she was far enough away from her family and less reminded of how she’d failed to live up to their expectations. Something about the view from Pawleys Island, and the privacy her own house gave her, carried her through difficult times. This would be her first time back after the crash, and perhaps she was dreading that it could have lost its allure.

  Evie glanced over at her cell phone. It was too early to call someone on a Sunday morning. Two weeks had passed since the award ceremony where she and Blythe had danced. They’d spent time together twice since then, but rather briefly and with a camera as a shield between them. Now she hadn’t talked to Blythe in five days, and she couldn’t think about anything but dialing her number. Why it was so important to talk to Blythe right now she didn’t know, only that it was. She just knew that if anyone would understand, it was Blythe.

  “To hell with it.” She grabbed her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Blythe’s number. Three rings went through before a sleepy, but concerned, voice answered.

  “Evie? Something wrong?” Blythe cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up.” Clinging to the phone with both hands, Evie could hear the slight tone of hysteria in her own voice.

  “Of course y
ou should. I’m awake now. Sitting up in bed. Talk to me.” Blythe still sounded husky, but indeed instantly wide-awake. Perhaps a journalist trait.

  “I’m having a bit of a rough night. I can’t get the noise to stop.” Not sure how she could possibly be honest with Blythe, she pulled the damp towel closer around her and curled up in the chair.

  “What noise?”

  “I can hear the other guys. Burning. Crying out and then the flames…the flames.” She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. She nearly always got a headache after the worst of these nightmares. “And then the voices stop. That’s the worst part.”

  “Why is that?” Blythe’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but also impossibly soft.

  “That’s when I know it’s too late for them. They’re gone. They burned to death, and I lived.”

  “The survivor guilt really does a number on you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Hot tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m so scared this will haunt me forever. I just don’t sleep well. Ever. I can’t complain about it either since the guys that died…” She tried to speak, to explain, but her throat was one big knot.

  “It won’t. Just the fact that you called me, that you let someone in, proves that you’re working through this. Just so you know, suffering from survivor guilt and actually being guilty aren’t the same thing. You didn’t cause the crash, you didn’t have anywhere to go without running into another car, and you reacted by the book to the situation. And fast too. I’m sure people have told you this many times.”

  “No. Not really. Not in so many words.” It was true. Ben had discussed it with her, and perhaps that had been his message, but nobody had put it like Blythe just had. “Nobody has probably dared since I get so defensive. I shoot them down way before they ever get to the point.”