Dangerous Race Read Free Page B

against the wall, the sadness behind her words mirrored in her eyes.
    “You know if Tim were still alive, he’d be all over your attitude,” Chelsea said. Tim had given them their start and made it possible for their company to exist.
    “Yeah, but he’s not and I blame him for this mess.”
    “Hey, if it wasn’t for him, we never would’ve had the success we did. Even if it was short-lived.”
    Kim shook her head because there wasn’t anything to say. The fact was that Tim had payrolled the company and without him they hadn’t been able to survive. Chelsea’s illustrious advertising career had ended almost as quickly as it had begun.
    The shrill ring of the phone shattered the silence. With no one in the office to answer the call, Chelsea picked up the receiver. “Harding and Jacobs. May I help you?”
    “Answering yourself now, huh?” a familiar voice said. A trace of pity sounded in his tone and it made her mad. “Turn on the TV. The All Sports Network. You might be interested in what’s on. I think you’ll see what you were looking for. I can’t stay on the line, but I’ll call you back when I get a chance.” Click.
    “Charming,” Chelsea said to the dial tone. She hung up the phone, grabbed the remote control at her end of the giant mahogany table and turned on the television.
    “Who was that?” Kim asked, walking in to get a better view of the screen attached high on the wall.
    “Mills,” Chelsea said. “He told me to turn on the TV.” It took a few seconds to find the right channel and mounting anticipation pushed her heart rate faster. “There. This is it.”
    She watched reporters jockeying for position in a conference room, pulling out small digital recorders and notepads. A dozen cameras atop tripods sat waiting to roll. A long table had been set up in front of a red, white and blue ARO backdrop. Two microphones, two metal chairs and a slew of hungry journalists waited for whoever was about to speak.
    A woman and a man walked behind the table and took seats in front of the microphones. The lady wore a tan, lightweight jacket, a pair of cargo pants and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes and she didn’t flinch when light bulbs flashed in her face. Wearing a dark suit, the older, heavyset man tapped on the microphone and blew into it. The feedback quieted the bustling news people.
    “Most of you look familiar.” He commanded the room with a booming voice and faint southern accent. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ed Grayling and I’m the owner of Grayling Racing.” He gestured to the woman next to him. “You all know Trace Bradshaw.” He watched her for a second then looked back to the cameras. “I had so many phone calls yesterday and told so many people the same thing that I figured I was better off calling this press conference and answering all your questions at once. After this, I’d appreciate it if you could let my team get back to work.” He cleared his throat. “As you all know, I lost a close friend a couple of days ago.” He glanced at the lady next to him. “We both did.” He sighed. “Joe Harper was one of the best engineers in the business. The man knew how to race cars and he knew how to win. We’re going to miss him.”
    Kim glanced back at her. “Why are you supposed to be watching this?”
    “Shh,” Chelsea whispered with a quick shake of her head. “Just watch.”
    “What was the official cause of death?” one reporter asked.
    Grayling squirmed in his seat. “It’s no secret that Joe had a heart condition. All the signs point to a heart attack.”
    A reporter raised his hand, speaking when Ed acknowledged him. “Trace, before your accident four years ago, you were the youngest person to qualify for the Arrow 500 by setting a track record and the first woman to have the pole position. Now that you have another chance for the title, will you continue the race in spite of your chief