Stacked Deck. Terry Watkins
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movie locations?”
“Actually, a couple of them are interested in investing in racing. And, maybe down the road, we can talk about coming up with a script.”
“Starring JD Hawke?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m much of an actor. Maybe a supporting role.”
“You have a good look for the screen,” Beth said, gazing into his eyes. “The strong, mischievous type.” She gave him a warm smile.
“You still need to be able to act.”
“You’re kidding, right? How many movies have you seen lately?”
“Hey, don’t knock Hollywood. I thought The Matrix was great.”
“Too many special effects.”
“Yeah, but Keanu Reeves is the king of the demon ride, which I do appreciate.”
“What’s that?”
“He likes to ride his motorcycle at night with no lights at high speeds. Nearly killed him a couple of times.”
“Sounds more like a death wish ride.”
“He’s had a tragic life, but he doesn’t let it make a wallflower out of him.”
“More like a funeral bouquet, if he keeps that up. A lot of people have tragic lives—they don’t deal with it by going on demon death rides.”
He shrugged.
She smiled. Arguing with a racecar driver about risky driving was something of an oxymoron. Besides, deep down inside, she was a little reckless with speed herself, but she didn’t like to admit it openly.
When they exited the elevator into a small, private garage, she said, “I want to see the shop, but that’s just an excuse.”
“For what?”
“Getting to know you. If I’m investing in somebody, I want to know who they are. Not just by reputation, or from other people’s opinions. Knowing people is how I do business.”
He gave her a slow nod. “Okay. Sure. I’ll do the best I can to give you what you want.”
“Good.” She aborted the sexual comebacks that immediately came to mind. “If you know a nice quiet bar where we could have a drink first, that would be great. We’ll see the shop later. The night is young.”
“There’s a place on the way that’s real nice.”
They walked toward a group of cars.
“You don’t have family in Formula One?” she asked.
JD shook his head. “They’re all gear-heads. But I’m the rebel. My brother’s in NASCAR, my dad, too. But I always had a thing about open wheel. Went from midgets right to the Indy Racing League and on to Formula One.” He paused, then pointed. “We’re taking this baby,” JD said as they walked around a pillar and headed for a car that took Beth’s breath away.
Beth stopped dead. “Oh, my God!”
“You like?”
Beth’s knees went weak. “Are you kidding. A Bugatti isn’t a car. It’s the speed of light captured in metal.”
She touched the hood with her fingers, gently, as if touching a work of art, an exotic sculpture. “I was at the London auction two years ago where one of these babies went for one-point-five million Euros. I came very close to buying it and have regretted not doing so ever since.” In truth, she couldn’t remember ever having seen this car before.
She stared for a moment at the world’s most powerful sports car, the Bugatti Veyron. This one was a bright red metallic with a black pearl configuration. “It looks alive.”
“Turn the key and you’ll see some life. Maybe the finest road machine ever built,” JD said. “Let’s take her for a spin.”
He flipped the keys in the air and snatched them with boyish glee.
She had the distinct impression Giambi didn’t give up his prize possession often or easily. It told her a lot about how he felt about JD. Or her.
“You’re the first person Giambi has ever let me take for a ride in his car. You’re one special lady.”
“I feel duly privileged.”
JD watched her reaction to the Bugatti, enjoying how her eyes widened. He appreciated her understanding that this was no ordinary sports car.
He was equally impressed that she not only knew the car, but had nearly bought one. There was something else about her he couldn’t put his finger on, but it was an attitude thing. Beneath all the sophisticated elegance of a super-rich widow was something wild, and he couldn’t wait to get to know that aspect of her personality.
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