“We’d stopped to fix a tire. Turned out it was two tires. The Esses stopped behind us to see if we were all right, and when they found out it was just a blowout, they started getting back into the car. Something happened, though, and the brakes slipped, causing it to roll forward.” He ran a hand over his face again. I badly wanted to tuck him into bed and kiss his owies. “Samuel was between the cars and threw himself down, but the front grille of the Zust caught him and pushed him against the De Dion, which in turned rolled forward, knocking Rupert down and going over his leg. Anton was standing a bit off to the side, and he lunged toward Rupe to pull him out of the way but hurt his wrist in the process.”
I digested this picture of disaster, frowning with both the concentration and the thought needed to drive a strange car. “The Essex car slipped its brakes? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know.” Dixon looked bleakly out at the night, making my soul hurt with the need to comfort him. “Sanders was just climbing in behind the steering wheel when it started to roll forward. He said that perhaps the brakes hadn’t set right and the movement of him getting in might have bumped something.”
“But...” I made an inarticulate gesture. “How can brakes come undone like that?”
“Evidently they didn’t do much to modernize thebrakes.” Dixon sounded so tired, I hated to make him talk, but I didn’t quite understand what had happened. “They were refreshed, as Roger calls it, to make sure they worked, but they weren’t wholly modernized. From what I understand, it’s entirely possible that the brakes can give way in certain circumstances. That’s why we were told to always put large stones in front of or behind the wheels when they were parked.”
“I thought that was just because it looked period for the cameras,” I said, horrified at the thought that the Flyer could suddenly take off on its own, and made a mental note to never park it on even the slightest incline without several rocks to hold its tires in place.
“It isn’t just for show, although...” He stopped, looking thoughtful.
“Although what?”
It took him a good two minutes before he answered. “I can’t help but wonder if the Esses intended something to happen, and Samuel just got unlucky.”
I flashed him a horrified glance. “You think they deliberately ran into you?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, then immediately added, “It’s just that I had an odd conversation with them at the beginning of the race, and it keeps coming back to me.”
“What on earth did they say?”
He took a deep breath. “They said they were the villains of the race, that they intended on acting in such a manner, noting that it had Roger’s approval because it would make for interesting film, and they proceeded to pick my brain as to ways they could sabotage other racers.”
“They didn’t! Holy crapballs. Did you tell Roger?”
“Almost immediately, and the fact that he wasn’t in the least bit concerned gave truth to Sanders’s claim that they were doing so with Roger’s blessing.”
“Yeah, but that’s playacting villainy, surely,” I said,negotiating a roundabout carefully before striking out on a highway that would lead us to our hotel. “Just for the cameras, not real actions intended to hurt people.”
“I came to that conclusion after speaking to Roger, but now I’m not so sure. You have to admit, the race has been hit with a number of disasters.”
“Yes, but I think that’s par for the course. Did you read up on the original race? They lost all but two cars in the trip across the U.S. We still have three left, and we started out with less cars than in 1908. Plus, there’s the issue of Samuel. Would they be willing to risk him just to take out Rupert?”
“I don’t think the plan was to harm any of us, per se. Rather, I think that if the attack was deliberate—and we can’t know that it was—then it was focused on the De Dion and not its human occupants. None of us were in the car at the time, after all.”
“Which means you would be vulnerable if it moved,” I pointed out, but had to agree with him. “I just can’t believe any of the Esses would do that. They seem like such nice guys.”
Dixon was silent, but I could see he was thinking deep thoughts. I left him to it while I focused on getting us back to the hotel in one piece, an hour later handing over the car to the waiting crew member with much relief.
“My room or yours?” Dixon asked once we had picked up our room key cards, and followed me to the elevator.
“Yours, I think, but I’ll go to mine to change once I get the corset off,” I said, eyeing him. He looked at the end of his strength. I made a resolve to not tire him out, knowing he needed rest more than he needed mind-blowingly fabulous sex.
I followed him to his room, asked him to unlace me, and then told him to take a shower and relax. “I’ll bring us some dinner, and we can eat here, OK?”
“That would be wonderful,” he said, smothering a yawn.
By the time I took a shower, got into comfy jeans and a sweatshirt, and had room service deliver a couple of burgers to my room, an hour had passed. I carried the food to Dixon, who was still awake, but barely.
“I think you need sleep,” I said after we had eaten, collecting the trays and depositing them outside the room. “I’m going to my own bed, if you don’t mind.”
“Why don’t you sleep here?” he asked, not making any protest about the lack of sexy-times.
“You’ll sleep better without me bumping into you and waking you up,” I told him, and blew him a kiss from the door. “Get lots of sleep, Dixon. Because tomorrow I might not be so considerate of your tender sensibilities.”
He chuckled tiredly. “I’m counting on that. I’ll just check on Rupert to make sure he’s all right, then turn in for the night.”
