Anna headed for the door, intending to meet the team for the second shuttle to Portimão. They were staying in nearby Faro, and she was running late after washing ocean water from her hair and the gritty sand from her skin. She hated feeling like she wore a layer of salt and sand. She spent a long time getting rid of it all while Isaac had a quick rinse then left for the track and free practice with the first group because he preferred to be early. She didn’t mind catching the next shuttle, since she would still be on time.
Hurrying, she didn’t pay attention to who else was present in the almost empty elevator. She pushed the button for the main level. As soon as the doors closed, she glanced at the figure in the back and met Austin Spencer’s pale eyes. Her stomach clenched. So much for not being alone with him.
“Have you been avoiding me? I haven’t seen you in ages.” He slid closer. “Where did you go swimming this morning? I liked your sexy purple bikini.”
Why was he being so friendly? Her skin crawled. He’d been watching her again. She already stood at the far side of the elevator, but with eleven stories still to descend, she wished for more space.
“Isaac still keeping you satisfied?” He inched closer, making her feel cornered. “If you were my umbrella girl, I’d have you on your back so often you wouldn’t be able to walk.”
She flushed hot with anger. “What my boyfriend and I do, is none of your business.” She turned to face him.
“Darlin’, I’m still waiting for you to leave that twig and move on to a real man. Though I have to admit, he’s punching above his weight this year.” He shuffled closer still and the air in the elevator became stifling. “Let me know if you need a little action on the side. Your boyfriend doesn’t need to know.” He stroked the side of her bare arm.
The hair on the back of her neck rose and the acrid taste of bile filled her mouth.
“This is sexual harassment. Touch me again, and I’ll charge you with assault,” she said, lurching to the other front corner of the elevator. She hated confrontation but she wouldn’t let him make her feel powerless. She was done with feeling that way because of someone else.
“Don’t be like that,” he said. “I’m paying you a compliment.”
“You’re disgusting. Stay away from me.” Her fist was clenched, and she wanted to punch the smirk off his face.
“You’re even hotter when you’re mad.” He smirked and sipped his energy drink.
The elevator finally came to a halt, and she scooted out the door, hurrying to join the team, where she’d feel safe.
“See you at the track.” His words didn’t sound casual—more like a threat.
She couldn’t stop trembling. She stood just behind Angel while she calmed herself, twirling her ring and focusing on her breathing. She should tell Isaac about what had just happened, but talking about it might cause a meltdown. He said that didn’t bother him, but it bothered her. Plus, they didn’t have time today for her to fall apart. She would pretend things were fine. She took a deep breath. Isaac was starting from fourth again and needed to concentrate.
All week at Portimão, Vince had struggled to ride at a fast pace, and for the first time, Isaac was starting in a grid position higher than Vince. Luka Catala was on pole—the first of his career. At lunch, Catarina mentioned that Vince was in a funk about his lack of progress this weekend. He must also be bruised and hurt because he’d had two jarring crashes during practice when he’d pushed himself and his bike to the limit.
At race time, the grid became awkward. Today, Isaac shared a row with Spencer while Vince was just behind them on thethird row. Isaac and Vince were quiet and focused inward, while Spencer was loud and joked with the milling reporters and a variety of team crew members. Once, he caught her glare in his direction after a sexist joke and he winked. What an ass.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she turned to find his calculating eyes raking over her from head to toe, making her skin crawl. Had Catarina noticed? Her friend’s attention was directed elsewhere. In the pre-race bustle, it seemed nobody had noticed Spencer’s attention. She watched Isaac with his headphones in, his gaze down, blocking out the world. Maybe after the race, she could go to Angel or the racing stewards to complain.
The problem was that Spencer’s comments, while presumptuous and rude, probably wouldn’t be enough to get him in trouble. It had been sexual harassment. She hadn’t read something into his words that wasn’t there. He’d been clear about his intentions. There’d been no way to misconstrue his meaning. Despite that, it still might not be enough. Angry tears stung her eyes at the injustice. She should have reported him weeks ago when he’d grabbed her in Indonesia. Now it might be too late to bring up that encounter. Plus, both times, there hadn’t been witnesses.
He’d probably deny what he’d said, and it would be his word against hers. Austin Spencer was a popular figure off the track. A fixture in the racing paddock and known for being a good sport. She was just a new umbrella girl. She shifted her position so she couldn’t see him. Minutes later, the back of her neck prickled again. He must be staring, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of checking. Tears stung behind her eyes, but she concentrated on breathing. She could get through this. Isaac was only a foot away but noticed nothing. He was in his own world—at least she hadn’t pulled him out of his zone.
With a minute left before the race, she cleared the track, feeling better once she escaped from Spencer’s line of sight, and the riders left for their warm-up lap. Maybe Spencer would crash. She could hope. Right away, she took that thought back. He was a creep, but she didn’t want anyone hurt, and every crash came with the potential for injury.
Standing with the team, the race itself became exciting, as usual. The track in Portimão was nicknamed “The Roller Coaster” because of its rolling nature, which made the course different and entertaining.
The only race-related dark cloud came early on. Yoshi crashed in the third corner and had to be taken by stretcher to the med center for a check-up. Isaac’s quiet Japanese teammate had barely spoken two words to her, and she didn’t know him well, but she hoped he would be okay. His side of the box remained subdued as his crew waited for the doctor’s results.
The front six that got away clean at the start included Isaac, Luka, Spencer, Fabiano, Xavi, and Vince. They ran nearly identical lap times, and there were few overtakes as they reeled off lap after lap with their group strung out in a line, nobody close enough to pass—leaving the chasing pack of twenty racers behind. Several times Anna grabbed for something to squeeze as riders flung themselves through tight corners and twisty chicanes.
Tire wear became an issue by the three-quarter race mark on the bumpy track and several riders slid out of bounds, including Fabiano from the front group. He stood immediately and walked off the track, his head in his hands. Everyone took it hard when they crashed. In Moto3, the youngsters often cried, unused to public failure. Even without tears, all competitors became upset with a DNF—Did Not Finish—next to their name on the official scoresheet. Her heart quickened. That left five leading racers, including Isaac and the other front runners in thechampionship, a fact also pointed out by British commentator Marcus Birch.
Luka stayed at the front and eked out a full-second lead with hard braking and daredevil speed that only someone with his youth possessed. On worn tires, the others had more sense. Maybe. Either that or because of their experience, they were patient and had better race strategy, biding their time. She fixed her eyes on Isaac in second, with the rest of the streaming pack behind.
Vince had slotted into the back of the lead group in fifth. He must be fuming as he set the fastest lap of the race in the second to last lap, gaining on the others. He looked poised to make a move as he closed the distance between himself and the bikes ahead.
On the last lap, Vince surged, passing Xavi and Spencer, slotting himself into third as he and his bike became poetry in motion, throwing himself through corners at breakneck speed. The commentator went nuts, ranting about Vince’s masterclass in tire management and race craft.
In the second last turn, Vince pulled alongside Isaac, and Anna held her breath. Flicking right, then left, Vince ran wide and lost his drive into the final corner. The brothers flew down the home straight toward the finish line, almost side by side. At the line, Isaac maintained greater speed, finishing second. Vince had to settle for third.
Isaac had beaten his brother, an incredible feat. She did a little dance and Angel, Miguel, and the team hugged while they celebrated. LCR Honda would be thrilled. It wasn’t often the satellite team beat one of the factory bikes, let alone the reigning world champion. All around the track massive screens replayed the ending for the screaming fans.
