Page 110 of On The Edge

I hold my pass up to the scanner of the turnstile and red lights flash. With a nervous chuckle, I hold the pass up again and get the same result. I glance over to the guard standing at his post, preventing anyone who doesn’t have a pass from getting into the paddock, before trying again.

Same result.

“Excuse me. Sir?” I ask to the guard. He adjusts his keffiyeh and moves toward me.

“Can I help you?”

“My pass. It isn’t working.”

He glances at it and motions for me to try it again. A red light flashes.

“It’s no longer valid,” he says with a tight smile and a nod before starting to move away.

“But it is. It worked yesterday. I’m with Gravitas. I’m Cruz Navarro’s girlfriend. I have to get in there.” Panic claws its way up my throat for some reason.

“I’m sorry, miss. I’m not allowed to let anyone through who doesn’t have a valid pass.”

I stare at him dumbfounded and then immediately pull my phone out and start firing off texts. One to Cruz, which I know he won’t see since he’s in the zone. Another to Amandine, hoping she’ll see this and come help me. And another to her assistant.

I stand at the gates waiting for a response. People jostle my shoulders as they jockey to get in line, and I stare at my screen waiting for a response.

Here I am in Qatar. Alone. No one is answering my calls. And no doubt Cruz is in there looking for me.

CHAPTER FORTY

Cruz

I have my eyes closed, my music in my ears, and visualize every curve of the track I’m about to take on. I had a good qualifying run yesterday and will be starting at P2—an improvement from my P8 in Qatar. But the start here is tricky and prone to accidents, and I need to steer clear of that.

It’s a visualization technique I learned years ago. It’s partially from all the sim training and partially from experience, but it helps me know the curves and angles of the course.

A touch on the shoulder has me jolting to the present. My smile is on the ready to see Maddix, but it fades when I come face-to-face with my father and Esmerelda.

What the . . .

“Cruz.” Esmerelda steps into me, her tits rubbing against my chest as she slides her hands up my biceps and then leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek—a little too close to my lips.

I step back like I’ve been jolted by lightning, but not before I hear the click of a camera. I look up to see an Associated Press photographer snapping pictureNot the woman who is a distraction. VerdadNot the woman who is a distraction. Verdads of the two of us.

Fuck. I remove her hand from my arm and glare at my father.

“What?” Esmerelda bats her lashes and smiles seductively, making sure to turn so that her face is toward the camera. She has always loved the limelight. “I just wanted to wish you the best of luck. Buena suerte, Cruz.” Her words are breathless. Seductive. And have no place in my garage.

I look from her to my father and then back again.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her but the words are meant for my father. Why is she here?

“I thought you could use some love from home. A little . . . reprieve to jolt your system and remind you of what is important.”

“I’m more than aware what’s important and what’s at stake.” I search the garage, looking for a head of blond hair and a pair of green eyes.

Where is Maddix?

“She’s not here,” my father said. “Just like the rest of them, she was easily paid off. Easy to walk away from you when you needed her the most.”

Fuck you.

The words are on my tongue. The most vulnerable of my spots hit.