NOBODY BUT YOU Excerpt

PROLOGUE

She wasn’t responding the way Cameron McBride anticipated.

He was experienced, not some wide-eyed kid who went for speed over technique. He prided himself on his ability to match his skills against anyone’s. Yet, he knew his mind wasn’t on what he was doing.

A sure-fire way to get into trouble going over 180 MPH with 23 other drivers gunning to snag the checkered flag was to let your mind wander. Knowing it, and doing something about it were completely different. It had nothing to do with the experimental race car he was driving on the California Speedway. The two-mile racing surface was one of the best tracks in the NASCAR SPRINT Cup series.

He was the problem.

Cameron always had trouble in California. Los Angeles, his last known address for Caitlin, was an hour east of Fontana, the home of the California Speedway.

Caitlin, why did you leave me at the altar?

There wasn’t an answer this time just as there was none the countless times he’d asked himself the same question. Firmly pushing Caitlin from his mind he concentrated on the approaching curve. Cars had to slow down or risk spinning out of control. Before he reached the straightaway he had to work his way into position to pass the cars ahead of him. He also had to watch the slower, lapped cars.

“Cameron, how is she?”

The soft spoken voice of his crew chief came over the headphones in his safety helmet just as Cameron accelerated in the straightaway. Michael “Mike” Alvarado was one of the best crew chiefs in the business, and had been with Hilliard Automotive Racing team for the past seven years. “Rough and tight,” Cameron answered, his fingers curled around the steering wheel. “She might be the Car of Tomorrow with all the safety features NASCAR has instigated, but I don’t think she’s ready for the track.”

“Hilliard says different. Might I remind you that’s why you’re racing in the Busch Series race today, to get her ready for next week’s NASCAR race in Las Vegas,” came his crew chief’s reply.

“When Hilliard is sitting where I’m sitting he can make that decision. Until then you can tell him...” “Now, Cameron.” Mike chuckled, in a deep drawl reminiscent of his Texas roots. He was a gentleman and peacemaker on and off the track. “Is that any way to talk about the man who signs your check?”

“Yep,” Cameron shot back. He respected Sean Hilliard, was honored to be on Hilliard’s two-man NASCAR race team, but he wouldn’t hesitate to tell Hilliard his honest opinion. Case in point, the car he was driving. “She’s too tight, Mike. She doesn’t feel right.”

“Bring her on in, Cameron,” Mike told him. “No sense borrowing trouble. We’ll look her over again.”

“Not a chance.” Cameron shot around a curve, straightened and managed to muscle his way past another car. “I’m in fifth place now with fifteen laps to go. I can win this ra—” The loud explosion of a blow-out negated what Cameron had been about to say.

Muttering a curse, he fought the steering wheel as the car went into a wild spin. Another race car clipped his right rear bumper, sending him in the opposite direction.

Cameron saw the retaining wall looming ahead of him, knew he was going to hit and there wasn’t a thing he could do to prevent the crash.