Thunderstruck Read Online Free PDF Page A

her desk and indicated the door with a nod of her head. “Let’s go.”
    He started for the hall, then stopped, glancing back at her. “By the way, with all the motor oil around here, you might want to give that chair a touch of grease. That noise can be distracting.”
    She just smiled. “You have no idea.”
     
     
     
    S HELBY USED EVERY ounce of concentration she had to listen to crew chief Ray Whitaker outline his strategy for qualifying the eighty-two car at Daytona. Whit was completely in his groove, his shock of curly strawberry-blond hair bouncing as he jumped from fuel mileage strategy to innovative pit techniques. After Whit finished his plans on how their veteran driver Kenny Holt would once again take to the track this season, the energy in the room was palpable.
    Shelby liked to think that was because Whit was laying down some very creative racing plans. But she knew better.
    Mick Churchill’s very presence had charged the atmosphere.
    Sure, he sat in the back of the conference room, doing nothing but breathing the same air as the rest of them. But somehow that air was rarified.
    Nobody knew why he was there, thank God, but it didn’t seem to matter. She’d been a big girl and decided to be magnanimous and let him “shadow” her. Her only consolation was that they’d be leaving for Daytona in a few days and he’d have to disappear then.
    She certainly didn’t have to introduce him since they all but knelt down when he walked into the conference room. Even Whit directed every other sentence to the guest in the back. Jeez. Who knew soccer was so popular among a group of hard-core North Carolina racers?
    The talk turned to the new CNC machine, and Shelby stole a look at Mick, expecting to see his eyes glazed over. Instead he leaned forward, his focus on Ryan Magee, an engineer responsible for supervising the computer numerical control machine that they used to build parts.
    Did he really care about the problem with the suspension points? Did he even know what a suspension point was?
    Mick’s moss-green eyes slid away from Ryan and landed on her. He winked, and she cursed the involuntary splash of warmth that it sent through her. It was bad enough he was a total foreign object dropped like debris in her path. He was not going to turn her into a puddle of female fluttering at the same time.
    Pushing herself away from the table as Ryan took a breath in his talk, she glanced at her watch. “I need to check on the status of the new hauler,” she said, excusing herself. At the surprised look of the crew around the table, she added, “Keep going. I’ll be back in here when the fifty-three team meets.”
    She sensed rather than saw Mick get up to leave with her.
    “Don’t you want to stay and hear more about suspension points?” she asked when they were both in the hall.
    “And miss the new hauler? Are you crazy?”
    She smiled at the comment but had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t kidding. “You’ve seen one hauler, you’ve seen ’em all.”
    “But, as you will no doubt point out in the next four seconds, I’ve never seen one.”
    “Then you’ve just saved me the trouble of pointing that out.” She continued her march through the shop to the back lot.
    Sure enough, the shiny transporter had already attracted a small crowd. Mechanics rolled in tool chests, lovingly grazing the side of the massive truck painted with the same blinding purple and yellow that decorated the number fifty-three car.
    Shelby let out a low whistle of appreciation, her gaze sliding over the beast. “Ain’t she pretty?”
    “She sure is.”
    She glanced at Mick, but his gaze was square on her. She rolled her eyes. “Save the plays, soccer boy. I’m immune.” She jutted her chin toward the transporter. “That’s what turns me on. A Freightliner. A Classic XL. Refurbished within an inch of its life and ready to haul ass and as much equipment as we can squeeze into it.” She bit her lip and let a little shudder