Page 37 of Trip

“I take it Trip told you,” he said, looking at me. “And let me guess, he painted me as the bad guy?”

“No, all he said was you told him to leave it alone. But that’s what worries me, Ansel. You know, better than most, to listen to the driver, especially after what happened to you.”

The man sighed, rubbing his nonexistent right leg before saying, “He’d just won Talladega. It was a big win for us. Major. Because of Trip, he proved to the investors that our engine worked. It was everything we worked for. After the race, when Trip told me about his fears, I admit I ignored him. That all I cared about was the bottom line. But when Bill and Mary died, I knew he was right. I wasn’t dismissing his concerns. I was pissed but not at him.”

“Why?” King growled.

“Because it meant our engine wasn’t infallible. More importantly, it meant that someone fucked us over. I was with Trip before the race, King,” Ansel said, looking at King. “Cal, Trip, and I went over that engine with a fucking white glove. Checked every damn nook and cranny. That engine was fucking perfect.”

“Until it wasn’t.”

Ansel nodded. “And Bill and Mary died because of something we missed.”

“Who had access to the car that day?”

Sighing, Ansel ran his hands down his face and moaned. “The entire crew. After the pre-race check, Trip drove the car out to the track. During the race, everyone from the jackman to the crew chief had hands on it.”

“That’s a bare minimum of eleven men,” I muttered.

“Exactly.” Ansel nodded. “And that’s not including anyone else who was around that day. I’ve gone over all the films so many times my head hurts. No one was out of place. Everyone did their jobs that day.”

“He’s right, King,” I added, turning to King. “I saw the films myself. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and after Trip left the circuit, there were no other incidents until I started driving for Ansel.”

“Trip’s been out of the game for close to ten years now. That’s a long time to hold a grudge. Who drove the car after Trip left?”

Sighing, Ansel leaned forward in his seat. “Jake Stevens, Chase Nevers, and Andy Holmes.”

“Where are they now?”

“After losing at Daytona, Jake quit, then started driving for Marco’s team. He’s been driving for them ever since,” Ansel sneered, and I smirked.

Yeah, I knew Ansel hated Jake.

There was no love lost between those two men.

“Andy left after the medical scare with his wife. Last I heard, he was farming somewhere in Kansas,” I added.

“And the other one?”

Ansel groaned. “The night before his first race, he got a call from home. Something about a family emergency. Fucker just left. Hopped on his fucking bike and left.”

“Wasn’t Chase from East Tennessee?” I asked.

Ansel nodded. “Yeah. Some Podunk town in the mountains.”

“Three drivers in nine years?” King questioned.

“Until C.C.” Ansel smirked, then winked at me. “Best thing I ever did was put her ass behind the wheel. She was born to drive. Ain’t seen the likes of her since Trip. Look, King. I don’t know what you want me to say here. All I know is, everything was fine until it wasn’t, and as much as I want C.C. to snag her first checkered flag, my company can’t afford another loss. That car is all I have left. I’ve already got someone sniffing around.”

“Who?” I asked.

Ansel shrugged. “A former investor, Black Ryder Investments. They are out of Mobile.”

King scoffed, his piercing gaze fixed on Ansel. “Black Ryder Investments,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with an edge of suspicion. “And you trust them to handle your car? Your future?”

Ansel let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Trust? Hell no. But beggars can’t be choosers, right? They’ve got deep pockets, and right now, I need their money more than I need my pride.”

King’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Pride’s a dangerous thing to lose. Once it’s gone, it’s hard to get back.”

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