Page 136 of Jackrabbit

“So cool.”

They kept chattering, and Beau was content to follow along. When they walked over the chassis shop, he looked down in time to see the Jackman from yesterday, Hank, catch sight of him and wave. Beau waved back and shook his head. He’d been brought in by a lot of teams during his career, invited to tracks across the country when they needed someone who could tame a road course. But he’d never seen a team like this, really. Colt was going to fit here in a way Beau wasn’t sure if Colt had ever fit many places in his life.

The thought shouldn’t have made his stomach twist.

Theo guided them to his desk, the door to the command center tightly closed. He looked up at the clock. “They’ll be out for you in just a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable while you wait.”

Colt hopped up on Theo’s desk and grinned as Beau rolled his eyes, and Theo sat next to him. He crossed one leg over the other.

It was only a few seconds before the sound of a raised voice had Beau’s shoulders tensing. He looked at the door to the office and stepped closer to the desk, and Colt snorted, probably amused that Beau felt like he had to stand between Colt and a threat. Of course he knew Colt could fight for himself. He’d seen it with his own eyes. That didn’t change his instincts, though.

The door flew open, and Marcus Hoyt stormed out of the room, red-faced and seething. “—the most unprofessional operation I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe you—”

He stopped when he caught sight of them, his lip curling at Beau. “You. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

Beau crossed his arms and shrugged as Colt came to stand next to him. “Might be.”

Hoyt ground his teeth, and his eyes flicked to Colt. But whatever he wanted to say, he seemed to think better of it, because he straightened his shoulders, huffed, and walked past.

“Bye Mark,” Colt sing-songed, waiting until Hoyt turned to tell him off to give him a little finger wiggle like a wave.

Beau smacked his hand down, and Hoyt growled before hurrying out.

Theo came to stand on Beau’s other side. “Well, that was exciting.”

There was no time to answer. The click of high heels drew their attention. Walters stood in the doorway and adjusted the cuffs of her white suit jacket. She smiled at them. “Now that we have that all sorted out.” She gestured into the room. “If you’ll both follow me, please.”

Colt went first, and Beau followed after a gentle nudge from Theo. Last time he’d walked into this room, he’d been summarily dismissed in a way thatstill made him clench his teeth. But this time there were two chairs in front of Walters and Navarro, who had her head propped in her hand and was tapping her tattooed fingers against Beau’s tablet.

They sat. Colt turned to give Beau a huge, dimpled smile, and waited for Walters to take her seat, too.

“So,” she started, lacing her fingers together on top of the table. “Quite the exciting weekend, wouldn’t you say?”

Beau snorted, and Colt laughed.

Walters leaned back in her chair and regarded them with shrewd, dark eyes. “As you’re both aware, this weekend was a test for Colton. But it was also a test for Marcus, and, to a lesser degree, for you as well, Mr. Moore.”

“Excuse me?” Beau looked at Walters like he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. “Why were you testing me?”

“Because Mr. Rourke made it incredibly clear in our first meeting that you were more than qualified to continue on as his coach, if not his Crew Chief.” She looked at Colt, who was avoiding Beau’s gaze, then turned back to Beau. “And we wondered why a mechanic from Southern Arizona with seemingly no connection to racing might have that level of faith from an admittedly very talented driver.”

Beau’s hand clenched into a fist on his thigh, and his mouth went dry, and he knew what was coming before it was even said.

“So, we researched Mercer Moore, and do you know what we found?”

“Jack shit,” Navarro piped in, all cheer—a menace just like Colt.

Walters smiled indulgently. “Jack shit. Yes.”

Don’t.

The thought slammed against his teeth, but nothing came out, and his shoulders went stiff. Colt finally turned to look at him, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Imagine my surprise when we took a deep dive into your shop records and discovered your real name isn’t Mercer at all.” Walters leaned forward again,unaware or uncaring that Beau was starting to sweat, that his legs were starting to cramp with the need to run. “But Beauregard Mercer Moore. The Reeve.”

“Hey.” Colt slapped his hand on the table and Beau took a sharp breath. “Stop. Don’t do this to him. He doesn’t want it. Just—look at him. Leave it, Walters.”

Navarro wasn’t smiling anymore. She leaned forward and shook her head. “We aren’t going to tell the world, Rourke, Moore. That wasn’t—that’s not what this is. And that’s exactly why we didn’t say anything the first day. We knew he was hiding for a reason. But, look, after yesterday—”