Motor Mouth - Janet Evanovich [0]
Janet Evanovich
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Sometimes there’s a decision to be made between winning fairly…
CHAPTER TWO
Traffic wasn’t gridlock, but it wasn’t good either. The track…
CHAPTER THREE
A car door slammed outside the warehouse and Hooker, Gobbles,…
CHAPTER FOUR
It was early morning and the sky over Miami was…
CHAPTER FIVE
I was tangled together with Hooker when I woke up,…
CHAPTER SIX
I ran to the SUV and slid behind the wheel…
CHAPTER SEVEN
I had a six-pack of diet soda in cans, a…
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Not many people working the day after Thanksgiving,” Hooker said,…
CHAPTER NINE
Hooker was showered and shaved when I got back to…
CHAPTER TEN
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, the sky…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was late afternoon. We’d stopped at a grocery store,…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hooker, Beans, and I were awake but still on the…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hooker was stretched back in his seat, hands locked behind…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I woke up with Hooker on top of me, and…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Felicia, Rosa, and I got back into the Camry, rolled…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We were parked four houses down from the estate where…
EPILOGUE
It was sixty degrees and sunny, it was mid-January, and…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY JANET EVANOVICH
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ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
ONE
Sometimes there’s a decision to be made between winning fairly and cheating for a good cause. And sometimes, in the heat of competition, I’ve slipped south of fair. So I understand the temptation. But here’s the thing about cheating…don’t cheat me. I take it personally.
And I was pretty sure I had my eye on a guy who was cheating at my expense. He was wearing a red suit. He was driving a flashy car with a big 69 painted on the side. And he was going too fast. I had my binoculars trained on him as he took a turn, his left-front tire tight to the curve.
I was standing on the flat roof of the Homestead-Miami Speedway grandstand, getting a bird’s-eye view of the scrubby Florida landscape. Heat waves shimmered on the track below me, and the air was thick with fumes from scorched rubber, high-octane gas, and the euphoria NASCAR brings to a race. I was with forty-two guys on the roof. I was the only one on the roof wearing a pink lace thong. At least I was almost certain I was the only one in a thong since I was the only female, but hell, what do I know? I was wearing tight black jeans and a Stiller Racing shirt. The shirt had short sleeves, was white with black and gold trim, and the Stiller Racing logo was embroidered on the front. The embroidered name on the back was a garage joke: Motor Mouth. I’m Sam Hooker’s race-day spotter. I’m the lip-glossed, bleached blonde who whispers into Hooker’s ear while he sweats his brains out in a black-and-gold fire-resistant jumpsuit each week.
This week Hooker was running his black Metro-sponsored car around and around the Homestead 1.5-mile oval. It was the last race of the season and I was looking forward to a change of pace. I love my job, but there comes a time when a girl just wants to shimmy into a sexy little dress and sip a cosmo at a restaurant that doesn’t feature barbecue. Not that I don’t like barbecue, but I’d had a lot of it lately.
Hooker’s voice was loud and clear in my headset. “Earth to Motor Mouth. Talk to me.”
“I’m thinking thoughts that can’t go public.”
“Are these thoughts about getting naked?” Hooker asked.
“No, they’re about getting even.”
“Listen, it was an accident, I swear. I was drunk and I don’t remember a thing. I don’t know how I ended up in bed with that salesclerk. Darlin’, you know I love you.”
Mental head slap. “Not that, you moron. I’m talking about the race.”
Hooker got his start on Texas dirt tracks. He’s raced open-wheel karts, trucks, and everything in between. He’s my age but he looks like a college kid. Sun-bleached blond hair, and a nice body that’s got some muscle and stands a couple inches taller than me. The difference between Hooker and the college kid is in Hooker’s eyes. There are lines at the corners that tell his age and grit.