Drive Into My Heart

By Patricia Holden

Madison Riley and Art Thompson are both members of a super secret group of street racers, American men and women who love the thrill of a cross country race and the chance to win a race pot every year worth millions of dollars. They are both members of the Fireball for Life Club, having placed in highly illegal races in the last ten years. Fireballers, as they are called, drive red sports cars for the events.

This year's Fireball race goes from Miami to Seattle. The race sponsor decided that the drivers would be in vintage convertibles for the trip, meaning that Art would need to dust off his 1966 Shelby Cobra for the trip. Partnerless this year, as his usual partner is laid up with an injury, Art chooses Madison, or Maddie, as his partner for the 3,300 mile race as her usual partner is conveniently on maternity leave and she is the only one of the partnerless drivers he trusts not to wreck his Cobra.

Normally, Art and Maddie avoid each other like the plague both during race week, and on the social circuit in Manhattan, but forced together for lead up to the race, they discover more than they ever thought possible about each other. Along the way, the colorful cast of characters among the racers add to the drama of race week as old relationships dissolve and new ones take their place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Holden
• Release date: Feb 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463545263

Patricia Holden

A resident of Flyover Country in the Unites States, Patricia Holden, the pen name of a good Catholic girl from the Midwest, is committed to Christianity and traditional social roles, as well as high arts and culture. Watching politics, observing human behavior and writing are some of her long-time interests. The author known as Patricia Holden is a classically trained soprano and proud citizen of Cardinal Nation, although, during hockey season, Bleeds Blue. She lives with family and a cute and charming tyrant...make that a toy dog. She also crochets.Please, visit this writer's Facebook author page @PatriciaHoldenAuthor for reader fellowship and frequent conversations about upcoming books including voting on cover art, and snippets of upcoming offerings.

Book preview

Drive Into My Heart

by Patricia Holden

Published by Susan Sampson at SmashWords

Copyright © 2020 Susan Sampson

Cover Photo from Online Galleries

Other Titles from Patricia Holden on Smashwords

and affiliated online retailers:

Turn My Head

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Third Time’s the Charm

Conflict of Interest

Romeo Night

Last Man Standing

Talk Dirty To Me

Secrets of the Bayou

High Maintenance

No Turning Back

The Stork Club

Next Bride In Line

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Chapter 1

Madison Riley spoke to the interior of her tricked out Lincoln Navigator without thinking that there was anything odd about the action. No, Dad, I am not on my way to a rally or a race. I am on my way to Wilmington to meet up with my girlfriend, Simone, and all the rest of the Fireball for Life Club, she said silently to herself. That they were all unsanctioned, illegal street race drivers was beside the point she was making to her father who had a lot on his mind when it came to her racing sports cars across the country.

Ted Riley’s voice came from the speakers. Madison, you better not be gearing up for another one of those New York to California road races.

Dad-

Don’t you ‘Dad’ me, Ted’s voice raged through the speakers. I knew I should have told my father to hold off on giving you control of those trust funds until you knew how to properly spend money. He goes ahead and gives you full reign of all that cash, and what do you do? Go and blow a huge chunk of it on a Koenigsegg, and million dollar entry fees for illegal street and road races that go all night, exhausting the drivers and putting everyone involved – including people not driving in the race - at risk.

That crack got Maddie’s hackles up enough for her to ask her father what she had wanted to for a long time when it came to her street racing. Are you sure you’re not really mad about me doing well enough in those road races to make trouble for you in your political career?

The waves you made after that last one certainly didn’t help me, that’s for sure, the old man barked through the connection. It doesn’t look good when the New York State Attorney General’s daughter is participating in highly illegal street racing in a car that costs-

She interrupted him. Once Ted Riley got on a roll when it came to her racing, Maddie tended to hang up on him, and right now she really did not want to do that. Dad, you can’t be proud of me for driving from Bangor, Maine to San Diego-

Why can’t you have regular hobbies, like your mother and sister. All they do is shop, and practically live at the spa. Your sister-

Mention of her sister sent Maddie’s temper through the roof of her Navigator like nothing else could. Never travels anything other than first class, she popped off.

Neither do you, her father shot back.

Maybe not, but, Dad, I’ve seen far more of the world and the country by driving-

Don’t use that as an excuse, young lady. I’m running a re-election campaign this year-

Madison rolled her eyes to herself. Dad, I am not headed to a race this weekend, she declared. That much was absolutely true.

She was headed to a meeting of all of the drivers to talk about the race that was slated for next week.

Her dad didn’t need to know that, though.

Is there one this year? the New York State Attorney General asked over the open phone line.

I’m not answering that, Maddie told her dad, he was questioning her almost like she was still seventeen and sneaking in from a night out drinking with her friends.

Why not?

Because I don’t know whether or not there is going to be one this year. Determining the answer to that question was what this particular road trip was all about, and, no, her dad really did not need to know about that, either.

Madison, so help me-

Dad, I don’t know what has you all concerned-

I’ll tell you what has me concerned, Maddie. Right now, you are taking two weeks off from your life in the spring, just like you have every year for the past six, and your souped up, German engineering sports car that has a top speed of two hundred and forty miles an hour is being serviced by a specialized dealer including fresh oil and tires as I speak. This is the same pattern that occurs every time there is one of those infernal Fireball races-

You sure you wouldn’t want to paint your Lotus red and join us? Maddie ventured. Okay, asking that question of her father was a little dangerous at this point. Besides, not many Fireballers would actually drive a Lotus.

Madison Genevieve Riley-

Can take care of herself, Maddie told her dad with finality. She put her thumb over the button on the steering wheel to disconnect the call. Gotta go, Dad. Shouldn’t drive and talk on the phone at the same time, you know. A number of states have laws against the practice.

As if you don’t have your mobile synced to every vehicle you own. Oops, Maddie thought to herself. The old man sounded particularly disgusted with her. This little bit of rebellion today might have been a mistake. Not that her dad’s reaction was going to stop her from what she was headed to do on this particular trip.

Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be home for Fleet Week, and you can borrow my Koenigsegg and take it up to Albany to make the governor jealous. Bye. She pressed the button on the steering wheel to end the call.

Madison Genevieve Riley, known as Maddie to just about everyone, actually smiled to herself. As fatherly complaint conversations about her road racing habits went, that one wasn’t too bad, actually. She and her dad had been having these little talks for years. In fact, it was an annual occurrence ever since she brought home her very first Fireball Club Racing prize: a five hundred dollar speeding ticket from the State of Utah for driving a hundred and forty-seven miles per hour in a seventy mile an hour zone. It was the first and last time she ignored her inner voice that told her cops were in the vicinity and to slow down.

She’d actually driven that race in her old Porsche, the one her parents gave her when she graduated from Columbia University. That particular car tended to live in her garage these days. It just didn’t have the panache of her latest toy, a red Koenigsegg. That particular, and very expensive, car made other Fireballers – the ones who could not afford one – drool.

The appeal of the Fireball races, of course, was driving across the United States, coast to coast, on the nation’s interstates and doing everything possible to avoid attention from law enforcement while the drivers broke every speed limit in the country. It was fairly easy to do out on the American plains and on the salt flats around Salt Lake City where the highways were perfectly straight. The mountains took more skill. And with the typical American drivers who watched entirely too much NASCAR on the roads with them, there were enough challenges that mediocre Fireball race drivers had been weeded out of the group over the years. Maddie proved her mettle early on, and having placed in the top five in the first three races she drove, she was now a member of the lifer group.

The lifers were meeting this afternoon to get the ground rules for this year’s race. No one other than the race and club organizer, Forest Grainger, knew what they were, including this year’s entrance fee. Fortunately, absolutely all of the lifer drivers were essentially trust fund children, so meeting that particular requirement was never a problem. Keeping the same team partner from year to year, on the other hand, was. This year, Maddie’s usual partner, Celia Chamberlain, was on maternity leave. No sooner did she and her husband of five years come home from one really long cruise, Celia announced to the Fireball Racing Club that she was knocked up, and couldn’t join them this year.

As happy as she was for her friend and her husband, Maddie secretly doubted Celia would ever join them again. That left Maddie in a bit of a bind. When she talked to Forest about it, he didn’t seem to be all that concerned. Every year, partnerless drivers showed up at the drivers’ meeting, and he would work to pair them with other partnerless drivers. She remembered rolling her eyes when Forest offered to find her someone to ride shotgun, and drive for a part of the race. There was only one other driver in the Fireball Race Club, lifer or not, she would consider letting touch her Koenigsegg, and he couldn’t stand to be within ten feet of her. There was no way Arthur James Thompson, the Fifth, was ever going to sit in the seat beside her for three thousand miles.

Besides Art, his usual partner was the only other driver she would even think of considering letting drive her baby, and splitting the two of them up was going to be harder than separating Siamese twins conjoined at the head.

Maddie sighed to herself when she pulled into the drive of the Alexander Hotel in Wilmington. She and the others would just have to deal with what Forrest thought up for them when it came to substitute partners this time around.

She arrived at the valet stand, and hit the unlock button to open the doors. She grabbed her luggage sized city purse from the passenger’s seat, and exited the vehicle.

Do you have any bags, Madam? the uniformed valet asked.

Yes, she replied, looking through her amazingly expensive Armani shades toward the entrance of the hotel. In the back. The hatch is open.

She started walking toward the back end of her Navigator to meet the reception crew. The hatch was up, and her suitcases were being unloaded when a relatively new red McLaren pulled into the valet line behind her car. Maddie didn’t flinch, but she didn’t exactly smile either. She knew that car. Arthur James Thompson, the Fifth, had arrived…all six foot two of him, with hair and eyes that reminded her of chocolate, a squared off jaw, high cheekbones…. He opened the drivers’ side door of his little toy, and unfolded from the vehicle wearing his uniform of tweed jacket, crisp white button down oxford shirt, and pressed jeans. She didn’t have to look at his feet to know he was wearing classic Florsheims that were anything but his dress shoes.

Covertly, as her sunglasses were still on her face, Maddie watched the man ignore her, and walk to the back of his car to retrieve what ever luggage he had with him. He eschewed the help of the bell staff, and walked briskly to the entrance of the hotel. His small, black rolling suitcase trailed behind where the automatic doors whooshed open. Art did not break stride as he walked inside, the doors closing behind him.

Madison just stared after the man. Truthfully, she really didn’t know all that much about him other than he was a fellow trust fund kid from New York City, and worked for the Wall Street bank of which his father was the largest shareholder. That and he was one hell of a driver. That was about the level of knowledge all Fireballers had of each other unless one had been partnered with someone over the years, and no one other than Max Sheppers had ever been Art’s partner to Maddie’s knowledge. Art joined the group of Fireballers four races before her, so there really was no way to know if the years he took to earn lifer status were done with Max at his side or not.

She took a deep inhale, and walked behind the bell hop who was pushing the cart carrying her suitcases. This meeting was just for about an hour this afternoon, but there was a sit down dinner this evening for all the drivers. She had to look good. That took a lot of tools, accessories, and three inch heels.

And it also took being perfectly relaxed. Time for some spa treatments, Maddie thought to herself. Since check in wasn’t for another three hours, she walked past the sign directing Fireball drivers to the conference room, and straight to the concierge desk to make day of beauty arrangements.

Chapter 2

Art Thompson watched the one person he really did not want to see today sashay her way toward the Concierge Desk of Forest Grainger’s Alexander Hotel, and sit down on the chair in front of it. She was wearing one of the thousands of tight, light pink sweaters she owned that did absolutely nothing to hide the size of the rack she did not seem to know existed, and a tight white skirt that barely reached her knees, and which didn’t do a damn thing to hide the perfect rump that she probably didn’t know she had, either. For once when he was in her presence, her perfectly inviting, just past the shoulders ditch water blonde locks were down around her face. He didn’t have to see the ocean blue eyes to know they would be cold and fairly icy. Oh, no. Not even. Madison Riley was in a constant state of pissed off when she was around him, and her eyes always told the tale.

Well, except for the finish at last year’s Fireball race. When she managed to beat him to the scorer’s table to punch her club membership card ahead of him, she turned to face him with triumph written all over her face. Yeah, last year she beat him for once, but it would not have happened if he hadn’t made a wrong turn about three miles from the finish.

Yes, her Koenigsegg was one fast car.

But, he drove a faster one.

And that was something that he was going to prove to her this year. It didn’t matter what the route was or who ended up being his partner for this particular race since Max was laid up in Switzerland after a skiing accident, and couldn’t join him. Madison Riley was not going to beat him again this year. Of that, Art was darn sure. It just was not going to happen

Art walked straight to the conference room where the other drivers were gathering, and parked his rolling bag with the stack of luggage that was lined up along one wall, including Madison’s cartload of suitcases. This was an overnight stay so all of them could get the information on where to send their racing cars, and make other arrangements such as flight reservations. Madison’s luggage cart carried three suitcases, and a computer bag. The woman obviously did not know how to pack light.

He shook his head, and went to the official’s table to pick up his participant driver’s packet. A ten year veteran of the group, Art knew not to open it just yet. Forest wanted to see the drivers’ faces when he sprung this year’s race detail surprises on them.

Sadist, Art thought to himself. The man always had some nasty twist up his sleeve about the nature of any one year’s race, and the cars they were all expected to drive in them. All cars were to be red, that was a given in the Fireball Racing Club, but some years….

Some years the man set the rules so that all of the drivers had to scramble to find cars to drive at the last minute, making requirements that the cars be a specific make, model or even from a specific era. Art really hoped that wouldn’t happen this year. At this point he had not just his Koenigsegg and McLaren in red sitting in his climate controlled garage in New Jersey, but a 1966 Shelby Cobra, as well as a late model Bugatti. Getting them all in the proper color was a massive pain in the backside.

He really didn’t need to acquire another red car.

Not this year anyway.

Art nodded to a few of the other drivers who had been in the group as long or longer than him. At first glance, it looked like they were all getting a little long in the tooth. A good number of the male drivers were professionals in their fields and hadn’t started Fireballing until they were somewhat past their prime. When it came to racing, though, that didn’t matter. They were tough as nails on the road.

Among the ladies, the only two he ever worried about facing were Maddie, and the matron of the group, Bernadette Schauss. Bernie was a gruff old gal who had done a lot of living. She was not exactly a true battle ax, but not far from it, either. She had irons in a lot of fires, and access to some beautiful race cars, but she, too, was headed toward her twilight years in a blaze of...well, it wasn’t really glory. She hadn’t placed in an actual race since Art joined the lifer club seven years ago.

But still, she drove almost every year.

Art took a seat with his back to a wall with a full view of the door to the hotel lobby. This meeting was always pretty informal. It was not the one that would commence next week at the race start, when all of them - and the rookies - would sit down at row after row of tables for the precise instructions for the race. Technically, there really weren’t any rules, just restrictions on what kinds of cars were allowed to race that year and different cities for the start and finish. The route was generally just suggested, so a lot of the pre-race meeting time was spent sharing wisdom of years past with the new drivers.

Art always left when that started. He hadn’t heard the campfire, as Forest liked to call it, since his first race ten years ago, and he sure as heck wasn’t going to sit through it this year. It was all posturing bullshit anyway.

He sighed when the next driver through the door was not one of his buddies, but Simone Hack. She was dressed, as usual, in what he liked to call biker wear. Her jeans were long, her shirt long sleeved, and there was a bandana on her head, tied at the nape of her neck. That would all be replaced with evening attire tonight at the formal sit down dinner they would all be forced to endure, but for now, she looked nothing like the heiress to a condiment fortune...unless one noticed the Louis Vuitton backpack purse slung over one shoulder.

It really was amazing that one detail like that could ruin the image someone tried to project, which was why Art generally stuck to his own uniform of jeans, an oxford, and a tweed jacket. A ball cap was almost always on his head when he was not indoors. It was a look that served him well over the years. And...well, it was cool.

He also knew one Madison Riley hated the way he dressed, like some Hollywood hanger on, she told him once in a fit of fury following a particularly contentious race. After that crack from her, he bought six more tweed jackets, and a dozen more monogrammed shirts.

As if just thinking Maddie’s name called her into the meeting, the little princess herself walked through the door from the lobby, her bust bouncing up and down as she walked in three inch heeled sandals. Man, he thought for the thousandth time around her, she was certainly pretty to look at. Too bad her disposition didn’t match