"So?" Enzo demands, "What the h.e.l.l did those a.s.sholes think they were doing, dragging you off like some G.o.dd.a.m.n criminal?"

"I hope there was just some kind of a misunderstanding?" Charlie says.

"Oh, there was," I tell them, "But not the kind that's going to be cleared up easily."

"What do you mean?" Bex prods.

"I mean, the race officials seem to think that I'm behind all the tampering that's been going on. And G.o.d knows what else," I say in a rush.

"But...that's ridiculous," Enzo says, his eyes wide, "What motive could you possibly have-what proof are they going off of?"

"False proof, that's what," I say, "Seems like someone leaked some video of me and Marques arguing to the race officials. The sound is all wonky, so it sounds like I'm saying all kinds of horrible things to him."

"What kind of horrible?" Charlie asks.

"Threatening," I say reluctantly.

"The video...it's not from the other night when we went out together?" Bex asks.

"That's precisely when it's from," I say.

"But Marques was all over you that night!" Bex protests, "He practically had you cornered-"

"He what?!" Enzo and Charlie chorus.

"And get this," I say, pushing through their outrage, "I'm pretty sure the girl behind the bar that night was also just with Marques on the track after the race."

"Do you think he staged the whole thing?" Bex asks.

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l to believe anymore, other than that this whole sport has veered too far into the realm of soap opera for my liking," I sigh.

"Well, they obviously couldn't prove that you were actually involved with messing up Marques's car. Because you didn't. Right?" Charlie asks.

"Charlie!" Bex cries, "How can you even ask a thing like that?"

"Just checking!" he says huffily.

"I most certainly haven't had anything to do with the vandalism that's been going on all year," I say, "I also haven't been involved in the blackmailing or hara.s.sment, other than as a target of it."

"Unfortunately," Enzo says, "We know that the truth has nothing to with what people will believe if the press starts gabbing. We have to make sure that you don't become some kind of scapegoat, Siena."

"Don't I know it," I tell him, "Apparently, Ferrelli is already questioning my credibility. They want to make sure that Dad can't make me a shareholder in his place."

"Over my dead body," Enzo says.

"Don't say that," I tell him, "We still have one race left."

"But this all leaves one big question rather obviously unanswered," Bex says, her brow furrowing, "Has someone really been masterminding all the bulls.h.i.t that's gone on during this tour? And if so, why?"

"That's the million dollar question," I agree, "And clearly, the race officials are more eager to wag their fingers than actually get to the bottom of who's been messing everything up around here."

"OK, Nancy Drew, what do you propose we do to change that?" Enzo asks.

"You don't do anything. You need to keep your head in the game and do your d.a.m.nedest to win in Dallas," I tell him.

"Still rooting for me, even with lover boy in the lead?" Enzo asks.

"Of course," I tell him, "And I always will be."

"And what about the rest of us?" Bex asks, "What should we do?"

"Throw on your thinking caps, kids," I tell her and Charlie, "It's time we got to the bottom of this nonsense once and for all."

Before either of them can reply, there's an insistent, forceful knock on the door. I don't even need to open it to know who's waiting there. I cross the room and ease open the door, letting my eyes settle on Harrison's stony face as it's revealed. His expression is not one of a man who has just won a hard-fought race. He looks like he's about to punch a hole in the wall.

"Guys?" I say to my Ferrelli companions, "Could you maybe give me and Harrison a minute alone? I think we've got some stuff to talk about, just between the two of us."

"I'll say," Harrison growls.

Chapter Thirteen.

Unwinding Grat.i.tude

As the door closes behind my brother and friends, Harrison folds his built arms across his chest and levels his gaze at me. I look up at him, startled by the intensity of his agitation.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Why weren't you there?" he counters.

"It's a long story," I sigh, "I just-"

"I needed you there, Siena. These races don't mean anything when you're not there to share them with me."

"But you won!" I say, smiling hesitantly.

"Great," Harrison scoffs, "I won the race, and it seems I'm losing something far more important. Someone far more important."

"Harrison, you're going to have to help me out here," I tell him, "I don't-"

"Have you been on your computer today?" he asks frankly.

"Not yet," I tell him, "My morning was sort of-"

I'm cut off as Harrison marches across the room and s.n.a.t.c.hes up my laptop. He flips it open and lets my web browser open on its own. Disgust clutches his features as the page loads, and I rush to see what, exactly, has caused so much ire to spring up within him.

"You've got to be kidding me..." I groan, as I catch a glimpse of the Web's offerings for today. "This is insane."

A small corner of my go-to news site has once again been colonized with a picture of me. Only this time, Harrison is nowhere to be found in the frame. Instead, another man leans toward me, forcing himself into my personal s.p.a.ce. It's a screen shot of me and Rafael Marques, taken from that ridiculous video I had the pleasure of feasting my eyes on earlier today.

"Care to explain what the h.e.l.l it is I'm seeing?" Harrison growls.

"That would be Marques, hara.s.sing me at a bar. What else is new?" I say.

"What were you doing hanging out with Marques alone in a bar?" Harrison demands.

"I wasn't hanging out with him," I say, "He showed up at the bar where Bex and I were drinking, and then made himself a nuisance."

"That's not what it looks like," Harrison tells me, "That picture looks like two people flirting, Siena."

My jaw drops a foot as hot white anger blazes through me. "Are you f.u.c.king kidding me, Davies?" I say, "You think I was out last night fraternizing with Rafael Marques? You think I invited his smarmy come-ons? You think I'd do that to you, to myself?"

"A picture tells a thousand words," Harrison says, slamming the computer shut.

"A thousand manipulated, out-of-context words, in this case," I retort.

"So the blogs and articles speculating that you're cozying up to Marques are false?" Harrison asks.

"I can't believe you're even asking me that," I say, "I can't believe you don't know me well enough to know that I'd never do something like that. And not just because you're in the picture, and not because it would p.i.s.s my brother off. I'd never be caught dead with Rafael Marques because he's a s.e.xist, arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and I deserve better than that."

"I know that you do," Harrison says heatedly.

"You've been so good to me, Harrison," I tell him, "You've respected me, treated me as your equal, never treated me like some thing on the side. Why would you suddenly lose faith in me now? Why would you disrespect me like this?"

"What am I supposed to think, after seeing a picture like that?" Harrison asks.

"That you love me, and believe in me," I tell him.

"Oh, is that what you did when that picture of Shelby and I came out?" Harrison asks. "Did you think to yourself, 'something must be wrong here, I'm not going to accuse Harrison of being a horrible person,' or did you jump to conclusions right away?"

"It was at least plausible that you might be having an affair with Shelby," I tell him, "She's smart, and beautiful, and-"

"She's not you," Harrison growls, "And that's all that matters."

"Well, Marques isn't you either," I tell him, "So can you honestly believe that I'd ever want anything to do with him? And did you happen to see the cuts on his face? They happen to match my rings..."

We stare at each other, standing at opposite corners of my sprawling queen bed. We've hardly fought in the time we've known each other, and I don't know what to make of it now. I feel charged, ready for action...G.o.d, do I feel turned on? How is that even possible?

"Jesus..." Harrison mutters, sinking down onto the bed, "I'm a G.o.dd.a.m.n moron."

"In this moment, maybe," I allow, sitting down next to him.

"I just saw that picture, that headline..."

"What headline?"

Harrison grimaces, says, "'Is Princess Siena Playing the Field?'"

"It doesn't make any sense," I mutter, "What the h.e.l.l is the game here?"

"Game?" Harrison asks.

"Oh G.o.d, I haven't even told you yet," I laugh dryly, "There's a video that goes with that picture. Of Marques and I fighting in the bar. It may also include me punching the guy in the face..."

"My girl," Harrison smiles.

"But anyway," I press on, "I was presented with said video by some race officials after they dragged me away from Enzo's trailer this morning before the race. Someone is trying to make it look like I've been behind all the sabotaging nonsense that's happened this season."

"What...But..." Harrison splutters.

"I know, it's crazy," I tell him, "I don't think that anyone's actually trying to pin anything on me. I just think someone wants that rumor in the air. Why, I have no idea. Malice? Spite?"

"I'll end them, whoever did this," Harrison growls, "They took you away for questioning? Like you were some G.o.dd.a.m.n criminal?"

"Oh yeah. But they had nothing to actually use against me. Just a badly doctored video and some inst.i.tutionalized misogyny."

"Do you think...one person could be behind everything that's happened to us? To all of the drivers and teams?"

"I think it's possible," I tell him, "But if it is...I have no idea what to do about it."

"Hang the a.s.shole high, I say," Harrison scoffs.

"Have to figure out who it is first," I remind him.

"Small detail," Harrison tells me, "We've got the A-Team over here. You, me, our Ferrelli and McClain posses..."

"What is this, a superhero movie?" I laugh.

"It's starting to feel something like that," Harrison says, shaking his head, "Remember when the most exciting thing going on in this tour was us, sneaking away to mess around in hotel rooms?"

"Last I checked, that's still the most exciting thing about this tour," I smile, "And look. We seem to have found our way into another hotel room, yet again."

"So we have..." Harrison smiles, looping an arm around my waist.

"I can't believe you thought I'd touch that rat Marques with a ten foot pole," I say, nuzzling into Harrison's side.

"Did he...do anything?" Harrison asks, "Anything I need to run him off the d.a.m.n track for, I mean?"