Dangerous Race by Dee J. Adams Page B

and it still sounded odd. She preferred people calling her Trace. It gave her distance…at least emotionally, and she liked having that invisible barrier. Every time Mac said her real name it sent a jolt through her lonely heart. She straightened her shoulders and huffed away the feeling.
    Tilting her head, she gazed past him to the swarm of people milling behind security gates. “You better move over, boss, or you’re going to be trampled by the masses.”
    A volunteer hurried toward Tracey. His excited smile made it seem as if his head would explode off his shoulders. “Get ready, Trace,” he called to her. “I was talking to the crowd and you’re going to have a ton of autographs to sign. One guy in particular said he’s got something extra special for you. He said he’s your biggest fan and he’s been waiting four years to meet you.”
    It couldn’t be who Tracey thought it was. “What does he look like?” she asked.
    “Tall and real skinny. His hair is flattened on his head and looks like he’s been swimming in oil.” The volunteer waved and moved off.
    “What’s that look on your face?” Mac asked. “You know this guy?”
    Tracey shrugged. “It sounds like the guy I’m thinking of. He’s a die-hard fan. He’d planned to meet me the last time I was here, but I had the accident.”
    “Yeah,” Mac said. “What are you not telling me?”
    “He was a little on the obsessive side, but I wouldn’t call him dangerous. He’s sent a lot of emails through my website, but that’s been the extent of it.”
    “How many is a lot?” Mac asked.
    “Several hundred.”
    Mac’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Point him out to me.”
    Tracey forced a laugh, but it sounded nervous and jittery. “It isn’t him, Mac.” Even as she said the words, a crowd of people herded toward her table and she spotted him. John Wallace. She’d seen his name too many times to forget it.
    John wore an oversized navy windbreaker zipped up to his throat and something bulky hid beneath. Something long and narrow that might resemble a very large gun. He nervously wiped his palm against his head, flattening his hair against his scalp. The man was beyond anxious.
    Mac moved to the end of the table and studied him with hard eyes. Every muscle in his body seemed tight-wire taut. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
    Funny how he knew immediately.
    “Yeah. He’s sent his picture to me. Several dozen times.”
    “He’s got something under his jacket.”
    Her surprise. She hated surprises.
    Tracey shot him a disparaging glance. “Oh, calm down, Mac. He’s just a fan who wants an autograph and few words like everyone else.” She hoped. “Relax. Another three, four hours and you can call it a day.” Tracey tipped her head. “In fact, why don’t you call it a day now? If you hurry, you could—”
    “Save your breath, Tracey.” Mac stood tall with his arms crossed in front of chest, a he-man ready to conquer the world. Much to her dismay, he looked really good at the part. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    At the moment, she didn’t mind his decision, but she’d be damned if she’d admit it. “Fine. Stay. Pull up a chair. It’s going to be a while.” Tracey snapped a lid on the stress bubbling in her center and smiled as the first fan approached her table.
    Five people later, John stood in front of her, sweating and nervous. “Hi, Trace.” He wiped his hand on his head again. “I’m John Wallace. I’m your b-biggest fan.”
    Tracey sat forward. “Of course. Hi, John. Good to see you. Thanks for coming out.” She pulled a publicity shot from the pile next to her. “Can I make this out to you?”
    “Oh, no.” He smiled, displaying a crooked front tooth, “I’ve got something better. Something just for you. Something you’re never going to forget.” As he spoke, he unzipped his jacket and reached inside.
    Tracey’s heart rate tripled and she rose from her seat. Mac moved toward her as did both security guards, but