Thunderstruck by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

be right there.”
    “Who is it?” Whit asked Shelby.
    “That clown from the new daily newspaper in Raleigh.”
    Whit made a face. “That DiLorenzi guy? Careful, he has it in for us.”
    She tightened the ponytail that hung through the back of her cap. “I can handle him.”
    When she left, Whit gave Mick a hard, assessing look. “You really want to know about this?” he asked.
    “Absolutely.”
    “All right. Stick around, we’re going to test an engine.”
    As much as Mick longed to follow Shelby and watch her handle the media, he stayed with Whit and watched him hook up the dyno.
    Either way, it would be a lesson in power and torque.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    R OCCO D I L ORENZI KNEW his racing and he knew it very, very well. There wasn’t a nuance of the sport he didn’t understand, as he’d been covering the North Carolina racing scene for years, moving from a weekly rag up to a brand-new daily newspaper that was hungry and competitive. Rocco prided himself on never doing a puff piece, instead going the extra mile to keep anything remotely flattering out of his stories.
    All of which kept Shelby wound very tight from the minute she stepped into the reception area to greet him.
    Shelby knew Rocco was building a name for himself on the ever-growing fan sites on the Internet and had decided long ago that exposés of teams and drivers would be his ticket to a million hits a day. She braced herself not to give him a thing he could use against Thunder Racing.
    “Hello, Rocco,” Shelby said, plastering on her media grin and holding out a hand to welcome her guest. “I have a surprise for you.”
    He raised one thick black eyebrow as he shook her hand. “It better be Clayton Slater, because I want to interview him before Daytona.”
    Of course he wanted to get his claws in their new, young driver. “He’s testing a new car today, I’m afraid. Will you be in Daytona? I’d be happy to arrange an interview for you there.”
    He nodded, patting his wide girth for a reporter’s notebook, which he produced from one of his jacket pockets. “I really wanted him for some pre-Daytona coverage. I’m doing a story on NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series rookies.”
    “Can I arrange a phone interview later this week?” That would give her PR person some time to draft up some key speaking points for Clay and assure that he could have them in front of him so he didn’t say the wrong thing. Which could be just about anything to a reporter like Rocco.
    She purely hated this part of the business.
    “Yeah, sure. So what’s the surprise?” Rocco pushed his wire frames up his nose and leveled his black-olive gaze at her. His expression said what he didn’t: it better be good.
    “You can be the very first non-Thunder Racing person to see the new fifty-three car.” She gave him her brightest smile. “It’s gorgeous.”
    He shrugged as if the new paint job was a big yawn but followed her into the shop. She led him through the various areas quickly, taking him into the paint-and-body shop where she’d first seen the prototype skin of the Kincaid Toys Monte Carlo yesterday.
    And where she’d first met Mick. Oh, Lord, she hoped he didn’t pop in here and share his plans with Rocco DiLorenzi. That would be all she needed.
    The body was still poised in the paint bay, where the temperature was a bit cooler to assure the paint bonded to the body. The thrill of seeing the number fifty-three—dormant since the day her daddy died—danced through her again, and she beamed at her guest.
    “Isn’t it breathtaking?”
    But he simply stared at the hood, then burst out laughing. “A clown? You’re taking a clown to Daytona?”
    Shelby slid her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and took a deep breath. “The Kincaid Toys logo is recognized by millions of kids and parents around the country, and after this season it’ll be recognized by millions more.”
    He snorted and closed in on the car.
    “Don’t touch yet,” she warned.
    “Can