Page 48 of Rush

Isla clicks her mouse again and this time it's the three guys, the other of whom I recognize from our night downtown. “Romeo.”

“Romeo is a big deal in the underground racing world. He sponsors Jameson. Your man is famous on the dark tracks. He competes in many races, but mostly only those with a lot of money on the line,” Isla explains further. My stomach sinks. It feels like Jameson is living a second life.

“How much money?”

Isla clicks more buttons and a number flashes on the screen. “Quarter of a million dollars. That's just this race.”

I blink at the screen. My mind scrambles. “Off one race?”

Isla glances at me, her face etched in concern. “Yeah, babe. And this isn’t his first race. Jameson’s been racing for the past three years for Romeo.”

It feels like my world is crashing in; yet, at the same time, some things start to make sense. The garage. His move. Why he didn’t go to a university like he planned. Spots dance in front of my vision and I stand, almost knocking over my chair. Just like I’ve been taught, I raise my hands above my head and breathe deeply, trying to keep myself from panicking further and passing out. I need proof. I need to see with my own eyes.

“Well Romeo is based in Chicago. We could get in the garage there, find Jameson’s car. See if it's the one you remember,” Isla offers, and I realize I spoke out loud.

“You can do that?” I glance down at her.

“If I say we can take the private jet, you can’t say anything about being a spy,” she tells me seriously, and I can’t help the nervous laughter that erupts out of me.

“You are a spy, Isla.”

Rolling her eyes, we gather our stuff to leave. “How are you going to do this?”

I slip my phone from my hand and pull up my text thread with Jameson. “I feel like anything I say he can check. Or he’ll offer to get me.” I blow out a breath. “He picked up Dylan from daycare, I’m supposed to go there after practice.”

“Which ended an hour ago, no,” Isla says, biting her lip nervously, her eyes on the front doors like she expects him to barge through at any second. “Don’t tell him.”

I raise my brow at her, sort of seeing her logic. “Okay. Let's just leave. We don’t tell anyone.”

Isla nods and leads me out the back of the building. We get into her car, the trunk completely full of our bags. The second my buckle clicks into place, my phone rings, KANE flashing on the screen. I wait for it to stop, biting the inside of my cheek. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing, but I also feel bad just not showing up. I can’t do that to Dylan. Quickly I type out a message.

ME: I won’t be over tonight. Hanging out with Isla.

There, not the complete truth but not a lie. Something he should be able to understand. With a renewed sense of anger and drive, I power off my phone.

I may have seen one too many spy movies or read one too many mafia books because the private terminal is not at all what I expected. It's just an extension of the airport. A sleek little white jet waits on the tarmac for us with a small crew. Isla seems to know everyone and I just roll with the punches. I can’t talk. I can only keep my head down. I’m two seconds away from puking if I think too much about the risk I’m taking. The need to know about Jameson’s secret life, to see it in person plagues me. The flight to Chicago takes less than two hours, and soon, we’re landing and getting into a blacked-out SUV.

“Is this part of the family perks too?” I ask Isla, and she blushes, looking sheepish. “You’re so cool, Isla. I want to be you when I grow up.”

She laughs and grips my hand while we’re driven through the downtown streets of Chicago. My eyes take in all the sights, but my stomach is a mess. “You didn’t turn your phone back on.”

“I don’t want to lie any more than I already did. Knowing Jameson, he’s probably already called and texted a hundred times.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. He’s pretty much notified everyone you’re MIA. Since I didn’t answer, he went down the line of our friends and their boyfriends. He reached out to Leif and Carter even.” Isla grins, watching me closely.

“This is bad. I’ll have to apologize to our friends.”

“No need. I told the girls. Although, knowing them, they probably told Reign and Hawke, but those two wouldn’t rat you out,” she assures me. I start to feel better until we pull in front of a secure fence rigged with an electric lock.

“So much for getting in.” My head tilts back against the headrest. Our driver laughs, his eyes scrunching in the rearview mirror.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Isla mutters under her breath before sliding out of the vehicle. I watch fascinated as she pulls out a different looking device with a long antenna attached to the top and places it on the lock. Two minutes later, the light flashes green and the automatic doors begin to open.

“Not sure who the owner is but they will most likely be tipped off. We only have maybe 10 to 15 minutes to snoop,” she warns me, her light eyes dancing with mischief.

Our vehicle barrels toward the stalls and the second the driver puts it in park, we get out. Isla uses her fancy gadget on the biggest stall, and my breath gets trapped in my throat when a sleek, red covering comes into view. It's easy to tell that underneath is a car. My fingers shake as I step toward it. As much as I need the proof, I’m also nervous for this to all come crashing down. The big what if is swinging over me like a blade ready to drop. Carefully, I slide the edge up, and a very familiar, red and white car comes unwrapped. Jameson’s car.

“Why?” I say out loud, unable to think clearly. It’s easy to see the car is cared for. It's also been updated over the years. There is no denying that the images from Vegas are undeniably Jameson. I trust Isla’s intel. I just don’t get why he’s doing it and why he wouldn’t tell me. Racing at the track used to be fun in high school. The stakes weren’t nearly as high, but Jameson never hid it. In fact, I raced with him multiple times. Never once did I criticize or ask him to stop. Yet, it's a huge part of who he is, and he hasn’t told me.