Annie Jenner tried not to think about where she was or how long it had been since she'd been here. Daytona. Since she was a little girl it had been the start of the year for her family. Everyone else celebrated the New Year in January but for NASCAR racing fans it really started in Daytona in February.

The daughter of legendary driver Brandon Jenner and the sister of up-and-coming driver Dave Jenner, she knew the tracks better than she knew the towns that surrounded them. She'd grown up in this world and after three long years away when she'd followed her faithless husband through Europe, she was glad to be home.

She'd made a name for herself as a professional sports photographer. Her reputation had netted her a permanent job with Sports Illustrated but she'd taken a leave of absence to chronicle her brother this year for a book that the NASCAR publishing division was doing—The Jenner Legend—as well as any extra photos of NASCAR wanted. She was flattered that they asked her to take the pictures of her brother and his team.

The flag dropped. The race was on. Annie stared through the lens of her Nikon watching for the stock cars to come speeding by. She took pictures quickly, not thinking too much about the shots, confident that she knew how to get the best angle with the cars traveling at speeds of 180 miles an hour.

Suddenly, she heard a roar from the crowd. People were shouting. It was then she became aware that they were responding to a crash. She had been so busy shooting, she wasn't focusing on the reality of the action.

The crash reverberated around turn four. Shooting the event through the lens of her Nikon Annie didn't notice the car numbers at first. She was focused on the watched the cars spin sideways, bouncing off one another. Annie captured it all in a stop motion, her shutter clicking and her finger moving minutely.

When the cars stopped and the ones behind them had all maneuvered through the wreckage, she lifted her head and finally the number sank in. Number 153. Dave's car. Her brother had been involved in the crash.

Annie couldn't breathe as she waited for the medics to arrive. She'd always believed even as a little girl that nothing bad could happen to the men she loved while she watched them on the track. She felt that there would be some kind of warning signal, something deep in her gut that would let her know if her twin brother was mortally wounded.

Her hands were trembling as she dropped her camera and let the strap around her neck hold it up. Her eyes burned and she shook her head, determined not to cry. It was crisp and cool on this February Sunday. Though the sun was warm a chill moved over her.

She refused to take her eyes off his car, as if her watching him would make everything okay. The entire race track had gone quiet. Everything was blurring and she struggled to remember to breathe.

The ambulance arrived. Voices of the paramedics and firemen carried on the wind. The smell of oil and burning rubber filled the air.

There was no fire, but the firefighters all stood there just the same, ready for anything that might happen.

What was with all this waiting? It felt as if time had slowed and each second was an hour. Her breath froze in her lungs until she saw the medics arrive at his car. Dave lifted his arms and she was close enough to the track to hear his voice. It was raised and he was cursing—but using words that wouldn't get him fined.

She felt faint as relief starting flowing through her. Dave was alive and that's what mattered. She swayed a little and couldn't catch her breath. It sawed in and out as if she was having an asthma attack, except she knew she didn't have asthma.

Oh, God, she was hyperventilating.

She felt a strong hand grip her shoulder, pushing her head down toward her knees.

"Breathe," the voice said.

She did as he directed and stayed there for a minute before standing up. She glanced over her shoulder into eyes that were darker than midnight. He had thick lashes and a strong face. Not really classically handsome. Not like her ex-husband's, but this face was memorable.

Annie shook her head to clear it. "Thanks." "No problem. You know the driver?" "Dave's my brother." She really looked at the man and realized he was dressed in a pair of casual slacks that easily cost more than her entire outfit—she just wasn't a clotheshorse. He had on hand-sewn Italian leather shoes and a thick fleece jacket with the collar turned up. There was a discretely embroidered logo on the pocket—JM's Coffee House.

Immediately she knew who he was. Jared MacNeil—founder and owner of JM's Coffee House, a national coffee chain, as well as owner of the Number 186 car driven by Tucker Aldridge. She'd seen him, Jared, on one of the sports channels. He was intelligent and well-spoken when she'd seen him on television, but right now none of that really mattered.

She turned her attention back to her brother. Glancing at the wreck, she let out her breath as Dave started walking off the track. One of the medics had an arm around his shoulder and Dave lifted his hand toward the bleachers, waving to the crowd. There was a roar of approval from the fans as her brother limped away from the track.

She scarcely paid attention to anything else. Instead she focused on one thing. Getting to her brother and seeing for herself that he was okay. She wanted to hug him tightly.

Dave looked over at the other car and Annie realized that Tucker Aldridge had been the second driver in the crash. Jared stared at the track and it was hard to tell if he were only concerned because the car he owned was involved or if he was worried about Tucker's health.

As soon as Tucker pulled himself out of the car and stood next to it, Jared exhaled a deep breath.

"I'm glad they're both okay," she said.

"Or at least seem to be," he replied. "Do you still feel dizzy?"

She shook her head, a little embarrassed by her reaction to Dave's accident. "No, I'm fine."

He nodded at her and walked toward the fence. As a tow truck arrived to remove Dave's car from the track, Annie turned away and started running toward the media center. She wasn't just the sister of a driver today. She was being paid to photograph the event. They'd need to get someone else up on Turn Four because she wasn't going to be able to shoot anything worth printing until she talked to Dave.

She raced through the crowds, with their pit and garage passes, to the media center and found her contact. The photography coordinator understood that she couldn't continue until she knew her brother was okay. Annie made her way across the infield to the care center, keeping an eye out for her parents, who were probably making their way from the VIP suite that her father always rented.

Her father had been a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup champion back in the '80s and everyone—fans, drivers and crews alike—still adored him. Dave got a lot of press about being the son of a legend, but her brother was building his own legend. Last year he'd come in second in points for the Chase for the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series and this year, he was determined to win the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Championship. Hence her chronicling his year.

Dave's job offer had given her an excuse to return to the world she'd once been so much a part of. She noted a few media types outside the care center. From past experience Annie knew that the care center was one of the few places in the infield with extremely limited access.

The waiting room was packed with people. The room was sterile with white walls and uncomfortable chairs. The floor was hospital-grade tile. Someone had tried to warm the place up by placing two framed photos on the wall. The first was an aerial shot of Daytona on race day. The stands were packed and a blur of cars was visible on the track. The second was a shot of Daytona Beach just after sunrise. The sun reflecting off of the water and the beach empty of everything save a pair of footprints left in the sand.

Jared MacNeil was there along with Donovan Allen, who worked for her father on the Jenner Racing team. She tried to push her way into the back but they weren't letting anyone in until the track doctor had a chance to examine the drivers.

"Have a seat, Ms. Jenner. We'll let you know when you can go back there," the attendant told her.

Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out, checking the caller ID screen. It was her mom. She hesitated before answering the call, knowing that if her mom was upset and started crying so would she. And she was in the waiting room with two men who didn't look like they were going to be emotional at all.

She turned away from the others in the room, facing the vending machine.

"Hi, mom."

"Where are you, baby?"

"I'm in the waiting room. Where are you and dad?"

"We're in the tunnel on our golf cart. We'll be there in a minute. Have you seen him yet?"

"No, no one is allowed in. They are still examining both drivers." She heard her own voice waver. "We've got a problem back here," she heard someone say behind her.

"Mom, I've got to go."

Annie hung up the phone and moved toward the doorway leading back to the examination rooms. Jared and Donovan were both on her heels. She rounded the corner and heard voices raised—using the kind of words that would get you a big fine from the NASCAR folks.