Quint grunted. “How do you know I didn’t?”
Jamie stared at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Because you wouldn’t have been waiting outside my room that night with a bottle of wine if you’d known I was a NASCAR driver.”
“Your brain works as fast as your car, doesn’t it?”
“Its just logic.”
“Well, Ms. Logic, I guess it will surprise you to hear I did talk to Hunter.”
Her eyes widened. “What, exactly, did he tell you?”
Quint chuckled. “Said he was sworn to secrecy, though he did mention something about you traveling with a fast crowd.”
The roar of the next car taking off on the track muffled Jamie’s laughter. Quint pulled a chair up and sat down beside her. He couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be.
* * * *
By the end of the day, three cars had hit the wall. One driver left by ambulance; the second scrambled to prepare a substitute car. The third was Clay Riker, who still managed to finish in the tenth position in spite of a scraped fender.
Only one driver had beat Jamie’s time. Tomas Dunn would start in the pole position with Jamie beside him on the outside.
All day Friday, and again Saturday, Detective Ralph Sampson walked like a shadowy thorn among the workers and drivers, asking questions, taking notes, concentrating discreetly on anyone who appeared over the age of forty-two. In Buster’s pit alone, that was nearly a fifth of the twenty-nine crew members. Besides Buster there was Tim, Hal, the cook, the gasman, and Charlie, the spotter.
Riker’s entire crew was anything but cooperative. It seemed nobody recalled Jimbo being at the race the week before. Both Clay Riker and his father told the detective, in no uncertain terms, he was interfering with their work. Among the rest of the men, unspoken hostility thickened the air. Sampson got the feeling that somebody had instructed them to clam up.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday morning dark clouds drifted in from the west. With no rain in the forecast the race was expected to start at one o’clock as scheduled. Jamie left for the track early while Quint waited at the hotel for Virgil and Stephen to arrive. They expected to land by ten-thirty.
Normally Jamie’s thoughts would have been filled with the upcoming race, not because it was necessary, but because racing had been the only thing in her life.
Now there was Quint. Quint ordering in pizza Friday night so they could be alone, Quint staying by her side all day Saturday, stepping into the background when she was needed by a member of the crew, and Quint making love to her. If they couldn’t manage to be alone, he watched her from a distance, teasing her with seductive looks any time he happened lock eyes with her.
Jamie smiled to herself. She thoroughly enjoyed his company. It was more than the lovemaking. Quint made her laugh. She hadn’t had true laughter in her life since T-Roy.
She worried about the grim lines of his mouth when she’d slipped into her pink racing suit that morning. He stared at the many logos covering her back, shoulders, and arms like they were dangerous aliens intent on destroying her. When he kissed her goodbye a half hour later, his smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was all too clear that she needed to keep a check on her feelings until she was certain he could handle her career. She only hoped it wasn’t already too late.
Later that morning Buster joined her on top of the van. He pulled a chair up beside her and sat down.
“How you feeling about the race today?” he asked.
Jamie gave him a curious look. His behavior was totally out of character.
“Same as always,” she said. “I’m going to win.”
Buster patted her shoulder, chuckling. “That’s my girl.”
His choice of words didn’t usually bother her, but she just wasn’t in a mood to let it pass. “Since when, Daddy, have I been your girl?”
He gave her a long hard look before he answered. “You got something in your craw, girl? Spit it out.”
Jamie turned to face him so she could watch his eyes. “How did my mother die?”
Buster’s ruddy face deepened in color. “You know I don’t talk about her. She was a bi—”
“She was my mother!” Jamie snapped, gritting her teeth.
“I know that, but there’s things about her you don’t know.”
“What things?”
Buster’s jaw clenched. “Things best left unsaid.”
“Did you know she was murdered?”
Buster’s bushy brows rose. “Where did you hear that?”
Jamie drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you to tell me what happened.”
“Well, Christ, I didn’t do it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then who did?”
“Hell if I know. Probably one of her goddamn boyfriends.”
When Jamie didn’t answer Buster’s face softened. “Look, Jamie, I know you and I didn’t get off on the right foot. Part of that was probably because you loved your mother so much.”
“She was all I had.”
“I know that, but I didn’t even know she was pregnant when she took off. When I found out about you I naturally believed you weren’t mine. Her behavior before she left wasn’t exactly saintly.”
“And when you found out I was yours?”
“Hell, I was bitter. I was worse than bitter. I was fucking pissed, at her, at the world, at you for being part of her. Like I said, there’s things you don’t know. Things you don’t need to know.”
“Maybe knowing would help me understand.”
“Maybe you’d understand more than you need to. Or want to. Like I told you, some things are best left unsaid. I know I haven’t been much of a father to you, but—”
“That’s an understatement, if ever I heard one.”
A slow grin eased Buster’s rigid mouth. “You’re a feisty one. I always liked that about you.”
Jamie stared at him incredulously. “I didn’t think there was anything about me you liked.”
Buster grunted. “That just goes to show you don’t know everything. Now, we shouldn’t be having this conversation two hours before you race.”
“Don’t worry. When I drive, I focus on driving, nothing else.”
“There, you see. That’s another thing I like about you.”
The shadow of a smile crossed Jamie’s face. Her smile broadened when she glanced down and saw Quint walking across the track flanked by his two cousins.
Buster followed the direction of her eyes. “Looks like your young man is coming. Damn, I like that boy.” He stood up, arching his back. “You be careful out there today. Riker’s entire crew seems to be in a foul mood. Good thing he’s starting well behind you. Unless he gets a miraculous break, you won’t have to put up with the likes of him in this race.”
Buster climbed down from the trailer and greeted Quint with a handshake and a wink. He spared a few moments for Quint to introduce his cousins then headed off to check on the readiness of the video and audio equipment.
Jamie followed Buster down. As she approached Quint and his cousins, she thought Quint looked more relaxed. Either he had managed to mask his anxiety or having his cousins with him helped. Either way, she was glad he would have their company during the race.
The next thing she noticed was how handsome Virgil was. How had that slipped her notice at the wedding? Stephen was a younger, leaner—to the point of being too thin—version of his older brother. Both had midnight black hair and were taller than Quint by two inches, though Quint stood nearly six feet tall. Quint didn’t have the dark good looks of the Douglas brothers, but he had broader shoulders and a more muscular frame. She preferred Quint’s rugged features.
Virgil wore a sheepish grin on his perfectly chiseled face. He extended his hand in a peace offering. “Thanks for letting us come, Jamie.”
Jamie took his hand and smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I forgot just how much you actually look like a lawyer.”
Virgil laughed heartily. �
��I’m not going to touch that. Instead, I want to introduce you to my brother, Stephen. Stephen, meet Jamie LeCorre.”
When Jamie reached for his hand, Stephen grasped it gently and pressed the tips of her fingers to his lips. “Miss LeCorre, I am your slave. These two clowns can be glad I wasn’t at that wedding. I would have recognized you in an instant. I haven’t forgotten your face since you sang the National Anthem at the Super Bowl last winter. Will you marry me?”
Jamie glanced at Quint laughing. “If he’s been drinking, keep him off the trailer.”
“You sang at the Supper Bowl?” Quint asked.
Jamie lifted her shoulders dismissively. “It was no big deal.”
“Jeez,” Virgil spat out. “We watched that game together. I remember every play in detail. How could we have missed you singing?”
“No big deal,” Quint mumbled, mimicking her. “Just the biggest sporting event of the year.”
“May I ride with you in your car today? I could help you steer or whatever,” Stephen said.
Tim walked up to them, chuckling. “Another one of your adoring fans, Jamie? She gets this all the time,” he said to Quint.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Tim Andrews, here, is the engine builder. Tim, meet Virgil and Stephen Douglas, Quint’s cousins from New York.” She gestured to the Douglas brothers respectively. “And would you have Sergio throw a couple of extra burgers on for them? If he needs any help cooking, Stephen has graciously volunteered.”
Tim threw an arm around Stephen’s neck. “Come on my friend. We never turn down help. Let me show you around.”
Stephen made no attempt to hide his exuberance. ”Hey, I’m your man, Tim. Tell me, is it true you bring two extra engines along?”
Virgil shook his head as he watched them walk away. “My little brother makes life interesting. There’s never a dull moment when you’re around Stephen.”
Tim stopped and turned back to Jamie. “Hey, I almost forgot. Bentler wanted to talk to you. He’s in his trailer with his mink entourage. I think he wants to make sure you’re wearing your skimpies under your suit.”
Jamie rewarded him with a piercing glare. “Thanks for nothing, Tim.” She knew he was only half joking. Every week Bentler sent a new Pink Mink designer outfit to her house requesting that she wear it under her racing suit. Every week she ignored him. The outfit she’d worn to change her tire before the wedding was one of them.
Jamie turned to find both Quint and Virgil staring at her. Laughing, she explained about Bentler’s obnoxious fantasy. She suggested the two of them find a seat up on the van and wait for her. Bentler’s prerace pep talks usually only took a few minutes.
Jamie found Bentler perched on the edge of his desk. The only other furniture in the small travel trailer was a long table set up with snacks and drinks, and several folding chairs. Five leggy young models dressed in Pink Mink mini skirts were crowded inside, some hovering, some seated. Ralph Sampson sat at the edge of the table sipping on a can of Seven Up. He acknowledged her with a nod.
When Jamie entered the trailer, Bentler motioned the girls to leave them alone. They obeyed silently. Their exotic eyes, as they filed out, fixed on Jamie with a combination of awe and envy.
Bentler smiled at Jamie, his darkly tanned face showing an even row of perfect white teeth. “Jamie, love, have a seat. I believe you already know Detective Sampson.”
A long time ago, Jamie gave up chastising Bentler for using pet names on her. When she first started driving for him she’d made it clear that their relationship was strictly business, and as long as he complied, she allowed him some leeway with his little feminist innuendos. He respected her driving, and that’s what mattered to her.
She sat down, nodding to Sampson. “Hello, Ralph.”
The detective bobbed his bushy eyebrows and smiled. “Hi, how are you doing? Ready for the race?”
Jamie sensed he was cautioning her not to mention the fingerprints. She gave him a nod so slight it barely moved her head.
Bentler answered for her. “Hey, this kid was born ready. I’m lucky to have her in my corner. I have full confidence that when the timing is right, she’ll take Pink Mink Inc. to Victory Lane
.”
“When the timing’s right,” she repeated. When she started to get to her feet, Bentler stopped her.
“That isn’t why I asked you to come here,” he said. “I wanted to tell you I’m aware of that little incident with my Cadillac on the freeway in Chicago. Just for the record, I had already reported that car stolen. If they manage to catch that SOB, I’ll do everything in my power to help put him behind bars and keep him there. I don’t take kindly to anyone messing with my property, and more importantly, my star driver.”
Jamie could tell by the flare in his dark eyes that he was dead serious. “Thanks, Ray,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
Bentler picked a Graycliff out of a jar on his desk. “That goes for off the track as well as on,” he said biting the end off the cigar. When he started searching for a match Ralph Sampson came to his feet to supply one. Bentler thanked him, and focused back on Jamie. “I had a little talk with Kent Riker. I told him if he ever sics his kid on you again he’s going to get wrapped in pink shit from his foul mouth to his asshole. One and the same, as far as I’m concerned.”
Jamie stared at him in surprise. A frown drew her mouth into a grim line. “Tell me Ray, would you have done that if I were a male driver?”
“Hell yes. He’s not just messing with you, he’s messing with my car.”
Jamie gave him a measured sideways glare but there was humor in her eyes. “You’re such a liar, Ray.”
Bentler laughed. “Darling, you drive as well as any man out there, and that’s no bull, but you’re—softer. Now that’s a compliment so don’t get yourself all up in arms. Now get out there and give ’em hell.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Sampson said, opening the door for her.
Jamie stood up but didn’t turn to leave. “Ray, can I ask you something?”
Bentler put the flame to his cigar and sucked heavily on the end. “Sure, babe, shoot.”
“Did you know my mother?”
Bentler choked on his smoke. He didn’t answer until he could draw a free breath of air. “Sure, I knew her. Why?”
“Tell me about her. What was she like?”
“Why don’t you ask your father?”
Jamie grunted indelicately. “We both know what he thought of her. I’d like to hear the truth from somebody who didn’t hate her. At least I’m assuming you didn’t hate her.”
“Well, of course I didn’t hate her,” Bentler said quickly. “She was a striking woman. She had a face and body men, or women for that matter, would kill for. You resemble her very much, except she was taller.”
“Do you know anything about her life after she divorced Buster?”
“Some.”
“Well, do you know who she dated? I have the feeling it was someone involved in racing. Buster won’t talk about her. He just says, there’s things I don’t need to know.”
“Christ sake, Jamie, you have to race in an hour. This isn’t the time, and your father’s right. Leave it alone.”
Jamie folded her arms across her chest. “Let me worry about the race. All I’m asking for is some straight answers. Who was she seeing? What is Buster hiding from me?”
Ray Bentler hesitated. He stared at his cigar with distaste, snubbed it out in a crystal ashtray, and drew a long, deep breath. “It would be a lot easier to tell you who she wasn’t seeing.”
Blood hammered in Jamie’s ears while unshed tears threatened to close her throat. All her life she’d believed her mother was a good person, and Buster was the bad guy. It made it so much easier to blame him for being the thorn in her life. She suddenly realized that that was precisely what she’d done, blamed him.
She swallowed at the growing lump in her throat and gave Bentler a tentative smile. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s not quite the answ
er I was hoping for but I have no reason to doubt you.” She drew in a laborious breath, releasing it with a long heavy sigh. “I’d better go now—I have a date with car number thirteen.”
On the way back to her pit Sampson commended her. “Thanks for asking the questions I couldn’t without tipping my hand.”
“I didn’t find out anything,” Jamie retorted, “except that my mother was a tramp.”
“Don’t go tampering with your memories. They are what you believed them to be. It doesn’t change what you felt for her or how she treated you.”
Jamie sighed. “No, I guess not.”
When they reached the pit, Sampson squeezed her upper arm. “Good luck out there, and take care.” He gave her a two-finger salute and left.
Forty-five minutes later she climbed into her car and strapped in. Quint had hugged her fiercely before she left him on the trailer with Virgil and Stephen. For a fleeting second, she thought Buster was going to hug her too. Instead, he gave his usual warning about staying clear of the wall and put his headphones on. The next time she would talk to him would be from the track.
She maneuvered her car into the second position beside Dunn’s green number forty-seven. He acknowledged her with a victory sign. Jamie laughed and returned the sign.
The Chevy Monte Carlo 400 began with the roar of forty-two engines, each sporting two hundred and eighty horsepower. The fans were on their feet, adding to the deafening sound. The commentators bellowed into microphones trying to be heard over the melee.
On the fifth lap, Jamie gained just enough speed to ease in front of Dunn to take the lead.
Eight laps later Buster informed her that the spotter, Charlie, reported a pileup and the yellow flag was up. When the caution flag lifted a few minutes later, Buster told Jamie that three cars were taken out of the race. That brought Riker from tenth position to seventh.
Jamie managed to hold the lead for fifteen laps, until Dunn edged past her on turn three. She’d given him too wide a berth and when she came into the curve a little too fast, she had to brake to avoid the wall just when he was getting his RPMs up. She cursed her luck and closed in behind him, drafting within inches of his bumper. Talon Davis was doing likewise behind her. The three cars held their positions for the next eight laps.
Secret Sacrifices Page 18
