When Bruce radioed me for his fifteen-minutes-to-pit warning, he also told me I’d lowered our team’s fastest lap mark four times, one lap after the other. Two laps later, I set fastest lap of the race for the GTLM class. I was lucky with traffic on those laps. I was having a ball. These stints were why I raced, for the feeling of being one with the car and the track. Nothing beyond my view out of my windscreen registered or mattered. I was plugged into that Corvette.
It seemed like only moments before Bruce was prepping me for the hand-over. “Pit in five laps,” he informed me.
I focused on keeping the car smooth and clean. On the last half-lap before pitting, I removed my drink tube and the air hose feeding cool air into my helmet. At the pit line I downshifted to first and engaged the pit speed limiter, then disconnected my radio cable, loosened my belts, and unfastened the window net while I steered down the lane to our box. I concentrated on being precise, not pulling too close to the wall.
Focus was important, because I could feel exhaustion seeping in. I’d been in the car for three and a half hours—more than we’d intended because of the long caution. It had now been a very long time since I’d slept. Only a few tasks remained before I could allow fatigue to make me clumsy.
I stopped the car smoothly on my mark and shut down the engine. Removed the steering wheel and hung it on the ceiling hook. Twisted the dial to release my belts. Aimed my head at the opening Bubs had cleared, and heaved myself out. Reached back in for my seat insert and scrambled out of Miles’ way, over the wall into the pit box.
Full service: fuel, tires, windscreen and headlights cleaned, and driver change.
I tugged my helmet off, seeing my warm, wet firesuit steaming in the cold night air. I watched the crew finish their jobs, sending Miles roaring away.
I traded Holly my helmet for a cold, wet towel and wiped down my sweaty face and neck. “How’s Stuart? Did I miss much?”
“Sugar, you wouldn’t believe. Stuart’s the same. Let’s get you debriefed and cleaned up, and we’ll talk about the rest.”
I stared at her dumbly for a moment, in disbelief that she looked as fresh as she had twelve hours earlier. How did she do that?
She took my other gear from me, and I snapped out of it. Time to chat with Jack and Bruce. I grabbed my jacket and slung it around my shoulders to ward off the chill, then climbed up the side of the pit cart.
Five minutes later I was back on the ground, as another full-course caution was called, for a car off in the grass in the inner loop. I watched on the monitors with the rest of the crew as a bunch of the GT field pitted, not including Miles, which meant we got another of our laps back. We gave each other thumbs-up and smiles. Only two laps down on the leaders now.
Holly and I headed out of the pits. I needed a shower, food, and some sleep, but I also needed to unwind. I was still keyed up from the focus and adrenaline of my hours in the car.
We passed the Arena tent, and I looked at Holly. “Miles?”
“Yep.”
A motorized cart roared past us, towing a rack of tires faster than the rack should go, judging by the skipping and chittering of its wheels. We kept walking without discussion, exiting the pits and heading through the Fan Zone. Two unwelcome faces appeared out of the shadows ahead, walking our direction.
I gritted my teeth and kept going. I watched as Billy Reilly-Stinson and Holden Sherain recognized us, shared a look, and came to a decision. They stopped in front of us, forming a wall of tall, self-important, over-indulged twenty-something male. Holly and I tried once to step around them, but when they moved sideways to block us, we gave up. We crossed our arms over our chests and glared up at them. They had us on size, but we made up for it in attitude.
For the first time in my experience, Holden spoke first. “Stay away from our family.” Talking was unusual for him, the perpetual glower he wore wasn’t.
I gestured around us. “You’re the one who stopped me. I didn’t want to talk to you. Come to think of it, I’ve never wanted to talk to you.”
Billy smiled. “We want you to understand how the rest of the family feels—besides James, of course. No one’s interested in the prodigal daughter’s return—no one’s interested in you at all.”
“That’s plain unfriendly.” Holly’s eyes were fierce.
“Why should I care what they think?” I asked her. I turned to them. “Listen up. My relationship with my father is none of your damn business. Since I have less than zero desire to be part of any family that includes you, there’s no problem. Besides, you’ve got your parables wrong. For me to be a prodigal daughter, I’d have had some inheritance for me to squander in the first place. I’ve gotten nothing from your family. Ever. And that’s the way it’ll stay.”
Holden smiled, which was even more disconcerting than when he scowled. “Apparently the golden child doesn’t know everything? Ask your precious grandparents what they did with the money they took from my family.”
He saw some reaction on my face, and his smile got broader. “That’s right. My family wanted so little to do with you they paid your grandparents to take you away. Your grandparents took the cash and ran. I guess your hands aren’t quite so clean of Reilly money after all.”
“Don’t think you’ll ever worm another cent out of us,” Billy warned. “Don’t think a sponsorship is yours for the taking. We’ll make sure that never happens.”
I knew, logically, there was no reason to feel rattled by the news of Reilly family money in my past. But I’d always been proud of receiving nothing from my father’s family, so I was shaken. Frustrated and annoyed. Because of course Billy and Holden had to throw the information in my face.
Except they’d given me a clue why they lashed out at every opportunity. They were afraid of me.
Chapter Forty-one
5:20 A.M. | 8:50 HOURS REMAINING
I tapped a finger on my cheek. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll try to get sponsorship money from the bank? Play on the old family connection? Scoop up the available funds that might otherwise support your dad’s racing? Or…yours?” I looked questioningly between the two men and saw Billy dart a look at Holden.
“Holden, sugar,” Holly drawled, “are you racing, too? All in the family?”
Holden bared his teeth. “You stay out of this, you ignorant hillbilly.”
I stepped in front of Holly. “Don’t ever be rude to her again, or I will go directly to my father and tell him every disrespectful word you’ve ever said to me. Or said to my spotters. Then we’ll see who has access to the purse strings.”
The threat was a stab in the dark. But I suspected my father was both the spiritual and financial patriarch of the family—plus I thought the cousins wouldn’t want every detail of our interactions made public. I looked from one to the other and decided my message had gotten through.
I turned to Holly. “Let’s go.” I pushed forward roughly between Billy and Holden. They parted, though I knew better than to assume they were permanently cowed.
I waited five paces before asking Holly what the hell she thought she was doing.
“Being part of the discussion.”
“Don’t get them mad at you, too. Stay out of it.”
She stopped, her hands on her hips. “You think they’ll be nice to me if I’m nice to them? No chance. No good friend would stand by and let them try to tear you to bits.”
I gave in. “Thank you.”
We stopped at the team lounge to check in with Aunt Tee. I told her I’d be awake by nine in the morning and in the pits by about nine-thirty. My goal was three hours sleep. With that much, I knew I could function, even if I’d be exhausted after the race.
“You both go rest,” Aunt Tee urged. “Though I have to admit, Holly looks like she’s had a full night’s sleep already.”
I looked at my friend. “Seriously, what’s that about
?”
“Deal with the devil, sugar. Plus clean living, under-eye concealer, and a couple catnaps.”
“Do the devil and clean living go together?” I asked her.
Aunt Tee laughed and shooed us out of the garages back to the motorhome. I was starting to feel the chill of the cold night air through my soaking-wet firesuit.
Holly and I hurried out the paddock gate, across the speedway road, and into the gated community of team motorhomes, waving our credentials at a lone guard as we passed.
Colby had assured us that at a race like this, she slept with earplugs in, so Holly and I didn’t worry about the noise we made. I went straight to the shower, and a few minutes later, Holly and I were seated in Linda’s food tent, digging into a breakfast casserole with croissants and fruit salad on the side. Plus a sports drink for me, to replace lost electrolytes.
“Catch me up?” I asked Holly, as I waved to a driver down the table.
“The simplest item first. I took Miles down to Benchmark, CPG, and Arena not long after you got in the car. Those Kulik brothers were so happy to see him, you’d have thought Miles was the second coming. Everyone was happy to have us there except for your snotty cousins, Uncle Eddie, and that witch, Monica.”
“Even Richard Arena?”
She waggled her fork at me. “Never underestimate the power of a celebrity. Arena himself descended from his perch to speak with Miles.”
“Never underestimate the power of NASCAR’s Most Popular Driver four years running, is more like it. Did he mind going over there with you?”
“Shoot,” she smiled. “Not at all.”
I’d seen Holly mildly infatuated before, but this was more serious—and with NASCAR’s four-time Most Popular Driver. He’d better play fair with her, or he’d answer to me.
“Anything good in the photos? Did you spot the ‘missing item’ there?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” She took out her phone and scrolled through the images.
I rolled my eyes when we came to the one of Miles with Sam and his fiancée Paula. “I guess she’s forgiven him?”
“I didn’t ask, but she’s still there.” Holly shrugged. “In other news, I got Tom’s spare Webcam set up in the empty pit space between our teams.”
I got up and took another helping of the egg casserole, yawning as I sat back down. “Did you hear anything?”
“We’re not recording constantly, but we can record clips by hand. When I saw people of interest talking in that pit space, I’d record and save the video. It’s not perfect audio, with car noise and all, but you can hear a bit of what they’re saying.”
“Video?” I asked.
“Comes with the audio. The way I was able to hide the camera though, all we can see is shoes to torsos, depending on where they stand, so video isn’t useful. There was only one conversation I caught while you were in the car: Tug and two other men talking about strategies for the end of the race.”
“What kind of strategies?”
She shook her head. “Wasn’t clear. We saved it for you.”
“We?”
“I had to have Tom’s help, but swore him to secrecy. I told him we were worried the other team was out to get you. That a couple guys had tried to bully you already—I didn’t mention they were related to you.”
I waved a hand, swallowing a bite of food. “Whatever you think. Did I understand you? Julio Arena killed a guy in a hit-and-run and ran off to Rosarito?”
“That’s what Calhoun dug up. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“But how could he be here?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he isn’t.”
“I’ve got to sleep.” I yawned. I couldn’t cope any more. Didn’t care what information or secret Calhoun had sent while I’d been in the car. “Let me catch up on the other stuff later. It was more background, you said?” I yawned again.
“It’s nothing we didn’t suspect. More about Arena’s history. You can read it in your message queue when you get up.” She took the dirty dishes I fumbled with. “I’ve got these, go on out to the golf cart.”
I nodded at her, smothering another yawn, and walked to the exit at the end of the long tent. I turned the corner, tripped over the ropes strung to hold the tent up, and would have fallen on my face if Raul Salas hadn’t caught me.
“Are you steady, Kate?” he asked.
“And embarrassed. Thanks.”
He put both hands in his pockets, but continued to stand close in the darkness, smiling at me. Studying me.
“What is it?” I felt flustered, and my stomach jumped around. Holly, get out here.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to understand what it is that draws me to you.”
I tried to form a response, but he kept talking.
“You are beautiful, of course. But it’s not your beauty that makes you extraordinary. No, that is because of your talent, your strength. Your spirit that sticks out its chin and dares the rest of the world to keep up.”
I was frozen in place. Poleaxed, Gramps would say.
Raul stepped closer—close, but not touching. “Men will want to harness or own you for that. And you may be tempted, but that’s not what you need.” He shook his head. “The truly intelligent and worthy man will want to be your partner, to encourage you to greater heights.”
He paused, lifting a hand to frame my face, but stopping a fraction of an inch away. Still not quite touching.
He leaned close. “Perhaps someday that lucky man can be me.”
Raul walked away, but not before whispering, “Rest well, Kate.” Not before reducing me to a puddle of mindless lust in front of Linda’s Catering Services.
Holly didn’t notice my daze as she ferried us back to the motorhome.
Where did that come from? And why did I let that happen? I can’t believe what a hypocrite I am after being mad at Stuart for kissing—wait. Raul didn’t touch me. He’d nearly seduced me without ever touching me—except to keep me from falling. Wow, he’s good.
I shook my head as I followed Holly into the rig. Deal with it later, sleep now. “Twenty-two hours is too long to be awake. Good night.”
“I’ll set your alarm.”
With a wave, I made my way into the bedroom at the back of the motorhome and curled up on top of the twin bed next to the one Colby occupied. I pulled a blanket up to my chin and went out like a light.
Chapter Forty-two
9:00 A.M. | 5:10 HOURS REMAINING
Three hours later I woke with a start, a question for Calhoun clear in my mind. Outside, the buzz of racecars circling the track was well into its eighteenth hour.
I found my phone plugged into its charger on the bedside table, where Holly must have put it after setting the alarm, and I typed the question to the reporter. What did you think Stuart would tell you about Arena?
I knew Stuart wouldn’t have told Calhoun anything. But I wondered what Calhoun thought he’d learn about Arena’s racing endeavors that were relevant to his article—especially given the reports that Arena kept his racing team clean.
The motorhome was completely empty. Colby should be a few minutes away from getting into the Corvette for a double-stint. The only evidence of Holly was a note to text her when I woke up and to meet her in the pits.
I took a lightning-fast shower, more to feel awake and refreshed than because I needed to be clean. I knew I’d gotten enough sleep to perform well in the car today, but I wasn’t exactly rested. I suited up in a clean set of Nomex undergarments and a fresh firesuit, added my sunglasses against the glare of daylight, and headed to Linda’s for breakfast.
En route, I received twin text messages from Tug and Polly, both telling me Stuart was out of surgery and listed in critical condition. Polly added, He’s stable so far, Kate, but he’s in a coma. They fixed everything they could. Now it’s up to him when
he wakes up. I’ll keep you posted.
I heard the words she hadn’t said: “If he wakes up.” I closed my eyes and prayed hard for Stuart to come out of the coma. He’d made it this far. I chose to keep believing he’d survive. I took a few deep breaths and kept walking.
Once inside the food tent, I drank my first cup of coffee while standing at the pot, then filled my cup again and scooped up more egg casserole.
While I ate, I scrolled back through the message stream from Calhoun. He’d started by sending highlights of Richard Arena’s life history. Arena grew up poor in one of the bad parts of Long Beach, California, the oldest of five. Father killed in a drive-by shooting when he was nine, then his mother remarried. His stepfather was sent to jail when he was eighteen, and Arena himself followed a couple years later, but only for nine months on an embezzlement charge.
That seemed to have turned Arena around, wrote Calhoun. He’s never been seriously in trouble with the law again. And one thing he’s a stickler for: he never carries a gun. No one can even say if he knows how to shoot one, though all suspect he doesn’t need to, with hired muscle around.
Calhoun outlined a progression of Arena’s growing business empire that tallied with what Zeke had told us, starting out with local Laundromats, then buying more individual sites, tying them together into a chain, opening associated services with them—everything from nail salons to car washes to electronics stores. He then added security patrol service to the businesses and expanded to other cities across the Southwest and then the South. Split out the security services into its own patrol and residential systems company. Much later, he added the company that imported olive oil and the racing team.
Calhoun’s last words about Arena’s background information weren’t reassuring. There’s no single, definite connection to the Mob, but there are at least seven tenuous, possible connections. One source wouldn’t name names but mentioned a moneymaker and money launderer who the Mob bosses called “the Midas of home security.” I’ve got no doubt he has friends in the family.
Avoidable Contact Page 21
