Secret Sacrifices

by Jannifer Hoffman

  Nicole looked over Jamie’s shoulder. “Quint, Amanda wants to ride with her husband, so why don’t you bring Jamie with you?” Nicole smiled at Jamie. “We’ll see you at the park.”

  Hunter gave his wife a squeeze and grinned at Jamie. “By the way,” he said indicating the man beside him. “This is my brother Virgil. That’s my cousin Quint behind you. And don’t worry about riding with Quint, he’s as harmless as a puppy dog.”

  Jamie suddenly realized the puppy dog’s arms were supporting her. He reached around her, pulled her crutches out from under her, and handed them to Virgil.

  “Here, Cuz, you bring these.”

  Before Jamie could object, she was lifted off her feet and Quint was striding toward the carriage with her in his arms.

  “I can walk fine with my crutches,” she quipped.

  “No, you can’t. Virg has them.”

  She didn’t even bother squirming. He had a firm grip on her, as though he expected her to try to leap out of his arms. “Has anyone told you recently you’re an obnoxious, domineering male?”

  He lifted her into the waiting carriage, grinning up at her. “Male…yes. Obnoxious and domineering…no…not recently anyway.” He turned to Virg. “Take those crutches with you. I’ll be safer that way.” To Jamie he said, “Scoot your little rump over, I’m coming aboard.”

  Jamie wiggled over as far as she could in the narrow seat, and still his hip pressed into hers when he settled back to get comfortable. He put an arm across the back of the seat and began to study her as though she were an abstract painting he was trying to understand.

  No one noticed a lone photographer with a telescopic lens standing at the edge of the crowd. Benny Gomez searched in his pockets for the wedding program, trying to put names to the faces he didn’t already know. His boss would expect names—with dirt smeared on them.

  Chapter Three

  The carriage lurched forward, and Quint still hadn’t said anything. He just watched her, scrutinizing her. She was beginning to think he either recognized her or somebody had told him who she was. Well, he could damn well speak up.

  He didn’t.

  She wasn’t going to let him get to her.

  It didn’t work.

  Gritting her teeth, she finally snapped, “What?”

  “You sing real nice.”

  It was the last thing she expected him to say, and it took the spark out of her anger. All she could do was mumble a deflated, “Thank you.”

  “What happened to your knee?” he asked.

  Confident of his reaction, she told the truth. “A five-car pileup on the Indianapolis Speedway.”

  Quint threw his head back and laughed. “All right, I deserved that, none of my business. How long do you need to use the crutches? Is that a safe question? If not, fine, I’m comfortable just sitting here and staring at you.”

  When she didn’t answer, his gaze slid down, taking in her costume. The low-scooped neckline didn’t escape his perusal. “You look fantastic in that particular shade of green. What is it? Mint? It goes well with your honey-colored hair, and you have the perfect figure for that Lady Marion look. Is that silk?”

  When he reached over to touch the fabric, Jamie slapped his hand away. She had a feeling he wouldn’t stop with the compliments until she answered his original question. His tact was both obnoxious and amusing, and she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “One more week,” she replied. “As long as I behave and stay off the leg until then.”

  “And then you’re back to work?”

  Jamie suspected he was fishing for information. The Mountain Dew 500 at Darlington was the following Sunday. She intended to race in it. “I’ll be back to work next week,” she said. “Beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes it was. Hunter is a lucky man.”

  “Nicole is a lucky woman.”

  Quint smiled. “I guess we can agree on that.” The wedding seemed to be a safe topic, so they settled into conversation about Nicole’s talents as a seamstress and costume designer.

  Neither one of them realized the carriage had stopped until Virgil appeared beside it with her crutches.

  “Any problems?” he asked.

  “Nothing we need a lawyer for,” Quint said hopping out of the carriage. He turned to help Jamie down.

  Jamie accepted Quint’s help because it was the only sensible thing to do. The carriage was quite high, and it would have been difficult to master with her bandaged leg. Quint put his large hands on her waist, leaving her no choice but to put her own hands on his shoulders. He lifted her down with a smooth easy swing. Jamie had half expected him to slide her down along his body the way she’d seen it done in romantic western movies. Fortunately, he set her on the ground without resorting to such dramatics.

  Virgil handed over her crutches with a quizzical frown.

  She thanked him, slipped the crutches under her arms, and made her way toward the buffet table—alone. She didn’t understand the scowl on Virgil’s face but she was certain she hadn’t imagined it.

  When Quint started to follow Jamie, Virgil’s hand clamped firmly on his cousin’s shoulder. “As I recall, just this morning, you asked me to stop you next time you set out to give Cynthia a new topic to air.”

  Quint shrugged. “You’re too late. ‘Men Who Fall for Hookers’ is already in production.”

  “Jeez… We should have gone to breakfast and let her change her own tire.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go find a beer.”

  For three hours Quint managed to avoid Jamie. She made it easy for him. She headed the other way each time he even thought about approaching her. She sat down to eat with Nicole’s brother Billy and his wife Corinne. Then she spent the next hour with the two kids and Nicole.

  When the dancing started, Jamie found a small corner at the end of the makeshift bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a Bloody Mary. She was staring at the glass and doing a lot more playing with the celery stick than drinking. The stool adjacent to her was empty.

  Quint sat down beside her. “You expect to make that drink disappear by stirring it?”

  When Jamie looked at him in the pale light she noticed that the color of his shirt, or blouse as Nicole would call it, matched the blue in his eyes. He had discarded the ascot and opened two top buttons to reveal a hint of crisp rust-colored hair. She noted that it was a darker shade than the sun touched sandy color on his head. Giving him a weak smile she said, “I’m not much of a drinker. I just like the Tabasco tang. Beautiful night for an outdoor reception, isn’t it?”

  Before Quint could answer, Virgil materialized. “Hey Quint, I’m going for a drive with some of the guys. You wanna ride along?”

  Quint shook his head. “No, thanks, go ahead without me.”

  Virgil gave Jamie a sullen once over before handing his car keys to Quint. “Okay, you’re on your own. You can bring the car back to the motel.”

  Frowning, Jamie watched Virgil leave. “Your cousin doesn’t think much of me, does he?”

  “Don’t mind Virg. He thinks he’s protecting me.”

  Jamie’s head shot up in surprise. “From me?”

  Quint stared at her for a moment and shrugged. “No, from myself. I just got out of a bad relationship.”

  “It must have been real bad if you need a guard dog.”

  “I grew up with Virgil and Hunter. We tend to look out for each other.”

  “Nicole mentioned another brother.”

  “That would be Stephen—he’s nine years younger than Hunter. Stephen went slumming through Europe for the summer with some friends. I believe he had a skydiving competition in France this weekend.”

  Jamie paused with her drink halfway to her mouth. “He sky dives?”

  “Yeah, he’s the daredevil in the family. I’m the wimp. I can’t even imagine jumping out of a plane and freefalling toward the ground at 80 miles an hour. He rides a Harley too. Jeez, I get goose bumps in a car when I go over seventy on the highway. Speed in any form just i
sn’t my thing.”

  For a moment she stared at him in surprise. His rugged facial features, along with the look-at-me-I-work-out abs and shoulders, gave him an extreme macho look. Freely admitting to a weakness seemed contrary to what she knew about men. It made her curious. “Tell me about yourself, Quint. How is it you grew up with your cousins?”

  “I’d rather talk about you,” he said. “Do you have any family?”

  Jamie suddenly had an overwhelming desire to stir the life out of her celery stick. She wondered how long it would take for him get around to questioning her again. It would be easy to just tell him everything. If he didn’t like it, he could walk away. After all, she had nothing to be ashamed of, and a lot to be proud of. If he were a racing buff he’d have recognized her by now. Since he hadn’t, he wouldn’t even know about Indianapolis, but if he thought skydiving was a daredevil venture—

  “Can I get you something?” It was the bartender. “It’s on the house.”

  Quint nodded. “Yeah, a beer. Any kind. You want another one?” he asked Jamie.

  She shook her head.

  A moment later, the bartender set a foaming mug in front of Quint. He dropped a bill in the tip jar then slurped the foam off the top. After taking a deep thirsty swallow, he set the mug down and faced her.

  “So, where were we?”

  “Hunter mentioned something about the two of you working together.”

  Quint nodded. “We own a business called S.A.F.E—Seek and Find Enterprise. Now that Hunter’s married, he’ll be opening an office here in Minnesota. I’ll handle the one in New York. A good share of what we do is through the Internet so it can be done anywhere.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  “Hunter’s specialty is genealogy research. Mine is more into private investigation. If someone wants to find their roots, Hunter handles it; if their dog ran away, it’s my baby.”

  Jamie was thoughtful for a moment. She was thinking about the Indianapolis tape she was sure Clay had in his possession. “In other words, if a person needed to find something, you could do it.”

  Quint took a swallow of beer, laughing. “As long as it isn’t a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.”

  “What if it was slightly illegal?”

  “How illegal?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Define slightly.”

  Jamie shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I—I was just speculating. I didn’t mean—”

  “You don’t lie very well, Jamie. What were you getting at?”

  Jamie brought her Bloody Mary to her mouth, took a long, slow swallow, and took her time sucking the taste from her upper lip.

  Quint watched her actions with testosterone generated interest—and waited.

  “How good are you at picking locks?” she asked.

  “House or bank vault?”

  “House. It’s really nothing that ominous.”

  “Is there a security system?”

  Jamie hesitated. “I’m sorry, I think I’d better go.”

  When she reached for her crutches, Quint’s hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t go. Whatever it is, if I decide not to help you, you can trust me to keep this between us.”

  Unnerved by the heated feeling his touch gave her, Jamie quickly tugged her hand free of his grip. “All right,” she said softly. “I need a video tape.”

  “Is there a security system?” he asked again.

  “Yes, but I can disarm it.” She could have added that she knew the code because Clay had the intelligence of a stump and didn’t know how to change it.

  Quint gave her a sideways look. “What’s on the tape?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Whose house?”

  “A…friend… Ex-friend.”

  “Apparently it’s someone you know quite well if you can disarm the security system. Why don’t you just use your fricking key?”

  The hostility in his voice caught her off guard. Her eyes narrowed. “This was a bad idea. Let’s just forget it.”

  Quint gritted his teeth. “Look,” he said, “let’s clear up a few things. I know who you are and what you do. So I have a good idea what’s on that tape.” He drained his beer in one angry gulp. “I don’t even know why I’m still sitting here. Call me crazy. Call me a sucker for beautiful women. And you are beautiful, you know.”

  Jamie didn’t know what to say. “How did you find out?”

  “Virgil recognized you.”

  “When?”

  “This morning when he changed your tire.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It was quite obvious you didn’t want anyone to know.”

  She instinctively looked around her. “That’s true but…you didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  He gave her a long cold stare. “Just because I act like an idiot doesn’t mean I am one. You’re Nicole’s friend. Hunter is like a brother to me. His parents raised me.”

  “If it bothers you that much, why are you sitting here?”

  “Because I am a fucking idiot, that’s why.”

  Before Jamie could even begin to comprehend his anger, Chris Climb appeared on the other side of her with a rolled up magazine in one hand and a marker in the other.

  “I finally remembered where I saw you before,” he said sporting a crafty grin. Then he lowered his voice. “You’re Jamie LeCorre. You cut your hair, and hey, I realize you’re not using your real name because you don’t want anyone to know. Under the circumstances, with that thing in Indianapolis, I can understand…but I’m one of your biggest fans. If I can get your autograph on this picture, I swear, I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

  Jamie rubbed a hand over her brow. She knew it was going too well to be true. “I’d appreciate that,” she said with a weary sigh. She took his marker, signed the centerfold picture he laid out in front of her, and waved him off.

  When she turned back to Quint, his chair was empty. She blinked rapidly and swallowed at the lump rising in the back of her throat. She’d had a lot of reactions to her NASCAR career, but fury was a new one.

  She wasn’t a professional mud-wrestler, for God’s sake.

  It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She’d been attracted to him from the start, when he’d folded his arms over his chest and watched her try to change her tire balancing on one foot. He was rude and arrogant, but he awakened feminine instincts in her that no other man ever had, including Clay.

  If she didn’t stop thinking about him she was going to start shedding pitiable female tears. Tears weren’t allowed in her life. A woman couldn’t compete in a man’s world and be respected if she got emotional every time she lost a race or her crew chief yelled at her for not staying clear of the wall. The only way to survive was to yell back if you believed you were right, and take your licks and keep on going if you were wrong.

  Hobbling the three blocks to the church where her car was parked, gave Jamie time to get control of her emotions and condemn Quinton Douglas to a hot seat in hell.

  At ten-thirty Jamie eased her BMW into its parking spot in front of her room. She was shocked to see Quint standing in the doorway to her room with his shoulder propped against the frame. A brown paper package was cradled in the bend of his arm.

  He had changed into jeans and a button-down short-sleeved shirt, and the top two buttons were open with the shirttails hung loose over his jeans as though he’d dressed hastily.

  For a moment Jamie couldn’t think. She just sat and stared while he waited, not moving. It became apparent he had no intention of going anywhere soon. She had let him get to her once already today. It wasn’t going to happen again.

  Grabbing only one crutch, because she felt less helpless that way, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door. She dug in her small clutch purse for the motel key and approached him intending to inform him of his appointment in hell.

  Quint must have noticed the fire in her eyes because he spoke quickly befo
re she could. That’s when she noticed it was a bottle of wine resting in his arm.

  “Before you tell me to take a flying leap, please just listen. So there’s no misunderstanding, I’ll tell you right off I’m leaving to go back to New York on an early flight tomorrow morning.”

  “What—”

  “No, please hear me out. I’m attracted to you, and I enjoy your company. If you feel the same way about me, and I got the impression you did, we could have a good time together. I’d really like to spend the night with you.” He saw the shock on her face and continued quickly before she could start screaming at him. “I’m sorry if that sounds a bit forward, but as you probably know by now I’m not big on tact. I don’t care who you are or what you do. I like you, Jamie. I like the woman I see you as here tonight. I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you this morning when I first walked out of my motel room.” He paused, took a deep breath, and went on. “All I’m offering is me for a few hours, no hidden agenda, no questions, no strings. You have my word you can ask me to leave at any time, and I will. So either put your key in the door and open it or tell me to go to hell. I’ll respect your decision either way.”

  Jamie stared at him in utter disbelief. He was politely—politely—inviting her to have a one-night stand. By all rights she should be insulted beyond reason, even if she was attracted to him. If she hesitated at all it was because she was speechless. He waited calmly, impassively watching her face. She was vaguely aware of a clean soap smell and something else, something very male. His look was anything but sinister, and yet, she had the sensation she was staring up at a vulture waiting to zero in for the kill.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to go directly and straight to hell—do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars—when, from out of nowhere, she was struck by the words in Bette Midler’s song. It was the heart afraid of breaking that never took a chance.

  They were both consenting adults, after all. And everything else in her life seemed to be in the toilet right now. What did she have to lose? The worst that might happen was she’d create a bad memory; she could just stuff that in with all the others. Best case, she would have a pleasant memory to carry home with her. Besides, if he got weird on her she could always scream; his guard dog was right next door.