“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Jamie nearly choked on a laughing snort. “You have a severe case of ego inflation, my friend.”
“It has nothing to do with ego. I’m a little gun shy when it comes to women. Do you recall asking about Virgil playing guard dog for me? I told you I’d just gotten out of a nasty relationship.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s the one who recognized you as the Pink Mink centerfold.”
“I’ll have to remember to thank him,” Jamie said, dryly.
“I saw the decals in your trunk so I didn’t need a lot of convincing. And he was only doing what I asked him to do. I told him if I ever try to get involved with another high-profile woman to stop me.”
“So why didn’t you listen to him?”
Quint gave her a slow disarming smile. “Good question. The real ironic part comes when you consider that being a female NASCAR driver puts you miles above being one of Bentler’s minks in the high profile department.”
“And knowing this you flew all the way to Chicago to see me? Why?”
“Because she wears five hundred dollar imported silk nightgowns, and you wore a Mickey Mouse T-shirt old enough to belong to your grandmother.”
Jamie digested that solemnly while Andy set their salads on the table. When he left she picked up her fork and started stirring the dressing into the lettuce.
“So who is this woman with the diamond studded PJs?” Jamie asked. “And what unforgivable female thing did she do to you?”
Quint popped a cherry tomato in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
“Cynthia Harman.”
Jamie’s fork halted halfway to her mouth. “The talk show barracuda?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“That woman is evil; she preys on human misery. Pink Mink hookers are saints compared to her. How could you think I was that kind of woman?”
“I didn’t think you were like her. I just wanted to avoid another complicated situation.”
“Lord, what did she do that was so awful? Handcuff you to a bed and wheel you out on her show naked?”
Quint gave her an odd look and laughed out loud. “Now I remember what I like about you. You make me laugh. It’s not what she did; it’s what she’s still doing. She refuses to accept the fact that we’re finished. She calls my office five times a day. I swear she’s having me followed because she already called my motel here in Chicago. That morning I met you, when you were feeling up your flat tire, I had just hung up the phone on her. That’s when I asked Virg to bean me over the head if I ever tried to date another woman with a face recognized all over the country. The phone started ringing again and I stomped out of the room telling him to inform her that I’d left.” Quint smiled. “And the first thing I saw was your cute little tush. I know I acted like a jackass but I was still riding on Harman-induced adrenalin.”
“I guess that explains a lot.”
Quint gave her an expectant look. “Does that mean you forgive me and we can pick up where we left off?”
Jamie sighed. She looked away from him for a moment before turning back to face those startling blue eyes. “It means I can forgive you, but as for picking up where we left off—when I opened that motel door we had an agreement. It would be one night. You go back to your life, I go back to mine. As far as I’m concerned that’s where we left off. My lifestyle doesn’t leave space for a man. Not because I don’t have time but because men can’t handle it. They either try to get me to quit racing or they get stars in their eyes because of the limelight and the purse I bring in.”
“Why is it so hard to believe a man could accept you just the way you are and for who you are as a person?”
Jamie went back to her salad. “Because that’s fantasy thinking. It hasn’t happened and it won’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve expected a knight in shining armor to rescue me from my father’s house. I decided when I was thirteen that I would make my own path in the world and not wait for some impossible miracle to clear the way for me. All I knew was racing. The fact that it was male dominated made the path almost insurmountable. You have no idea what it’s like for a woman to compete in a man’s world.”
Quint set his empty salad bowl aside. “You’re right; I don’t. I do know we had something special together. I don’t want to throw it away without giving it a chance.” He reached over and squeezed the tip of her little finger. “I don’t need your money, Jamie. If I was a fortune hunter, I could have stayed with Cynthia. Granted she’s more into sour lemons than limelight but she’s looking for a boy toy and she’s willing to give him anything he wants. She only wants one thing in return, and that is his manhood.”
“Sounds like a generous offer. Maybe you should take it.”
Quint gave her a level look. “I’m going to assume you’re joking, but just in case you aren’t, I want her in my life about as much as you want Ray Bentler in yours.”
Jamie laughed. “You certainly know how to make a point.”
Andy arrived with a heaping plate of crab legs. He set it in the center of their table, along with tools to crack the shells, two kinds of sauces, and a bowl of melted butter. He handed each of them a plate of hush puppies. “Anything else I can get for you?” he asked.
“This looks good to me,” Jamie said.
“Me too,” Quint said, eyeing the crab legs with hungry lust.
They were both eating succulent chunks of crab when Andy returned with a bottle of Merlot and two glasses. “Compliments of Jimbo,” he said.
“Where is Jimbo tonight?” Jamie asked. “I didn’t notice him behind the counter.”
“He’s not here, but he just called. He asked how you were and instructed me to bring you the wine.”
“Thank him for me, will you, Andy?”
When Andy left, Quint looked at Jamie with twinkling blue eyes. “Come here often, do you?”
Jamie licked butter off her fingers and smiled. “Only every Monday night. Actually it was Clay Riker who introduced me to this place. Jim Bodean lives a couple of houses down from Clay.”
“Clay? The bastard who tried to put you into the wall yesterday?”
Jamie nodded. “That’s him. I guess I didn’t get around to telling you that I used to be engaged to Clay.”
Quint remembered Stephen telling him that Jamie had dumped Riker. “What happened?” he asked.
“Among other things, he wanted me to quit racing,”
“Why? Because you’re a better driver than he is?”
Jamie grinned. “You’re pretty sharp for a New Yorker, but actually there was more to it than that. Right from the beginning something just didn’t feel comfortable when I was with Clay. More often than not he would cancel dates, and too often it was just to sit home alone and watch videos. Sometimes I think his father was pushing him into the relationship.”
“Clay’s father?”
“Yeah, Kent Riker and my father grew up together. They lived across the street from each other when they were in grade school. It was a lifelong dream for them that we get together. The odd thing is, Clay and I were good friends until we started dating. It was all down hill from there. Apparently I never pushed his buttons.”
“Did he push yours?”
Jamie avoided his gaze, taking an extra long time chewing her crab. “No. I never enjoyed going to bed with him. Then when he called me a cold fish, I threw his key and his ring in his face and walked out.”
“He called you a cold fish!” Quint said in disbelief. “That’s absurd.” Quint leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We made love five times in one night; that was besting my previous record by four.”
Jamie stopped chewing to stare at him. She could feel heat rising to her face. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Quint reached over and ran his fingers along her rosy cheeks. “No, honey, I’m not.”
Then he surprised her by picking up her hand and licking butter off her finger. She sucked in her breath as raw heat slashed
through her before she could jerk her hand back.
Quint’s gaze became intent. “I love the way you blush and the way you react to my touch.”
“If we don’t get on a different subject, I’m not going to be able to finish eating.”
Quint laughed throatily. “I won’t be able to stand up and walk out of here without the whole place knowing I want to lick you all over.”
Jamie forced herself to meet his eyes in spite of the tingling rush of heat his words evoked in her. They jogged her memory all too well—and her anger. “That’s not going to happen any time soon, Quint. Before I even think about going to bed with you again, we’re going to get to know each other first.”
“That wouldn’t be my choice,” Quint said refilling his wineglass before reaching across the table to refill hers. “But I’ll honor it if it’s yours.” He extended his glass toward her. “Here’s to getting to know each other.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled and clinked her glass against his.
“Where should we start?” he asked.
“We could take turns asking questions.”
“Sounds like a good idea. You can go first.”
“All right, how did you know Charlotte’s dog’s name?”
Quint laughed. “You told Delta.”
Jamie grimaced. “So now I also know how you found out where I live.”
“Yes. I didn’t run an investigation on you if that’s what you were thinking.”
“How did you find out who I really was?”
“My cousin Stephen recognized you from the wedding video. He couldn’t believe I had you in my arms and didn’t get your autograph.” Quint grinned. “Of course, he had no idea how long I actually had you in my arms.”
Jamie sent him a narrow look. “Let’s try to keep this off of sex. Go ahead ask me a question now.”
“What’s in that black bag in your back seat?”
Jamie chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Black sweats, flashlights, and latex gloves.”
Quint’s brow shot up.
Jamie shrugged. “You said you’d help me get the tape I wanted.”
“And you came prepared?”
“It has to be tonight.”
Quint gave her a suspicious look. “Maybe you better tell me about this tape and what federal vault it’s in.”
“Well it’s not exactly in a vault. It’s at Clay’s house. When I hurt my knee in Indianapolis they said I caused the crash by swerving in the thick of the race with four other cars within a few feet of me. I know I didn’t. Something must have hit my car to throw me off. None of the replays show it. Clay was directly behind me, but he told me his personal recorder wasn’t on. I know it was because I saw the red light flashing just seconds before the crash. Clay’s a video nut; he runs his own camera in his car on the driver’s side.”
“How can you find it, even if it exists?”
“He’s not the smartest guy in the world but he’s organized to the point of being anal. He has an entire room devoted to his tapes, and they’re all chronologically sorted. I can find it in a minute.”
“What does he do with these tapes?”
“He watches them, over and over. He believes that by studying the other drivers, like football players watch games, he can outwit them.”
Quint drained the last of his wine. “Viewing this tape is important to you?”
“More than you could know. I was blamed for that crash in Indianapolis. The only reason Clay got by with his shenanigans yesterday was because they excused it as retaliation.”
“Jesus, tough business you’re in. I watched that race. I just about jumped through the screen. How bad were you hurt?”
Jamie shrugged. “Just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”
“If I had any objection to your racing it would be because I fear for your life. I guess I’m not the daredevil type because I can’t understand anyone wanting to drive at break-neck speed, hugging a cement wall, while entrusting your life to a dozen or more other people as crazy as you.”
Jamie laughed. “I guess calling us crazy isn’t out of line. The cars are well built though; you’d be amazed at all the safety features they have and all the precautions taken.”
“Yeah, that’s what Stephen says about skydiving.”
“There you go.”
“I do want you to understand that even if it scares the hell out of me, I’d never suggest to you or anyone else to give up something they feel strongly about.” He reached out and touched the bandage on her forehead. “You want me to kiss it and make it all better?”
“You can make it all better by helping me get that tape.”
“All right. What’s your plan?”
“It has to be tonight. Clay will be back tomorrow. My father called this afternoon, and apparently Kent Riker was furious when Clay didn’t win. He took off in a huff and nobody knew where he was, so when the crew left, Clay stayed behind to look for him.”
“Nice relationship they have.”
Jamie sighed. “Yeah, well, it’s not a whole lot different than the one I have with my father. My mother deserted him and my brother when she was pregnant with me. He didn’t even know I existed until she died when I was five and I was dumped on his doorstep. If it hadn’t been for T-Roy…” She shrugged.
“He’s not only your father, he’s your crew chief. He has to be proud of the way you’re driving.”
“He hated it when I took over after T-Roy died. I’m sure the only reason he tolerates my driving is because Ray Bentler threatened to drop his sponsorship if I quit. Truthfully, I think Dad’s relaxed a bit since I first started. Sometimes I even think he cares, but he does an excellent job of hiding it. I have a hard time even calling him Dad. At the track I just call him Buster like everybody else does.”
“How far from here does Riker live?”
“Glenview, it’s not far at all. You’ll need some dark clothes though, and we should probably take your car. Mine is too recognizable.”
“No shit,” Quint said, dropping some bills on the table. “Do you have a tape we can use to replace the one we take so he won’t miss it right away?”
“Good idea. I didn’t think of that. We can pick up a blank one at a drugstore on the way back to your place to change. I know what brand he uses, and I can even duplicate the label. He won’t know it’s been replaced unless he tries to play it. Do you have some dark clothes you can wear?”
* * * *
An hour later they cruised past Clay Riker’s sprawling rambler. It was set in a secluded neighborhood. All the houses had expansive lots with elaborately landscaped yards. Except for Riker’s house where the front yard was void of anything but grass. Grass that was so perfectly thick and green it looked like it had been hand culled. There were no shrubs, no flowers, no ornamental rocks or bricks of any kind. Jamie explained that her former fiancé had a neatness fetish. He couldn’t tolerate clutter, and he considered flowers and shrubs a messy disruption to the smooth planes of his lawn.
The house was dark except for the outside security lights bordering the walk. Quint drove around to the back of the block, pulling his rental car to a stop where there were no streetlights. From there they could approach the back of the house on foot.
The back yard had no resemblance to the front whatsoever. Beneath the craggy oaks and leafy maple trees, that had probably been there half a century before the house was built, grew wild shaggy underbrush.
Jamie lead the way in the dark to a small path trampled smooth by kids on bikes who used it as a shortcut to school. She quietly explained that Clay tried to discourage them by not clearing the brush and blocking their trails with logs.
“The kids are persistent,” she said. “They simply make another path. As much as he disliked kids, he disliked fences more, so he continues to battle the kids with blockages. Somehow the kids know as long as they don’t litter or mess with his front yard, he wouldn’t fence them out.”
“What a guy.” Quint whispe
red as he followed Jamie through the trees. “I wish I could do this without your help.”
“I wouldn’t let you. We’re only taking one little tape. How bad can that be?”
“You don’t want to know,” he murmured. “He doesn’t have a dog, does he?”
“No, just a stuck-up Siamese cat named Scooter.”
“Does anyone look after the cat when Riker’s out of town?”
“Yes, Jimbo does, but if he were here the lights would be on. You can’t see it in the dark, but the back door is right there.”
She indicated with her flashlight where she was pointing. Quint quickly placed his hand over hers.
“Don’t put your light on until we’re closer, and only if we need it.”
“I’ll have to use it to see the number pad on the security alarm,” she said. Her heart started working overtime as she led the way up three steps to the door.
“Why doesn’t he have security lights back here?”
“He doesn’t want to give the kids the advantage of lights.”
Quint snorted softly. “This guy sounds like a number one wacko.”
She raised her flashlight, intending to shine it on the security panel. Quint stopped her.
“Wait. It looks like the door is ajar.” He gave the door a nudge with his foot. It moved.
“Oh, my God,” Jamie whispered. “Why is the door unlocked and open when no lights are on inside?”
Quint leaned close to her. “At least we aren’t breaking and entering, just entering.”
“Is that good?” she asked.
“That’s very good. He doesn’t have a gun in the house, does he?”
Jamie swallowed the lump crowding her throat. “Not that I’m aware of.”
When she pressed her body against his, he gave her a light squeeze. “Be real quiet.” He reached out and pushed the door open, listening carefully for any sound from inside as he eased himself through the door, with Jamie pasted to his side like skin. He aimed his flashlight straight ahead and switched it on.
Jamie gave a startled gasp muffled by Quint’s shoulder.
The house looked like a cyclone had passed through. Furniture was overturned. Papers cluttered the floor. Lampshades and pictures were either askew or smashed. Books and knickknacks were tossed about like discarded playthings. They were literally surrounded by chaos. It made the silence eerie.
Secret Sacrifices Page 9