She gave her word to somebody. If not Jimbo, then who? Riker? She gave her word to Riker not to tell something about Jimbo? Hell. Could it be something that got Jimbo killed? If Jamie knew this secret, could that same killer want to silence her too, by trying to run her off the road, that same night?
“I need to use the bathroom,” Jamie said.
Quint watched her leave the room, but he kept his mind on Riker and Jimbo and Jamie.
Jimbo was somehow instrumental in Jamie not marrying Riker.
Jimbo at Riker’s house, taking care of a cat.
Jimbo going all the way to Darlington the day before he was killed. Was he that great of a fan? Or was he going there to specifically watch someone race?
Jamie? Doubtful. They were friends, but Jimbo wasn’t anywhere near her pit.
He was in Clay Riker’s corner.
His best friend, Clay Riker.
Jamie leaned against the closed bathroom door trying to stem the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, caused by an unstoppable onslaught of memories. Her relationship with Clay had been friendly at best. They made love occasionally but there never was any passion in it. She’d suspected what they had was lacking something, but she lacked any prior experiences to realize what it was. Clay took her to eat at the Crab Shack regularly, and more often than not, Jimbo joined them. It seemed so natural. Jimbo was a good friend to both of them. She never suspected Clay and Jimbo’s friendship was anything more than two men enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t unusual in the circle they socialized with. The guys at the track hung out together before and after the races all the time, even the married ones.
Everything changed on Monday night after the Texas Motor Speedway race at Fort Worth. Clay and Jimbo were going out for a little camaraderie with the guys, so she went over to Clay’s house to study a tape he had of the Talladega Super Speedway coming up the following weekend. Since she had no reason to believe Clay was home, she didn’t bother calling. Scooter met her at the door, meowing like he hadn’t been fed, so she followed him into the kitchen. While filling scooter’s water bowl, she heard sounds coming from the bedroom. Deciding to investigate, she opened the bedroom door, and looked in on a scene that was forever burned in her memory. Clay and Jimbo were naked on the bed, locked in a lovers embrace. They didn’t realize she was there until gut-wrenching reality brought a sharp cry from her throat, not because she loved Clay, she realized later, but because she felt so betrayed by both of them.
At least Jimbo had the decency to feel guilty, but Clay was furious. He called her names she couldn’t hear over the pounding in her head, until he’d said he turned to Jimbo because she was a cold fish in bed. That brought her to her senses. She threw his key at him and ran. He caught her before she made it to the door.
Jimbo did most of the talking, stalling her until Clay managed to get himself under control. Between the two of them, they coerced her into swearing she’d never breathe a word to anyone. It didn’t take much convincing because the last thing she wanted the world to know was how close she’d come to marrying a man who preferred other men to her. It was the ultimate betrayal.
Jamie took a deep breath. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She had to go out and face Quint.
When Jamie stepped out the door, Quint was waiting for her.
“Jimbo was Clay’s lover, wasn’t he?” He watched her face go pale. “You caught them together and that’s how Jimbo convinced you not to marry Clay. It wasn’t Jimbo’s secret you were protecting. It was Clay’s. If word got out that Clay had a male lover, he would be crucified by the good old boys in NASCAR.”
She didn’t say anything. She just stood there looking sweet and vulnerable and innocent, tears swimming in her beautiful amber eyes.
Quint covered the space between them in three long strides. He put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. She started to quietly sob. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid down with her. For a long time he just held her, rubbing a hand over her back, whispering soothing words of comfort.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when she finally stopped crying. He pulled a hanky from his back pocket and handed it to her.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, sniffing. “I don’t ever cry.”
Quint kissed her damp cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, honey. I’d make a bet you’re not the first race car driver to do it.”
She made a hiccupping laugh. “You’re such a nut,” she said. “A lovable nut.”
“You’re not upset with me? For figuring it out?”
”Of course not. It’s been a terrible strain on me not to be able to answer questions about my relationship with Clay.”
“Do you realize this opens up a whole new element in Jimbo’s murder case? It could have been a jealous lover.”
“We can’t tell anyone,” she said quickly. “As you said, Clay would be ruined.”
“My concern is for you. Somebody tried to run you off the road. It could have been the same person.”
“We don’t know that for sure. That had to do with my mother. We have no reason to believe the two are related.”
“Sampson seems to think they are, and so do I. It’s just too much of a coincidence. How many people knew about Clay’s sexual preference?”
“Nobody that I know of. He was very discreet and until five months ago he had me as a smoke screen. I can’t believe either one of them had other lovers. They were friends since high school. I guess that’s what threw me off guard.”
“He used you. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
“I know, but it was our fathers pushing us together. Clay never behaved like he wanted to get married. I always knew there was something wrong with our relationship, but we were such good friends, so I kept trying to fix it.”
“Did your fathers know he was gay?”
“Absolutely not. Fearing his father would find out was Clay’s worst nightmare. I think even more so than the other drivers.”
Quint rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He ran a frustrated hand through his sandy hair. “If we can’t tell anyone, we’ll have to launch a full-scale investigation on our own. I guess you know we can trust Virgil.” He looked over at her waiting for a response. When she nodded he went back to staring at the ceiling. “It would help if we could tell Sampson, but even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to keep Penny or Clay out of it. Let’s start by getting the names of everyone in your pit and Riker’s. You thought the person who ran you off the road might have been skilled enough to be a driver, so we’ll go one step further. I want a list of all the drivers over forty.”
“There’s only three,” Jamie said. “Talon Davis is the oldest, he’s fifty-three. Mitch Grady is fifty-two, and there’s Bernie Yates, who rarely places higher then twentieth. He’s forty-seven.”
“Talon Davis, he’s the guy who likes badmouthing you, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, there are a couple of others but most of them are closer to my age.”
Quint grunted. “I’ll bet none of them place very high.” He got up on an elbow to look down at her. “They’re just jealous, you know.” He leaned over, intending to give her a quick kiss. “For now we’ll focus on Grady and Davis. You can fill me in on what you know and I’ll take it from there. I’d better get up and make some notes.”
When she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, he made a quick change in plans.
Hell, the notes could wait.
Chapter Twenty
At nine-thirty that evening Jamie sat down with Quint and his cousins to face the thing she’d been dreading all afternoon. The Cynthia Harman Show.
Jamie couldn’t imagine why Clay would agree to appear on the show. What if Cynthia had somehow found out about him and Jimbo? According to Quint, the woman had ferrets everywhere. Their jobs were to dig up dirt on anyone with a name recognized by the general public. The bigger the celebrity, the better her ratings.
In this case Jamie already knew Harman had a special vendetta for Jamie LeCorre, female NASCAR driver, and Quinton Douglas, ex-lover.
Nothing good could possibly come of Clay laying himself open to Cynthia’s evil tongue on live television. There was only one ray of hope. Quint assured Jamie the barracuda was extremely careful. She had been sued many times but never caught in an outright lie.
Virgil agreed. After all, he had defended her in a number of cases.
For that reminder, he received a hostile glare from Jamie. Stephen shushed them as the show came on, indeed announcing Clay Riker as the main guest.
The camera moved in on Cynthia Harman, smartly garbed in black silk slacks and a lemon yellow cashmere sweater. Her raven hair contrasted starkly with her alabaster complexion. She gave her hair an elegant toss as she turned to face the camera and her audience.
“Tonight we’re visiting with a man who routinely puts his life on the line in the name of entertaining sports. Please welcome Clayton Riker, one of the leading NASCAR drivers in the nation.”
The camera pulled back to include Riker, dressed in his signature royal blue racing suit, sitting in a chair next to Cynthia. She gave him a dazzling, red-lipstick smile.
“So, Clayton—”
“Please, call me Clay.”
A barely noticeable twitch jerked Cynthia’s right eye. “Very well, Clay,” she said, forcing it out as though it were a bad taste in her mouth. “Tell us what inspires a man to race around a track going two hundred miles an hour. Surely it can’t be just because it’s a legal way to speed.”
Clay smirked. “Do you do what you do just because it’s legal?”
Clay Riker had no idea he’d just broken one of her cardinal rules—never, never turn the conversation on the host.
Cynthia dark eyes narrowed slightly and her lips formed a thin smile.
Quint groaned.
Jamie stared. She hadn’t realized what a striking woman Cynthia was.
Cynthia quickly brightened her smile. “How did you get started in racing, Clay? I’m sure every little boy dreams about the glamour of being a racecar driver. Was that your dream?”
Clay laughed. “Not exactly. I wanted to live on a ranch and raise horses.”
“Then how did you get into racing stockcars?”
“The same way most people do. You grow up with it because your father or uncle or brother races. I was raised at the track.”
“Did your father race, Clay?”
Clay turned from Cynthia to look pointedly into the camera. “Yeah, but he never made it as far as NASCAR.”
“I believe he’s your crew chief, isn’t he?” Cynthia asked.
Clay nodded. “Yeah.”
“That seems to happen a lot. Isn’t Jamie LeCorre’s father, Buster, also her crew chief?”
Clay gave Cynthia a narrow look before he answered. “Yeah.”
Quint glanced at Jamie, swearing under his breath. “It took her less than four minutes to bring up your name.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Jamie muttered.
“I wonder if Riker knows what her real agenda is?” Virgil said to no one in particular. “Are you taping this?” he asked Stephen.
Stephen grinned. “You bet.”
“Did her father drive too?” Cynthia asked.
Clay shrugged. “For a short time, until he messed up his back and couldn’t take the vigorous jarring anymore. You’re in that car for up to four hours every race. It can be brutal.”
“So how can a woman do it?”
“Same as a man. You work out with weights. You get in your car, stay in, drive, and ignore all the aches until later. The mental stress is actually harder than the physical.”
“I’m surprised a woman can handle it.”
“Jamie isn’t the first woman to drive in NASCAR,” Clay snapped.
Cynthia smiled. “No, but—correct me if I’m wrong—isn’t she the first woman to cause a five-car pileup, taking four other major drivers out of the race in Indianapolis this summer?”
“She didn’t cause it.”
Cynthia made a soft harrumphing sound. “That’s not what the media said. You know something they don’t?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Her car veered when a screwdriver left on the track earlier punctured one of her tires. I have a tape to prove it.”
Jamie’s breath drew in sharply. “He knew. He’s publicly vindicating me. Why?”
Quint sent her a look that said he hoped Clay wasn’t planning to take his blank tape to the association.
Understanding perfectly, Jamie muttered a silent curse.
Cynthia dropped that subject and wasted no time going on to something else. “Isn’t Ms. LeCorre the first woman to place higher than fifteenth in the Nextell Cup Challenge? You’re what? Eighteenth? How does it feel to be bested by a woman?”
Clay snorted. “The same as it feels to have men ahead of me. By the way, Jamie’s running in tenth place, not fifteenth.”
Cynthia’s elegantly drawn brow’s arched.
“That look on her face,” Quint said quickly. “That means she just won a round.”
Cynthia turned to wink into the camera. “It sounds, Clay, like you’re still harboring some feelings for Jamie LeCorre. Didn’t she dump you practically at the altar?”
The look Clay sliced at Cynthia could have frozen stone. “When you asked me to be on your show, Ms Harman, I made it clear I wouldn’t answer any personal questions. I haven’t changed my mind.”
Cynthia managed to look surprised. “I just thought you might appreciate a chance to tell your side of the story, after the shabby way she treated you.”
Clay’s face showed no reaction to her statement. “Is there anything more you’d like to know about racing?” he asked. “Or are we finished?”
Cynthia arched her back and her dark eyes narrowed so slightly most people wouldn’t have noticed.
Quint noticed.
“She lost that round,” he said.
For the next half hour Cynthia went on to ask Clay questions related strictly to racing, getting down into the gritty details of what went on in the pits and in the cars during the race. She avoided the subject of female drivers and appeared genuinely interested in every word Clay spoke.
“Appears to me like she lost the whole battle,” Virgil said glancing at his watch. “Show’s just about over.”
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t believe she’s going to let it drop. That woman is a viper. She works at getting her victim off guard before she strikes.”
Quint lifted Jamie’s chin enough to place a kiss on her lips. “You are one smart cookie, honey. I think your worries are over as far as Clay is concerned. He seems to be handling himself pretty well up there.”
“I just hope she doesn’t know about…the other thing.”
Stephen’s head shot up. “What other thing?”
“Classified,” Virgil said.
“Oh, great,” Stephen grumbled. “You’re pulling that lawyer confidentiality bit on me again. How am I supposed to help when you keep me in the dark about the important shit.”
Quint hushed them all. “She’s coming to her infamous Suffer the Consequences finale.”
Cynthia’s smile was brilliant as she turned to Clay. She pointed up to her left. “Watch the monitor up there and give me your take on these pictures.”
A frontal view of Jamie jogging flashed on the screen. The screen split to also show a rear view. Both were full body close-ups, and both showed Jamie running stark naked with an English Sheepdog in tow. The caption read: Nextell Cup Challenger, Jamie LeCorre, goes for a run on the shore of Lake Michigan. What comes next—driving nude? Is that even allowed?
In the sitting room of the hotel room, Jamie leaped to her feet.
“That witch! That unbelievable witch! This time she went too far.”
“Holy shit!” Stephen said. “Is that the ‘other thing’ you were talking about?”
Jamie sliced Stephen a heated glare. �
��That’s not me.”
“She must have found someone who looks an awful lot like you,” Stephen said, staring at the television as the pictures continued to be held on the screen.
“I can see your townhouse in the background, and Liebers,” Quint said. “How the hell?”
The screen flashed to Clay Riker’s livid face. “That’s not Jamie,” he said through clenched teeth.
Cynthia Harman smiled an evil smile. “I guess you weren’t aware that she jogs nude every morning. Apparently she thinks the entire coastline is her own private playground.”
Clay fixed Cynthia with a feral glare. A thin smile softened his angry features. “I guess you weren’t aware that she has a sizable birthmark that seems to have mysteriously disappeared from her body. Or whoever’s body that is.”
Cynthia’s dark, exotic eyes widened, her red lips fell open to form a shocked O. Her gaze darted back and forth a moment before she charged to her feet and stormed off the stage. With the camera still rolling, the sound of her screaming voice shrilled in the background.
“Benny, you son of a bitch, you’re a dead man! Switch that fucking camera off!”
When the screen switched to a commercial, Jamie collapsed back onto the sofa beside Quint, shock rendering her speechless.
“Was he just blowing smoke to antagonize her,” Stephen asked, “or do you really have a birthmark?”
Quint slipped an arm around Jamie, patting a certain spot on the curve of her buttocks. “I can vouch for that. It’s the cutest little Tyrannosaurus rex you ever saw.”
Stephen’s eyes light up. “Can I—”
“No you can’t,” Quint snapped.
Virgil’s sudden laughter startled them all. “Cynthia had no clue those pictures were fake. Jamie, you’re going to sue her for every nickel she has. I don’t care if you need the money or not, hell, give it to charity, but we’ll pinch her perfect little ass in a vice so tight it’ll squeeze through a keyhole.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The following morning Quint was up early. He spread his and Virgil’s notes out on the table in front of him, attempting to combine the notes and fill in other details they’d missed. On a separate page he made a list of names he planned to investigate. At the top of the list was Buster LeCorre, followed by every person in his and Riker’s crew over the age of forty. Jamie had provided him with that information the night before.
Secret Sacrifices Page 23