In High Gear

by Gina Wilkins

  He smiled lovingly down at Tanya and she played her part, gazing up at him with an expression of proud devotion. Cameras clicked all around them, capturing the moment for various media. Kent was confident that no one could tell that the question about marriage had sent a pang right through his heart. He thought of the ring still hidden among his things, and he wondered if the time would ever be right for him to slide it on Tanya’s finger.

  IT NEVER FAILED to amaze Tanya that public figures were subjected to questions that, out of simple courtesy, no one would ever think to ask a “regular” person. She’d heard celebrities asked about the state of their relationships and marriages, the intimate details of breakups and divorces, whether or not they were pregnant or trying to get that way—questions that were simply no one else’s business.

  It was difficult to learn to live in that sort of fishbowl, and some adjusted better to it than others. Having grown up in this life—though, granted, the level of fame for NASCAR drivers seemed to escalate with each passing season—Kent seemed to handle it well enough. But it was knowing just how gleefully malicious those questions could become that tormented Tanya when she thought of the blackmailer’s threat to go public with his revelations about Kent’s college mistakes and the implication that Patsy had been involved in Troy Murphy’s death.

  Tanya had spent most of the afternoon digging for information—any information—to clear Patsy’s name. To her disappointment, she hadn’t yet found anything conclusive, but she had no intention of giving up.

  She’d gotten back to the pit area just in time to watch the exciting end of the race with Kent’s jubilant teammates. Letting herself be towed along with them to Victory Lane, she’d watched Kent celebrate, admiring the ease with which he revealed nothing but exhilaration with his win. He looked like a man who didn’t have a care in the world.

  Only Tanya and his mother knew differently, apparently.

  Deliberately turning his back on the pushy reporter, Kent wrapped his arm around Tanya and started making their way through the milling crowd. “I’ve got to get cleaned up,” he said loudly, gesturing toward his soda-drenched hair and sweat-soaked clothes. “You’ll all have to excuse us.”

  Clinging to him in gratitude, despite his bedraggled condition, she hurried to match her steps to his longer stride.

  THOUGH THEY USUALLY waited until early Monday morning to leave California for North Carolina, Kent had told Cappy to get some rest Sunday, because they were leaving as quickly as possible after the race. He skipped a few promotional opportunities Sunday evening, to Amy’s displeasure, saying that something had come up at home that he had to attend to. Leaving the motor home in Jesse’s capable hands, they boarded the plane only a couple of hours after the end of the race.

  Because they would lose three hours on the cross-country flight, arriving early in the morning, North Carolina time, Kent and Tanya tried to nap during the flight. An hour into the trip, he could tell that she was having no more success than he was. “Can’t sleep?”

  She turned her head on the soft leather seat to look at him. “No. It’ll take my head a while to catch up to the time change.”

  “I can’t turn off my brain,” Kent admitted. “I keep trying to decide what to do about this blackmail thing. Do I call the police as soon as we get home and take my chances that the so-called evidence of Mom’s guilt won’t be made public? Or that no one will take it seriously if it is? Or do I make the payment and then try to track down who received it? Hire a private investigator, maybe?”

  “I thought you said you had no intention of paying.”

  “I didn’t.” He fisted one hand on his knee. “Now, I don’t know. Mom would be devastated to see that picture in the newspapers or all over the Internet.”

  “It doesn’t prove anything, Kent. Even if it’s a real picture, and even if she did happen to be driving toward that bar one evening, it doesn’t necessarily follow that it was the same day Troy died. Or that she had anything to do with his death if it was.”

  He blew a breath out through his nose. “Right. Tell that to the people who keep the sleazy tabloids in business just because they love a scandal, regardless of whether the actual truth is involved.”

  “I hate to point this out, but paying the blackmailer’s demands is no guarantee that he won’t send out the photo, anyway. It’s obviously someone with a grudge against you or your family. What’s to stop him from taking your money and then trying to cause trouble for your family, anyway?”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He was more weary than irritated as he acknowledged her point. “Without any way to contact him and set a few conditions of my own, there’s not much I can do to stop him. It’s beginning to look as though my choices are to pay off or to call his bluff by ignoring the message and hope he doesn’t follow through.”

  “Or we can call the police the minute we get home—or now, for that matter—and see if they can find the guy before he has a chance to make good on his threat.”

  Kent let his head fall back against his seat. “Damn it.”

  She reached across to lay her hand over the fist that still rested on his knee. “We can deal with this, Kent. Your family has survived scandal before. We’ll all just have to stay united. We’ll have to keep insisting that Patsy had nothing to do with Murphy’s death—or better yet, refuse to comment at all beyond one officially released statement of denial. Eventually the gossip will die down and the vultures will move on to another juicy scandal and there will be nothing left to hold over you by another would-be extortionist.”

  He swallowed hard, wondering if she would understand if he completely opened up to her. He supposed it was worth a shot. “You don’t understand. My family has survived scandal before, but that doesn’t mean we could do so again. Milo and Nana—well, their health isn’t all that great. Especially the old man’s. His blood pressure would go through the roof if he ever found out that someone was trying to smear Mom’s name. He’s having enough trouble dealing with the rumors that have been linking Sophia with Justin Murphy.

  “As for Mom and Dad,” he continued, then paused to draw a deep breath that almost hurt as it went in. “I don’t know what, exactly, is going on between them, but there’s a tension there that I’ve never seen before. Maybe it all has to do with the fact that she really wanted him to retire at the end of last season, and maybe she’ll get over it as this season progresses, but I don’t like it. It worries me.”

  “But Patsy and Dean have been together for so long—”

  “You’re telling me you don’t know of any couples who split up after twenty-five, thirty years or more?”

  Her silence was an answer in itself.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “Your parents aren’t splitting up. They might be mad at each other right now, but that happens. Heck, my folks have gone days at a time without speaking when Dad does something to tick Mother off. But they always make up because ultimately they care about each other and don’t want to go their separate ways.”

  “Yes, well, your family is different,” he muttered.

  Her eyes had narrowed, her voice hardening when she said, “My family isn’t perfect, Kent. But we do love each other. Just as Patsy and Dean love each other. No one who knows them could doubt that.”

  “Yes, well, sometimes love just isn’t enough to keep a couple together.”

  It was obvious that Tanya took the comment more personally than he had intended—or had he been talking only about his parents?

  “You know, I think I will try to get some rest,” she said quietly, drawing back her hand and shifting just slightly away from him. “It’s going to be a long flight.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes, though he doubted that he would be able to sleep a wink.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BECAUSE THEY KNEW THEY HAD to make a decision early the next morning, Tanya stayed at Kent’s house when they arrived in North Carolina in the wee hours
of Monday. She slept restlessly, knowing that Kent rested no better. They were both up and dressed early, trying to clear their heads with strong coffee and protein.

  “I’ve got nothing,” Kent said, sounding uncharacteristically bleak as he toyed unenthusiastically with the bacon and eggs on his plate.

  “I haven’t come up with any new ideas, either,” she admitted. “I think we’re going to have to call the police.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “I need to tell my parents. They won’t be back in the state until around noon, but I’ll tell them as soon as I can. We’ll figure out a way somehow to keep Milo and Nana from getting too upset.”

  She nodded. “And the blackmailer? Are you going to make a preemptive strike by telling the press about the attempted blackmail, or are you going to wait to see if he releases the photo?”

  “I haven’t decided that yet. Neither option appeals to me particularly.”

  “I know.”

  He set his fork on the edge of his plate, leaving his breakfast half finished. “I’m going to call Amy. Reschedule a couple of appointments for this afternoon and tomorrow morning.”

  “Are you going to tell her why?”

  “No,” he said after a brief hesitation. “Not yet.”

  “She’ll have to know. She’ll be the one dealing with the media if this comes out. Putting a spin on it to make you the sympathetic blackmail victim and your mother the target of a vicious attempt to frame her for murder.”

  He nodded. “I’ll talk to Amy later. After I’ve told the family.”

  “Whatever you think best. In the meantime, maybe I should call my dad.”

  “Why would you call your father?” he asked, pausing beside the table.

  “He’s a prosecutor. He deals with this sort of thing all the time. Maybe he can give us some advice.”

  “Don’t call him yet. I want my family to find out first.”

  That seemed to be important to him. Because it was, Tanya conceded. “I’ll wait. We’ll call him as soon as you’ve told the others, if you want to. It’s your decision.”

  “Fine. I’ll go make a couple of calls. I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time. I’ll clear the breakfast dishes away.”

  Nodding, he left the room. She watched him walk away, not liking the way his shoulders sagged slightly. She would so much rather see him angry and resolute than defeated. The Kent Grosso she knew had never given up on a fight, never lost a challenge for lack of trying. But his family was his Achilles’ heel. Thinking that he had disappointed them or somehow let them down would tear him apart.

  The anger that was eluding him seemed to grip her, instead. She cleared away the dirty dishes quickly, then went back to the computer. Something about that photograph was still nagging at her. She still suspected that it was a fake, and that a forensic expert would be able to prove it…but surely there had to be a clue that even she could see.

  KENT MADE A COUPLE of calls, which didn’t take long, though Amy tried her best to pry out of him whatever had been bothering him the past couple of days. Promising he would tell her everything later, he disconnected, then sat in his home office for another twenty minutes or so just staring into space, trying to make plans for contingencies he didn’t really want to face. And truth be told, maybe he was avoiding Tanya for a little while.

  He wasn’t proud of the way he’d been treating her the past few days. He had snapped at her, made unfounded accusations, held things back from her. He knew he still had some resentment because of the way she had reacted to his deception about his college expulsion—even if he could admit now that she’d had justification for being annoyed. But mostly, he thought he was just embarrassed that his life was in such turmoil now. Old scandals, past mistakes, blackmail…hardly the type of situation he wanted to invite her to share with him.

  “Kent!” Tanya rushed into the room, startling him out of his grim thoughts.

  He stumbled to his feet. “What—?”

  He caught her just as she launched herself at him, her arms going around his neck with a force that almost choked him.

  “I found it,” she said, sounding as though she were half laughing and all too close to crying. “I found it.”

  He reached up to pull her arms downward, holding her just far enough away so that he could see her face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your mother’s picture. Driving the truck. She wasn’t going to the tavern. Oh, you’ll have to see for yourself. Come on.”

  Having no idea what she was talking about, he allowed her to tow him into the living room, where her open laptop glowed on the coffee table. “Look at the screen,” she insisted.

  Kent took a seat on the couch and pulled the computer in front of him so that he could better see the image displayed there. When he realized what he was looking at, he stiffened. “Tanya—”

  “I know. It’s the same one, isn’t it?”

  It was most definitely the same photograph of Patsy in the truck. It was the same time of day—almost twilight—but the setting was entirely different in this picture. She wore the same clothes, the same hair style, the same expression—but she was driving past the Grosso compound, not on the road that led to the tavern where Troy Murphy had died.

  “The image of her in the truck has been superimposed over an old shot of the tavern,” she explained in satisfaction. “Whoever pulled it off did a very good job; he must have used some very sophisticated photo-editing software. I certainly couldn’t do it, nor did I see anything in the photo he sent us that would lead me to believe it wasn’t authentic. An expert would have been able to tell that the photo was doctored, maybe, but the blackmailer was probably betting on you not showing it to anyone else.”

  Kent was still staring at the computer screen, almost as if he feared that the image there would disappear if he looked away. “How did you find this?”

  “It was a shot taken for an old, and rather minor magazine article about the families of NASCAR. The Grossos, the Murphys, all the other big names in racing were included. This picture served only to show Patsy leaving the compound built with Grosso racing money.”

  She reached over and tapped a couple of keys, changing the screen to show a magazine page on which both that photograph and one of the outside of the Murphy estate were displayed. “Patsy probably looks annoyed because the photographer was hanging around the compound hoping to get a picture of her and her children. The next generation of Grossos. You said she never liked having the cameras pointed at you kids, for security reasons.”

  “This picture was published twenty-nine years ago—a few months before Troy Murphy died,” Kent murmured, studying the date on the page. “I’d say this proves conclusively that the other photo was a fake.”

  “A good fake,” Tanya agreed. “But definitely phony.”

  “Man.” He sank back into the cushions of the sofa, the extent of his relief rather surprising even him. He hadn’t really allowed this cowardly jerk to plant a seed of doubt in his mind about his mother, had he? He had never, for even a moment, doubted her innocence, right?

  Fortunately, Tanya didn’t seem to be following the unpleasant direction his thoughts had taken. She was busy with her own reverie. “Obviously, this so-called blackmailer is very good, but no pro. I mean, it took a couple of days and some effort, but I found this real photograph. Anyone could have done so.”

  “Lots of things about this whole debacle point to an amateur,” he growled. “You’re the one who noted that it wasn’t even a great deal of money to demand in return for his silence. I still wonder if the real objective was to rattle me enough that I would lose the last couple of races.”

  “If so, it didn’t work. You finished second and first. Apparently, you thrive under pressure.”

  “Yes, well, that’s a theory I don’t want to test again. Not like this.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked, lightly tapping the computer screen. “We have no way of communica
ting with the guy to let him know we’re on to him.”

  “So we ignore the deadline and go on with our lives. He knows he doesn’t have any real evidence. He goes public with that fake photo of his, and we’ll expose him for the fraud he is. I’d hate for the old rumors to resurface, but at least no one could take them seriously this time, not if we let everyone know that someone tried to blackmail me with a doctored photo. He’s got nothing on us.”

  “He still knows the truth about your college expulsion,” she said quietly.

  “He can’t hurt me with that, either,” Kent said, his tone flat in his own ears. “I’ll tell my family, and if it gets made public, I’ll deal with it.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure Amy can help you spin it into an inspirational story rather than a detrimental one.”

  He made a face in response to the way she had worded that. “You make me sound like a politician.”

  “There’s a little bit of politics in every high-profile career, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted reluctantly, thinking of all the things he did to keep his sponsors happy.

  She shrugged. “Even in my job I have to play the games. Keep the clients happy, regardless of how unreasonably they behave at times, so that they’ll give me good word-of-mouth advertising for future couples. Sometimes smiling and keeping my mouth shut is the best course of action for me.”

  “You do have to use a lot of tact in your job,” Kent acknowledged, thinking of the times he had seen her dealing with near-hysterical Bridezillas who wanted Tanya to perform photographic miracles—and stay completely out of sight while doing so.

  Alison had told Kent once that she couldn’t understand why her daughter had gone into wedding photography after obtaining a valuable Ivy League degree in business administration. She couldn’t imagine why Tanya would want to deal on a weekly basis with temperamental brides and their sometimes overbearing mothers. Tanya’s answer had been simply that she found it “fun.”

  Though she had ultimately acknowledged Tanya’s right to pursue her own career, Alison had still been bewildered by the choice. Kent had sometimes suspected that Alison felt the same way about her daughter’s choice of boyfriend. A NASCAR driver? he could almost hear her thinking at times. Seriously?