“Then why won’t you share your problems with me?”
“Darling, I love you. I would never want to burden you with my problems.”
“But that’s what marriage should be about. Two people share their lives as equal partners. You’ve been treating me the way your father treated you, indulging me and smothering me, all in the name of love.”
“If I spoil you it’s because I love you. We’re fine, Hank.”
“No, we’re not, and we haven’t been for a long time. I feel like a pet instead of a husband. We don’t even share a room anymore, Cynthia.”
“That’s for your sake, Hank. With Daddy’s health the way it is, I’m often called to his room in the night.” She rounded the table and held out her hands. “He’s ninety-one. He won’t be around forever, and then the situation will change. Surely you can be patient.”
Hank tightened his jaw. He took her hands and squeezed them briefly, then stepped back. “You know I love Gerald like a father. He’s been good to me.”
“He loves you, too, darling. He would be devastated to know you’re not happy. He was your staunchest defender, even after you quit his team and left him high and dry.”
A spasm of pain flickered across Hank’s handsome features.
Cynthia felt a moment’s guilt for causing it, but her husband was hers. She would use any means to keep him, even if it meant reminding him what he owed her. She stroked her fingertip down his arm. “I supported you, Hank, during the worst years of your life. I never gave up on you. Surely you’re not saying you want to give up on us.”
He looked at her. “I haven’t forgotten you were there for me after Amy died. I know I fell apart. I lost heart for everything I had loved, and if it weren’t for you and your father, I never would have gotten over my grief. My loyalty to both of you is what made me stick it out and try for as long as I have, but any debt I owed you was paid long ago. Our marriage is one-sided, Cynthia. You always claim you love me but I don’t think you even know who I am anymore.”
No, no! Hank was her husband. He couldn’t be slipping away. Not now when the nightmare was almost over. Whatever it took, whatever the cost, she wasn’t going to stand by and watch her world fall apart. If Bocci wouldn’t help her, she’d hire someone else who would.
She grasped Hank’s forearms. She didn’t realize how hard she was gripping until she saw him flinch. Her nails had sunk into his flesh. She tempered her grip and slid her hand to his cheek. “That’s not true. You mean everything to me, Hank. Please, let me prove it to you. We’ll take a vacation together. Daddy won’t mind. Just wait until I settle the latest crisis at the plant. Will you do that?”
“What crisis?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” She smoothed his hair into place. “Once I transfer some funds and dispose of a few minor assets, I’ll have it all under control.”
IT WAS ODD to see Zack Matheson’s No. 548 car at rest. Its smooth contours and ground-hugging stance appeared made to be in motion, yet for the past two hours it had been parked on the pit road of the Halesboro track. Not because it needed repairs. No, it didn’t have a scratch. The electric-blue finish gleamed like a mirror in the early morning sunlight. The coveralled pit crew that would normally be servicing it were puttering around the garage or lounging at a nearby picnic table. They had been temporarily replaced by a photographer, his assistant, makeup and wardrobe people and a guy in a pink shirt who called himself an art director.
Jake angled his baseball cap to shade his eyes, folded his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall of the garage. Becky was modeling Matheson Racing’s new Zack Matheson merchandise. Currently, she was wearing a snug-waisted windbreaker in the same electric-blue color as the car. The art director had positioned her half in and half out of the driver’s-door window, as if she were in the process of pulling herself out. It was an eye-catching pose. Her glorious hair was caught by the breeze, framing her face in a tumble of honey-streaked curls. She turned her face toward the corner where Jake stood and flashed a smile. Even though the smile had been for the camera, it still made Jake’s pulse speed up.
He didn’t think he would ever get used to her beauty. At times like this, part of him continued to marvel how a woman who looked like Becky would want to be seen with a guy who looked like him. She genuinely didn’t care about his appearance. She was a woman in a million.
He tore his gaze away from her and did a scan of the area. He’d been acting as her bodyguard for almost a week now. So far, he hadn’t spotted any trouble, but he couldn’t afford to relax his vigilance. It was an ongoing challenge to remain focused when guarding Becky was so enjoyable.
With the exception of their taste in food, they were discovering a surprising number of things they had in common. They were both architecture junkies, they both loved old Peter Sellers movies, and neither of them could care less about politics, though Becky didn’t hesitate to voice her opinions on what she read in the news. He admired the way she was fearless when she felt passionately about something. And then there was the way she kissed.
Oh, yeah. That was a big part of why the past week had gone by so enjoyably. Becky could stir him up with just a smile or a look. Sometimes merely the sound of her voice made him ache to have her in his arms. So far he’d managed to restrain himself from taking advantage of their situation and spending the nights in her bed, but it was costing him. He’d gone home to so many cold showers he was surprised he hadn’t come down with pneumonia.
It was getting tougher and tougher to remember they were no longer merely dating. The reason he was spending so much time with her was to protect her. That had to remain his primary concern, no matter what his libido was telling him. Clearly, she was emotionally vulnerable, and she’d latched on to him because she needed someone to help her through a difficult time. The second set of DNA samples had been taken from Becky and Kent the previous week. Once the test result came through—whatever it proved—she was bound to reassess their relationship.
Jake had seen the pattern before. It was similar to what had happened with Heather. When situations changed, feelings did, too. He’d be smart to remember that before he got his own emotions involved any deeper.
“That’s some show they’re putting on there. But kind of slow for my taste.”
Jake glanced at the older man who had moved to stand beside him. It was Doug Dalhousie, one of the mechanics Earl Buckley had told him about who had worked with Becky’s father on the Shillington team. Jake had spoken with Doug the previous month in New Hampshire but he hadn’t learned anything about Peters that Earl hadn’t already covered. “‘Morning, Doug. How are things going?”
“Won’t know until we can get back to testing. They told us we’d get some laps in before noon. How much longer you think they’ll be?”
“I’ve got no idea. It’s hard to believe how long it takes to snap a few pictures.”
The photographer pointed to a white gauze screen on a stand that was diffusing the sunlight. His assistant scurried around the car to pull the screen a few feet closer. Becky slipped out of the car window and was immediately surrounded by the makeup people. They took the windbreaker with them when they retreated, leaving her in a scoop-necked, bright blue T-shirt.
“How come you’re here, anyway, Jake?” Doug asked. “Have the Grossos got you spying for them?”
He laughed. “No, Doug. I’m with her,” he said, tipping his head toward Becky.
“The model? I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
Jake’s smile froze. He’d reminded himself of the age difference often enough. Nevertheless, Doug’s assumption had stung. “She’s not my daughter. She’s Becky Peters.” He paused. “We’re dating,” he added, giving the simplest explanation for his presence. It was the same thing he and Becky had told everyone else who had wondered. Besides, it was partly true.
Doug gaped at him, then jabbed a bony elbow into Jake’s ribs. “Good for you. Wish I had luck like that. She�
��s a good-looking woman.”
“That she is.”
“Wait. What did you say her name was again?”
“Becky Peters.” Jake watched Doug’s face, interested in his reaction. “Floyd Peters’s daughter. I was asking you about him last month.”
“So she’s Floyd’s kid? Was that why you were asking about him, because you wanted to date her?”
“Something like that.”
“Huh. Remember how I told you about Shillington’s daughter and Shanks?”
Jake nodded. One of the things Doug had recalled about the summer the Grossos’ baby had been abducted was how his team’s driver, Hank “Shanks” Brown, had eloped with Gerald Shillington’s daughter. “Yes, I do. Why?”
“There must have been more than ten years between them, only it was the other way around. She was the one who was older than him. I don’t remember Floyd being bothered by it.”
Had Doug brought this up as a way of making up for his previous gaffe? “That’s good to know.”
“Too bad Shanks quit racing after he got married. I can’t recall him even showing up at a track after, either. Guess he figured he didn’t need to work anymore.” Doug squinted at Becky. “It’s funny. Floyd’s kid doesn’t look like him, but she does remind me of someone.”
“You probably saw Becky’s face in an advertisement. A lot of people feel as if they know her.”
“Maybe.” Doug gave Jake another nudge with his elbow. “She looks good with that car, doesn’t she? Like she was born for life on a track.”
Jake returned his gaze to Becky as Doug wandered back into the garage. Zack Matheson, looking lean and dangerous in his racing uniform, joined the activity beside his car for the next series of shots. Becky seemed as much at ease with the vehicle as Zack did, and why shouldn’t she? She was a NASCAR fan, and she’d grown up attending races.
Was there such a thing as inherited memory? If there was, and if she did turn out to be Dean’s daughter, then her interest in the sport could have been in her genes. Heredity would explain the sense of recognition a lot of people mentioned when they saw her, too. Not that Becky had any specific features in common with either Dean or Patsy, but there could be a general family resemblance that people who knew them picked up on. Come to think of it, during all the time Jake had spent with Becky, the only people who had said she looked familiar had been directly involved with NASCAR.
The poses with Zack appeared to be the final ones. Once he left, the photographer and his assistants began gathering their gear. Becky had just finished a brief discussion with the pink-shirted art director when a man Jake didn’t recognize approached her. He was too well dressed to be one of the Matheson team, but he didn’t seem to belong to the crew who had been doing the modeling shoot, either.
Jake shoved away from the garage wall and moved as quickly as he could toward Becky. She’d asked him to give her space to do her job, yet judging by her body language, she wasn’t happy with whatever this new arrival was saying. Jake wasn’t pleased with how close the man was standing, either. He had placed his fingers on her arm and was leaning forward, crowding her against the side of the car.
Becky had already maneuvered away from the car and was stepping back as Jake reached her side. She smiled and stretched to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, then wiped the spot with her fingertips. “Oops, sorry. I forgot about the lipstick,” she murmured. “They layered it on like icing.”
Jake wanted her to leave the lipstick smear right where it was as proof she’d put her mark on him. He also wanted to glare at the man who’d been touching her. Or to be more accurate, he wanted to pick up the guy by his designer collar and hurl him over the roof of Zack’s car. The urge surprised him. He wasn’t normally this possessive when he dated a woman. Then again, these weren’t normal circumstances. He was acting as Becky’s bodyguard. It was to be expected that he’d be more protective…
Ah, who was he fooling? His emotions were already so tangled up he was wasting his time trying to make excuses. He draped his free arm across Becky’s shoulders, staking his claim in terms any male should understand.
“Tony Winters,” the man said, thrusting his hand toward Jake. “And you are?”
Because of his cane, the only way Jake could accept Winters’s hand was to let go of Becky, a fact he was sure Winters had realized. He kept the handshake brief, but he did put enough force into his grip to elicit a wince. “Jake McMasters.”
“Tony is the team accountant for Matheson Racing,” Becky said.
Jake had guessed from the man’s soft palm that he didn’t work with anything much heavier than a pencil. “What’s an accountant doing at the track?”
Winters smiled, revealing a set of perfect, recently whitened teeth. “There’s more to this business than racing, pops. We’re going to push Zack Matheson merchandise for the rest of the season.” He turned his smile back to Becky. “Thanks to our hot cover girl, our ads are bound to catch everyone’s attention.”
Pops? Jake was sorry now he had restrained himself from crushing the man’s hand. He ignored Winters and looked at Becky. “Are you done here?”
“Almost.” She retrieved her modeling bag and took out a paper form. “I still need to get my voucher signed by the client.”
“I can take care of that for you,” Winters said, moving forward to intercept her. He put the form on the hood of the car, scribbled his signature and returned it to Becky. “It’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again, Becky. I’ll have our P.R. rep call you. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner.”
“Actually, he would have to call my agent. He handles all my bookings,” she said, ignoring his suggestion of dinner. She separated part of the form he’d just signed and handed it back to him. “Here’s your copy of the hours worked and the rate I agreed on. I’ll return this T-shirt to the wardrobe people.”
“Please, keep it, Becky, with our compliments,” Winters said, with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. He moved his gaze to her chest. “I can’t think of a better way to promote our clothing line.”
Jake eyed the height of the car roof, calculating how hard he’d need to fling Winters over it for him to land in the middle of the track.
If Becky noticed Winters’s blatant ogling, she gave no sign of it. She politely said goodbye to him, waved to the rest of the crew, then looped her bag over her shoulder and hooked her hand in Jake’s elbow. He set a brisk pace as they left the track and headed for the parking lot, partly to get her away from her admirer and partly because he needed to work off some steam. Winters had some cheek, all but asking Becky on a date right in front of him. At least the guy hadn’t asked him if he was Becky’s father.
They were almost at his car before she spoke. “Thanks, Jake,” she said.
“You’re welcome, but why are you thanking me?”
“Because you let me handle the jerk my way.”
“Jerk? What jerk?”
“Tony Winters. The guy you were thinking about punching.”
“Me? Nah.”
“Be honest. I saw the look on your face. Your cheek was twitching. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“Okay, I got ticked off because the guy wasn’t behaving respectfully toward you. But I told you the truth—what I was thinking of doing didn’t involve punching him. His teeth are too pretty. He probably would have sued me.”
She laughed and released his arm so he could take his keys from his pocket. “Worse than that, he might have spread the word that I’m difficult to work with. At my age, I need all the jobs I can get.”
“Your age?”
“I think I told you about that. I don’t have many productive years left to build my savings.” She paused as he opened the passenger door for her. “Not that I’d be willing to put up with a client who made advances, but what Tony Winters did back there was really pretty mild.”
Jake waited until she slid inside the car, then closed her door and went around to the other side. He started the engine and t
urned on the air-conditioning full blast before he twisted to look at her. Considering the age gap between them, it was bizarre that Becky would have any reason to worry about her age, but he did understand her concern. “Does that happen a lot? I mean guys coming on to you when you’re working.”
“Not as often as you might think. Most people in the fashion industry are only interested in getting the job over with. They’ve seen too many models to get impressed by appearances.”
“But you do get propositioned.”
“Sure. It’s an occupational hazard of making money with my looks. Some men assume that’s all there is to me.” She set her bag on the floor between her feet and rummaged around inside it. She came up with a pot of face cream and a bag of cotton pads. “I hope you don’t mind if I do this while we drive,” she said, applying the cream to her face. “It’s not good for my skin to leave on this much heavy makeup in warm weather, but I didn’t want to hang around the set any longer.”
“No problem,” he said, putting the car into gear. A few other vehicles, probably belonging to people from the fashion shoot, were already heading toward the parking lot exit. He waited for them to pass, then eased onto the road, accelerating slowly so he wouldn’t jar Becky while she continued her task.
He was pleased she felt comfortable enough around him to do something as personal as removing her makeup. Yet again, he marveled at how completely without vanity she was. She treated her appearance as matter-of-factly as he treated his surveillance gear. Both were necessary assets for their businesses. On the other hand, storing his camera in his equipment cabinet at the end of a stakeout wasn’t anywhere near as intimate as what Becky was doing. He inhaled slowly as the scent of her cream drifted toward him. “Gardenias.”
“Mmm?”
“I noticed that scent when we first met. It suits you.”
Within Striking Distance Page 15