What Others Are Saying
About Jack Patterson
“Jack’s storytelling feels as natural as James Patterson’s, and the short-chapter setup is the literary answer to Lay’s potato chips: you just want one more and before you know it, you’ve gone through the whole thing.
- David Bashore, The Times-News, Twin Falls, ID
“Jack Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”
- Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS
“Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”
- Richard D., reader
“Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.
- Ray F., reader
DEAD SHOT
“Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer Jack Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”
- Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS
“You can tell Jack knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery. With a clever plot and characters you badly want to succeed, he is on his way to becoming a new era James Patterson.”
- Josh Katzowitz,
NFL writer for CBSSports.com
& author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game
DEAD LINE
“This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. Jack Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”
- Bob Behler
3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year
and play-by-play voice for Boise State football
DEAD IN THE WATER
“In Dead in the Water, Jack Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”
- Mark Schlabach,
ESPN college sports columnist and
co-author of Called to Coach
Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy
Other titles by Jack Patterson
Cal Murphy Thriller series
Dead Shot
Dead Line
Better off Dead
Dead in the Water
Dead Man's Curve
Dead and Gone
Dead Wrong
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
To Chris Beckham, a great friend and a man who helped me understand the importance of NASCAR while living in South Georgia
DEAD AND GONE
A Cal Murphy Thriller
JACK PATTERSON
CHAPTER 1
THE MAN YANKED THE BILL of his cap just above his eyes and hustled across the garage area teeming with cars prepped for today’s race. He’d never killed anyone before nor did he have the stomach for it. However, he had no problem doing what it took to ensure his target ended up dead.
He fired up the blowtorch and looked over his shoulder. The locked garage ensured he could do his deed in peace. He slid the helmet visor down and began heating the part.
Endorphins coursed through his body while he watched the metal begin to glow. He’d waited long enough for this moment, one that required precision and a steady hand. Heat the part too much and he’d either have plenty of explaining to do or worse—utter failure. Heat it too little and he’d fail in a way that he couldn’t accept.
Once he finished, he stopped and admired his handiwork.
Perfect.
He twirled the part with his gloved hand and then looked around the garage area just to make sure no one was around.
With the type of efficiency that would make the pit crew team swell with pride, he put the part in place and tidied up the equipment.
He put his cap back on, jammed his hands in his jacket pockets, and stole across the grounds toward the garage exit. For good measure, he looked behind him for peace of mind. If he saw no one, he’d know if his work was true; he’d get away with it.
He didn’t see anyone—but someone saw him.
***
CARSON TANNER PEERED at the inner workings of his Chevy SS racecar. In forty-five minutes, he’d zoom around the track at just under 200 miles per hour behind the thunder of a 750-horsepower engine. And while he had one of the best crews on the racing circuit, Tanner always preferred to poke his head under the hood one last time before driver introductions.
Pat “Dirt” Walter slid out from underneath the car. “What’s the matter, Tanner? You don’t trust us?”
Tanner shook his head. “I trust you with my life, Dirt, every weekend. Nothing wrong with takin’ a peek, is there?”
Dirt grunted and slid back underneath the car.
Tanner stroked the car as he walked toward the backend. Lost in thought, he nearly tripped over another crew member, Russ Ross, who was running through his last-minute checklist.
“I hope your head’s in the game today,” Ross said. “We need this one.”
Tanner nodded. “I’m ready. Don’t you worry.”
He circled the car once again before Sylvia Yates placed her hand on his back.
“Ready to meet little Ella?” she asked.
Tanner nodded and followed the spunky brunette who served as the media relations director for the Davis Motorsports team.
“She’s not feeling well today, but I think you’re gonna love her,” Sylvia said over her shoulder as they walked toward the team’s hauler.
Tanner wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Gotta love Texas in October,” he said.
“Yeah, and that’s why we’re meeting inside,” Sylvia said as she led him inside the hauler’s cramped air-conditioned quarters.
Ella’s parents stood up and introduced themselves the moment they saw Tanner enter the room.
“Mr. Tanner!” a young girl squealed as she jumped up into his arms.
He leaned back and grinned at the freckle-faced eight-year-old now comfortable in his arms. She grabbed his golden-colored hat with the number thirty-nine stitched onto the front and put it on.
“You must be Ella,” he said. “Just call me Carson. Are you ready?”
She nodded and smiled as they climbed into the back of a pickup truck for the parade lap. She twisted the hat on her head. “Are you gonna put Cashman into the wall today?”
“I like you already.”
“Well, are you?”
Tanner looked her square in the eyes as he broke into another grin. “If I have to, I will. Don’t you worry. I’m gonna win this race today, just for you.”
Ella clapped and squealed again before giving him a hug. “You’re the best!”
Tanner laughed as she nearly fell down in the back of the truck. “Hold on, honey!”
She regained her balance and started to discuss race strategies with him.
“Hartman’s been runnin’ real good lately, but he’s never done well in Texas,” she said. “I think you can take him.”
Tanner arched his eyebrows. “Even though Hartman won the pole?”
; “Poles don’t mean anything. My daddy says poles are nothing but a Sunday afternoon drive through the hills. If you ain’t tradin’ paint, you might as well be drivin’ a bus.”
“Any other advice?”
“Yeah, watch out for Cashman on turn three. He’s wrecked there the past five times he’s run here. And he’s got nothin’ to lose, especially since he’s behind you in the standings. If he doesn’t catch you, his season is done, so be careful around him.”
Tanner nodded and tousled her short brown hair. “How’d you learn so much about racing?”
“My dad. It was about the only thing we could watch on the weekends in the summer when I was getting chemo. We’d sit in the chemo lounge and watch all the races together. I got hooked.”
“Well, you’re a brave little girl. It takes more courage to do what you’re doing than it does to drive a race car around a track, that’s for sure.”
Ella shook her head. “I’d be scared to drive a car that fast, Mr. Tanner. You have to get in the car yourself. But cancer comes and gets you. You don’t have a choice. I’m certainly not gonna just sit around and feel sorry for myself. I’ve still got a lotta life to live.”
Tanner fought to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes. “You have an incredible attitude—and you’re right, you have a lotta livin’ to do. Keep fightin’.”
The lap ended and they climbed out of the truck and rejoined Ella’s family.
Tanner looked up at her parents. Ella’s mother dabbed at the mascara streaking down her cheeks. Her father, sporting a No. 39 shirt, scratched at the corner of his eye and looked away.
He looked back at Ella. “You ready to go help me get into my car?”
“Am I ready? It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I started following you.”
“Well, all right then. Let’s go.”
Sylvia led the entourage toward the platform where NASCAR conducted driver introductions. She stood with Ella’s parents on the track while Ella walked with Tanner up the steps on the backside of the stage at the starting line. As Tanner waited for his name to be called, Todd Cashman walked up behind him.
“Tanner, did ya finally find someone who can teach you how to drive?” Cashman said.
“Come on, Cashman. She’s a kid,” Tanner said.
Ella stamped her foot and put her hands on her hips. “Maybe you need to find someone to teach you some manners, Mr. Cashman.”
“Nobody told me it was take-a-brat-to-work day,” he snipped.
“I hope you run out of gas five feet from the finish line,” Ella said.
Tanner gently rubbed Ella’s back. “Now, Ella, let’s not be ugly.”
“And in the Number 39 car, Carson Tanner!” boomed the announcer over the loudspeaker, interrupting their spat.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Tanner said.
Tanner held Ella’s hand as they walked onto the front of the stage to a roar. He waved and encouraged Ella to do the same.
“And in the Number 7 car, Todd Cashman!” the announcer said.
Tanner leaned down. “That’s our cue to leave, Ella.” He led her down the steps and to his car parked on pit road.
Once he was out of earshot, he leaned over again and whispered in her ear. “I’m definitely gonna put Cashman into the wall now.”
She giggled and twirled as they continued toward the car.
Tanner’s crew chief Owen Burns met them at their pit. Burns worked over a toothpick in his mouth as he tilted his head and looked into his driver’s eyes.
“You’ve got the best car out there today, kid,” Burns said. “If you don’t win, it’s all on you.”
“No pressure,” Tanner said.
“We need this win—and I know you can do it. Just get out there and race your heart out.”
Tanner patted Burns on the shoulder and kept walking toward his car.
Ella tugged on Tanner’s arm. “I know you can do it, too,” she said.
He’d almost forgotten she was there, already lost in his thoughts about the race. Burns didn’t need to say a word. He knew he had the best car and he knew anything but a win would suffice if he expected to advance in the championship chase.
Tanner zeroed in on his car, but stopped just short at the sight of his wife, Jessica. They’d been married less than a year and it was nothing short of bliss. He told his dad he could handle everything about the lifestyle of the circuit—except for the loneliness. “I’m surrounded by hundreds of people, but I often feel like no one knows I exist,” he told a pretty young woman one night at a meet-and-greet with fans. It wasn’t a pick-up line either. He was just pouring out his heart to a person who seemed to enjoy listening. That was Jessica. And now she stood next to his car waiting to give him a good luck kiss.
Tanner embraced her and gave her a long kiss. Then he held her as she lingered in his arms.
“Knock ‘em dead out there today,” she said as she picked at his uniform.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Burns said you’ve got the best car out there and that you ought to win.”
“I certainly don’t wanna disappoint anyone.” He slid his hand over her pooching belly. “Especially you two.”
She smiled. “We need to get you a new suit.” She picked at few loose threads. “This one’s coming apart.”
He sighed. “Just tape it up. This one is fine. Besides, it’s my good luck suit. I was wearing this the day I met you.”
She kissed him again. “Go get ‘em.”
He climbed into the car as his crew began helping him with the safety belts and HANS device.
Jackson Holmes, another one of Tanner’s crew members, yanked on a few of Tanner’s straps. “Don’t screw it up. We need this one today.”
Tanner flashed him a thumbs up.
“Check, one, two,” Burns said over the 39 car’s radio frequency. “Can you hear me, Tanner?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. Now just be smart out there today and you’ll be fine.”
Tanner glanced back at his team, all giving him the thumbs up sign. He waved at Ella, who jumped up and down and clapped.
“Let’s do this.”
Country music star Luke Bryan crooned the National Anthem before Major League hall of fame pitcher Nolan Ryan took the mic. “Drivers, start your engines.”
Tanner fired up his car, drowning out the roar from the crowd.
He followed the pace car onto the track and began to visualize himself on each and every turn. Visualization was a trick his father taught him years ago to help ease his mind while playing baseball. “If you see yourself going through the motions, they’ll become second nature to you, son,” he’d said. “Then you can concentrate on the details that will take you from good to great.”
Tanner wasn’t a great driver yet, but there was little doubt that he was already a good one on his second year in NASCAR’s highest circuit. He claimed rookie of the year honors last season and could qualify for one of the final four spots in the championship chase with a win today. While winning for his team was important, in thirty minutes Ella had stolen his heart—and he wanted to win for her more than anyone else.
“One to go. Green flag next time around. Be ready,” Burns said over the radio.
Tanner zoned in and gripped the wheel tighter. The hum of the 43 cars on the track turned to a roar.
“Green, green, green,” said the team’s spotter perched atop the luxury suites.
Tanner jammed his foot on the gas and focused on finding his line heading into turn one. He remained oblivious to the crowd rising to their feet and cheering as the race officially got underway.
The race remained uneventful for the most part. Only a handful of cautions and two wrecks had slowed down what was otherwise turning out to be a fast race. Tanner, who’d started second, had drifted back to no lower than eighth over the past 300 laps but had surged to third behind Cashman and Garrett Hillman.
When Buzz Goff spun out on lap 310, all the team
s on the lead lap pulled in for a pit stop.
“What are we doin’?” Tanner asked.
“You’re takin’ four tires,” Burns said.
“You sure that’s a good idea? We might lose what we’ve worked so hard to get here.”
“Just trust me, kid. It’ll work out.”
When the pit stop concluded, Tanner zipped back onto the track in ninth place.
“I hope you made a good call, Burns. I’m not likin’ this.”
“Just be smart. You’ll see.”
On lap 315, Tanner passed two drivers to move up to seventh. Three laps later, he passed two more. By lap 320, he was sitting on Cashman’s tail.
“Fourteen more laps,” Burns said. “Just be patient and wait for the right moment to make your move.”
For the next ten laps, Tanner remained poised to take advantage of any opening he could get to slip past Cashman. The lapped traffic made it more difficult than he thought. And then there was another caution.
“What is it this time?” Tanner asked.
“Debris on the roadway,” Burns said.
“Imagine that. NASCAR wants a green-white-checkered finish.”
“You’ve got the fresher tires. Cashman only took two.”
Tanner chuckled. “Let’s hope that’s his undoin’.” He still wanted to put Cashman into the wall.
Tanner watched the pace car peel off into the pits.
“Green, green, green,” the spotter said.
It’s now or never.
Tanner jammed his foot on the gas and edged his way past Cashman on the outside of the back straightaway.
“Clear, clear, clear,” the spotter said.
“Good job,” Burns said. “Keep it up, kid.”
Tanner drifted down in front of Cashman and started to pull away. He sped through turn four and down the front straightaway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crowd rising to its collective feet as the white flag waved, signaling the final lap.
“Just keep it steady, and you’ve got this race,” Burns said.
Tanner felt adrenaline surge through his body. Though he’d never touched drugs, he couldn’t imagine any high surpassing what he felt in this moment. He’d all but vanquished his archrival and secured a spot in the championship chase in Miami for the season’s final race.
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