Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  “Oh, I'm sure she loves that,” Alina grinned. “She's probably spending her days on the beach.”

  “I'm sure,” Stephanie agreed. A high-pitched text alert interrupted them and she sighed, setting down her glass and reaching into her purse. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I have to check this.”

  Alina leaned her head back on her chair and watched as a bat fluttered across the driveway. Her Jeep was parked in front of the detached garage, her Shelby GT hidden inside. She looked at Stephanie’s maroon Mustang thoughtfully. She hadn't told Stephanie about the Shelby yet. In fact, her old friend Hawk was the only one who knew she purchased it in the fall to replace a compromised Camaro. It remained in the garage over the winter, safe from the snow and the sleet and curious eyes. She supposed now the weather was nice, she would have to reveal its existence. Stephanie would be beside herself. She loved Mustangs.

  “John has some reports for me,” Stephanie said, interrupting Alina's thoughts. “He's on his way back from Atco. Is it alright if he stops by?”

  John Smithe was Stephanie’s partner, and Alina’s ex-fiancé.

  “I don't care,” Alina replied, watching as Stephanie typed away on her phone. “What's he doing in Atco?”

  “He races down there,” Stephanie answered, glancing at her. “You didn't know that?”

  “I knew he used to,” Alina said with a shrug. “I don't make it a practice to keep up with John anymore.”

  “He stopped for a while, but started up again a couple years ago.” Stephanie slid her phone back into her purse and picked up her wine glass. “He's been working on that old Firebird of his.”

  Alina glanced at her, something akin to interest flaring in her dark eyes.

  “He still has it?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes. He wouldn't get rid of it after...” Stephanie’s voice trailed off and she shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, he always said it was more than just a car.”

  Alina was silent. She remembered the Firebird well. She always loved that car, even when the engine blew and she and John had to rebuild it. That was years ago now, during a different lifetime; a lifetime when she was engaged to John and everything seemed very simple. She shook her head slightly as if she could shake away the memories.

  “I'm glad he still has it,” she murmured. “It was a good car.”

  Stephanie glanced at her, searching for some sign of emotion, but all she encountered was a hooded look from dark eyes. If Alina felt anything at the mention of the past, she wasn't showing it. Sometimes, Stephanie wondered if Alina even cared about the life she used to live years ago with all of them. However, then something would happen or be said, and Stephanie would catch a very quick glimpse of the Lina she used to know. It was those rare and all-too-brief moments that reassured her that her old friend was still in there somewhere.

  “You'll see for yourself in a little bit,” Stephanie told her. “He's driving it now.”

  “It's street-legal?” Alina asked in surprise and Stephanie grinned.

  “Yes. He runs it in the street races. He says he doesn't want to ruin its historic value. Aside from the roll-cage he added, it’s still mainly the same.”

  Alina's shoulders shook slightly in amusement. She was always the one talking him out of installing modern parts on the Firebird. It took some years, but apparently some of that finally sunk in.

  “I'm surprised that the raceway is still operational,” Alina said, sipping her wine. “I guess I thought it would have closed like all the others.”

  “Nope. It's still going strong. It was sold a couple years ago to a new owner, but they've kept everything running the way it always has,” Stephanie told her. “In fact, it's one of the most popular tracks in the Northeast.”

  “God, I remember racing there in high school,” Alina murmured, a faint smile crossing her face. “Dave used to...”

  Her voice trailed off abruptly and Stephanie sighed silently as Viper's mask slid seamlessly into place. Her brief glimpse of the old Lina was gone as quickly as it had begun.

  “How long are you staying home this time?” Stephanie asked after a few moments of silence, glancing at her friend. “Do you know?”

  “I've been told to relax,” Alina answered quietly after a long hesitation and Stephanie raised an eyebrow.

  “Is that a good thing?” she asked hesitantly and Alina shrugged.

  “Someone seems to think so.”

  “Huh.” Stephanie looked back out over the lawn. “What are you going to do with yourself?”

  “Relax,” Alina retorted dryly.

  “That should be interesting to watch,” Stephanie said with a grin. “I think I'll enjoy this.”

  They were still sitting on the deck half an hour later when Alina's phone vibrated against her hip, alerting her to the fact that her security perimeter was breached. A few moments later, the low rumble of a large engine made its way through the trees at the front of the house, followed by the crunch of wheels on gravel.

  “Sounds like John's here,” Stephanie said, setting her empty wine glass down and stretching.

  The engine grew louder as the car pulled around the front of the house and turned to roll down the side. Alina watched as the black 1979 Firebird Formula rolled into view. She smiled faintly, noting the fresh, gleaming paint and new, dual chrome tailpipes. John put a lot of work into the old car, and it showed.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “He's done a lot to her.”

  Stephanie glanced at the car as John pulled up behind Alina’s Jeep, cutting the engine.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, uninterested. “I almost don't remember what it was like before he did the body work.”

  “Beat-up,” Alina said, standing and setting her wine glass on the banister. “It was beat-up.”

  Stephanie grinned.

  “You would know,” she said easily.

  Alina moved to the steps of the deck and walked down onto the grass, pulled to the car by an invisible force. She drank it in as she walked towards it, the chrome glinting in the evening sun. The air vents in the hood were new, as was the back spoiler. The doors were also new, she noted as she drew closer. The rust that had been eating away the driver side door eleven years before was gone.

  John Smithe opened the door and got out, smiling at her as she walked up. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, catching his blond hair in a stream of light.

  “Remember her?” he asked.

  “You've done a lot to her,” Alina replied, reaching the car and running a hand over the back spoiler. “She looks great!”

  “There's still a lot to do,” John said, looking at his car proudly. “The body work is finally done. I put the doors on last month and had it painted. Now, I have to concentrate on the interior. I just ordered new seats. I found some out in Kentucky, original leather bucket seats in good condition.”

  Alina leaned into the open driver side window and the smell of old leather and oil assaulted her. She breathed in deeply.

  “Haven't fixed that vent yet, huh?” she asked over her shoulder. “It still smells like the engine in here.”

  “I'll get to it,” John retorted with a laugh, an old familiar glint lighting his pale blue eyes.

  Alina's lips curved involuntarily in response as memories of the old, familiar argument washed over her. She took in the cracked leather seats and scratched dashboard, shaking her head when her gaze fell on an old cigarette burn on the passenger side floor. She blinked, remembering the acrid smell as the cigarette smoldered against the carpet. They had been fighting, she thought, when her cigarette dropped unnoticed and burned a path in the floor. Fighting...or making up?

  She straightened up out of the window quickly, forcing the memory away.

  “Steph said you run it down at Atco.”

  Alina stepped away from the car.

  “Yeah,” John said, turning and walking with her toward the deck. “It's not winning yet, but it's getting better. I ran 11.40 today.”

  Alina glance
d at him, her long lashes shielding the sudden glint in her eyes.

  “It's not the car that wins, John,” she told him. “It's the driver.”

  John looked at her he grinned, his eyes meeting hers.

  “Spoken like a true Maschik,” he murmured.

  Alina’s own lips curved and she preceded him up the steps to the deck where Stephanie was still lounging in her chair. John glanced up at the roof of the house and then into the trees before setting his foot on the bottom step of the deck.

  “Where's Raven?” he asked cautiously.

  “Out hunting,” Alina answered, her lips twitching.

  John nodded and moved onto the deck, relaxing when no bird of prey came swooping out of the sky to attack him. Alina's pet hawk, Raven, lived to terrorize him and John had had several run-ins with the bird in the past. The score to date was Raven 3 and John zip.

  “Here,” John said, handing Stephanie a flash drive. “Sorry I didn't get it to you sooner.”

  “No worries,” Stephanie answered. “I'll just tell Rob it's your fault they're late.”

  John grinned.

  “What are you ladies up to this evening?” he asked, leaning on the banister and crossing his arms over his chest. Under his shirt, Alina could see the outline of his 9mm, holstered on his jeans, next to his FBI badge.

  “I don't know about her, but I'm going home and crashing on the couch,” Stephanie said. “I have a new book calling my name.”

  “Saturday night and you can't do better than that?” John demanded. He looked at Alina. “What about you?”

  “I just got back from a trip,” she murmured. “I'm jet-lagged.”

  “Boring, both of you,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “Which nipple...I mean, girlfriend...are you taking out tonight?” Stephanie asked.

  John shot her a look of amusement.

  “Cami, except I'm not,” he replied. “I'm going over to a friend's instead.”

  “You have friends?” Alina asked innocently.

  “Getting tired of her already?” Stephanie asked at the same time.

  John threw up his hands, laughing.

  “Yes, I have friends,” he retorted to Alina before turning to Stephanie, “and no, I'm not getting tired of her. You're not the only one opposed to her, uh, freedom of dress.”

  “HA! I told you no one likes to see nipples!” Stephanie exclaimed in triumph.

  “I really don't think I want to know,” Alina murmured.

  “You don't,” Stephanie agreed, standing. “You would be appalled.”

  Alina considered her thoughtfully for a moment.

  “Would I?” she wondered.

  “Yes.” Stephanie nodded firmly and grinned. “Although, I'd love to see your face if you ever met her. Thank you for the wine and the hour of relaxation. Your deck is better than a massage for clearing the mind.”

  Alina smiled.

  “I'm glad you think so.”

  “Have fun tonight, John,” Stephanie told him as she passed him on her way to the steps, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Oh! Did you win?” she asked, stopping at the top step.

  “No, but I beat my best time in that car, so I'm happy,” John replied. “I'll see you at the office Monday.”

  Stephanie nodded and waved, then went down the few steps and headed across the lawn to her Mustang. Alina watched her go, a faint smile on her lips, and John glanced at her.

  “You should come down to Atco while you're home,” he told her. “You'd enjoy it.”

  She turned her dark gaze on him and John wondered what was going on in that head of hers. He used to be able to read her like a book, before she joined the Navy eleven years ago and disappeared. Now, he never had any idea what she was thinking.

  “Would I?” she asked softly, the faintest hint of mockery in her voice.

  “You used to love cars,” John said with a shrug, “but I guess that was a long time ago.”

  Alina's eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Yes, it was.”

  John studied her for a moment, then straightened up.

  “Well, I'll leave you to do...whatever it is that you do now,” he said. He started to walk away, paused and glanced back. “Did you ever replace the Camaro?” he asked innocently.

  In the fall, her Camaro had become compromised when it was shot by a member of a Mexican Cartel. Alina couldn't stop the grin that crossed her lips at his question.

  “Yes,” she answered, standing.

  John saw the grin and raised an eyebrow.

  “You look like the Cheshire cat,” he told her, studying her thoughtfully. “What did you get?”

  “Something better.”

  John stared at her for a moment, catching a glimpse of something he recognized in her grin. Something he hadn't seen in eleven years.

  “Why don't you come with me tonight?” he asked suddenly, surprising himself as well as her. “There'll be a lot of cars there. You'd like Dutch. He's a good man, and better driver.”

  “Dutch?” Alina raised an eyebrow.

  “Dutch Baker,” John explained. “Undefeated in street racing. He has a few cars, but his baby is his '67 Shelby,” he added casually.

  “Oh, you play dirty,” Alina murmured. “GT 500?”

  “GT 500.”

  John watched her eyes slide to his Firebird, and then to the garage. He turned to look at the closed garage door.

  “Is your 'something better' a car worth showing off?” he asked, glancing at her.

  Alina hesitated for a moment, torn between her past and her common sense.

  The cars won.

  “Come and see,” she said.

  Chapter Three

  Alina backed the Shelby in next to John, cutting the engine and looking at the array of cars in the grass along the driveway. Dutch lived in a two-story house set back about a quarter mile from the end of a country road, nestled between farmland and woodland. A long dirt driveway, lit at intervals with tiki torches, stretched back behind the house to an old shed in the distance. The light from the torches illuminated about two dozen cars, all parked at an angle alongside the drive. Classic American muscle cars crouched next to lowered imports, all gleaming in the firelight. People milled around, wandering between the cars and the bonfire raging in the massive fire pit about 200 yards from the front of the house.

  Alina got out of her car, glancing over the hood at John as he climbed out of his Firebird.

  “Cheater,” he called.

  Alina shrugged.

  “You've got to want it,” she retorted, slamming her door closed.

  “You sound like your brother,” John muttered.

  “Johnny Dangerously!”

  Alina watched as a massive man dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt crossed the driveway, coming towards them. He was about six feet tall and the tops of his arms looked like tree trunks, his barrel chest straining the cotton shirt. He smiled, nodding to her as he approached them, his eyes sliding to the black Shelby with silver racing stripes beside her.

  “I was starting to think you weren't going to show,” he told John. “Glad to see you. Who's this?”

  “Someone who cheats racing,” John replied, shooting Alina a glare. She shrugged back.

  “Raven,” Alina introduced herself with the alias she used in Jersey, holding out her hand and smiling. “Raven Woods.”

  “Nice to meet you, Raven Woods,” Dutch said with a smile, grasping her hand. “Did you really cheat or is John just a sore loser?”

  Alina smiled enigmatically and was silent. Dutch chuckled, releasing her hand.

  “Oh, I think you and I are going to get along just fine,” he told her. “Nice car you have there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I've got one in the back. I'll show it to you later. She's a '67 and my pride and joy.” He looked at John. “There are still some burgers and sausage on the grill, and beer's in the coolers over there. Help yourself. Lani's around here somewhere. She wants to see you. She misse
d you at the track earlier.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dutch took one last look at Alina's car and smiled at her, his eyes warm and friendly.

  “Good to meet you, Raven. Help yourself to anything you want, and keep Johnny Dangerously here out of trouble.”

  Alina nodded with a faint smile and Dutch ambled off. She glanced at John.

  “Johnny Dangerously?” she murmured.

  “Don't ask,” John retorted. “Come on. Let's get a beer. I'll introduce you to his sister, Lani. I think you'll like her. She doesn't put up with any bullshit.”

  “And she wants to see you?”

  “Very funny.”

  Alina sipped her bottled water and watched as John disappeared into the center of a group of women. She moved silently around the bonfire, staying in the shadows at the outer edges where she could observe the crowd without being drawn into it. For the most part, the guests seemed to be a mix of gearheads and girls. Dutch clearly had an open door policy, and it seemed like most of the racing scene showed up. Since she arrived, the crowd had almost doubled, with more cars lining the driveway. Alina glanced over to the Shelby. It was garnering its own fair share of attention, the gleaming black paint and silver racing stripes camouflaging it with its own shadows. She had been watching for the past hour as people began to pass it before realizing it was a beast, crouching in the shadows.

  “Your car's causing quite a stir,” a woman said, detaching herself from a small group and walking toward her, a beer in her hand. Lani Baker was smiling, her eyes warm and friendly. She joined Alina in the shadows, looking toward the Shelby. “Everyone wants to know who owns her.”

  “It's just because they haven't seen it yet,” Alina murmured.

  Lani glanced at her.

  “I wouldn't be so sure of that,” she said. “A Shelby GT always steals the show, at least around here. Dutch is something of a connoisseur.”

  “So I've heard.”

  “How long have you known John?” Lani asked, sipping her beer.

  “Too long,” Alina replied before she could stop herself and Lani laughed.

  “And yet I haven't seen you before, have I?” she asked. “Where's he been hiding you?”