Avoidable Contact (27 page)

Chapter Fifty-two

1:35 P.M. | 0:35 HOURS REMAINING

Pit lane erupted into sound as teams watched in disbelief and crew chiefs scrambled to warn their drivers. Race Control overrode all radio communications, issuing terse instructions for yellow flags to put the race under full-course caution and for the safety car to deploy quickly to control the field. Then Race Control called for black flags—racing's equivalent of a penalty card—to be waved by all corner workers at Greg.

Holly stood wide-eyed. “What
in hell
is he thinking? He could get himself killed—not to mention be kicked out of the Series.”

“He did say if they pushed him too far, he'd show them.”

“But this is crazy.”

I shrugged, thinking Greg had plenty of reason to be a little crazy. I was actually relieved this was how he chose to vent his outrage—rather than more lethal options.

His actions were still shocking. It was unthinkable anyone would be out on an active racetrack without proper safety gear—firesuit, helmet, HANS, gloves, and the window net fastened, to name only the ignored items I could see—let alone to have gone out there with a race in full song. In addition, Greg wasn't a registered driver for the car, so by going out there, he'd disqualified his car from contention. That didn't address the anti-Series messages he displayed for millions of television viewers, which were likely to get him tossed out of the entire championship. But with his son dead and the despair he'd felt even before that about his future in racing, I supposed he didn't care.

A strange thing happened on track, however. None of the drivers wanted to pass Greg, so he ended up leading the field around for a full lap, making it appear the other drivers wanted to honor his statements. Like Greg was the main attraction in the show, with the other fifty-five cars the supporting cast. I wondered if that was circumstantial or deliberate.

The strange parade lasted only until Race Control realized Greg wouldn't stop for the black flag and ended the spectacle by tossing the red flag and stopping everyone else on the back straight. Greg continued to drive at low speed, still waving to his rapt audience. The SGTV cameras and live broadcast continued to capture every moment of the drama. I didn't know what to think. I understood Greg's pain and frustration, but his actions were reckless and public. Permanent.

“He must really not care about ever racing again,” I murmured to Holly.

She continued shaking her head, as she'd done since he first appeared on pit lane, her eyes glued to the monitors.

The spectacle didn't reduce my anxiety or restlessness. I watched as the Series sent out two big safety trucks—each loaded with four safety workers—to herd Greg into pit lane. Then they blocked pit lane with a variety of vehicles, from tractors to golf carts and an ambulance, to make turning into the garage area his only option. Greg almost got around the line of cars by steering onto the big stretch of grass separating pit lane from the front straight, but a quick-thinking driver in one of the safety trucks accelerated alongside him and cut off that option.

After that final spark of rebellion, Greg sedately steered his car through pit lane, through the garages, and into his garage space. It was clear from the TV broadcast the Series had mobilized all possible staff to keep the garage area clear for Greg's passage. They also had security staff waiting for him at his garage. I recognized Officer Webster of the Speedway police and other uniformed officers who looked like the real cops.

The churning in my gut reached its zenith. I grabbed Holly's arm. “If Webster's there with Daytona police, who's up at Benchmark watching out for Lara?”

“Everyone seems preoccupied with Greg right now.”

“I'm going down there.”

“Don't burst in, Kate.” Holly's words stopped me. “Let's go past Benchmark into the CPG tent. I know you don't want to deal with Sam—”

“Doesn't matter, plus Jimmy Baker is there.”

“And Cecilia, who'll make sure the team helps us, no questions asked.”

I put a hand on her arm. “Holly, find Scott Brooklyn.”

“And his camera. Genius. On it.”

I headed up the pits at a run. Right before the opening to the Benchmark tent, I slowed to a leisurely walk, trying to look casual and breathe normally. I took the radio headset from around my neck and put it over my ears, pretending to concentrate on what I was hearing.

I passed Benchmark slowly, stopping as I had a view into the tent and cocking my head at the imaginary voice in my ears while I searched for Lara. She wasn't on the pit box. I fought for breath.
There!
I caught sight of her standing at the far side of the tent, near the wall Benchmark shared with CPG, talking with four people. Big people who blocked my view of her. A crew member exited the tent and walked past me. I glanced around the tent to find a couple crew members watching me, including a big guy on the pit box next to Vinny.

I gave a faint smile and looked to the team's bank of monitors, putting my hand on my right earpiece, pretending to press the radio button, and mouthing some words. Then, careful not to let my eyes do more than scan past Lara again, I started walking. I ducked into CPG's tent, yanked my headset off, and zeroed in on Cecilia, a tiny, thirty-something blonde with a pixie cut.

“Holly said you could help us,” I said into her ear. “Next door—someone may be in trouble.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Would you watch the walkway and make sure a woman with long, blonde hair doesn't leave?”

“Lara?”

“You know her?”

“She's been over here a few times. Sweet kid. She's in trouble?”

“I think so.” I bit my lip. “Could you get her out of there?”

“Shouldn't be a problem.” She darted out of the pit space.

I loitered by the doorway of the tent, one eye on the monitors, the other watching for Holly. I peeked around the tent opening into the walkway once, but didn't see anyone I was looking for. I checked my phone. Still nothing from Lara, the cops, the hospital, or my father. Nothing to calm my nerves.

I glanced around the tent, nodding at Daniel Carnegie, ignoring the glare Paula sent me, and giving Jimmy Baker a small wave. He stood up from his chair at the side of the pit space and walked over. “You look worried. What's going on?”

Before I could respond, Cecilia returned, shaking her head. “I saw her with some people, but someone stopped me before I got three feet and asked what I needed. He told me she was busy on something critical for the race, and they'd have her get back to me.”

“The young woman next door?” Jimmy asked.

I nodded, not liking the situation she described. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a way to liberate Lara without an outright confrontation.

“Why don't I take a slow walk past their tent?” Jimmy offered. “I've wandered up and down pit lane enough, that won't seem unusual. Maybe I can talk to those delightful Russian gentlemen again—linger a bit, see what's going on.”

“Be careful—”

Jimmy stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “I promise.” Then he was off.

Holly passed him as she ran up. She stopped next to me and Cecilia, scanned the pit lane in front of the tent and swore, breathing hard. “Haven't found them yet. Leaving messages for James also.” She turned and ran out of the tent again.

Jimmy returned, looking concerned. “I couldn't get in. I think they're taking her somewhere.”

I looked over his shoulder to see four big men exiting the Benchmark tent, a tiny blonde barely visible in the middle of the scrum.

Chapter Fifty-three

1:42 P.M. | 0:28 HOURS REMAINING

“Lara!” I shouted, my voice actually audible due to the lack of cars in pit lane or on the front straight.

I ran toward her. I thought I saw her head turn my direction, but it was hard to see past her captors or guards or whatever they were. All I saw were four identical navy blue polo shirts stretched tight over thick chests and bulging arms.

Vinny Cruise stepped out from the Benchmark tent, stopping my forward rush, holding his hands up. He glanced back at the men and jerked his head the opposite direction, away from me. I saw the men confer, point down pit lane, and start to move that way.

I started to step around Vinny to follow them. He moved to block me.

“Can I help you, Kate?” he asked, in a pleasant voice.

“I need to talk to Lara.”

His smile seemed smug. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm afraid this isn't a good time. She's not feeling well right now.”

I started to push past him, but he reached out with frightening speed and grabbed my left wrist. It felt like being caught in a vise.

He transformed as I watched him. Some expression—disappointment or regret?—flashed across his face, and then he changed. The congenial, friendly, lighthearted man I'd commiserated with about family issues disappeared. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he looked quickly right and left, then back to me.

I froze. I'd expected to see the mark that committing multiple murders left on him, but his eyes weren't devoid of emotion. Nor was the expression in them crazy or deranged. What I saw scared me more than that. Vinny looked frantic and desperate.

Do I hit him? He's a murderer. Do I scream? Would anyone hear?
My heart pounded.

He tightened his grip on my wrist. I winced as he dragged me forward a step.

I struggled to free my wrist, but he only clamped down harder, and stepped to my right, wrapping his left arm around my waist. He twisted my wrist hard and then released it, reaching for something in his pocket as I reacted, pulling my wrist to my chest and cradling it. By the time I got through the pain, he was pressing something sharp into my side and pulling me forward.

I dug in my heels, and that's when I felt his knife slice through my windbreaker, cut through my polo shirt, and jab into my side. I flinched and drew breath.

“They have knives also, and they'll use them on her. Come along quietly, my
friend
.” His breath felt hot against my cheek, and I shuddered, understanding I'd been tragically wrong about Vinny's character.

I took a single step forward.
I could run and get help—but would they hurt her?
I felt the knife at my side poke me again. I couldn't squirm away without him digging the knife in. I felt cold sweat all over and took two more steps. A dozen different escape options occurred to me, and with my third step, I realized I wouldn't endanger Lara or myself.

Two more steps.
At least I can still see the thugs around Lara.

Vinny shoved me forward with his hand in the small of my back. “Faster.”

“Kate.” Salvation in the form of Holly's voice.

I think Vinny might have tried to hustle me forward, but he wasn't bulky enough to block me the way his quartet of muscle blocked Lara—we were close to the same size and well matched for panic and determination. I was able to turn in his creepy embrace—scraping his knife along my side—to see my personal rescue squad: Holly, Scott Brooklyn, and an SGTV cameraman. I knew Holly had explained the situation because the camera sat on the operator's shoulder, pointed at me, recording.

I'd never been so glad to see a camera in my life.

Holly spoke again. “They're ready to do the on-camera with you and your sister.”

I read the apology in Holly's eyes as she made the relationship public, but the secret was no longer important to me. I elbowed Vinny in the gut and jerked out of his grasp.

This time Vinny did look blank. Defeated.

I gave him a smile that was more about baring teeth than any joy. “That's right,
Julio
. I need to speak with my sister now. You don't get to hurt anyone else.”

I waved at Holly and Scott to follow me, and we moved around Vinny without interference this time. I put a hand to my side to check for blood, but didn't see any. I started to run.

“Lara,” I called.

The group of men surrounding her were only two pit spaces away from the exit into the Fan Zone. I shouted again.

I could see her trying to turn around and respond, but the men kept walking. I caught up to them as they reached the exit. The men surrounding her kept trying to hustle her away—until they heard me.

“The television crew is here, Lara,” I shouted.

The men finally saw the SGTV camera aimed at them.

I took advantage of their hesitation to reach in between two men, grab Lara's hand, and pop her out from between the monoliths. Fear, relief, and delayed shock played over her face as she stumbled toward me. “They have a gun,” she whispered.

My breath caught.
Worse than a knife.
I focused on the four men. “See that red light on the camera?” I asked them.

The closest one grunted. I kept talking. “Camera's rolling. Live on television.” They wouldn't know the second part was a lie.

I put an arm around Lara's shoulders and walked her toward the camera, away from danger, speaking quietly in her ear. “We're going to use this interview to get away from them.” I looked her in the eye. “Can you handle it?”

She took a single shuddering breath and agreed.

“Good.” I turned to Scott and planted a smile on my face, trying to ignore the wall of thwarted muscle behind me and the smarting pain in my side. “We're ready for the interview.”

Scott must have been briefed by Holly, because he made a big show of checking the shot with his cameraman. He turned to us. “I'd rather do this down in your own tent, Kate. Let's take this to Sandham Swift.”

Scott and Holly led the way, and the cameraman followed us, filming the whole time. The five of us paraded past the four goons, every step taking us farther away from them and from Vinny and the Benchmark tent. I glanced back only once, after we'd passed the quartet of thugs. Vinny stood with them, all five watching us. I knew they wouldn't be there long, however, because I saw cops converging on them from farther up pit lane and from the Fan Zone. Vinny/Julio had nowhere to run.

I turned around before my face could convey any of my triumph.

By the time we reached the Sandham Swift tent, I could have wept from relief. I stopped and hugged Lara. “We're safe. You're safe,” I whispered.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, we broke apart. Scott stood in front of us, a smile on his face.

I frowned. “You're not going to insist on an interview now?”

“I'd like to, but I have to run cover the end of the race. You have to promise me an exclusive after the ceremonies.” He listened to something in his radio earpiece and spoke again. “SGTV helped you escape from a killer. I figure you can both do an interview with me about it. Plus some on the family backstory—even if SGTV doesn't use that, I know another outlet that will.”

That's when I understood the full cost of Lara's rescue. SGTV and Racing's Ringer would publish my family connections. I looked at Lara, nineteen years old, smart, and related to me. Safe.

I spoke to Scott. “I'd better not owe you after this one.”

“We'll be square.”

That's something.

My father barged into the tent, almost knocking Scott over and barely noticing. James looked distraught and nearly hysterical—until he caught sight of me and Lara standing together, both unharmed. His shoulders sagged. He swayed where he stood. He belatedly apologized to Scott and moved to us.

“You're all right?” he asked.

Lara buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

I felt similarly shaky, but I wasn't going to react the same way. I put my hands on my hips and felt my side twinge. “Where
were
you?”

He closed his eyes. “My phone battery died. I finally caught up to the messages Holly left up and down pit lane. Thank God you're both all right.”

Lara lifted her head. “They found out Tino—the mechanic—told me there was nothing wrong with that car. They took him somewhere, and they were taking me—” She shuddered. “Kate saved me.”

I shook my head. “It was Holly and the SGTV crew.” I glanced over to find Scott watching the three of us. He raised his eyebrows and looked from me to my father and back again.

I sighed, knowing what I offered the Ringer. Then I nodded.

He grinned and mouthed, “Now I owe
you
.” Then his expression changed to one of shock, and he put a hand to his radio earpiece. He exchanged a look with his cameraman. Both men turned and ran from our tent.

Curious, I walked to the tent opening and looked up pit lane. Scott hadn't gone far. Only one pit space away, in fact, where two uniformed policemen escorted Richard Arena and Monica Frank out of their tent.

Monica looked back and scowled at me. I smiled and waved. Then I laughed.

Detective Latham saw me watching. I met him halfway between us, next to the empty pit space.

He spoke first. “We arrested Vinny Cruise, aka Julio Arena.”

“For?”

“The attempted murder of Stuart Telarday and the murder of Foster Calhoun.”

“You're sure he did it?” I wanted to believe he had the right guy. That it wasn't my wild guesses and desperation to find someone to blame.

“We're sure. We found evidence on his car.”

I went limp with relief. “You found the car?”

“Parked at the airport, across from the track.”

“What about the four guys who tried to kidnap my sister?”

“Talking to them also.”

“And Richard Arena? Monica?”

“We're talking to them. No charges yet.” He shrugged at my surprise and went on. “We'll see what they knew and when. Maybe there will be other agencies involved.”

I covered my face with my hands.
It's all over.
I couldn't believe it.

“I understand you got in the middle of things, trying to rescue your sister,” Latham said.

I glared at him. “I
did
rescue her. You guys weren't around, and they were taking her away!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “We were about to move in. Then you got involved.”

I wouldn't apologize or be intimidated. I put my fists on my hips. “I didn't see you, and you didn't tell me. She was in trouble.”

He shook his head slowly. “Just be careful. Next time there might not be a camera around to save you.” He held out a hand, and we shook. “I have to get to the station, but someone will talk to you before you leave. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Holly walked up after the Detective left. “The home-wrecker in handcuffs. Satisfying.”

I smiled again. Then I remembered the race. “What's going on with the 28?”

“Twelve minutes left. Mike's dogging the back of the third-place car.”

“Seriously?” I sprinted for the Sandham Swift pits. “Hot damn!”