Sweet Carolina (23 page)

Someone dumped more champagne on his head and
he turned to return the favor. Caro was his. He could share her for
these few minutes knowing he'd be the one to peel her wet clothes
off her body tonight. He imagined the way her skin would taste, the
distinct flavor of Carolina with a hint of champagne.

“Hey, Trent,” he called to one of the pit
crew. “Grab one of those champagne bottles and stash it in my
locker in the hauler.” Trent hustled off to do Dell's bidding.

Dell accepted macho man-hugs and gave as many
champagne showers as he got, all the while planning his own private
celebration later. When he'd have Caro all to himself.

* * * *

Dell moved aside as the crew pushed the car
to the garage under the watchful eyes of the track officials. The
teardown and inspection would take several hours – hours Dell
intended to spend naked with Carolina. He scanned the thinning
crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen. His gaze landed on the lone
figure standing near the fence.

“Dickey,” Dell said, extending his hand.
Their palms connected in a civilized handshake.

“Dell. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the help. I didn't
see it, but I hear you blocked Johnson from making a run at me near
the end.”

Warner shrugged. “He wasn't going to take the
lead, but he might have caused all kinds of havoc trying.”

“Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate it, and
I'm sure Caro does too.” He scanned the area again. Still no sight
of her petite frame among the remaining celebrators.

“I've got to go,” Warner said. “I wanted to
offer my congratulations. You didn't need my help today, and with
the new engine, I doubt you will ever again, but just in case…”

“I appreciate it, Dickey. I really do.”

Warner nodded. “Okay then. I'll be going
now.” He took a few steps and turned back. “Look, Dell. I'm not
going to pretend we're friends, but if you need anything, anything
at all, just shout.”

He didn't wait for a reply. Dell watched
Warner's retreating back until someone laid a hand on his shoulder,
commanding his attention for yet another interview.

It was later than he expected when he finally
returned to his motor coach. He showered quickly, anxious to find
Caro for the private celebration he'd been mentally planning ever
since he crossed the finish line. He made some adjustments to the
plan. By now, she would have changed out of her champagne-soaked
fire suit, and that was a damn shame.

He was fishing for his shoes under the bed
when his cell phone rang. He grabbed it off the bed with one hand
while the other snagged one wayward shoe.

“Hey, Russell.”

“Dell. Can you come down to the garage?”

Dell fished the other shoe out and sat on the
end of the bed to put them on. “I've got plans, Russell. Can we
save the celebration until we get home?”

“Trust me, Dell. You wanna be here for this.
Now get your ass down here. Now.”

Russell's clipped tone sent a cold spear of
dread through Dell's body. “Okay. I'm putting my shoes on. I'll be
there in a few minutes.”

He tried calling Caro, but the call went
immediately to voicemail. This couldn't be good. It wasn't unusual
for little things to come up in a post-race inspection, but he
couldn’t imagine what it might be. The car met all the
specifications to the letter. Caro was too meticulous for it to be
anything but perfect. And she was too smart to think she would get
away with cheating.

His feet felt like he'd put on concrete shoes
instead of his favorite running shoes. He kept his head bent,
avoiding eye contact with the people he met on the way. It
surprised him how many people were still hanging around. Most of
them were fans who were probably planning an early start with their
motor homes in the morning instead of fighting the crowds clogging
the roads tonight.

The lights blazed in the garage. All work had
stopped and about a dozen people stood around talking in small
clusters. Dell recognized the Hawkins crewmembers and a few people
from NASCAR. The men in the white fire suits were the observers,
there to keep an eye on everyone and everything. His gaze stopped
on Caro. She stood off to one side, dwarfed by the cluster of men
around her. None of them looked happy, especially Caro.

“Hey,” Dell said, approaching the group.
“What's going on?”

A flash of relief crossed her face as she
looked up at him, but she masked it so fast Dell wasn't sure he'd
seen it at all. He shook hands with a few of the men who offered.
He recognized most of them. These were the men who enforced the
rules, the ones who seemed to delight in suspending him at every
turn. The cold spear of dread he felt earlier turned to a block of
ice in his gut.

“I'm glad you're here,” Caro said. “It seems
we have a problem.”

Dell ignored the officials, locking his gaze
on Caro. She was trying to be strong, but the stress was taking a
toll on her. Her shoulders slumped and dark circles rimmed her
beautiful eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her
until he could make all the bad things in her life go away. “What
kind of problem? It can't be with the engine. She's special, but
well within the specifications,” he said.

“Not the engine – the fuel.”

Dell glanced around the group of somber
faces. “What about the fuel?”

“The post-race tests show an illegal
performance-enhancing additive,” this from the guy with
Stan
stitched over the pocket of his white NASCAR shirt.

“How did it get there?” Dell asked.

Silence. Half a dozen pairs of eyes turned to
him. Dell held up his hands.

“Whoa. You don't think I had anything to do
with it.” This was unreal. From the looks on their faces, it was
exactly what they were thinking. He ignored them and looked at
Caro.

“Not you too. Caro. Seriously?”

More silence.

“Fuck!” Dell turned and walked away, stopping
when he got to the car. He tried to process the information. Of
course the officials would think he'd done it, but Caro? Her lack
of faith cut him to the core. He rubbed the back of his neck and
tried to think. How could this happen? Who could have done it, and
why?

Well, the why was easy enough. He could think
of only two reasons to use an additive. Either someone wanted to
give the car an edge, or someone thought he had a chance of winning
and wanted to make sure the car got disqualified if it did.

Everyone in their garage believed the car was
good enough to win. None of them would use an additive to give them
an edge. That left the other reason, and Dell didn't have to look
far to find a host of people who would want his car
disqualified.

Someone touched his arm. He recognized her
touch. Caro.

“Dell,” she said.

“I didn't do it, Caro. I can't believe you
would think I would do something so stupid.”

“They searched the hauler. The empty can was
in your locker.”

“You're shittin' me, right? Do I look stupid,
Caro? And when was I supposed to have done this? While I was
circling the track at one hundred and ninety miles per hour? Or
maybe I hopped out during one of the thirteen-second pit stops, ran
to the hauler, grabbed some fuckin' additive, ran back to the pit,
somehow managed to get it into the tank without anyone seeing and
ran back to the hauler to stash the empty can in my locker where
anyone could find it, and still get back in the car and out on the
track. Yeah, I'm guilty.”

“I don't think you did it, Dell. I know you
didn't. But someone did.”

“Well, it damn sure wasn't me.”

“The car is disqualified and they're talking
about taking the win away as a penalty.”

Dell raised his face to the ceiling and
counted to ten. This couldn't fuckin' be happening.

“I think I know who did it, or at least who's
behind it.”

Dell snapped his head down. “Yeah, I have a
pretty good idea myself. But how did he do it? He has to have
someone in our garage or the pit crew.”

“Or maybe someone who has access to the gas
cans before they get to the pits.”

Dell ran it through his head. “No. There's no
way of knowing which cans are going to which pits until they get
there. It had to be done after the can was delivered to our pit
stall.”

Caro nodded. “You're right. And anyone could
have put the empty container in your locker. The hauler is open,
and there aren't any locks on the lockers.”

“That narrows it down, at least.”

“I can't believe one of our own could do this
to us,” Caro said, scanning the clusters of men standing around
waiting for instructions. “Maybe they thought they were
helping.”

“I thought about that too, but they all
believed we had a winning car. They're all behind you, one hundred
percent, Caro. I talked to them a few weeks ago. None of them would
have done this. The only reason to do it was so this would happen.”
Dell waved his hand to indicate the fiasco around them. “Someone
wanted the car disqualified, and you and I both know who it
is.”

“Yes, we do. I never thought he'd go this
far. I thought he was more into personal intimidation.”

“What are you talking about? Personal
intimidation? Did he do something else you haven't told me about?”
He'd kill the fucker if he laid a hand on Caro.

“I wasn't going to tell you, but tonight
pushes the bounds of fair play. Renfro has gone too far this
time.”

Dell listened as Caro related the incident in
her motor home. The block of ice in his gut turned to cold, hard
steel, sharp enough to cut anyone in his way into tiny pieces. And
Butch Renfro was in his way.

“I'm going to kill him.”

“No! Dell!” Caro ran after him.

“You can't stop me, Caro,” he yelled over his
shoulder. “The bastard had no right to touch you.”

Caro caught up to him and stopped him by
yanking on his arm. He stopped long enough to dislodge her fingers
from his sleeve. “Wait, Dell. Let's do this the right way. I'll
tell the officials what happened. They'll believe me now. They'll
handle Butch.”

“You're mine, Carolina. No one touches you.
No one
assaults
you and gets away with it.”

“Dell, you have to stop. I know you want to
beat up on Butch, but it won't solve anything. It will only make it
worse.” Caro stood her ground. She had to make Dell see before
things got out of hand.

“I'm not going to beat him up, Caro, I'm
going to kill him.” Dell turned and she grabbed at his sleeve but
missed.

“Dell!” Oh lord. Why did she tell him about
what happened in her motor coach? Now he was going to go off and
get into the kind of trouble that couldn't be solved with a fine or
by taking away a trophy. Caro sighed and took out after him
again.

She caught up to him seconds later around the
corner of the garage. He'd come to a halt, and she saw he was
talking to someone. She closed the distance between them.

“Out of my way, Dickey,” Dell said as he
tried to sidestep his half-brother.

“Wait, Dell.” Warner put a hand on Dell's
chest to stop him. Caro wanted to kiss him for slowing Dell down
enough for her to catch up.

“I won't say it again,” Dell warned.

“Look, Dell, news travels fast around here. I
know what's going on, and I think you should hear me out. I may be
able to help.”

“Dell,” Caro said. “Let's hear what Warner
has to say. We could use all the help we can get right now.” It was
a testament to her desperation that she was willing to listen to
anything one of Renfro's drivers had to say, especially this one.
She didn't trust Warner as far as she could throw him.

“Unless he's here to tell us Renfro is dead,
I don't want to hear it.”

“Wait, Dell. Please. I think I can help,”
Warner said.

“Dell…” Caro pleaded.

“Spit it out. I haven't got all night.”

“Is it true? About the fuel additive?”

“You came to find out if the rumors are
true?” Dell shoved past Warner. “I don't fuckin' believe this.”
Caro lunged after him.

“Stop! Just stop for a damn minute. Let's
hear him out.”

It was a miracle. Dell stopped and turned
around. “This better be good,” he said.

“It's true? Someone put something in your gas
can?”

Dell's whole body grew still. “Yeah,” he drew
the word out. “That seems like the most likely scenario.”

“I think I know who might have done it.”

“Who?” Caro tensed as the word spewed from
Dell's lips like venom.

“You have a guy on your pit crew named Trent,
right?”

“Yes,” Caro answered. “He's one of the tire
carriers.”

“That's what I thought. He's new?”

Caro nodded. “We had to replace one of our
carriers. He twisted an ankle playing softball.”

“If he's the guy I'm thinking, he's a
relative of Renfro's. A second cousin or nephew or something. I've
seen him around our garage a time or two. He looks like a normal
kid, but…” Warner ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that
reminded Caro of Dell. “There's something about him. He smiles too
much, if you know what I mean. It kind of creeps me out.”

“I asked him to put a bottle of champagne in
my locker for me,” Dell said. He looked directly at Caro and said,
“I was planning a private celebration, just you and me.”

Caro smiled. She'd saved a bottle too, and
for the same reason. “Is it still there?”

“I don't know. The hauler wasn't going
anywhere for hours, so I wasn't in any rush to get it. I was going
to find you first.”

Caro tore her eyes away from Dell to the man
watching them with undisguised humor. She no longer cared who knew
Dell and she were together. Warner smiled and raised one hand.

“Hey, I'm happy for you. I wish I'd had the
nerve to make a move on you before my brother did.”

“No offense, but it wouldn't have made any
difference.” Caro wrapped her arm around Dell's waist and he did
the same, snuggling her close. His body was still tense, but the
rage was gone – for now. “Come on, let's go talk to the officials.
I don’t think they're going to reverse their decision, but we can
try.”