Within Striking Distance (22 page)

But then she felt the sharp pain from the gun muzzle and her relief switched to fear. “No, Jake,” she cried. “Go back. She’s got a gun.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” he said evenly. His cane clunked on the staircase as he started down. “That’s why I decided to join you. What’s the problem, Mrs. Brown? You don’t really want to hurt anyone, do you?”

Cynthia grasped Becky’s arm and yanked her another few feet backward. “Stay where you are, Mr. McMasters.”

“I’m sorry, Cynthia, but I can’t do that,” Jake said. He continued down the stairs, stepping past the splattered doughnuts. “Where Becky goes, I go. It’s obvious you must have gone to a good deal of trouble to find us. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s the girl’s fault. She’s ruining everything. She’s just like her mother.”

Becky could see now that Jake was nowhere near as composed as he sounded. His knuckles were white where he gripped his cane. His entire body was so tense his movements were jerky. He kept his gaze steady on Cynthia with the concentration of someone approaching a rabid animal.

Was he trying to calm her? Stall her? Becky prayed he’d called the police before he’d come outside. “Her father wants to talk about my adoption,” Becky said. “She wants me to go with her.”

“Then we’ll all go,” Jake said. He followed, gradually closing the distance between them as Cynthia backed Becky across the lot toward a gleaming, black car. “I’d like to hear what Gerald has to say.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Mr. McMasters. This is between me and the girl.”

“Well, no. Anything that happens to Becky does concern me, Cynthia. I happen to love her. Just as you love your husband.”

What was Jake doing? Becky wondered. If this was an attempt to keep Cynthia calm, it wasn’t working. At the mention of her husband, she’d jabbed the gun even tighter against Becky’s side.

“You’ll be well rid of her,” Cynthia said. “You might have enjoyed yourself with her in bed but she’s no good for you. She’s like Amy. She’ll ruin your life.”

“I take it Amy is her mother’s name?”

“Was. Amy Demille is dead. She can’t hurt anyone now.”

Pain knifed through Becky’s chest. It wasn’t from the gun. Her mother’s name was Amy Demille? And she was dead? “What happened?” she asked. “Who was she?”

“She was nobody. Just a pretty face. She was always hanging around the tracks, fawning over Hank.” Cynthia shook Becky’s arm, her nails digging into her skin. “You’re
exactly like her. You came here only to torment me. It’s your fault he left.”

“Who left, Cynthia?” Jake asked, moving closer.

“Enough.” Her voice was shrill. “Get in the car, Miss Peters.”

Jake lunged forward to place himself between them and the car. “Not without me.”

“Don’t you understand?” Cynthia shouted. “It’s all her fault. Once she’s gone, everything will go back to the way it was. This will finally end.”

“No, it won’t end, Cynthia. I’ll still be here. If you hurt Becky, I’ll see you punished if it takes me the rest of my life.” He leaned his cane against the car and held out his empty hands at his sides. His unbuttoned shirt flapped open in the breeze, exposing his bare chest as a target. “It looks as if you’ll have to kill me, too.”

Becky gasped. “Jake, no! Don’t do this!”

For the first time since he’d appeared at the head of the stairs, he met her gaze. The facade of control he’d managed to maintain until now faltered and passion leaped to his eyes. He shifted, as if he were about to reach for her. Becky felt the pressure on her side ease as Cynthia swung the gun at Jake.

Before Becky could cry out a warning, he had pivoted on his good leg and used his stiffened forearm to deflect Cynthia’s hand just as the gun went off. The back windshield of her car shattered in a starburst of tiny fragments. An instant later, Jake was gripping the gun and Cynthia was on her knees. He caught the back of her collar and twisted the fabric tight to hold her in place, then looked at Becky. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She passed her hand over her eyes, not surprised to see that her fingers were shaking. How many times had he asked her that question? How could she have been annoyed by it? And was it possible to love him more?

“Becky?”

“I’m fine.” She blinked. She wasn’t surprised to feel the heat of tears, either. Gradually, she became aware of sirens in the distance, drawing closer. And of voices all around them. She looked up. People were standing in the doorways along both floors. A crowd was gathering at the perimeter of the parking lot.

She returned her gaze to Jake. There were so many things she wanted to say, she didn’t know where to start. She wanted to thank him for saving her life. And she wanted to yell at him for risking his. Most of all she wanted to plaster herself to the front of his body and feel the beat of his heart against hers and never let him go.

“I need to see Daddy.”

At the muffled demand, both Jake and Becky returned their attention to Cynthia. She was sitting on her heels, her hands over her face. Only a few strands of hair remained in the twist at the back of her head. The rest straggled over her shoulders. “He’ll help me. He always helps me.”

Without loosening his grip on her collar, Jake thumbed the safety on the gun and tucked it into the back of his waist-band. “It’s over, Cynthia. The police are on their way.”

“No, I have to go home. I have to be there when Hank comes back. He’ll want to see me.” Cynthia dropped her hands, revealing a face streaked with tears. She strained against Jake’s grip, twisting to look up at him. “He has to come back. I did all of this for him. I love him so much. You must understand.”

Becky looked from Cynthia to Jake. The things that had been said finally began to fall into place. The hate. The desperation. Even the madness made sense. She squatted in front of Cynthia to bring her face to her level. “Amy was my mother,” Becky said. “And Hank Brown was my father, wasn’t he?”

Cynthia’s shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. “She was supposed to be gone. I convinced her to go. I told her Daddy wouldn’t sponsor Hank if she was his girlfriend and she was standing in the way of his dream. She wanted him to be happy so she left. And he would have been happy. He turned to me.
Me.
” She slapped her chest. “I’m the one who really loved him. He saw that. He would have forgotten about Amy. But then she came back with
you
and would have ruined everything.”

Only minutes ago this woman had meant to kill her, but Becky no longer felt fear when she looked at her. She felt sadness. Cynthia was falling apart before their eyes. “What did my mother do?” Becky asked.

“It was all her fault. She wanted to show him the baby. She said he deserved to know. She said he would marry her. She wouldn’t go away. I picked up the lamp. I didn’t mean to hit her that hard.” She hugged her arms around herself and rocked from side to side. “Daddy helped me. It was raining so no one saw us put her back in her car. He gave the baby away. Hank never knew. Hank loved me. He loved
me.
”

A siren echoed from the street behind them. Tires screeched to a stop in the parking lot. Doors slammed, radios crackled and within seconds they were surrounded by police. Jake released his grip on Cynthia’s jacket, reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew his cell phone. It was already on. Apparently it had been transmitting the entire time. “They’re here,” he said into it. “I’m hanging up now.” He turned off the phone and put it away, then retrieved his cane and extended his free hand to Becky.

The danger was over, yet Becky still felt wobbly. There was too much to take in all at once. She’d come to Jake because she’d wanted to know who she was. Now she did. She wasn’t Gina Grosso, yet racing
was
in her genes. She was the daughter of Hank Brown and his girlfriend, Amy
Demille. She hadn’t been stolen or given away. Her father hadn’t even known she existed.

Becky twined her fingers with Jake’s and moved aside to make room for the police, but they hadn’t taken more than a few steps away before Jake stopped between two parked cars and hauled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Becky,” he said, crushing her to his chest. “But I can’t wait another second to do this. When I saw that gun—” His voice broke. He kissed her hard on the mouth until both of them were gasping for air. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

“
You
were scared! What about me? How could you invite her to shoot you like that?”

“I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have let her hurt you. I would have done anything. Love is worth any risk.”

“Love?”

“Not the love Cynthia was talking about. That was sick. That was obsession.” He drew her farther away from the crowd and kissed her again, then touched his forehead to hers and spoke against her lips. “I wouldn’t have let you go. Even if you hadn’t convinced me to stay, I wouldn’t have been able to leave you.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I mean last night. You were right about everything. I was making excuses. I was afraid of opening my heart, but the thought of losing you…” He swallowed hard. “
That
scared the hell out of me.”

Her mind reeled as she grasped what he was saying. “Jake?”

“I know this isn’t the best time or place but I’m not taking any chances about this. I love you, Becky.”

She didn’t think her pulse could go any faster. It did. “Say it again.”

He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “I love you. I never thought I’d find love again until you came along and showed me where to look.” He smiled. “Some detective I am, huh?”

She’d almost been shot. So had he. Yet laughter was pushing past the sob that clogged her throat. Jake always knew just what to say.

And yes, it
was
possible to love him more.

T
HE
I
NDIANAPOLIS TRACK
thundered with the noise of cars racing full throttle. Less than five laps remained and anticipation shimmered in the air. The fans were on their feet. Those who hadn’t yet shouted themselves hoarse added their voices to the din.

Becky stood on her toes to follow the action as Kent chased the pack around the bend. His last pit stop had cost him precious seconds and he needed to make up the time.

Jake moved to stand behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “You’re still cheering for Kent.”

“Uh-huh. Even though I’m not a Grosso, I still want to see him win.” She twisted her shoulders and smiled at Jake. “And considering the fact he got us these pit passes, it would seem ungrateful to cheer for the competition.”

Jake’s laugh rumbled through his chest to her back. “You’re a true fan, Becky.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Well, we did get here a little late.”

She flushed and returned her gaze to the track. It was true, they had missed the start of the race. Thanks to Jake’s quick thinking, most of this morning’s confrontation with Cynthia had been recorded by the 911 operator, yet the police still had an endless list of questions. The reporters had been almost as persistent. Yet the reason Becky and Jake had arrived late was far more pleasant. Once they’d reached
the privacy of their motel room, neither one had been in a hurry to leave.

Jake’s scars
were
healing. He was talking freely about love and beginning to talk about a future with her. Yet it wouldn’t matter to Becky if he never wanted marriage or children. The dream that she’d clung to was about love, and she loved Jake for what he was, not for what he could give her. From what she’d heard, Cynthia had made that mistake with Hank. In addition to beginning her marriage with an unthinkable deception, she’d tried to make her husband into something he wasn’t. He’d already left her even before the truth had come out.

Cynthia was in custody for attempted kidnapping and it was only a matter of time before she would be charged in the kidnapping of baby Becky and the murder of Amy Demille. Once Gerald had heard his daughter had been arrested, he had made a confession of his own, revealing the rest of a thirty-one-year-old tragedy. Gerald maintained that Cynthia hadn’t meant to kill Amy—she’d been waiting for Hank at his apartment when Amy had shown up with her baby. Nevertheless, Gerald had covered up his daughter’s crime by cleaning up the apartment and helping her stage a car accident. It had been raining, so the police and everyone else had assumed Amy had died when her car had gone off the road. Gerald then had given the baby to Floyd Peters.

According to Gerald, the news of Amy’s death had devastated Hank, who hadn’t given up hope his girlfriend would come back to him. In his grief, he quit the Shillington team and didn’t attend another race. Jake reasoned that Cynthia took full advantage of Hank’s emotional vulnerability to move in on him, then counted on his gratitude to bind him to her for life.

Becky had new respect for Jake’s determination not to take advantage of her emotional state, even though it had
frustrated her at the time. At least he was no longer worried about her safety. Len had texted Jake that Ralph Bocci had been picked up by the border patrol only a few hours after Cynthia’s arrest as he was trying to enter Mexico, and he was cooperating fully with the police. Jake had quickly realized there was no connection after all between his investigation of Becky’s background and the murder of Alan Cargill, and he would call Lucas Haines tomorrow to let him know he’d been wrong.

One by one, the loose ends were getting tied up…except for Gina Grosso. If the real Gina was still out there somewhere, Becky was confident that Jake would eventually find her.

Movement near the corner of the pit box caught Becky’s eye. She rolled her head against Jake’s shoulder to see a tall, dark-haired man stride purposefully toward them.

Becky knew she hadn’t met him before, yet she felt a jab of recognition. The way he moved was familiar somehow. So was the way he held his head and the shape of his blue eyes…

Her hopes soared. Was it possible? The police had told her they’d been trying to track him down to let him know what had happened, but she hadn’t expected to see him so soon.

The man halted less than a yard away and stared at her with the shocked stillness of someone who was looking at a ghost.

Jake stiffened. He released her waist and was about to move in front of her when she stopped him with her hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Jake,” she said. “I think I know who this is.”

“I asked around,” the man said. “They told me you’d be with the Grossos, but I would have known you anywhere. My God!” He touched his fingertips to her cheek. His eyes filled with tears. “It’s true. You look just like my Amy.”

Becky’s own vision blurred. All these years, people around NASCAR had said they recognized her. She’d thought it was because of her work, but the truth had been right in front of her all along. Amy Demille had been as much
a racing fan as her daughter. She would have cheered for her boyfriend with the Shillington team. Her face would have been familiar to everyone who had worked on the circuit.

“I’m Hank Brown,” the man said.

Becky smiled and stepped into an embrace that had been waiting for thirty-one years.