Within Striking Distance (5 page)

“Yes. It was a childish thing. I fantasized that my real parents were part of a big, loving family and that they had been searching for me for years, not because they thought I’d be useful but because they loved me. I used to build elaborate scenarios in my mind about how they would find me and welcome me back. Then, after my mother died, I felt guilty for wanting to find another mother, as if she hadn’t been enough for me. But at the same time, I wanted someone else to belong to more than ever.” She laughed self-consciously. “Jake, I don’t blame you for thinking I might be stalking the Grossos. All of this sounds a little neurotic, even to me.”

This time, when he reached out, he bypassed his glass and touched her hand. “It’s not neurotic, Becky, it’s natural. I understand why you’d want to be Gina. I just don’t want you to get hurt if it turns out you’re not.”

The contact was brief, only a light graze of his fingertips against the back of her knuckles before he drew back. It left her skin tingling.

Becky returned her gaze to his face. This was like the con
nection she’d felt when they’d first met, only stronger. Had he felt it, too? Warmth he couldn’t quite hide swirled in his eyes, but the rest of his expression gave nothing away. “I appreciate your concern, Jake,” she said. “But I need to know the truth, whatever it turns out to be.”

“Y
OU AND YOUR
‘friend of a friend’ must have had a nice lunch?” Shirley asked, raising her voice over the din of the crowd and the cars as Becky reached her seat.

Becky grabbed her hat to hold it down against a gust of wind. Nice? That was true, it had been surprisingly enjoyable, even though she’d had the feeling that Jake had been subtly pumping her for information.

“Yes, the time flew,” Becky replied, realizing that Shirley was still regarding her inquiringly. She waved a greeting at Bud. He smiled but didn’t reply—judging by the earphones jammed into his ears, he was more interested in listening to the voices coming over his scanner. “Which team is he listening in on, Shirley?”

“He started out with FastMax and switched to Sanford.” Shirley reached into the cooler beneath her feet to pull out a canned soft drink. She offered it to Becky, who shook her head, before she popped the top. “He’s still at loose ends now that Dean Grosso retired.”

“Isn’t he rooting for Kent? Or what about Robert Castillo? Mallory’s dating him.”

“You know Bud. He doesn’t switch his loyalty easily.” She gestured toward the tight pack that was entering the backstretch. “Trey Sanford just passed Will Branch. Do you think this could be his year?”

Becky picked out Trey’s No. 483 car as it swung around Turn Three. She had dated Trey on and off this past winter. He was a nice man, but neither of them had felt anything special and they had parted as friends by the spring. She
wondered now whether she’d dated him because of her inherited affinity for racing…

Jake’s caution about assuming she was Gina flickered through her mind, but she blocked it out as the cars entered Turn Four. Trey took it too high, allowing Kent Grosso to nose in front of him. Becky cheered for them both as they swept past.

That was another thing she loved about this sport. It demanded all of her attention. For the next few hours, she didn’t have to think about anything else.

T
HE TELEVISED SPECTACLE
was almost as absorbing as being there. Cars rippled across the sixty-four-inch screen in a riot of crayon colors and sponsors’ logos. Engines roared, tires screeched and the race commentator’s voice boomed from the fourteen speakers that were fastened to the walls. In the center of the floor, three tiers of overstuffed armchairs were arranged in staggered rows so that each provided an unobstructed view. The home theater could accommodate two dozen guests in luxurious comfort, but only one of the chairs was occupied.

Cynthia walked to the middle row and sat beside her father. Though he didn’t attend races anymore, he seldom missed the broadcasts. Lit only by the screen, Gerald’s face looked as craggy as the acoustic foam that covered the walls. He’d always had a gauntness to his features, but over the past few years his flesh appeared to be drawing in on itself.

He’d seemed invincible when she’d been a child. There had been no request he would deny her, no problem he couldn’t solve for her. She’d always been able to count on him. Sometimes she found it hard to believe the father she’d relied on was the same person as this frail old man. When had their roles reversed?

He jerked when he noticed her presence. The controller
he’d left on the arm of his chair dropped to the floor. He doubled over to grope for it, then straightened up and hit the mute. “Did Peters call again?”

Cynthia’s ears rang in the sudden silence. “No, Daddy.”

“I want to be told immediately if he does. We have to figure out what to do.”

She nodded, feeling a stirring of pity as she heard an echo of the man he used to be. Gerald hadn’t figured anything out in years. She had found him shaking in panic last week when one of the servants had unthinkingly woken him up to put Floyd Peters’s call through to him. She’d fired the idiot the next morning and had left strict instructions with the remaining staff about screening all phone calls through her. “It’s all right, Daddy,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“We can’t afford to let anyone ask questions about that baby.”

“No one will find anything.”

“But Peters sounded worried. What if he changes his mind and talks to that private detective?”

“He’s kept quiet for three decades. There’s no reason for him to go back on his word now.”

“I pray he doesn’t.” Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose, which meant he was trying to think. “We’ll be ruined.”

We?
she thought. No, her father would be fine. In his current state of health, any judge would be lenient when it came to sentencing. Everything Gerald had done, he’d done to help cover up his daughter’s crime. Cynthia was the one with the most to lose if the truth got out. In addition to her freedom, there was her position at the company, her reputation in the community, her marriage…

At the thought of her husband, tears started to gather but she forced them back. No. She would not let one youthful mistake ruin a lifetime of achievement. “Daddy, I’m not going to let that happen.”

“But—”

“Please, don’t get yourself agitated. You know it’s not good for you.”

“I want to help you, Cynthia, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s my turn to take care of you now, Daddy. The past is going to stay buried. I’ve taken steps to make sure Jake McMasters doesn’t learn anything that could hurt us.” She patted his hand, then slipped the controller from his grasp and turned the sound back on. “I have a meeting in a few minutes,” she said, raising her voice above the din. “I have to go. Enjoy the race.”

He made a weak protest, but his gaze had already moved back to the screen. Within seconds, his shoulders relaxed forward. He looked…relieved.

Cynthia blinked impatiently at another spurt of tears. She truly couldn’t rely on her father’s help anymore. It was all up to her now.

“Y
OU REALIZE
those things will kill you.”

Jake bit into the hot dog and chewed with gusto, ignoring Len’s warning. He’d first met Lieutenant Leonard Denning when the man had been a rookie with the Charlotte police force and Jake had been learning the ropes as a P.I. They’d knocked heads a few times since then, but more often than not they found it mutually beneficial to cooperate. “There’s nothing wrong with a nice, juicy hot dog now and then, Len. Pure energy food.”

“Do you know what’s in them?”

“As long as it’s not still moving, I’m not particular.” He licked a drop of mustard that was inching out of the bun as he threw a glance at Len’s paunch. “Did Nancy get you on a seeds and nuts diet now?”

Len waved a piece of his whole-wheat turkey sandwich. “I’m lucky my wife knows about nutrition and got me to change my habits before it was too late.”

“Uh-huh. I heard that too much whole wheat can give you uncontrollable urges to watch the Shopping Channel.”

“You know what your trouble is? You need a woman of your own to take care of you.”

Naturally, an image of Becky munching on her salad stole into Jake’s mind at that comment. “Nope,” he mumbled around another bite of hot dog. “Not in the market.”

“Hey, Jake.” Lurleen, who worked the lunch shift at Edna’s
diner on weekdays, paused beside their booth with her carafe in hand. “Do you want a refill on that coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She smiled, brushing his shoulder as she leaned over to pour, then looked at Len. “How are you doing on that milk? Need a refill?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay, then. Let me know when you’re ready for dessert. We’ve got pecan pie, Jake. Your favorite.”

Len watched Lurleen as she moved away, her hips swishing beneath her pink uniform. “I think she likes you.”

Jake had been aware of Lurleen’s interest for months. She was an attractive woman, but he had no intention of dating her and potentially messing up a good thing. This diner was his favorite place to eat, and he was more concerned about getting food here than getting companionship.

Yet if he did decide to date someone, a woman like Lurleen would be a more sensible choice than a woman like Becky. She was closer to his age. She was good-looking, but not a knockout, so she didn’t addle his wits whenever she was around. The memory of her face didn’t pop into his mind without warning to distract him the way Becky’s had been doing. Lurleen didn’t stir up his protective instincts or haunt his thoughts or…

Or interest him in the least.

“Sure, she likes me,” Jake said. “I’m a good tipper. You going to eat that pickle?”

“No. Do you realize how much salt is in one of those things?”

Jake plucked the pickle off Len’s plate and crunched into it, then slid his plate aside to clear a spot on the table. “Okay, do you have anything else to give me besides tips about better living through fiber?”

Len popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth,
wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and reached into his sport coat. He withdrew a long, buff-colored envelope and tossed it in front of Jake. “Don’t laugh. This paper is probably better for you than that hot dog.”

“Thanks, Len. I owe you one.”

“You bet you do. I’ve got a tally going.”

Jake waited until Len left before he opened the envelope that his friend had given him. Inside was a printout of Peters’s arrest record. Jake unfolded the papers and leaned his back into the corner of the booth as he studied them.

He’d been acting on a hunch when he’d decided to pursue the possibility that Floyd Peters was no stranger to the law. There had been something about Floyd’s tone, the hint of guilty conscience, that had made Jake wonder how much practice he’d had avoiding questions. His hunch had been right.

There were no recent arrests—all had occurred before he started working with NASCAR. Floyd’s first arrest had been at nineteen. Auto theft. The charge had been dismissed after another boy had confessed that he’d done the hot-wiring and Floyd had just been along for the ride.

The next arrest had been for vandalism, but that charge had been dropped, too, without getting to trial for lack of evidence. The third arrest had been more serious. It had been for assault.

Jake shuffled the papers until he found the notes Len had made for him. The assault had taken place at a bar in Charlotte, and had been more of a mutual slugfest than an attack, from the sound of it. Floyd hadn’t thrown the first punch, either. He’d been defending himself and his girlfriend from a group of bikers.

Peters had been a hotheaded kid, Jake thought. A little on the wild side, but none of the arrests pointed to a habitual criminal nature. There were no more recent arrests on his sheet after the one for assault, and he didn’t actually have a
criminal record, since no charges were ever laid. He’d kept his nose clean since he’d married Lizzie, the woman he’d fought to defend.

All right. That fit with the picture of Floyd’s character Jake had been putting together. The man had been impulsive and argumentative, but he’d learned self-control. There must have been plenty of passion, both good and bad, in his relationship with his wife. Lizzie must have meant a lot to him, since he’d stood up to a biker gang for her.

The question was, what else would Floyd have done for Lizzie?

There was no doubt their marriage had been rocky. Both Earl and Becky confirmed it. Plenty of couples believed a child would mend a floundering marriage, but the Peters hadn’t tried any of the legal adoption routes.

Jake turned back to the copy of Floyd’s arrest record. This was the reason Peters and his wife hadn’t pursued a conventional adoption. Few legitimate agencies would be inclined to give an infant to a man who had been arrested for assault.

Thus Floyd’s options would have been limited. He wouldn’t have been able to adopt through an agency, and he wouldn’t have the kind of money needed to obtain a child through the unscrupulous, illegal rings who trafficked in babies. It was still possible that he’d known someone who had wanted to give up her child without going through a lawyer.

It was also possible that he’d decided to steal one.

Jake refolded the papers and slipped them back into the envelope as he considered what he knew so far. Floyd Peters had a strong motive to kidnap Gina: he wanted to save his marriage by adopting a child, but he couldn’t do it legally. Floyd had opportunity: he had been on the NASCAR circuit the summer the Grosso twins were born, and would have
been in Nashville when Gina was kidnapped. Since Lizzie had usually traveled with him, she had likely been in Nashville, too. Both of them would have known Patsy Grosso was pregnant, and both of them would have heard she’d given birth to twins. Had they felt the Grossos could spare one?

Hospital security hadn’t been as sophisticated in the seventies as it was now. It wouldn’t have been that difficult for the Peters to snatch the baby, since Becky had said that Lizzie used to work as a receptionist in a hospital. Her job would have been in Charlotte, not Nashville, but it would have familiarized her with hospital routines. She could have figured out how to get in and out of a maternity ward without attracting attention. Add to that the fact Floyd had a history of impulsive behavior where Lizzie was concerned and the scenario became not only possible, but plausible.

So, the Peters had means, motive and opportunity. The deeper Jake dug, the more likely it looked that Becky could be Gina. Or…

Or was he interpreting the facts that way because he wanted to make Becky happy?

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn’t be sure of his objectivity where Becky was concerned. He had seen how important finding her birth family was to her, and from what he’d learned about her childhood, he could understand why. If it turned out that she was Gina, it would be like her youthful fantasy coming true. The Grossos would welcome her with no reservations. She would have someplace to belong. And Patsy would be thrilled to have a daughter like Becky.

So it was absolutely vital for Jake to keep a clear head.

“Here’s your pie, Jake.” There was the sound of crockery clicking on the table in front of him. “Hey, are you okay?”

Jake didn’t recall ordering pie, but Lurleen had brought him a piece, anyway. No, not a piece, a slab. It was so large
it hung over the edges of the plate. He thanked her and picked up his fork. The extra sugar was bound to improve the circulation in his brain.

B
ECKY CHECKED
her watch and grimaced at how late she was. It was almost five, so she wouldn’t blame Jake if he’d decided not to wait for her. She ran up the remaining flight of stairs to the second floor, then hurried down the hall. Her heart sank when she noticed a man loitering outside Jake’s office door.

Jake had told her that he spent most of his time away from his office, which made sense. A private investigator would need to do stakeouts or interview witnesses or follow people. That’s what they did in the movies, anyway. There was only so much a person could find out by telephone or computer. She couldn’t expect Jake to stay here indefinitely. He had a business to run, and finding Gina Grosso wouldn’t be his only case.

“Oh, no,” she said as she neared the man by the door. He was short and dark, and though the day’s heat had penetrated the hall, he kept his chin against his chest as if he were cold. “Isn’t Mr. McMasters there?”

As soon as she spoke, the man shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away from Jake’s office. He walked past her quickly and headed for the stairs, leaving a whiff of stale cigarette smoke in his wake.

She wondered about the man’s behavior for a moment until a high-pitched whine came from the office next to Jake’s. It was the unmistakable sound of a dentist’s drill.

Becky shook her head in sympathy. The man must have been heading for the dentist, not Jake, and had lost his nerve. She continued to Jake’s door. Like the others on this floor, it had an old-fashioned frosted-glass window set into the wood and another window above the lintel. Judging by the
lack of an elevator and the worn risers on the wooden stairs, this building was likely as old as her landlady’s house.

Jake must enjoy the character of old buildings as much as she did, Becky thought. Otherwise, he probably would have found an office in a place where he didn’t have to negotiate a flight of stairs. On the other hand, she couldn’t imagine Jake admitting that any obstacle was too much for him.

She tried the knob to find it was locked. Rapping lightly on the door, she tried to peer through the frosted glass but couldn’t see any sign of movement inside. Sighing, she stepped back and was about to give up when she noticed the mail slot in the lower part of the door. She was considering whether to leave Jake a note when she heard him call her name.

“Becky!” Jake was walking toward her from the direction of the staircase. “Sorry, I’m late,” he said as he approached. “The city decided resurfacing only the roads that weren’t one-way would be a good idea. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Don’t apologize. I just got here. We were probably stuck in the same jam.” She smiled as he drew nearer. In spite of the cane, his movements were fluid since he incorporated his limp into the rhythm of his stride. He was carrying a dark blue gym bag in his free hand. He must work out, she decided, once again appreciating his trim physique. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

“No problem.” He unlocked his door and ushered her in. “Just give me a few minutes to stash my stuff and I’ll be right with you.”

The office was deep and narrow, but he’d made the most of the space. A row of filing cabinets lined one wall while a bookshelf and large storage cabinet stood against the other. Farther into the room, two invitingly worn, burgundy leather armchairs were angled in front of a scarred oak desk with a brass banker’s lamp. The high-backed chair behind the desk
was upholstered in more burgundy leather. Sunlight from the window in the far wall was filtered by a set of wooden-slatted venetian blinds, giving the afternoon a feeling of dusk.

Becky thought the place suited him. The vintage furniture looked comfortable and practical, with no pretenses. All he needed was an outer office with a secretary, a rotary-dial phone and manual typewriter on his desk rather than a computer, and the office could have served as the set for an old detective movie.

Jake took an envelope from his gym bag, unlocked one of the filing cabinets and put the contents of the envelope inside. Next, he took a camera from the bag and placed it on a shelf in the storage cabinet. Becky glimpsed a row of neatly arranged electronic equipment beneath it, along with something that resembled a microphone inside a large, plastic bowl. It must be one of those parabolic microphones like the kind she had seen on the sidelines at football games. This was his surveillance gear, she thought, her curiosity stirring. “Were you on a stakeout?”

“You could call it that.”

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“Boring. It’s a necessary evil in this business, though. Sometimes it’s the only way to catch a break.”

“Can you tell me about the one today?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with your case.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m curious.”

He relocked both cabinets, hooked the strap of his gym bag on a wooden coat tree beside the door and looked at her. “Why are you so interested?”