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Beyond the Winner's Circle: Cameron Motorsports, #2
by Sutton Fox
Ratings:
321 pages4 hours
Summary
Murder has them on track for a head-on crash. Can love set them straight?
She's the heiress to a racing fortune, but the police suspect she killed to get it. He's the jaded ex-cop hired to keep her safe, or put her behind bars. Then passion sends them into a spin, with danger close behind … a race they'll only win if they trust each other.
Julia Cameron just inherited a billion-dollar auto-racing empire, but she'd rather have her adoptive parents back. And now she's under police investigation for their deaths. Once a street kid fighting to survive, Julia retained a deep distrust of the law. As for the hunky, former cop who's her new bodyguard—he's a distraction she can't afford in her race to find the killer.
Roane Jameson survived years on the police force and a nasty divorce, so when it comes to women, he's burnt out. He's convinced Julia's trying to get away with murder. But the poor little rich girl turns out to be a smart, savvy woman who’ll do whatever it takes to protect those she loves, even allow a former cop into her life. And running this close tempts him to find out just what's under her gorgeous exterior.
But Roane must keep his hands on the wheel—because if Julia's innocent, the murderer is still on the loose … and he'll try to knock her off the track next. Locked in a deadly race, Roane and Julia must work as a team to find the killer. But driving blind and racing the clock, can they reach the winner's circle?
Publisher: Hearts Desire PressReleased: Sep 13, 2013ISBN: 9780989723619Format: book
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Beyond the Winner's Circle - Sutton Fox
memories.
Prologue
––––––––
Death lingered quietly in the dark, dressed in worn blue jeans. Laughing and unaware, the couple held hands as they walked. The easy grace of long time intimacy polished their movements into perfect unison. She smiled up at him, and he down at her, as they passed.
Patches of light adorned the black quilt of night blanketing the half-empty motor home paddock. Surrounded by vacancies, the Prevost coach sat parked all alone. Nearby spots quietly waited for occupants who would begin arriving at the speedway late tomorrow afternoon.
*
Oblivious to the familiar surroundings, Butch Cameron ignored the feeling of being watched. If he worried about it all the time, he’d never get anything done. Chances were, it was either a new track employee or a reporter and, after years of being followed around by both, neither warranted attention.
Instead, he looked down at his lovely wife of twenty-four years. Blonde hair shot through with silver, she was even more beautiful now than the day he married her. He didn’t feel like he needed a day off, but she did. Although Lacey never complained, the constant traveling grew more tedious every year.
A day at the lake did you a world of good. I’m glad we came to California a bit early. It’s such a lovely drive up to Big Bear in the spring,
Lacey said as she huffed a tired sigh.
Tapping in the code to unlock the door, Butch pulled it open as he pulled her into his arms. Inhaling the fresh scent of woods and forest which still clung to her, he spoke softly into her ear. It’s great in the winter too. Would you like to spend Christmas at the lake?
Oh, Butch. That would be wonderful. The kids will love it. Julia can teach the boys to ski. They can go skiing before and after dinner. Well, maybe not after,
she laughed as she hugged him.
So I take it Levi and Colin are getting new ski gear for Christmas?
They moved up the few stairs as Butch locked the door and touched the switch for low lighting. Plush rugs, laid over marble tile, swallowed their footsteps while each went into their nightly routine without conscious thought. Lacey went directly to the bathroom for make-up removal and whatever mysterious night creaming rituals she carried out. Butch headed to the rear stateroom, king-size bed and remote control.
Of course. It’s past time for them to learn. They’re doing so well aren’t they?
Lacey spoke from the bathroom. The noise of running water, opening drawers and the gargled scrub of tooth brushing ended her sentence.
He heard the love in her voice for the twin boys they’d adopted four years ago. At twelve, the boys’d been skinny, scared and in the system way too long. They’d reminded him of Julia when she’d come to them at that age. She’d been frail, with a mass of tangled red hair and a face dominated by a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
Although each child had come with their own set of special problems, Butch didn’t regret either choice. He loved them as his own, and knew Lacey did too. They were a family. He would always take care of his own.
Lacey glided into the stateroom wearing what he knew was her favorite peach-colored silken nightgown. She sat on the bed, back against the pillows, and switched on the bedside lamp. Butch smiled as she propped her glasses on the end of her nose and picked up yet another book. What she did with all of them, he had no idea. It was a wonder they had any storage space at all.
Before opening the book, she looked at him. Did you have a chance to mention your dirt racing plan to Julia?
I did. She was surprised at first. Then all she did was grin after she figured out I hadn’t totally lost my mind.
In my opinion, you’ve never been saner. Now put down that remote and come over here.
I thought you were going to read.
She smiled a smile he knew oh-so-well. I changed my mind.
Book and glasses went back to the nightstand as she opened her arms. Shutting off the television, he moved into them gladly.
Before I forget to tell you, I got another call from D. It didn’t go well,
Butch murmured, breathing in the familiar and wholly female smell of flowery night creams.
That’s unbelievable. It’s tantamount to blackmail. Maybe you should call the police.
With what? The fact that somebody threatened me? Fans do that all the time when my driver beats their driver. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.
He used the remote to turn off all the lights and snuggle in with his love.
*
Finally.
The signal worth waiting for. As the lights in the motor home blinked out; Death moved away, out of range. Fortunately there was no one else around this late at night. Hopping onto a waiting bicycle, the appropriate distance fast became reality. Death looked back at the target, a remote shape in the darkness. The press of a button changed everything.
The explosion rocked the ground.
An orange fireball of flame shot into the air. Flying pieces followed as the motor home disintegrated. Shrapnel pierced coaches parked several spaces away as lights blinked on all around the paddock.
Death may have been out of range, but it wasn’t out of reach.
Chapter 1
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Six months later ...
Venom wrapped its choking tentacles around the core of her, splayed upward from the angry crowd below. Standing on the steps of the police station, Julia Cameron hesitated briefly, her eyes scanning the crowd. How had the fans known about her being here? The only people who knew she’d been asked to go over her statement were the police, FASPRO officials and her family. Ha, what was left of her family.
Murderer!
hissed an angry voice to the right. Liar!
shouted from the left. Never short of courage, she stiffened her spine and descended the steps. At the bottom, the crowd closed around her like the fabled octopi, tentacles searching deftly for signs of weakness.
Get back. Let the lady through.
The officer in charge of her police escort surged ahead to make way. Two men, one on each side, moved with her while her attorney followed close behind.
Ms. Cameron, can we get a statement please?
Julia turned at the voice, just in time to see a flash of red move into view along with a microphone. Whipped back and forth by the movement of so many bodies, she tried to recognize the speaker. Blood-red acrylic nails gripped the microphone in a tight fist.
Julia’s gaze followed a length of arm clad in crimson silk, right up to a shoulder covered in a froth of blonde hair. Great, just what she needed. FASPRO reporter, Dana Gregory, bitch-goddess in the flesh. It must be a slow news day to get her out on the street.
No comment.
Their eyes met and clashed, neither giving an inch. So that was how the fans were aware of what was happening at the police station today. One small leak and, pronto, instant circus.
Is it true you’re being charged with murder?
No. It’s—ouch!
Someone in the crowd yanked hard on the end of her braid. She felt the pull of it all the way to her scalp. Julia turned quickly, ready to confront the attacker, when a little boy wearing a Cameron Motorsports t-shirt kicked her in the shin.
Creep!
he shouted and ducked back into the crowd.
She felt as if someone had slapped her. Hard. Swept along by the policemen and the surging mass of humanity, she focused on the car waiting at the curb as humiliation swamped her. How could it have come to this?
It seemed like an eternity ago that the fans had cheered her as she sat atop the war wagon with her dad. She’d watched them over the years, and knew sometimes fans were fickle, but she’d never expected this kind of reaction.
Steadily, the small group pushed through the crowd. The limousine driver hustled around and opened the door as they approached. The officer’s flanked her, as Julia ducked inside.
Silence wrapped around her as the door closed, shutting out the noise of the crowd and soothing her frazzled nerves. Breathing a sigh of relief she didn’t feel, Julia leaned back to let the soft leather seat cradle her. She worked her head back and forth and tried to release the knots of tension gathered at the base of her neck.
She faced her attorney across the plush black interior and gave voice to her doubts. Do you think coming back in voluntarily helped at all?
It definitely helped. There’s no way they can say you weren’t cooperative throughout the investigation,
he replied.
Do you have any idea how long it will be before they close this case?
He looked thoughtful, and took his time answering. Well, it depends on a number of factors. The reality of the situation is this. There’s no statute of limitations on a first degree murder charge in the state of California. Essentially the case could remain open indefinitely.
Then this could go on for years?
I’m sorry to say this, Julia, but yes, it could. No witnesses have come forward with any pertinent information. In this instance, it’s unfortunate that your parents were high-profile people. The case is made even more difficult by the fact that they were killed at a track in California and they lived in North Carolina. So do you. Even though it was three days before the race, there were still over a thousand people at the track. More than sixty in the motor-home paddock that night alone. You’ve read the reports.
And nobody saw anything.
She shook her head in disbelief. It’s so frustrating. And yes, I’ve read the reports from the Sheriff’s Department, Cal State Investigative Bureau, FBI, and all the CSI documentation. Surely there’s something somewhere.
They’re doing a thorough job. The new evidence of an incendiary device at the murder scene is a step in the right direction.
She watched as he relaxed into the seat and clasped his hands together in his lap. The silence in the car increased as he stared out the window at the passing landscape.
Fall had crept into the Carolinas early this year. The blur of trees outside were brushed with strokes of gold, red and brown, amid slight tints of green. Straw-colored hills rolled into the distance, blending into gray clouds at the horizon. It would rain tonight. She could feel it in the air.
Julia tried to relax, resting her head against the seat. Angry and empty, her stomach roiled. The whole questioning process made her ill. She knew she needed to eat something, but she just wasn’t hungry.
Unable to settle, she reached into the mini-fridge for a bottle of water, and offered the attorney one.
No thanks. I’m fine.
Unclasping his hands, he raised one palm out to wave away the chilly container.
Placing it back in the small compartment, she twisted the top off her own drink and took a long swallow.
Mark had been her parent’s lawyer for ten years. Now he worked for her. They’d trusted him implicitly. Julia thought he was incredibly gifted when it came to law, but she didn’t trust him. She’d only ever completely trusted two people in her whole life, and now they were gone. Mark had always been the gregarious sort, which made her wonder at his sudden remoteness.
But?
she queried into the silence. His glance slid over to meet her eyes, then slipped quickly back to the window as he answered.
But, what?
Shoulders squared, Julia looked at him. We’ve known each other too long, Mark.
She leaned forward, elbows on knees, to emphasize her words. What aren’t you telling me?
The vibration in her pocket saved him from a reply. She’d removed her ear bud at the station so she hurried to pull out her phone. Recognizing the caller, she answered. Hey, Kelly.
A shadow of regret haunted her as she thought about how many people were being dragged through the mud with her. How many stood by her, and how many bolted at the first sign of trouble. Her personal assistant of six years was one of several who’d stayed. Most of them had held fast, more out of loyalty to her parents and the sport than to her.
When Butch asked her to come back home, Julia hadn’t argued. If he’d asked, he’d thought she was ready. Her dad never did anything without a plan. She’d sold her company and her condo in New York and moved south. Back to Oak Flats, North Carolina. Kelly had moved with her.
Hey, Julia. Just checking on you. How’d it go?
It went as well as can be expected. I’m still free.
She spoke softly into the phone.
What do you mean, you’re still free?
Concern came through Kelly’s voice loud and clear.
There’s new evidence. They’re still trying to bring everything together. The good news is Homeland Security has issued their report and no terrorist activity was involved. The FBI is still sifting through effects, since it’s all pretty much in pieces from the explosion.
That’s good, at least. When will you be home?
We’re on our way to the FASPRO meeting right now.
A quick glance at her watch told her they’d be there right on time. Are the boys home from school yet?
No, it’s too early.
Frowning at the negative response, she made a quick mental review of the boys’ schedule. That’s right, it’s Tuesday. Wrestling practice. Great. I’ll be home for dinner. Tell Rosa we’ll do pizza, okay? After a day like today, I want comfort food. I’ll send the car for Levi and Colin once practice is finished. Thanks, Kel.
Clicking off the phone, Julia dug in her handbag for the ear bud and slipped it back in place. She pinned Mark with a glare. Where were we, oh yes, what aren’t you telling me?
There isn’t an easy way to say this.
He shifted in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. Head lowered, he rubbed a hand slowly over his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at her with tired eyes. You do realize you’re the prime suspect?
Of course. I’d have to be comatose not to. Lieutenant Axelrod all but handcuffed me. You were there.
The stern face of the detective came to mind. He’d done everything but force her to sign a confession to her parents’ murder. He was pretty clear in stating the facts. With the new evidence, everybody is looking long and hard. In my direction. If they try to pin this on me, what are my options?
I’m sorry, Julia. They can’t link it to you, so there’s nothing to worry about. If it comes down to them charging you, we’ll talk about your options. Otherwise, it’s business as usual. I know that’s easier said than done. The media is pressuring them to do something. It doesn’t help that the cup team is leading the points. It keeps their focus right on you and the whole organization.
Well that’s too bad. In spite of the tragedy—or maybe because of it—everyone has really pulled together this season. There are only four races left. We’ve got a real shot at winning this thing. What better tribute to everything my parents built than to be on that championship dais in New York?
For a brief moment, she felt overwhelmed. Weight pressed in on her chest, constricting her airflow. Julia inhaled slowly and deeply, and focused on that quiet place inside. She tried to comfort the little girl who lived there. The little girl she used to be. Feeling abandoned, left alone by her drunken mother. Again.
No, wait. Mom and dad wouldn’t leave her. That was her old life. Everything would be okay. Closing her eyes, Julia massaged her temples as she exhaled. Inhale and exhale. Slowly in and slowly out. Just like the grief counselor taught her. It’ll be okay, little girl. There wasn’t time for this. She knew it. Man up, woman.
Over three-hundred Cameron Motorsports employees depended on her to keep the organization running. Julia knew everyone missed Butch and Lacey, but they had families to feed. The world didn’t stop just because one woman wanted to get off. Thinking about things other than herself kept her going. The pit of despair would have to wait for another day.
Mark, I need you to do something else for me. I’d like you to start liquidating some assets. Start with Cameron Industries Steel, Cameron Designs and The Cameron Group of Architects.
Julia, that’s roughly sixty million dollars in assets. May I ask why?
She felt her eyes go steely, and her jaw tighten. Her voice came out switchblade sharp. Did you ever question my father like that?
When he stared at her without answering, she continued. I thought not. Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. That would be a fatal mistake.
I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds. It’s just that liquidating assets during an ongoing investigation makes you appear guilty. You’ll be lucky if they don’t find a way to freeze them.
She schooled her features into a calm façade, complete with a smile so sweet it dripped honey. Julia blinked at him as she reached into her bag. Then you’d better hurry up.
iPhone in hand again, she checked her email and confirmed a morning appointment in New York with the Femina group to talk about sponsorship for one of the cup cars and Morgan Blade’s truck. Pulling her braid over her shoulder, she rubbed absently at the sore spot on her scalp. If she could close this deal, Morgan would be the perfect spokesperson for a line of women’s lingerie. Tough cookies if the guys didn’t like it. Having a sponsor meant getting paid. Enough lingerie models hanging about would keep them quiet.
Mark, if we close this Femina deal, FASPRO may try to block it.
They won’t like it, but they can’t block it. The agreement is between Cameron Motorsports and Femina. There’s not a thing they can do about it.
He looked far more interested in this conversation. She watched as he snapped into full-on, kick-ass-lawyer mode.
I realize that. But when has it ever stopped them? I’ve got enough on my plate without taking on more litigation.
Don’t worry, Julia. That’s what you pay me for. Remember? It’s time these good ol’ boys came kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. And you’re just the woman to make it happen.
Was she? Doubtful. This particular glass ceiling had been around a long time. Stronger women than she had tried. And failed. Failure really wasn’t something she thought much about. For her it was more about removing obstacles from her path. If they objected, she’d simply find a way around their objections.
A small smile played on her lips as she thought about Butch encouraging her to be a lawyer. ‘You’ve got an argument for everything, little girl.’ He’d always say it with a smile and a hair ruffling hug.
The car cruised to a stop in front of the sleek steel and glass portico of the FASPRO building. It looked more like an ad for an art gallery than a sanctioning body for Motorsports. Her driver opened the car door and helped her out. Straightening her jacket and hooking her navy hobo over her shoulder, Julia felt as if the police interview had just been practice. Now she would enter the lions’ den. And they were all hungry.
They’d called this meeting on short notice, requesting her presence as soon as possible. All she knew was that they wanted to go over her interview and ask her some questions. Since it was their track, and they ran the show, they held a vested interest in what was going on. Attendance had been down all summer and the one thing the good ol’ boys didn’t like was somebody affecting their bottom line. Especially a woman.
Head held high, she approached the door. Mark stepped up beside her and grasped the handle. Eyes intense, he asked, Are you ready for this?
Ready or not, here we go.
Heels clicking, she walked through the door. And came face to face with a wall of action portraits, the most prominent ones of her father.
Oh, Daddy. Who took you away? Speculation served no purpose at this juncture. It’d been six months. She’d given the authorities long enough. Now it was time to set her plan in motion. Sure, she could hire a team of private detectives, but she knew the players better than anyone. And she’d always been a hands on kind of girl. There were more pieces to the puzzle, more clues to be found. She stared at the floor-to-ceiling collage without focusing, swearing silently that she wouldn’t give up until she’d found them all.
*
Roane Jameson dialed his cell phone as he shut the door of his drafty studio apartment and headed down the iron stairwell. Ignoring the lake view, if a water filtration plant could be called a lake, he weaved around the surly teen perched, with a smoke, on the bottom step.
Roane’s briefcase slipped off his shoulder and hit the ground, narrowly missing the kid’s outstretched legs. Wrestling it back into his grip, Roane’s steely-eyed look had the kid folding his feet and stomping out the butt, muttering, Sorry, sorry.
A loping gait carried Roane to a gently-used flex-fuel crossover. It would hold four people comfortably, if he could ever get the girls to come here. Of course they’d have to overlook the dent in the fender, but he hoped to distract them. The phone rang as he tossed his briefcase in the back seat.
Hello.
Irritation filled his ex-wife’s voice. She must have checked the caller ID before she answered.
Celia? Is Madison there?
She’s here.
The abrupt silence spoke volumes. Okay, so she’d force it out of him.
May I speak with her please?
She doesn’t want to talk to you.
How do you know? You didn’t ask her.
He tried and failed to keep the frustration out of his voice as he ducked his head to get in the car. The door to the dark blue vehicle slammed, seemingly of its own accord.
I know. I don’t have to ask her.
What about Holly or Ava?
If you paid your child support, maybe they’d want to talk to you.
She raised her voice loud enough he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
Voice completely level, he played it out one more time. This time Roane hoped it would be different and he’d get to talk to his girls. What are you talking about? Why are you yelling? The child support is paid. It always has been.
Not this again.
Don’t you call here screaming at me!
She sounded hysterical now.
Speaking softly, he replied, I’m sorry to bother you, Celia. Good-bye.
With the press of a button, he ended the call, her verbal abuse still echoing in his head. The nausea her voice brought on filled his stomach with acid. Hope rotted away along with it. Best to just concentrate on the job at hand.
Pulling out of the parking lot and onto Derry Hill road, he headed toward the FASPRO offices. Traffic milled up and down the streets of Oak Flats and slowed his progress. A nimble dodge around a lady dialing her phone in the left lane, and a couple of quick maneuvers, helped him pick up speed at the highway entrance. Five miles and one exit later, he drove into their freshly-paved lot.
Roane marveled at the contemporary architecture of the building. It was a long way from the mid-town red-brick police department he’d come from. His life in Iowa seemed like it had been lived by someone else.
He brought out his security badge for the guard and ran it through the scanner. The process amused him. Security couldn’t be tight enough for these racing types. Cataloging faces, as was his habit, he made sure to smile at the perky receptionist.
Hello, Carol, is it?
A cheeky grin, duck of his head and he captured her full attention. He watched her visibly relax. Her body language practically screamed ‘I’m available’ at him. Dark hair, unmercifully ironed flat and cut at sharp angles to her face, gave the young woman an elfin look.
Yes sir, Mr. Jameson. How are you today?
The smile couldn’t possibly get any wider, as she blushed and arranged her notepad and pencil in an even row. Is there anything you need?
Not from you. She couldn’t be much older than his daughters. Some guys liked that sort of thing. Once upon a time he had
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