“I know how to party,” Colby said dryly. “Point is, there’s a pattern. Every time a certain vendor in the Southeast region pops up in the bulletins, there’s a corresponding bump in spending from at least three teams, including the Dragons. Bigger than would make sense for just replacement parts.”
Bree frowned. “You think they’re buying black-market performance kits under the table.”
“I think they’re paying for something that doesn’t show up on the books,” Colby said. “The shell company Diaz traced that rental car to? It’s linked to a warehouse address in that vendor’s town. My guess is the parts come in there, get distributed through ‘consultants’ who show up at tracks, and disappear again.”
“Can Diaz use that?” Carmen asked.
“Maybe,” Colby said. “It’s not enough by itself; she needs something more solid. But it gives her a place to look. And it gives us a sense of the scope. This isn’t just one desperate rider with a hot bottle; it’s a whole network.”
Bree’s stomach tightened. “Are we poking a bigger bear than we realized?” she asked.
“Probably,” Colby said. “But somebody was going to, sooner or later. We just made sure it happened before someone died on live TV.”
She swallowed. “Great. That makes me feel so much better.”
He winced. “Sorry,” he said. “That sounded less comforting out loud.”
“I get what you meant,” she said. “I just… don’t love knowing there’s a network.”
“Diaz said the same,” Colby said. “Then she told me to keep my nose in the legitimate side and bring her anything I find. She’s looping in state and maybe federal if it looks interstate enough.”
“Which it does,” Carmen said. “Those guys brag about how many tracks they’re working.”
Bree folded her hands around her cup; they felt cold, even though the coffee was still warm.
“What do you need from me?” Bree asked.
"I actually wanted to talk out loud to someone with a good head on her shoulders to see if it makes sense."
Bree smiled. "It makes sense."
The bell over the café door chimed. Hank walked in, scanning the room automatically. His gaze found their table; his shoulders relaxed a notch as he threaded his way between chairs.
“Sorry,” he said, dropping a hand to Bree’s shoulder as he sat beside her. “Jason called while I was paying the bill for breakfast; he wanted to double-check a couple of measurements. I think he sleeps with that tape measure.”
“How bad is it?” Bree asked.
“Better than it could be,” Hank said. “Worse than my optimistic brain wanted. We’re not broke, we’re not rich. We’re in that fun middle ground called ‘tight but doable’.”
“Story of my life,” Carmen said.
Hank nodded toward Colby’s tablet. “You show them your conspiracy board?” he asked.
“Cliff notes version,” Colby said.
“Good,” Hank said. He glanced at Carmen. “You still heading out today?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Heidi and I are caravanning back, she’s got to be at work in the morning, and Mom will panic if she thinks we stayed in town just to get murdered by your shadow man.”
“Reasonable fear,” Bree said.
Carmen finished her coffee and set the empty cup on the table with a soft thud. “All right,” she said. “I hate goodbyes, so we’re going to make this quick.”
She stood; Bree and Hank followed.
Carmen hugged Bree first, longer this time, her hand pressing warm between Bree’s shoulder blades. “You call me if you need help packing,” she murmured. “I can be bribed with coffee and the promise of local gossip.”
“Deal,” Bree said thickly.
