“I’m saying exactly what you think I am. Her stalker is someone close to her. Someone she trusts. Someone you trust. And it’s someone here on one of your teams, but I’d bet anything it’s someone from hers,” I explain with every drop of conviction in me.
His face doesn’t pale this time. Quite the opposite. He turns so many shades of red I think he might be physically choking on his rage.
We’re drawing attention, so before he can react further, I shake my head at him, and he presses his lips together. I motion for him to follow me, and he does. All the way to my truck in the parking lot.
“How many people are on her team?” I ask.
“Ten, I think. But every one of them has been with her for years. Most of them grew up with her for heaven’s sake. You’ve gotta be wrong,” he says. But I think he knows I’m not.
“Is anyone missing today? Or has anyone been acting differently?” I ask.
He stares at his building. “No. No, everyone has been normal. I mean, her team has been working extra hard since they all think she’s dead, but they’re grieving. Trying to stay busy.”
“Busy doing what?” I ask, because to me, the picture is starting to come into pretty damn good focus.
He covers his mouth with his hand in thought. “Uh, when they aren’t helping Jackson prep for his races, they’ve been doing some body work. Just practicing to pass the time,” he says.
“Damn it all to hell,” I say as I grip the steering wheel.
“What?” he asks.
“My Shelby Mustang was the car used to run her off the road, I can’t prove it without more evidence, but I’m betting someone in there has all the proof I need,” I say as I point to Tyler Motorsports.
“How do you know?” he asks. I can’t explain I was having sex with his daughter on the hood of my car and how it triggered her to remember, but I can explain her memory of my car when I was following her back to town.
“She remembered my car chasing them that night. It was what finally brought her memory back. I was driving behind her one night and it all clicked for her because of how my car looked in her rearview mirror,” I explain.
“I don’t understand,” he says.
“I didn’t either. But I told her it had to be a car like mine, but the truth is, there aren’t many Shelby Mustangs like mine on the road. Still, it took her accusation and her needing space from me after that memory crashed into her for me to examine my car. I was losing my mind trying to give her space and wondering if we could ever come back from this mess and have a future. And that’s when I saw it,” I tell him.
“I started to search every inch of my car, and at first, I came up empty. But then something on my headlight caught my eye and I saw it. It’s a long scratch. I don’t drive it much and I’ve never damaged it in any way. Upon further inspection, evidence was found where clips had once been and then removed. I never had anything like that put on it, and I’m the only owner.”
“Clips for what?” he asks even though he knows.
“For whatever guard someone had mounted to it,” I say bluntly.
His jaw muscle is jumping.
“Don’t you have cameras?” he asks.
“Ironically, not in my garage of all places, no. But I have a friend who’s a cop and he could tell my cameras had been tampered with. His computer forensic investigator just informed us.”
He curses under his breath.
“So, someone stole your car to frame you?” he asks trying to wrap his head around this messed-up situation.
“It would seem so. I just got word about the evidence of clips. Jimmy, the officer I’m friends with, found it, but no prints,” I explain.
“What now?” he asks. “How does this help us find her?”
“If I know her as well as I think I do, she’s going to draw him out with a race,” I tell him.
“I don’t understand,” he says.
“I don’t either but trust me. She’s going to stay the ghost everyone thinks she is until the exact moment she’s ready to show herself. And when she does, there’ll be no missing it.”
30
