Dead and Gone Jack Patterson (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

might get into a fight, the kind of fight where only one person won. And he doubted it would be him.

He turned the radio off and checked his rearview mirror again. A light flickered in the distance as he switched lanes.

Am I being followed?

Parker resigned himself to the fact that he was nothing more than paranoid, not that he blamed himself. Gambling was a bad habit with dire consequences—if you didn’t keep winning. He couldn’t remember the last time he won, which led to his sad state of affairs. In a matter of months, he rolled up $40,000 in losses just prior to his retirement. Foolishly, he believed he could double or triple the money, padding the modest nest egg he’d managed to accumulate for Nancy and himself. Reality was coming back to extricate payment—and pain.

He glanced again in the mirror. The car behind him seemed to speed up as the traffic exiting the city thinned with each exit. Before too long, he passed the last bedroom community to Phoenix and was headed deep into the desert in search of his cell phone.

At least it will all be over after this.

He checked his watch. He doubted he’d make it back in time to meet the reporter. That was his backup plan. Cal Murphy wouldn’t have time to write a story until after he’d received his money from Ned Davis. And even if Davis suspected him, it’s not like he’d make that public or complain about it. Parker surmised that even more suspicion would be cast Davis’s way if he tried to do something to him.

Ninety minutes into his errand, Parker decided he needed some coffee. He eyed his mirror again. There were a few cars way behind him. He exhaled and relaxed. When the next exit rolled up on him three miles later he pulled off, glancing once more into his mirror to see if any cars followed him. They didn’t.

This ought to be simple enough.

He pulled into a truck stop and trudged inside. The coffee choices turned Parker’s stomach, but this wasn’t about luxury—it was about survival. He needed a warm cup to keep him company for the remaining drive ahead that night.

To pass the time, he recalled aloud the drivers who had won the championships in chronological order.

1978, Cal Yarborough. 1979, Richard Petty. 1980, Dale Earnhardt. 1981, Darrell Waltrip. 1982, Darrell Waltrip. 1983, Bobby Allison.

He stopped. Exit 303.

Parker put his flashers on and got out of his car. Armed with a flashlight, he began combing the desert brush along the I-10 for his phone. Calling the old phone would do no good since the battery was surely dead.

For ten minutes, he walked over the area in search of the phone until he finally spotted it.

Bingo!

As he reached down to pick it up, Parker heard a sound he dreaded. A rapid clicking sound. He froze and slowly turned to look behind him with the phone securely in his hand. He shined the light on the ground behind him and confirmed his suspicions. A rattlesnake.

Parker slid the phone into his pocket and contemplated his next move. He knew rattlesnakes weren’t the world’s fastest animals, but there weren’t many things slower than him. He decided to back up slowly and keep the light trained on the snake. After several steps backward, the snake didn’t move. Just a few more steps. It didn’t move. Confident that he had the head start he needed to reach his car about twenty yards away, Parker decided to turn and run.

He didn’t make it back to his car before he felt a searing pain shoot up his leg.

Parker shook his leg and flung the snake into the road. He hurried into his car and checked his leg. It hurt but it didn’t look like the bite was too deep or long.

He turned the ignition on his car as it roared to life. Without another thought, he drove across the median and headed back toward Phoenix. He knew he needed to have it looked at by a doctor in an emergency room just thirty minutes west of his location in Tucson.

Nancy would never understand … or forgive me.

He’d just grit it out. He stomped on the accelerator and clenched his teeth.

CHAPTER 21

CAL GROWLED WHEN HIS CALL to Sylvia Yates went straight to voicemail. She always had her phone on, so something seemed off other than just her phone. If she wanted to talk to me, she wouldn’t be avoiding me, so what gives? He climbed the steps of the media center and sat down at one of the outside tables.

He reviewed what Alayna French told him. Alayna had said, “Sylvia told me to tell you that you had the green light to continue working on that story and to call her.”

Not that he needed her permission, but her blessing on a story of this nature made for a more desirable working relationship.

Cal mulled over what to do for a few minutes before deciding to make a visit to the Davis Motor Sports hauler. Perhaps he could talk to her in person or—even better—talk to Alexa Jennings.

When Cal inquired as to Sylvia’s whereabouts, no one knew. The driver for the hauler said he’d seen her a few minutes ago, but she left for some sponsorship appearance.

Cal put his hands on his hips and surveyed the garage. Crews scurried around making final adjustments or cleaning up for the day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Some of the haulers looked desolate, apparently finished for the afternoon. He continued scanning the garage when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He spun around to find Alexa Jennings behind him.

“Lookin’ for a scoop, Mr. Newspaper Man?” she said.

Cal stepped back and stared at Alexa. He figured she must’ve been a raving beauty at one point in her life and manipulated men to get what she wanted through a variety of conniving methods. Now, she relied on thick makeup, Botox, hair extensions and several obvious enhancements