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

radio in Charlotte would likely skewer him, creating an entire segment to analyze his sensitivity, or lack thereof. Yet he had no choice. This was the assignment. A cushy trip to Texas morphed into a nightmare for Cal. Carson Tanner was dead—and there was no way around it.

Then Jessica stood up. Cal stared at her silhouetted frame, outlined by the pronounced pooch from her stomach area. He’d forgotten she was pregnant.

Cal watched as one of the pit crew members helped Jessica down the ladder that accessed the perch overlooking pit road. She crumpled to the ground once she stepped off the ladder, pounding with her fist onto the asphalt. “Why? Why? Why?” she wailed.

It was an answer everyone wanted, but likely it was a simple one: mechanical failure.

It’s not like Tanner would suddenly forget how to drive, not after rounding Turn 3 without incident 333 previous times that afternoon. Something went wrong at the absolute worst time — and it would remain a mystery for the time being. All that was known was the horrible news: Carson Tanner, at age 25, was dead.

Cal scrambled around pit road, gathering as much information as he could about the incident as well as comments from other drivers about the race itself. Despite the tragedy, there was still a story to write, albeit an overshadowed one.

Cashman, who was seconds away from virtual elimination with a Tanner victory, reasserted himself into the championship chase—a fact that nearly every fan bemoaned. He had now qualified for the finale in Miami, benefitting the most from the spectacular crash behind him. Cal acknowledged that no one could fault him since it wasn’t something he did that caused Tanner to crash. But everyone could certainly resent Cashman for it, especially after Cal would report that Cashman burned off his tires near the finish line while the last breath escaped from Tanner. It provided the stark contrast about two of the most successful drivers during the tour. One beloved, the other reviled.

With all his interviews completed, Cal settled into his seat and typed his stories. First the story about the race itself, then the heavy one: Carson Tanner’s crash and death.

In a short conversation with a teary-eyed Sylvia Yates, Cal learned that the girl who was with Tanner during driver introductions was a cancer patient named Ella, a girl fighting for her life who’d been connected with Tanner through the Make-a-Wish foundation. It wasn’t anything Yates publicized, per Tanner’s request. He told her he wanted to do good for good’s sake, not to impress fans and the general public.

“That’s just the kind of man that Tanner is,” Sylvia had told Cal as she paused. “I mean, was.”

Cal brushed a tear back from his own eyes while he typed. It was one thing to speak with an athlete who’d just experienced a season-ending injury, but it was another to ask questions about a man who had died just moments ago.

He finished the story and emailed it to his editor. He waited for confirmation that he’d received it. A text arrived fifteen minutes later:

“Good work, Cal.”

He packed up his laptop and notes before heading out the door. The usual jovial mood writers shared as they finished up a weekend of race coverage was gone, replaced by a somber tone. Cal slipped out the door, content to let everyone process the tragic events without interruption.

He strolled through the pits, still bustling with activity. NASCAR checked racecars to make sure they were compliant. Those teams that had already finished were loading their cars onto their haulers and exiting as quickly as possible.

Cal stared at the scene, one that still seemed surreal in light of the race’s tragic events. He remained oblivious to others around him as he took in the sights. Then someone bumped into him.

“What the—”

“Sorry,” the man said. He kept walking without as much as a glance over his shoulder.

Cal jammed his hands in his pockets and felt a piece of paper he would’ve sworn wasn’t there moments ago. He fished it out and unfolded it. He read it and put his hand over his gaping mouth:

“That crash was no accident.”

CHAPTER 3

NED DAVIS SCOOTED across the pit area and disappeared inside the No. 39 Davis Motorsports Team hauler, which stretched about 80 feet. The throng of reporters clambering after him to get a quote about Carson Tanner’s crash horrified him, almost as much as the accident itself. He knew eventually he’d have to say something and wanted to—but not now.

He skipped up the steps to the meeting area at the front of the truck. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it with a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to see his girlfriend, Alexa Jennings.

“Come to momma,” she said, shifting into an upright position on the couch. “I think you need some lovin’.”

Davis plopped down next to her and slouched on the sofa. Without warning, she grabbed him and buried his head into her chest.

Alexa stroked his head. “It’s okay, papa bear. Everything is gonna be all right.”

He pulled back and eyed her carefully. “Do you know what happened out there today?”

She nodded. “Just because I care more about you doesn’t mean I’m insensitive. I thought of Tanner as my own son, but you’re the one who needs comforting right now.”

When Davis started dating Alexa a year and a half ago, comfort wasn’t one of the traits that drew him to her. Her freakishly large bosom and piercing green eyes caught his attention first—and in that order.

Sufficiently drunk one evening at a strip club in Vegas, he tipped her more than she’d made in the previous two months. Before the end of the night, he propositioned her with something more intriguing than an invite to his hotel room.

“Join me on the road,” Davis said.

She looked him up and down. “Honey, haven’t you heard? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“I want to take Vegas with me.”

She