Motor Mouth (Alex Barnaby 2)

“I was thinking Ray would tell us. All we have to do is kidnap Ray and beat the crap out of him until he talks to us.”

I felt my mouth drop open, and I guess I must have looked as horrified as I felt.

“What?” Hooker said.

“Do you have an alternative plan?”

“Not at the moment.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk if we beat him?”

“I’ve been beat on a lot, and I always talk.”

“Let’s go on the assumption that the chip has something to do with the murders. Ray really wants that chip back.”

“If we gave the chip to NASCAR, he could lose the championship,” Hooker said.

“Yeah, but he’s never cared about the car side of the business before. Why does he care so much about the championship now? And his dead brother would take the hit. Ray would say he knew nothing about it. Ray would come out clean. And anyway, NASCAR would impose a fine and some sanctions, but they wouldn’t take the championship away. They’d have to undo too many things that are already in motion. Photo ops and satellite radio tours and television appearances. Not to mention party favors for the banquet next week.”

“So?”

“I think there’s something else going on with the chip.”

“Like it has some secret James Bond code on it that can be used to destroy the world?”

“Nothing that glamorous. I was thinking more about the things Steven told us…a breakthrough in computer technology. Or a new and better battery.”

Hooker looked doubtful. “Do you think someone would kill for a better battery?”

“A better battery could be worth a lot of money.”

Hooker kissed the nape of my neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“I’m getting friendly.”

“There’s no getting friendly. We don’t get friendly anymore.”

Hooker was a good lover for the same reason he was a good race-car driver. He never gave up. It didn’t matter whether he was closing in on the leader, or if he was twenty laps down, he put out the same effort. And if he was in cruising mode, it was only because he was pacing himself and reorganizing. Hooker wasn’t a quitter…not in a car and not in bed. And apparently that characteristic carried over to not giving up on failed relationships. Or hell, what do I know? Maybe he just didn’t spend enough quality time in the bathroom this morning.

“Suppose we go to jail? Suppose the bad guys find us and kill us? Don’t you want to get one last orgasm in?” Hooker asked.

“No!”

Hooker kissed me, and somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, his hand had wandered to my breast. Turns out race-car drivers also aren’t good with no. No isn’t a word they entirely comprehend.

“Not in front of the dog,” I said to Hooker, pushing his hand away.

“The dog isn’t looking.”

“The dog is looking.”

Beans had climbed out of the cargo area and was sitting with his butt on the backseat. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“Would you get friendly if the dog wasn’t looking?” Hooker asked.

“No. Could you please put your libido on hold? I have some ideas. We could talk to Spanky’s spotter.”