Chapter 19
By late morning, the paddock had emptied out enough that Copper Moon started to feel like itself again.
Trucks rolled slowly toward the exit, haulers groaning under the weight of bikes and gear. Crew members in half-zipped jackets carried toolboxes and coils of hose, the frenetic energy of race day replaced by a tired, satisfied shuffle.
Bree stood near the entrance to Bay Street with her sketchbook tucked under her arm, the breeze from the harbor tugging at the ends of her hair. The warehouse sat at her back, a solid, waiting presence.
Carmen had texted an hour ago.
Coffee? One last civilized beverage before I hit the highway.
Bree had replied with the name of a little place off Main that did decent lattes and had mismatched armchairs that encouraged lingering. She’d walked to the warehouse first anyway; she needed to touch it, to remind herself why everything felt so very in-between.
She let her palm rest against the rough brick for a second, then headed toward town.
Main Street was in that post-event state where everything looked slightly disheveled; banners drooped, trash cans bulged, shop owners stood in doorways with brooms, sweeping confetti and sand back into rough order.
People still wore Cup T-shirts, but the edge of excitement had softened into the sleepy satisfaction of having witnessed something big.
The café bell jingled when she pushed the door open. Inside, the air smelled like espresso, cinnamon, and the faint tang of something citrus. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.
Carmen already occupied an armchair in the back corner, a to-go cup on the low table in front of her, her jacket folded neatly over the back of the chair. Without the Dragon logo blazing across her shoulders, she looked younger, or maybe just lighter.
“You’re early,” Bree said, dropping into the opposite chair.
“I wanted to make sure they didn’t run out of the good muffins,” Carmen said. “They didn’t. I got you one.” She nudged a napkin-wrapped bundle toward her.
Bree peeled it back: blueberry, with a crumble top. “You know my weaknesses.”
“I pay attention,” Carmen said. “Eventually.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few sips. Outside, a couple wandered past, arguing good-naturedly about whether to stop at the bookstore or the fudge shop first.
“So,” Carmen said at last. “How’s it feel? Waking up and knowing you’re not going home in two days.”
“Terrifying,” Bree said. “And… right.”
Carmen smiled, a corner of her mouth quirking. “Good terrifying, or the ‘I made a terrible mistake’ kind?”
“Good,” Bree said. She picked at the edge of her muffin. “I talked to my parents again this morning. They’d gone back to the cemetery to tidy up, like they always do after a visitation day. My mom was worried about the safety stuff; my dad wanted to know if the warehouse has decent parking.”
“He would get along with my father,” Carmen said. "Dads and parking stuff! They seemed okay?”
“They’re… catching up,” Bree said. “It’s like I hit fast-forward on my life and they’re trying to watch a replay in slow motion. They’ll get there.”
“And Hank?” Carmen asked. “Is he holding up under all this responsible-adult pressure?”
“He’s pretending he’s fine,” Bree said. “Which means he’s quietly freaking out and making lists in his head.
He’s meeting with Colby and Brian right now to go over Jason’s preliminary numbers.
He promised to text me if he needs someone to talk him down from ordering a lifetime supply of security cameras. ”
Carmen snorted. “I might contribute to that fund.”
They sipped again.
“I meant what I said last night,” Carmen said eventually. “I’m glad you’re staying. Copper Moon’s better with you in it.”
Bree’s chest pinched. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you think I’ll let you use my studio bathroom when you’re in town?”
“That too,” Carmen said. “I’m going to need a place to change shoes between events when I’m not hauling Dragons’ swag anymore.”
“You’re really taking the Cup job?” Bree asked.
Carmen nodded. “I said yes this morning,” she said. “They’re putting the contract together. It’s part-time to start; I’ll coordinate community activities for Copper Moon and two of the other smaller tracks. It’s not glamorous, but it feels… clean.”
Bree let out a breath. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “And selfishly, I’m relieved. Knowing you’ll be nearby sometimes makes this whole staying thing feel less like jumping into the void.”
“You’ve got a whole net down there,” Carmen said. “Hank, Colby, Brian, the mayor, and Diaz. Me. You’re not jumping alone.”
“I know,” Bree said. “It’s just… a lot of new all at once.”
“That’s kind of your thing, though,” Carmen said. “Big moves. Big feelings.”
“Please don’t tell my therapist that,” Bree said. “She’ll get ideas.”
They both laughed.
A shadow fell over the table. Bree looked up; Colby stood there, tablet tucked under one arm, hair pushed back like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. Hank said you were here; he’s on his way. I had something I wanted to float past both of you.”
“You want coffee first?” Carmen asked. “I’m buying; I heard you’re about to be a homeowner.”
He shook his head. “I’m operating on espresso fumes already,” he said. He glanced at Bree. “You got a minute for nerd talk?”
“Always,” she said. “Pull up a chair.”
He dragged over a spare and sat, setting the tablet on the table. The screen showed a spreadsheet; lots of numbers, dotted with red and yellow highlights.
“So Diaz showed me how to access some of the public technical bulletins the series circulates to teams and sanctioning bodies,” he said.
“Stuff about suspected counterfeit parts, flagged vendors, that kind of thing. I cross-referenced those with purchase records for Einstein’s team over the past two seasons. ”
Carmen’s brows rose. “That sounds like a fun Saturday night.”
“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.
Carmen stepped back and looked at Hank. “You too,” she said. “You ever need someone to run interference with a sponsor or tell a pushy fan to back off, you call me. I have a scary voice.”
“I’ve heard it,” he said. “I’m grateful it’s never been directed at me.”
“Keep it that way,” she said.
She offered her hand; he took it. Instead of shaking, she squeezed hard for a second, warrior to warrior, then let go.
“See you around, James,” she said.
“Count on it,” he replied.
Carmen nodded at Colby, pulled her jacket back on, the Dragon logo bright for one last time. As she walked away, Bree imagined painting over it in white, then in a color that belonged to Carmen alone.
“You okay?” Hank asked quietly.
Bree watched the door swing shut behind Carmen. “I will be,” she said. “Right now I feel… heavy and light.”
“Sounds about right,” he said.
Colby closed his tablet. “I’m going to head back to the warehouse and measure that upstairs wall again before Jason puts anything in stone,” he said. “If we’re dedicating it to Bryn, I want the proportions right.”
Emotion pinched her throat. “Thank you,” she said.
He shrugged, almost shy. “Feels important,” he said, then slipped out with a wave.
That left her and Hank in the corner, the café’s quiet chatter filling the spaces their friends had left.
He slid back into his chair, turning it slightly so his knees brushed hers.
“I’ve got meetings with the Cup accountants this afternoon,” he said.
“They want to go over prize distribution, taxes, all that fun stuff. After that, I’m free.
You got any plans that don’t involve tracking illegal vendors? ”
She smiled. “Actually, I had this idea about you taking me on a real date,” she said. “No warehouses, no mayors, no cops. Just you, me, something Copper Moon-y.”
His mouth curved slowly. “I think I can arrange that,” he said. “You like boats?”
“As long as they stay on top of the water,” she said.
“There’s a rental place down by the south pier,” he said. “Small day boats, nothing fancy. We could take one out, poke around the shoreline, pretend we’re the kind of people who know how to relax.”
She tilted her head. “You sure you remember how?”
“I’ve got a vague recollection,” he said. “You willing to help me remember?”
She reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around his. “Always,” she said.
He squeezed back. “All right then,” he said. “You’ve got a date with the harbor.”