Race with Danger (Run for Your Life Book 1) by Pamela Beason Read Free Book Online Page A

Joe, I’m not at all sure it can stand up to real inspection by a professional intelligence agency.
    Marisela promised my back-alley Social Security number would pass. So far it has. She knows how to slide by the authorities without being noticed. Maybe her contact works at the Social Security Administration. My adopted mother and I don’t ask each other a lot of questions.
    Please, Almighty Power That May or May Not Exist, don’t let them blow my cover.
    Sebastian and I hit the showers, where a couple of pounds of dirt and sweat wash off down the drain. Then I go through the required medical check where I have to pee in a cup, donate a few drops of blood, have my blisters drained, and get my glued thigh wound inspected. Apparently Sebastian did a decent job on that, because the docs give me a shot of antibiotics but don’t even apply a bandage.
    Then we sit down to eat heavenly quantities of chicken cacciatore and spinach salad and spiced carrots and luscious banana cream pie. That’s another thing I love about endurance racing—I eat better on every night of a race than I do the rest of the year.
    The buffet, dining tables, and video screen are all in one big tent, along with all the media waiting for the racers to come in. It feels like a slightly subdued small town circus in here. Absolutely no privacy and a lot of loud chatter.
    The cameras hover around us as we watch the endless loop of race vids shown to the folks back home today. I have to say that Team Seven appears brazenly gutsy in comparison to the other teams, who all look like they bolted from the same herd of sheep as they lope along the jungle paths. There is one dramatic scene of Team Three surprising a humongous python, but both humans and serpent slither off in different directions, no harm done. On Team Six, the woman is limping, and although it’s not very sportspersonlike to wish that your competitors get injured, I wouldn’t be sad if a few teams dropped out tonight.
    Sebastian and I look like superheroes as we slide down our ropes and drop into the rapids. I’m grateful when the next scene reveals Sebastian crawling out while I’m on the bank doing an imitation of a nearly drowned but strong and stoic river rat, with blood running down my leg. The Secret Service cut out the helicopter drama. I’m sorry that the audience doesn’t get to see The President’s Son flip the double digit to the sky, though.
    The vid switches to the other competitors, dwelling mainly on Catie Cole and Ricco Rossi running stylishly along a path. They both have big wet rings darkening their armpits—it’s nice to know that even celebrities sweat now and then. Madelyn Hatt and Jason Jones—Team Nine—barely look winded, which is a little disheartening, and Marco Senai and Suzana Mistri—Team Five—cover the terrain like graceful gazelles from Senai’s home country of Kenya.
    Then the story moves back to Team Seven. The camera lingers on us as Sebastian glues my thigh wound, and if that wasn’t mortifying enough, it zooms in to show the expression on my face as I gaze down at him. I was feeling both pain and gratitude at that moment, but on screen it looks more like some sort of erotic trance, as if I plan to rip off his shorts as soon as we’re hidden in the jungle again.
    My face flames in embarrassment. I sure hope that Emilio can’t see this coverage wherever his unit is stationed. I comfort myself with the knowledge that endurance racing is so far behind all the big corporate team sports like football and basketball that many Americans haven’t even heard of it. Marco and Maddie and Catie and I might be endurance racing stars, but to the world we are relative unknowns, in the same category as ping-pong champions or archery masters. Some of the sports channels might be following us, but this race is not likely to be featured in the regular feeds for more than a few seconds on a slow news day. Only two aspects of this competition make it newsworthy at