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

all: the gorgeous Catie Cole, and the new national celebrity sitting beside me now.
    I pretend to be fascinated with the rest of the vid, and then with dissecting a big piece of chicken on my plate. I feel Sebastian studying me, probably wondering about that close-up shot of my face in the film. The cameras in the room are aimed at me now, and the eyes of the robots are on me, too. I wish I was back home in my private little room.
    Sebastian may not have asked for all this attention, but neither did I.
    “Miss Grey,” one of the suits says.
    I twist around at the voice. “Yeah?”
    This suit has a sharp nose that matches his razor sharp haircut. He speaks with a slight accent, like he wasn’t born in the United States. He is sitting on a chair against the wall to the side of our table, frowning at a handheld computer. Without looking at me, he asks, “Where did you live before you became an emancipated minor?”
    The cameras are always rolling in here, so I put on the sorrowful face that everyone expects. Actually, I don’t have to pretend to be sad, because this guy has just reminded me of that horrific Halloween Eve.
    “After my parents died,” I say, “I lived several different places, pretty much with anyone who would take me in.”
    I wave a hand vaguely in the air to demonstrate the nebulosity of my living situation.
    “I was living with Marisela Santos and her family when I petitioned the court.” I always toss Marisela into the mix because law enforcement types can easily find records of phone calls between me and my adopted mom. Marisela has always kept up her side of the story, which is not hard for her, because she knows only the mythical diving accident version.
    The suit is watching me carefully now. He’s still frowning. “How is it that you did not end up in a foster home?”
    I wave my hand again. “That’s the system for you. Understaffed, overworked…they pretty much take whatever solution is presented to them these days.”
    I don’t really know if this is true, but it sounds plausible, doesn’t it? Over the years, I have become an excellent liar.
    It crosses my mind that maybe these secret squirrels could help me find out who murdered my parents and what happened to my brother. Then I remember the black SUV parked around the corner from my house that night. The same type of black SUV the Secret Service likes to use when they’re trying to be invisible.
    My father always told me, “Never trust what anyone—your friends, the television, the authorities, the government— says . Judge people by their actions, not by their words.”
    That’s another weird thing that I never thought about until he was not around to explain. Dad was an accountant who specialized in the import-export business. What did he have to be paranoid about?
    No, I cannot confide in these Secret Service suits.
    “I really don’t like to talk about those times.” I choke up a little for effect.
    Sebastian tells him, “Lay off her, Hasanov.”
    And Hasanov does, but perhaps only because our little dinner party is interrupted by the blond female agent who walks in with a phone in hand.
    “Call for you, sir.” She places the phone in front of Sebastian.
    It’s President Garrison on the tiny screen. The camera is aimed at Sebastian, of course, but I sit up a little straighter just in case he can see me, too.
    “I’m proud of you, son,” Garrison begins.
    “Thank you,” Sebastian responds.
    “First place,” the President says.
    “So far. It’s only the first day.”
    “And you’re taking good care of that Zany girl.”
    I grimace at those condescending words, but Sebastian says, “We’re looking out for each other.”
    The President’s voice changes to a more serious tone. “Son, the Secret Service advises me that the threat level is still extreme.”
    Threat of what , I want to yell, but I can tell that nobody in this room will answer me. This threat is apparently some sort of state secret that I’m