Read Online Race with Danger (Run for Your Life Book 1) by Pamela Beason - Free Book Online
Authors: Pamela Beason
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from one of your African fans.”
Of course. This can’t be from my mother’s jewelry box. These carved seed pendants are probably a dime a dozen all over Africa. But that doesn’t explain the note: Recognize this?
A flash of light from across the room makes me blink. The Secret Service guy has just taken a photo of me holding the necklace and now he’s checking it out on his tiny handheld screen. Paranoia strikes me like an electric shock—does he know something about this pendant and my mother?
A brush of clothing alerts me to another cameraman maneuvering behind me. Before he can snap a photo of the necklace, I quickly I wrap the note around it and shove the bundle into my pocket and then take a drink of water to steady my nerves.
It’s only a common piece of African jewelry, I tell myself. There are probably thousands of identical necklaces. There are probably thousands of P.A. Pattersons.
Sebastian and I check our messages on the camp laptops. I have a note of encouragement from my sponsor— You go, girl! —and a few fan letters from female runners. One says You are such a great role model for young black women! –MamaAfrica.
I know MamaAfrica meant it as a compliment, but this sort of apartheid talk always annoys me. Why can’t I be a great role model for all young women?
I’m tempted to write back and ask if she sent the pendant from Nairobi. But there’s no way to tell who is behind any piece of email. She might not even be in Africa. I’ve learned not to say much of anything over the Net. Cyberspace is infinite and eternal.
After we’ve done everything we are required to do in front of the blasted cameras, Sebastian and I are finally allowed to retire to the sleeping area. During these races, your sleeping tent is your only truly private space. I’ve always had my own sleeping quarters in other contests, so I am surprised when Team Seven is hustled off to one tent. I guess I should have taken the time to read all the pages in the race description, but when I saw the million dollar prize, I promptly trotted to the Dark Horse Networks office to beg them for the entry fee and expenses.
This is my first partner race. I guess it makes sense for the teams to be housed together, since we have to get up and eat and start off on the next leg at the same time. At any rate, I don’t have the energy for any hanky-panky even if I was attracted to Sebastian that way. And I suspect sleep is much more alluring to him right now than I would ever be.
As Sebastian undresses, I duck outside. This is my nightly ritual, no matter what the weather, no matter where I am. I like to go outside and feel Nature all around me, and think about the things I’m grateful for that day. At home, I normally do this alone, but of course here a guard trails me as I stroll outside of the circles of camp light. He is amazingly quiet behind me; I feel him more than I hear him, which is a little unsettling.
I stop as soon as I am in full darkness, and turn my face to the sky. The moon is close to full tonight, and the stars here are brilliant and unfamiliar. I wonder if that cluster of big ones is the Southern Cross. I like to think that if Aaron is still on Planet Earth, he’s looking at the sky at the exact same time I am.
Tonight, I think, I am grateful to be here on Verde Island. I am grateful to be strong. And I am especially grateful to be in first place.
The night air is sultry with warmth and moisture. I take a deep breath of jungle air. A touch of perfume tickles my nose—maybe a night-blooming flower—along with the earthy smell of damp vegetation. As I exhale slowly, I hear the telltale sound of flip-flops coming up beside me.
“What are we doing?” Sebastian asks in a quiet voice.
It’s too dark to make out his face, but I can see that his hair is loose and he’s wearing only a pair of shorts along with the thong sandals.
“I am saying good night to the world.” I sigh. “And I guess you are following
Of course. This can’t be from my mother’s jewelry box. These carved seed pendants are probably a dime a dozen all over Africa. But that doesn’t explain the note: Recognize this?
A flash of light from across the room makes me blink. The Secret Service guy has just taken a photo of me holding the necklace and now he’s checking it out on his tiny handheld screen. Paranoia strikes me like an electric shock—does he know something about this pendant and my mother?
A brush of clothing alerts me to another cameraman maneuvering behind me. Before he can snap a photo of the necklace, I quickly I wrap the note around it and shove the bundle into my pocket and then take a drink of water to steady my nerves.
It’s only a common piece of African jewelry, I tell myself. There are probably thousands of identical necklaces. There are probably thousands of P.A. Pattersons.
Sebastian and I check our messages on the camp laptops. I have a note of encouragement from my sponsor— You go, girl! —and a few fan letters from female runners. One says You are such a great role model for young black women! –MamaAfrica.
I know MamaAfrica meant it as a compliment, but this sort of apartheid talk always annoys me. Why can’t I be a great role model for all young women?
I’m tempted to write back and ask if she sent the pendant from Nairobi. But there’s no way to tell who is behind any piece of email. She might not even be in Africa. I’ve learned not to say much of anything over the Net. Cyberspace is infinite and eternal.
After we’ve done everything we are required to do in front of the blasted cameras, Sebastian and I are finally allowed to retire to the sleeping area. During these races, your sleeping tent is your only truly private space. I’ve always had my own sleeping quarters in other contests, so I am surprised when Team Seven is hustled off to one tent. I guess I should have taken the time to read all the pages in the race description, but when I saw the million dollar prize, I promptly trotted to the Dark Horse Networks office to beg them for the entry fee and expenses.
This is my first partner race. I guess it makes sense for the teams to be housed together, since we have to get up and eat and start off on the next leg at the same time. At any rate, I don’t have the energy for any hanky-panky even if I was attracted to Sebastian that way. And I suspect sleep is much more alluring to him right now than I would ever be.
As Sebastian undresses, I duck outside. This is my nightly ritual, no matter what the weather, no matter where I am. I like to go outside and feel Nature all around me, and think about the things I’m grateful for that day. At home, I normally do this alone, but of course here a guard trails me as I stroll outside of the circles of camp light. He is amazingly quiet behind me; I feel him more than I hear him, which is a little unsettling.
I stop as soon as I am in full darkness, and turn my face to the sky. The moon is close to full tonight, and the stars here are brilliant and unfamiliar. I wonder if that cluster of big ones is the Southern Cross. I like to think that if Aaron is still on Planet Earth, he’s looking at the sky at the exact same time I am.
Tonight, I think, I am grateful to be here on Verde Island. I am grateful to be strong. And I am especially grateful to be in first place.
The night air is sultry with warmth and moisture. I take a deep breath of jungle air. A touch of perfume tickles my nose—maybe a night-blooming flower—along with the earthy smell of damp vegetation. As I exhale slowly, I hear the telltale sound of flip-flops coming up beside me.
“What are we doing?” Sebastian asks in a quiet voice.
It’s too dark to make out his face, but I can see that his hair is loose and he’s wearing only a pair of shorts along with the thong sandals.
“I am saying good night to the world.” I sigh. “And I guess you are following
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