Race with Danger (Run for Your Life Book 1) Read Free Page A

easier contests. Along with no cell phones or visual assist devices that might help with the route.
    Verde Island is the ultimate endurance contest, five days of racing on our own hand-picked routes through dense jungle and rugged mountain terrain, dodging wildlife and enduring whatever weather blows in. No water stations, no first aid stops, although the organizers promise that any contestants injured along the way will be rescued and evacuated if required. Racers must carry everything they need to make it through each day. Added to the usual challenges is the twist of not knowing who your partner will be until the drawing on the first day. These elements make the Verde Island Endurance Race more dangerous and more exciting than most endurance races, which is why the prize money is bigger, too.
    When the starting horn goes off two hours from now, my partner and I have to find the fastest route to our first checkpoint. As the crow flies, it’s only about twenty-five miles away, but that crow would be able to fly over some serious terrain, while we’ll be on foot all the way.
    Sebastian picks up his erasable marker and draws a wavering line from our current location across the map until his hand reaches the spot where the contour lines form a dense black barrier. Then he zigs the line around the black slash and zags it to the checkpoint. He sets down his marker, lifts another forkful from his plate, and looks at me expectantly. I can tell he wants me to nod in admiration of his superior navigation skills.
    “No way,” I say. “You just added at least four miles to the best route.”
    I draw a line that slants only slightly from our current position and ends up at the black slash. Then I zag it a bit west and then straight up to the checkpoint.
    “Are you crazy?” He frowns and points to the dense black contour lines in the middle of my route. “For your information, Wacko—”
    “Zany!” I blurt.
    It just comes out. I immediately feel the blood rush to my face. “I mean, my name is Tanzania, so call me that, or call me Tana. I am not running a race with someone who calls me Wacko. Unless I get to call you Bastard.”
    I wanted payback, but I still can’t believe that word came out of my mouth. Since so many couples don’t even bother with marriage nowadays, I don’t think there are illegitimate babies anymore. I mean, how could any baby not be legal ? That medieval concept only seems to crop up with politicians because they’re a subspecies that failed to evolve with the rest of humanity.
    It’s just that Se- bastian is so close to…oh crap, never mind. Television and vids are clearly rotting my brain.
    “Like I haven’t heard that one a billion times in the last thirteen months,” my partner grumbles. “My friends call me Sebastian. Or Bash.”
    “Bash? Sounds violent.”
    “You might want to keep that in mind.” Then he leans forward and taps a finger on the dark lines on the map. “My point, Tarzan, is that this”—he jabs the same spot a couple of times—“is a cliff, and a damn high one.”
    “No shit.” Like the diplomatic professional I am, I decide to ignore the Tarzan dig for the moment while my blush dissipates. I take a bite of the quinoa-veggie casserole on my plate. Despite the fact that the mixture looks like something you’d dig out of a compost heap, it’s delicious.
    The expression in Sebastian’s creepy light eyes tells me he thinks my proposed route is insane.
    I smile sweetly at him. “We’re allowed to carry whatever gear we want. I brought everything we need. We’ll rappel down.”
    His lips press together into a tense line. I wonder if he has ever rappelled before.
    Full disclosure: I personally have never rappelled off a cliff in the middle of a race before. But I knew this was a mountainous island, and my colleague Sabrina and I have been practicing off the roof of the giraffe barn at the zoo.
    He taps the map again with his index finger. “That’s a river at the