The Concealers Read Free Page A

slightly visible from the back of his helmet. From the front, she’d seen him only for a few seconds, when they were lining up, but like hers, his face had been mostly obscured by helmet and goggles. Still, there was something about his posture, the way he sat on his bike as if he had nothing better to do.
    Katherine glanced down at the newly purchased sports watch on her wrist: Four past eight. Rows of five riders had been departing every minute since the 8:00 a.m. start; one more to go before hers.
    Only at that moment did Katherine have second thoughts about the wisdom of her project.
Worst case:
I’m going to go off a cliff, injure myself or die . . . if I don’t get stuck in a swamp or drown in a river first.
An unfamiliar burn took hold in her stomach, and her heart began to pump like mad. Had her drive for perfection overtaken her good sense this time? Watching would have been enough to write the paper. It still would be.
    As the fifth row of riders surged forward, leaving nothing ahead of her but the yawning void of the starting line, Katherine hung back. Her mother had totally understood her junior-year trip to work with at-risk women in Uganda, but she’d almost had a stroke when she learned about Katherine’s first parachute jump. What would her mom think now if she got herself killed in a motorcycle race her first time out, just so she could cover it firsthand?
    As if that were the one incentive she needed, Katherine shoved the bike forward to rejoin the pack. In her riding lessons, she’d worried that if her bike went over, she’d never have the strength to pick it up, especially with the heavy boots, the race suit, and all the protective gear. Five-six and 127 pounds was no match for 440 pounds of steel, aluminum, and rubber. Too late to dwell on that now. Odometer,
check.
Roll chart,
check.
Race computer,
check.
    The flag dropped. Katherine fumbled to put her bike into first gear, still trying to get used to the metal shank and the massive O’Neal boot. She swore and then recovered, shifting to second and then moving quickly forward to catch up.
    Katherine Beth Kelly, wearing number 6D, was in the race.
*  *  *
    She wasn’t looking to win, of course. And besides, the riders were racing against the clock, not one another. If she could maintain the target twenty-four-mile-per-hour average between the checkpoints, she hoped only to avoid a wipeout and complete the 75.6-mile course.
If you finish, you win,
she had reminded herself in her practice sessions. She understood that the Berkshire Mountains Enduro would test all the riders’ skills under an incredible array of conditions.
    Riding in the race hadn’t been on the course syllabus—that was all Katherine’s idea. Self-aware and confident at twenty-three, she never did anything halfway. And on this assignment, which she expected to help seal her master’s degree from New York’s select Fletcher Thomas School of Journalism and a top job in her field, she was convinced that firsthand participation was the only way to learn about Enduro racing and discover why people pursued it so passionately.
    6A was already well out in front, as Katherine lagged behind all the other racers in her group.
Follow the arrows, don’t overpower the bike, and pay attention to the trail,
her instructor had told her
. Pick your spots and stay out of trouble.
    The signs led through deep woods, around sharp turns, and over ridge tops. On the downside, the narrow trails were steep and slippery. The riders in her own group were now out of sight, and others were passing her on the trail. She knew she was falling behind, but she wasn’t sure by how much. She couldn’t read her watch, which jumped around on her wrist. Katherine wished she had thought to mount it on her handlebars. She glanced at her bike’s computer but was too nervous and excited to read it.
    An hour in, Katherine was becoming accustomed to