Hearts Racing

by Hodgson, Jim

  His eyes landed on the kitchen and dormitory building, and he realized the dining room was up a short flight of stairs. There must be a room below it.

  “Hey, Jose,” he called into the bike room where Jose was replacing his bike in its rack. “What’s below the dining room?”

  Hidalgo was racking his bike too. He stopped and looked at Jose as if he wondered how Jose would handle the question. Buck wondered why.

  Jose didn’t flinch. “It’s nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Water heater. Pipes and stuff.”

  That made sense. Those things had to be somewhere. Still, Buck could see a shiny padlock on the door two floors underneath the veranda. Did people steal hot water around here? Probably not. This area of the country would get hot enough in the summer time for anyone.

  Buck shrugged it off and racked his bike up. He went upstairs. Faith’s door to the bathroom was open, and he could see a neatly made bed beyond. She must be down in the gym or something. Buck stripped then jumped in the shower. He enjoyed the hot water, which he complimented with singing.

  When he got out, the mirror was fogged. He wiped a space out so he could see himself then drew a smiley face next to it with a finger. The next time the mirror fogged up, he’d see that face again.

  “Nice singing,” a voice said, coming from Faith’s open room.

  “Hah! You heard that? Sorry.” Buck laughed. Oops. He hadn’t known anyone was listening. He poked his head around the door to find Faith sitting on the end of her bed with a book. He hadn’t seen her before.

  “No, it’s okay, I like—” Faith was cut off by LeMond’s voice coming up the stairs.

  “Buck?”

  “In here,” Buck called back.

  “Not in here,” Faith said, hissing and waving at him to go into his own room.

  “Oh!” Buck whispered back, understanding. He leapt through the bathroom and called “Back already, huh?” to LeMond, so he’d hear Buck coming from his own room.

  LeMond pushed the door open and stood there, appraising Buck. “Looks like you’re healing up okay,” he said. “Probably healthy enough to put some clothes on.”

  “Seriously!” came Faith’s voice from the other room.

  LeMond smiled big and mouthed “She likes you,” making a small pointing motion with one hand.

  Buck waved him off with a psssh and a flap of a hand. “Welcome back. Got in a decent ride today with the guys. Easy, but they look pretty okay.”

  LeMond nodded.

  “Hey, how do they train for the climbs in all this flatness, anyway?”

  LeMond looked left and right like he was about to reveal a secret. “You ready for this? A parachute.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, really. They have a little parachute they hooked up to an old hiking backpack. Adds a ton of drag.”

  “Huh. Can’t wait to see that one.” Parachutes. He was in a strange land for sure. Buck didn’t know what made him want to say it. But he said it. “Hey, listen. What’s in the room under the dining area? Just curious.”

  LeMond shrugged. “Water heater. Pipes and stuff.” The same exact thing Jose had said. Maybe Buck was being crazy, but it sounded kind of like someone had told both of them to say that.

  “Water heater. Pipes and stuff,” Buck repeated.

  LeMond shrugged again. “What am I, the facilities staff? We need to focus on those legs, pal. There’s a race to win and not a lot of time to train for it. Now listen, we start tomorrow bright and early. Faith’s got some stuff for you in the morning, and then we’ll send you guys out on a ride in the afternoon.”

  Buck nodded. “I like it. As long as I don’t have to do too many CrossFit barfies or kicky pullups I’ll be ready to get back in the saddle for sure.”

  “They are called . . . burpees!” Faith said, her voice loud enough to be heard from her room.

  LeMond made his excited smiley face and pointed again.

  Buck just shook his head and snorted. LeMond didn’t know what he knew. That he’d already accidentally kissed her and blown it. Besides—engaged. And besides that—CrossFit. Blegh!

  LeMond put on a wry face. “All right, good. Get some sleep tonight.” His voice rose so it could be heard down the hall. “And Jose?”

  “Si?” came Jose’s voice from his room.

  “Tonight, no añejo!”

  Jose laughed, and Buck could hear another couple of voices laughing too. Then, two voices echoed back together.

  “Añejoooo!”

  Chapter 13

  Faith and the rest of the team fell into a routine, which, in her opinion, was the best thing for anyone. Routines mean you know what to expect. Routines mean you can predict outcome. Routines mean no one is likely to surprise you by getting arrested or threatened with execution.

  She sent and received messages with Barker, but he seemed distracted. The usual epithets and comments about her shape were still there, but sparse. Not that him being distracted was necessarily a bad thing, since she’d left town without being completely truthful with her fiancé about where she was going. She was careful to be vague about what she was doing, just saying she was training some people. Which was true . . . ish.

  On the good news front, the team responded well to her training. Buck put them through their paces as a cycling team in the afternoons, where they were also showing promise. They even had a parachute they attached to one another to create extra drag. The Miami riders had been attaching it to themselves, but Buck had the idea to tie it to their bikes instead. Either way, weird sport, Faith thought. But she kept that thought to herself. She was proud of the guys and felt like a valuable member of the team.

  Buck. She tried not to think about him too much, but he was like a virus or something. They’d kissed that one time, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt. She made little excuses to touch him almost every day. Of course, part of his training was massage, but she also brushed his hand with hers now and again, and it sent sparks shooting around her bones. It was shameful. She was engaged, for god’s sake, and here she was acting like a schoolgirl.

  The afternoon rides got longer and longer, leaving her with hours of free time to kill at the facility. She read and wandered around, though there wasn’t much ground to cover inside the fence. One afternoon she wandered over to stand underneath the veranda, the scene of the crime where the kiss happened. She looked up there as though she were looking back in time, back to that moment when his lips had found hers.

  There was a metallic scraping sound. One of the metal doors under the dining area opened a crack. She’d never seen anyone go in there before. Buck had mentioned to her once that he wondered what was in there, but she’d forgotten about it. The only person on the grounds in the afternoons was usually Miriam, possibly LeMond, but at that moment LeMond was out scouting new training routes.

  She froze.

  It was just Miriam. She had a bag of flour under one arm. Faith relaxed and smiled, but when Miriam saw Faith looking at her she froze too, obviously caught in the act of . . . of what? In a second, Faith saw what. Behind Miriam, in the basement, stacked in racks upon racks, were guns. Faith was no gun expert, but they looked like automatic rifles. And it wasn’t a collection. A collection is usually lots of different kinds of guns. These were lots of the same gun.

  Faith’s insides went cold. Miriam either didn’t know what to say, didn’t have the English facilities to say it, or maybe even both. So she just closed the door, put the padlock on it, locked it, and then mimed putting a padlock on her mouth for Faith. She smiled. Our little secret.

  Faith nodded. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She turned and walked away, trying to look as casual as possible.

  What the hell was going on around here? The stout buildings around the facility had a militaristic lo
ok she hadn’t ascribed to them before. If she got caught around that many illegal guns, it would be the end for her. The American attitude toward private gun ownership had changed drastically when the French assumed control. They didn’t want any crazy rebel groups forming a resistance against them. Vive l’empire, they said.

  If someone reported the guns in the basement, and the French found out she was on the premises at the time, it would be the end for her brother. Maybe her parents, too. Would Barker help her out of a jam like that? Probably not. It could reflect poorly on his political position that he’d been engaged to her. Not that he’d given her a ring. Granted, she’d been coerced into the relationship, but still. He could at least give her a ring.

  She’d have to talk to LeMond about it. Get back to New Lyon. But that meant leaving Buck.

  Aw, come on, woman. Leaving Buck? Now you’re talking crazy. Ring or no ring, you’re engaged. Not to Buck, to Barker.

  She didn’t know what to do, but one word circled around her: guns! And could she really go without telling Buck about her feelings? Wait . . . Feelings? No. She couldn’t go without telling Buck what was in the storage room—there were no feelings, only a bad situation that could get way worse. That wouldn’t be right, to save herself without giving him the same heads-up. She’d have to think about this.

  Faith walked back across the parking area toward her gym, but stopped when she heard the sound of tires on the track outside the gate. Then the gate began to move aside. It would have to be LeMond. She waited there for him. She needed to talk to him right away.

  But it wasn’t LeMond. It was a van with tinted windows and a layer of road grime from many kilometers. It parked and a half-dozen men got out. They nodded to her but didn’t smile or introduce themselves. They looked like athletes, with the corded appearance brought on by low body fat, but they didn’t have the spindly look of cyclists at all. Much stockier. A few headed inside and up the short stairway to the dining area, but one stayed behind, leaning on the front of the van and lighting a cigarette. Maybe they didn’t say anything because none of them spoke English or French? They all looked to be of Hispanic descent.

  The last person to step out of the van was Miguel. He smiled warmly at Faith and tucked a cell phone into his inside jacket pocket. Its screen was glowing, so he’d probably just completed a call. He strode confidently over to her with his hand out, still smiling.

  “Such a pleasure to see you again, Miss Racing,” he said. His hand was warm, reassuring, but without any trace of smarminess. A lot of men could learn a thing or two about being personable but still professional from Miguel.

  “Thank you,” Faith said. She wondered what her face must look like. Whatever expression she was wearing, it certainly seemed to amuse Miguel. He chuckled as if she’d shared a private joke.

  “Is everything going well?” he asked.

  “I . . . well, I think, ah. Yes. Everyone is feeling strong.” All the work she’d done with these cyclist guys and the best she could come up with was “feeling strong?” She’d probably already doubled their core strength, if not their mobility.

  “Good, good. And the facilities? You are finding them adequate?”

  “The equipment is top-notch. Some of the best I’ve ever used. Certainly better than my gym had.” She was careful not to let any hitch or hesitation enter her speech. She couldn’t be sure whether Miguel knew about the guns in the basement or not. And if he did, and she told him, would he be angry? She could be sent back to New Lyon for snooping, or maybe they’d all have to leave, thus sabotaging Buck’s chance to race at Nationals. A thousand questions without solid answers.

  Miguel beamed. “I am pleased to hear it. Your work here is very important to the Miami riders, as well as to me personally. And of course, to Buck . . .”

  “And LeMond,” Faith added.

  “Yes, of course! Together we will do great things. I promise you that.” He then turned and headed the way the other men had gone, up to the dining area, giving the smoking man a companionable slap on the shoulder. The cigarette got stubbed out under a shoe, and the two men walked up the steps.

  Faith was left to wander back into the gym and into the tiny office she’d set up for herself in a side room. She stared at the wall and wondered what any of this, let alone all of this, could possibly mean.

  Chapter 14

  Buck loved the feeling of being absolutely wrecked after a bike ride. Sometimes he felt like he had to peel himself from his bike’s frame he was so tired.

  In his training, he’d learned that bicycles were the most efficient way to move under his own power, which, to Buck, meant they were the best possible way to wring every last bit of energy from his body. Running might be more intense, but that extra intensity meant joint pain or other forms of discomfort, which meant he was likely to stop before completely sapped. But bikes? Ah, bikes. They could totally drain you. And he loved that feeling.

  He walked up the stairs to the dormitory area and heard water running. Faith was probably in the shower. He hoped she wasn’t using up all the hot water, although this facility seemed to have an endless supply. There must have been a massive water heater in that basement behind the locked door, because every one of the riders took a shower immediately after training rides and the hot water never ran out. Whatever the plumbing situation was, he was glad for the hot water.

  The sound of the water stopped as he was entering his room. The air was a bit foggy. Faith had left his door to the bathroom open during her shower, apparently, and—well, yes she had left her door open. He rounded the corner to see her stepping into view and wrapping a towel around herself, but not before he caught a glimpse of her naked, glistening body.

  He’d never seen anything like it. He’d been with women before, but they were just . . . women. Faith was an athlete who happened to be female. She was a statue come to life, cut and hard but also curved and balanced. He’d felt her body the other night when she’d been close to him, but he never had any idea a woman’s shape could hit him like this. He wanted to hug her close to him. Kiss her. Feel her skin on his face. Squeeze her—

  “Oh my god,” someone said. Whoever’s voice it was sounded awestruck.

  Oh, shit—it was his voice. He’d said that.

  Her head whipped around, and she emitted the world’s cutest squeak. She drew her towel tighter then threw her head back and laughed like he’d told the most hilarious joke she’d ever heard.

  He smiled. “Hey. I think you, uh . . . forgot to close the door.”

  “I think I forgot to close the door,” she agreed. She pushed Buck’s door closed. “Hope you liked the show,” she said from the other side. “Back in a minute.” She laughed again.

  Buck knocked on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Great show,” he said to the door. Shit. He regretted it. Too pervy?

  Her laugh echoed around the bathroom, even through the closed door. Nice. He’d gotten away with it. Not too pervy.

  True to her word, Faith opened the door a few minutes later, dressed now and using the towel on her hair. Her skin was flushed from the hot water. Buck, sitting on his bed and trying to look nonchalant, concentrated on not staring at her lips while she talked. Or, at least, not all the time she was talking.

  “Okay, the bathroom’s all yours,” she said. “After you get done, I want to have a chat though. Something I gotta tell you.”

  “No problem,” he said. He wondered what she wanted to talk about, but the idea of getting under the hot water and washing off the grime and sweat was pretty attractive, too. He waited until she was on her side of the door to stand up, though, so she wouldn’t see his . . . condition.

  When he was showered, he toweled himself off, dressed, and then—as an afterthought—wrapped his towel around his head in a turban. He guessed Faith would have her towel
wrapped similarly, her hair taking a while to dry. He tapped on her door.

  “Are you decent?” she called.

  “Hah! Are you?”

  She laughed again and opened the door. He burst in, arms wide. Tadaaa! He’d been right. She was wearing a turban as well. When she saw his, she laughed and swatted playfully at his arm.

  “Knew you’d like it,” he said.

  She motioned him in and sat on her bed. Buck took a seat on a chair next to a desk.

  “So what’s up?” he asked.

  Faith bit her lip. Clearly she was wrestling with whether she should talk about this or not. “Have you ever wondered . . .” she began. She thought some more then appeared to make up her mind. “Have you ever wondered what’s in the basement? Under the dining hall?”

  “Whoa!” Buck said. “Yes! Sorry to sound nosey, but yeah, I have. I even asked some of the guys about it. They just said ‘pipes and stuff.’”

  Faith nodded. “Did you notice there’s an extra van outside?”

  “I was too tired to think about it before, really, but I remember it. Kind of beat up and a bit dirty.”

  “Yeah, a bunch of guys are here. Athletic guys. But not cyclists.”

  “Because cyclists aren’t athletic?”

  “No, dummy. I know what cyclists look like. I’ve looked at you enough. And these guys weren’t cyclists. But Miguel was with them, so maybe they’re all right.”

  Buck smiled. “Spend a lot of time looking at me, do you?”