“Oh yes, Cyrus. He has a great chance to medal at today’s event. And how is the relationship with the two of you going?”
My relationship? With Cyrus? “We haven’t told anyone, sir.”
He smiles. “Yes, I know. But it is rather my job to know everythingthat goes on around here.”
My momentary confusion over being asked about a relationship is swept away when I remember why I’m here in the first place. “It was going well until someone arrested him.”
Asbell’s smile falls and McKenna seems to choke on a gasp. Probably not smart to get snappy with the man who controls my future, but we’re running out of time.
“I can assure you both. Cyrus wasnever arrested for anything. Our security team doesn’t even have the right to make arrests. And no such thing would be done.” He pauses to check his watch and does a quick calculation. “Nineteen minutes before he’s due at the starting block. That would be in horribly poor taste.”
“Well somebody did.” I step closer to his desk, my eyes flitting between the television screens. I’m not sure whatI’m looking for, but I don’t find it. Maybe security camera footage of two security guards roughing up Cyrus right in front of my eyes.
“It was probably some prank between teammates, but to make you feel better I will call Dexler, the head of security, and confirm nobody has detained Mr. Hanson.”
“Thank you, sir.” McKenna acts as if she’s speaking to royalty.
He picks up the phone, ridiculouslyslow for me, considering Cyrus has less than twenty minutes to get where he needs to be.
“Yes, Dexler, I have a young athlete up here, Miss Wilson who says your team has detained an athlete competing today. A Mr. Hanson. I’m trying to reassure her that is completely against protocol and would never happen. Especially on your watch.”
Asbell smiles, never taking his eyes off me, his face smug,but then something happens. A few seconds in, the smirk falters and then falls away completely. “What do you mean?” His voice rises in irritation but he doesn’t need to tell me what that means. I already know somebody has Cyrus. “I don’t care what your paperwork shows. I would never sign such an order. Doing so puts the snowboarding team chances at winning another medal at risk. I don’t give a flyingfuck about the ski team’s missing practice gear up against a gold medal.” His cheeks puff out with each word.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying, “Told you so.”
“Bring this paperwork and Isaac to my office immediately. Release Cyrus and make sure he gets to the starting podium on time and ready to compete. You’ll be held personally responsible for any delay in his performance.”
Witha deep breath, he replaces the phone on the receiver, but it takes visible effort. His elbows are on the desktop with his fingers tented together. Asbell closes his eyes, taking two more deep breaths before he raises his head and opens them.
“It seems you were right, Charlie. There was a mix-up where fraudulent paperwork was ordered. You have my reassurance the matter will be dealt with quicklyand swiftly. Against all parties who partook.”
“Thank you, sir. Is there a spot where I can meet Cyrus?” Knowing him the way I do, he’s going to be an absolute basket case. I might not believe in Cyrus’ crazy ideas, superstitions, and pregame rituals, but every athlete knows you need a few minutes before competing to get your mind on straight. That definitely can’t be done when you’re being questionedby a bunch of security personnel.
“Of course. McKenna, please assist Charlie in finding her way to the security doorway where Cyrus will come out.”
“Of course, sir,” McKenna agrees and turns, wasting no time in leaving the room.
“I will do what I can to delay the start and gives Cyrus more time, but you know how the officials are. Everything runs on schedule,” he yells, the door closing behindus and his voice cutting off.
“This is not good,” McKenna repeats to herself a few times before we get back down the same series of hallways we entered through.
No shit it’s not good.
I check my watch as we run down the hallway, watching the seconds tick by. We’re down to three minutes and roughly twenty-eight seconds before Cyrus needs to report and sign in for the quarterfinals. Otherwisehe will forfeit his spot and his chance at a medal.
Three minutes and twenty-five seconds.
McKenna and I bust through the final door back into the large room. A white golf cart with a tall beefy guy behind the driver’s wheel and Cyrus in the passenger seat skid to a stop next to us.
“Get in the cart.” The man driving says in gruff voice.
McKenna and I don’t waste any time, each of us takinga seat in the second row. He hits the gas before McKenna’s foot is off the carpeted floor.
“He refused to go to the start until you were there.” The dark-haired cranky guy says. I can only assume this person is Dexler.
Cyrus turns his head back and smiles at me. “I couldn’t do it without my best girl.”
“Don’t be dumb. Of course you could.” I check my watch again. A minute and a half remains.“Drive faster.”
Contrary to my directive, the golf cart does not actually increase in speed, leaving me to believe we already have the pedal to the metal. We twist and turn around corners with one hand holding on to the back seat of the driver’s section. In what could be with the worst cab ride of my life — and I’ve been in a lot of them — I keep my eyes averted to the floor, watching the secondstick away on my watch rather than look up and watch us crash. The cart bobs back and forth, weaving between people. My body leans to the side practically falling out of the open space when we take a corner.
With thirty-five seconds left on the clock, the golf cart skids to a stop. McKenna jumps out, her hand in the air and papers flying off her clipboard.
“He’s here!” she screams turning theheads of the athletes, coaches, and family members in the direct area.
She takes off running toward a series of three tables set up in the middle of the room. A man in a black suit holding a stopwatch raises an eyebrow as our group hurtles toward him. Thankfully people jump out of our way as we cut a path across the floor. Otherwise I’m sure McKenna in her two-inch heels would be clearing theway with her small body.
She stops in front of the official, breathing hard. “Cyrus Hanson checking in.”
