Lara hurried over to the small window, desperate for some fresh air, but like most new buildings, the glass didn’t open. Damn. The room reeked and even if Kirsten stopped wearing the spray-on chemical, it would be days before the stink cleared.
Lara waited for her roommate to exit the bathroom, then went in to rinse out her nostrils. Inhaling water burned like hell, but it was temporary and the only way to clean the perfume oils out of her sinuses. Once the competition began, she needed to be one hundred percent. Any discomfort could make the split-second difference in winning and losing a round. A headache could make her scowl, and a single frown could turn viewers against her. In the Challenge, with a simple vote via their preferred device, viewers could make or break a contestant by determining the level of difficulty for each phase. The ability to affect the contest pulled in millions of pay-per-view voters from around the globe, but it could be hell on the contestants.
Lara glanced at herself in the mirror, and in the harsh bathroom light, saw only the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes and the deepening furrow in her brow. Police work had done that to her forehead. She’d started using rub-on Botox a few months back, but it could only do so much.
She stepped out of the bathroom and saw Kirsten digging into the suitcase she’d left unzipped on her bed. “Hey, what are doing?” Lara rushed across the sitting area.
Kirsten spun around with the Taser in her hand. “Why did you bring a stun gun?”
Resisting the urge to shout, Lara commanded, “Put it down before you hurt someone.” Kirsten complied and Lara grabbed the Taser. “I’m an ex-cop and a paramedic. Dealing with noncs can be dangerous. I always carry a weapon.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to have it during the competition. I could report you.”
“Weapons are only banned in the arena. And I could report you for wearing perfume and rifling through my things.” Lara felt rattled. She’d been there ten minutes and was already on the edge of trouble. This was not the plan. She wanted to be charming in her social encounters and ruthless in the competition. “Let’s forget all of it, okay? I’d like to get along.” What she really wanted was for Kirsten to leave the small colorless room so she could be alone for a moment.
The NetCom made a soft noise, then a woman’s voice came through the speakers. “This is Minda Walters, director of the Gauntlet. Do you hear me?”
Lara spun toward the desk. The video app on the monitor showed a thirty-something woman with close- cropped black hair and permanent eye-makeup tattoos. Lara stepped forward, a sick feeling in her gut. “This is Lara Evans. Kirsten Dornberg is here too.”
“I’d like you both to report to my office on the fourth floor. It’s suite 402. Bring the perfume and the Taser.”
Kirsten started to speak, but Lara held her finger to her lips. She grabbed her room card and motioned Kirsten to follow.
In the hall, her roommate’s face crumpled. “I forgot about the cameras in the sitting area. I hope she doesn’t boot us out.”
“Are you sure it’s video?” Lara knew the staging areas in the arena had cameras everywhere because the event was broadcast, but she hadn’t expected them in the hotel rooms.
“It’s new this year, and the notice was in the file they sent us last week. You signed a consent form or you wouldn’t be here.”
Lara had read five pages of fine print but didn’t remember such a reference. Damn! As they walked toward the elevator, her anxiety built like pressure in a teakettle. Would they be given a warning or simply kicked out? Last year, the director, nicknamed the Axe, had terminated a contestant before the Gauntlet even started, and all he’d done was smoke a cigarette, an activity that was banned almost everywhere.
Suite 402 was on the top floor at the end of the hall and the door was open. A good sign, Lara thought. A huge metal-and-glass desk sat in the middle of the main room, and the woman behind the desk seemed tiny in comparison. Lara recognized her as Minda Walters, the Gauntlet’s director, who also served as co-host for the competition. Lara saw Minda glance up at a vent on the wall, then click her keyboard. The room was wired for video, she realized, and the director had just shut off the cameras.
Minda’s tight expression made Lara wince, but she introduced herself with confidence anyway. She didn’t offer a handshake. The custom had faded after back-to-back influenza outbreaks, and many younger people had never adopted it. Her roommate plopped in a chair, looking glum.
“Put the contraband on that table and have a seat.” Minda gestured, but her facial muscles didn’t move. Lara suspected her lip color was permanent as well.
Kirsten dropped off her perfume bottle, but Lara held on to her weapon.
The director ignored it for the moment. She introduced herself, then stared at Kirsten. “The rules are clear about perfume. This is your only warning. If you violate another rule, you’re out.”
“I’m sorry. Thank you.” Kirsten closed her eyes in relief.
Minda turned to Lara. “The rules concerning weapons are less clear. You can’t bring a weapon into the arena, but federal law allows you to carry one in public as long as you’re licensed. However, I want the Taser to remain with me during the competition.”
Lara knew she should simply set the stun gun on the table and let it go, but she couldn’t. She’d been beaten and sexually assaulted as a college student in Seattle. She’d fought back and saved herself from a full rape, but the trauma had triggered her obsession with self-defense skills. Later as a detective, a police sergeant under investigation had viciously attacked her, and once on an emergency call, a man had charged her with a knife. Her Taser had saved her.
Then the laws changed and people started carrying guns and using them more freely. Distrust and the need to be prepared were part of her DNA now. She would rather walk around naked than be without a weapon.
Finally, Lara said, “I prefer to keep it with me.” She counted on the director not being willing to attract negative publicity over the issue.
Minda glared and pressed her red lips together. Lara had second thoughts. The director could sabotage her in the competition in so many ways. Then Lara remembered she had the commissioner on her side.
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to sleep without it. I have PTSD from my last year as a homicide detective.” Lara hated to pull the sympathy card, but she needed both the security of her weapons and the director’s goodwill. She was glad Minda didn’t know about the Kel-Tec.
“I’m not willing to make an issue of it then.” Minda’s left eye twitched. “I’d rather the other contestants don’t know that you have the stun gun.”
“Trust me, I don’t plan to share.” Lara didn’t want to make the situation worse, but she had to know. “Are there cameras in the bedrooms or bathroom?”
“Of course not.” Minda looked offended. “Our coverage is family-oriented. And, since you obviously didn’t read the guidelines, I’ll remind you that the cameras in the hotel-room sitting areas shut off at eight.”
Kirsten suddenly spoke up. “I’m not sure Lara and I are compatible. Would you consider reassigning me?”
“No. Your personal conflict is good for ratings. The difference in your ages and physical appearance adds to the tension. Not only will you share a room, I’d like you to keep the conflict going throughout the competition.” Minda raised her tattooed eyebrows. “It’s in your best interest, if you know what I mean.”
Back in her room, Lara sent a message to the only number she had for the employment commissioner, the one he’d used to summon a freelance paramedic. She hoped it was his personal iCom or would route to it. Her text said simply: I may need your help. I’m on Minda Walters’ shit list already.
Chapter 5
Seven and a half months earlier: Sat., Oct. 29
Paul picked at his microwave dinner as he watched a game show on his Dock. He’d been cutting calories since his first coffee date with Camille and he was down five pounds. He sucked in his stomach. The daily thirty crunches he’d added hadn’t done a thing for his abs though, so he decided to increase his effort to fifty. None of it changed his reality. He was alone on a Saturday evening, like every other weekend of his life.
