Page 41 of False Start

I reached the bottom of the stairs and followed his gaze up. “Probably not here. I think they like alcoves.”

His lips tipped into a grin. “Alcoves, huh?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a bat exper—” My smug retort came to an abrupt stop once I spotted a shadowy figure at the base of the stairs. “What the hell is that?”

At the bottom of the stairs, an absurdly tall man stood – no – menaced, wearing a cloak. I craned my head up, trying to make out the features in the light of the flickering lanterns by the door. Before I could step closer to investigate, Trent wrapped a handaround my elbow, pulling me behind him before stepping into the clearing. He puffed his chest up, back ramrod straight.

And then he let out a laugh. “Bat Man.”

“Bat Man?” I darted out from behind him, squinting to help adjust to the low light. While lifelike from far away, up close, it was obvious that we were looking at a statue. The face was carved out of a black stone, and the billowing cape was actually wings. Bat wings, if Trent was to be believed. “That’s what we’re here for?”

“I remember now. We need to take a picture with the statue.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t act like this is news to you. You had the handbook.”

“I forgot. I’ve been doing a lot of research while you’re just sitting around.”

“You mean driving. The thing we have to do if you want to win this rally.” I posted up by the statue, waving for Trent to join me while I fumbled with my phone. “Which, as I recall, youcan’tdo.”

“Yet.” He batted down my phone. “Let me take the picture. My camera is better.”

“We don’t get points based on how nice the picture is.” He held out the phone and snapped the picture mid-sentence. I frowned. “Do I get some warning?”

He flipped the phone, angling it so I couldn’t see the screen, and shook his head. “Nope. I look great. No signal, though. I’ll post when we get back to the entrance.”

“Can I look at it, at least?” I called as Trent tromped back up the path.

He didn’t answer, not that it shocked me.

The other cars were long gone by the time we emerged. Trent leaned against the driver’s side door, posting a probably terrible picture of me. Not that I cared. No one besides Derek knew the account we were using, anyway. And if Trent’s fans found it, theywere only going to be looking at him, and it didn’t matter what I looked like at all.

“I’m driving this leg,” Trent announced, opening the door and sliding in before I could argue.

FOURTEEN

TRENT

My fingersnervously tapped the steering wheel as I pulled up to a stop sign at the Bat Mountain exit. Recalling all the two minutes of video I’d caught the night before and the five minutes of driving before the shotgun start, I downshifted to first and promptly stalled the car.

Kit pursed her lips. But she didn’t sigh, which felt like progress.

I started the car again and shot her a winning smile. “I’ll get it.”

Or we’d replace the transmission which, according to the rulebook, if we made the swap ourselves, it would net us extra points. Not exactly an optimal situation considering I didn’t have that automotive know-how, and judging by her earlier comments, Kit didn’t want to take on a giant repair mid-race.

Scanning the intersection, I eased the car into first. The clutch caught the gear, rolling forward. I hit the gas and swapped into second. Kit’s eyes jockeyed between the shift stick and the road, a worried line across her forehead.

“I’ve got this,” I reassured her, and myself. “Figure out where we’re going.”

She picked up the guidebook but kept her eyes on the road. I pushed in the clutch, moving the car to third.

“You can shift straight from first to third.” She pursed her lips. “In case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t, actually. I fell asleep before I got to that part of the video.”

She shimmied in her seat as I reached cruising speed and finally turned her attention to the book.

“I’m trusting you not to destroy the car while I find our next spot. Were you looking ahead or…” Her voice trailed off, and she tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Huh.”

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