Snap out of it, Caroline. Pull your head out of Shannon’s crotch and concentrate.” The last word finished just before she arrived at the summit.

Caroline smoothly stepped off the lift and gathered her thoughts back to where they should be—on the race ahead of her as she waited for her bike to be passed to her. She had to be on the top of her game or not only could she lose this event, she could hurt herself severely if she weren’t careful. A broken collarbone, or any other major injury, and her chance at the championship was over.

Approaching the start line, Caroline closed her eyes and envisioned the course below. She had memorized the trail as described on the map and after the ten practice laps she had run over the past few days, she was comfortable with what she needed to do when. The course was challenging, to say the least; this was, after all, the world championship.

Not a race for novices or the tentative. She would attack the mountain like she attacked everything and in the end would not say she didn’t give it her best.

The bell sounded and in almost the blink of an eye she was approaching the bottom half of the course. The turns were tighter,

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the climbs steeper, the terrain rougher than at the top, and even more dangerous as the riders tired. Her front tire hit a mogul harder than she anticipated, the jolt absorbed by her front fork shock absorbers. Her right hand slipped off her grip and her handlebar veered to the left. Her front wheel threatened to spin out from under her and she struggled to maintain control. If she fell on this part of the course it would be more than a little painful, it would be disaster.

Crossing the finish line, Caroline knew she had not beaten Shannon’s time. She turned and saw that her slip in that last turn had, in fact, cost her the race. She finished second to Shannon by seven tenths of a second. The crowd was cheering and she knew some of it was for her but most was for Shannon who was in the hot seat, the place just under the scoreboard where the leader sat until dethroned by the next fastest rider. She was half sitting, half standing against her bike, her helmet in one hand, a Gatorade in the other. The smile on her face said it all.Before Caroline could turn away, Shannon looked directly at her.

She was too far away to read the expression in her eyes, but her wide smile dropped ever so slightly before she nodded at Caroline. It was as if she were telling her something but Caroline had no idea what it was and quite frankly didn’t care.

A crowd gathered around her and Caroline dismounted before she was knocked over. Congratulatory slaps on her back and “good race,”

“nice try,” and “you’ll get her in France” echoed from all directions.

Twenty minutes later, one of the race sponsors somehow found her and took her bike and led her to the podium. Being the second place finisher, she would stand on the pedestal to the right of where Shannon would stand. The third place finisher would flank Shannon’s other side.

Caroline drank from her water bottle while the pomp, circumstance, and speeches droned on. She was sweaty, hot, tired, and more than a little disappointed. She could have won this race if she had only had her complete attention on the race the entire time leading up to her final run. But no, she had to have a wet dream about Shannon and what it was like when she—a jolt in her side and a whistle brought her out of her daydreaming. Her name must have been called because everyone was looking at her, including the woman in third place. Tentatively, she stepped forward and onto the box with a big number two emblazoned

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on the front. She was handed a bouquet of flowers, and a medal was placed around her neck.

Caroline acknowledged Fran, who had managed to get no closer than three deep in the crowd. She was waving and whistling and jumping up and down. Fran didn’t care she had come in second.

Fran’s enthusiasm was contagious and Caroline couldn’t help but smile in return. It was only one race, after all. There were ten more to go, including the marathon twenty-four-hour race in Australia. She and Shannon were tied in points and she was only five tenths of a second behind her.

Caroline was acutely aware of Shannon standing next to her.

Shannon’s body was fit and firm and she filled out her bike shorts better than anyone Caroline had ever seen. Some riders chose to wear baggies, modified hiking shorts with the traditional bike short sewn in. Caroline had several pair herself but chose to wear the more fitted shorts in terrain like today’s where branches could snag on the material and slow her down, or worse.

A tall, too thin blonde placed the medal around Shannon’s neck and instead of kissing her on the cheek, she planted her lips directly on Shannon’s. The crowd loved it, Shannon appeared to be surprised, and Caroline steamed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the public address system. “The winner of stage two of the world championship mountain bike series. Shannon Roberts.”

Flashbulbs blinded Caroline and she smiled and waved to the crowd. It was expected of her and she played the part. What she really wanted to do was slap that grin off the blonde’s face and push her down the mountain behind them. But she didn’t, and after the interviews and pictures were finished, she and Fran walked to her sponsor’s trailer.

“I can’t believe she beat you. I was watching you on the JumboTron and I thought you had her.”

Caroline pulled off her chest protector. Sweat, grime, and dirt had accumulated on her no-longer-white T-shirt and she washed her face in the sink. The trailer wasn’t fancy, but simply a cargo trailer Striker used to store their gear at the races. It would be packed up by morning and on its way to Madrid.

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“My hand slipped,” Caroline said by way of explanation. “And my concentration,” she murmured not quite soft enough.

“I heard that last part. What are you talking about? What got you off your mark?” Fran had been to enough races to know Caroline’s pre-race routine and how sacred it was to her.

“Nothing.” Caroline tried to change the subject.

“Don’t give me that. Your concentration is as legendary as your technical skill. What’s going on? You never make a careless mistake like that.”

“Jeez, Fran, you make it sound like I’m a machine and mistakes never happen. My hand slipped; that’s all.”

“Other people make mistakes, not Caroline Davis,” Fran said standing with her arms folded across her chest.

“Yeah, well, Caroline Davis isn’t perfect, no matter how much you’d like her to be. I lost, but next week is Madrid and after that France and Andorra. I’ll beat her in every race through Europe so that by the time we get to Switzerland, I’ll be so far in front of her she’ll need a compass to even get close to me.”

“She’s gotten under your skin.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Caroline snapped. “Get over it, Fran. I have. Let me repeat myself for the last time. There is nothing going on between me and Shannon Roberts. What was is long over and nothing but a high school crush. I have moved on, and by her reputation, she has too.”

Caroline slammed the lid of the equipment box. “Now shut up about it.”

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• 100 •


Descent

ChaPTER ThiRTEEN

Caroline was true to her word and she finished ahead of Shannon in France, Madrid, and Italy. Shannon had beaten her in Germany, Andorra, and South Africa. At the end of eight races, Caroline had fifty-five points to Shannon’s fifty-three. Having the highest number of points, Caroline was wearing the blue jersey for this race. Nine weeks had passed since she tore Fran’s head off during their argument in Scotland, and she was due to arrive at the end of the week.The flight from South Africa to Geneva was a marathon twenty-one hours of travel time and three different flights. She was battling jet lag, fatigue, and unsuccessfully trying to avoid Shannon. Shannon seemed to be everywhere she went. It didn’t matter if Caroline was in Madrid, Munich, or Florence, Shannon was in the restaurant, at the required sponsor event, on the practice track. This was their week off with no races and she needed time to rest, practice, and be alone. The Swiss resort in downtown Champéry was the perfect place.

Located ninety minutes from Geneva, Champéry was the picture postcard of a small village in the Swiss Alps. The Les Dents du Midi Mountains framed the village and its chalets and hotels. The town consisted of narrow streets lined with small shops and restaurants catering to the international clientele that came to Champéry in the winter for its excellent skiing and the summer for beautiful outdoor activities.

The ninth race was being held at the Bike Park, the largest mountain bike domain in Europe. Formed by the Swiss resorts of the Portes du

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Soleil, Champéry, Val d’Illiez, and Morgins, the park boasted twenty-four lifts, nine downhill trails, and hundreds of miles of marked trails.

If the opportunity to ride the fabulous trails didn’t make your heart stop, the stunning views of the Swiss Alps would.

Caroline skidded to a stop after her second practice run down Trail 105, the official downhill track this year. As she had expected and didn’t want, Shannon was waiting for her at the bottom of the course.

“Good ride.”