Tara Randel - The Lawman's Secret Vow

“I’m pumped,” Brandy gushed. “This is my second time in a mud race.”

“So it’s not awful?”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to have a blast.”

Eloise doubted it.

She’d studied the course description when she’d logged on to the race site online. Three miles, short by most mud race standards, with eight obstacles in all. They didn’t seem terribly daunting. The hardest part would be keeping her feet from getting sucked into a mudhole. Watching previous race videos to get an idea of what she’d encounter, she now stood before the real thing.

“What am I doing here?”

She had better things to focus on, like the details of her very first undercover operation. She’d made lists after the briefing, took care of personal business and started packing, even though they didn’t start until Monday. She would have liked to go over the official reports of previous car thefts today, try to find a pattern or similarities in the crimes, but that wasn’t happening. Even Lieutenant Chambers had been on board with her joining her fellow Palm Cove officers in the race. Being a team player would go a long way toward the promotion.

Glancing around, it seemed like everyone but Eloise was a competitor. If they’d entered a race on reading books, she bet she’d come in first every time.

The next group lined up, ready to take off. She caught sight of Dante, looking very athletic in a tight tank top and running shorts. His leg muscles, defined as he struck the starting pose, reminded Eloise that he liked to run. She shuddered. Running had never been her forte, her average times gumming her up at the academy, but she’d pushed herself because the goal of graduating was more important than the misery of running. Could she pull this off?

The beep sounded again and Dante, a mischievous grin on his face, took off. He cleared the first hurdle, hay bales lined up end to end along the width of the course, with very little effort, then sprinted. He reached up to grab the monkey bars at the next obstacle, swiftly moving hand over hand until he jumped off. After that, she lost sight of him.

Brandy turned to Eloise. “My group is up next.”

She ran off to join the others, leaving Eloise behind. Her heart quaked in her chest and she thought she might throw up. She should have stood her ground. Never let Dante taunt her into coming. But as much as she dreaded today, a part of her that had only dreamed of the opportunity was thrilled to be part of the group. After all the rejections in gym class growing up, years of hiding her embarrassment, being on this team meant the world to her. She had to do well, or they’d never ask her again.

Before she was mentally ready—would she ever be?—it was her group’s turn. She took her place, swallowed hard and, when the beep sounded, took off.

The hay bale wasn’t bad, a bit slippery since they’d been soaked with water prior to the race. Her team member reached the monkey bars before her. With an oomph, she jumped up and grabbed hold, dangling over the murky water below, wishing she had better upper body strength. She pulled herself, grunted—grunted!—and slowly made it across. So far so good , she thought.

She ran a distance before coming upon a large, shallow mud patch. Here, she would have to slither through the sludge on her knees and elbows, ducking under swinging plastic barrels overhead. Good Lord. Who came up with this torture?

She lowered herself, cringing when the cold mud slithered against her skin. She bonked her head, three times, but eventually made it through. Rising, she tried pulling the damp T-shirt from her skin, then decided to forget it. She had to keep moving.

“Hey, Eloise. Good job.”

She nearly tripped looking over her shoulder to see who’d called her name. Before she could find a familiar face, she ran right up to the next obstacle, walking over a single plank of wood that rather resembled a balance beam, above water.

“Center yourself,” she coached herself, stepping up, arms out to her sides for balance. She stopped once when she began to totter, throwing her shoulders back. Then she was off again.

The obstacles continued. She carried a long pole across her shoulders as she moved through a knee-deep pond, crawled through a dank-smelling tube and dashed over a hill with randomly placed buckets keeping her on a zany path, sprinting as fast as she could without losing breath between each obstacle. By now she barely noticed the warm, earthy smells, ignored her damp skin and clothing, not to mention her feet squishing in her sneakers. Then she came upon the final obstacle and stopped dead in her tracks.

An eight-foot wall, with cutout holes in the wood for the runners to scale up and over, loomed in her spotty image. She wiped the lenses on her glasses and gaped. No way.

“Get moving,” people from behind her yelled as they passed her. “You can do it.”

The chatter and hoots of laughter dimmed as she concentrated on the wall before her. Heart pounding, she ran to the wall, placing her feet in the lowest holes. Her soles were slippery and she promptly slid out. Grinding her teeth, she pressed down hard to keep purchase and lifted her arms to the cutouts above her. Slowly, she lugged herself to the top, wondering what her time could be. As she swung one leg over the peaked top, she could see the finish line in the distance. Along with the Palm Cove PD, standing on the sidelines to cheer on their team.

Dante stood out, waving his arms in encouragement. She gulped. Swung over the other leg. Looked down. Froze.

Was she supposed to jump?

Another participant handed her a rope. “Use this to get down.”

Breaking out of her scared stupor, she grabbed the muddy rope like a lifeline. Pushed herself off and tried to rappel down. Only her hands slipped—ouch, rope burn—and her feet slid down the wet wood. Next thing she knew she was sitting butt down in the mud, recovering from the jolt to her tailbone as people dashed around her.

“C’mon, Eloise, you can finish.”

She looked over to see Dante. He’d moved up the line to get a clear view of her sitting there. She’d done pretty good through the other obstacles. Why did he have to witness her ungainly fall now?

“Get up. You’re almost finished.”

She’d show Mr. Hotshot Matthews. With a sudden burst of energy, she rose, stumbled, then took off as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Loud cries and applause greeted her at the end of the line.

She bent over once she knew she’d crossed, hands on her knees, heaving in great big gulps of air. Her heart beat overtime, her head hurt and her knees were red and skinned.

And what, exactly, did people find invigorating about this race?

A hand slapped her on her back. She rose, meeting Dante’s amused gaze.

“You survived.”

The heck with survived. “Did we hold on to the record?”

His grin dimmed a fraction. “Off a couple seconds. No big deal.”

Her stomach sank. She’d cost them the victory? “I’m sorry. I...I could have—”

Dante cut her off. “Stop.”

She blinked back the stinging tears blurring her eyes.

“You did great for your first time. The Sandy Beach PD signed up a ringer, so we were outmanned, anyway.”

She ran a dirty finger under her nose, then grimaced.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She’d blown it. For the team. Could she feel any worse?

Brandy and the rest of her fellow officers circled her, giving her praise and joking with each other. All Eloise could muster up was disappointment in herself.

“Hey,” Dante said with a low voice as he leaned in close. Gripped her elbow. “You okay?”

No.

“Sure,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. She didn’t need his sympathy.