Even when her mouth moved against his, Simon expected the electric flashes, the sweet shiver of passion to be interrupted at any moment by a slap in the face. Instead, Agnes wound one arm around his neck, traced a circle against his chest with the other hand and leaned into him. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her in.
Before he could forget himself completely, forget the race and drag her with him to sandy ground, Agnes pulled back. He froze, arms still holding her above the hips, and looked deeply into those wide, Rutherford eyes. He searched them, had to know before he planned too much more of their future.
She shook her head and let the corner of her mouth curl into a wicked grin.
Simon nearly kissed her again, but she wriggled out of his grip and stepped away.
"No." She held up her hands. "We've business to finish here, Simon."
He thought he heard a touch of regret, heard the words catch and the resolve waver as she turned. Then again, he wanted to hear it badly enough to imagine it. He bit back the urge to call her name and watched her eyes flicker toward the canyon walls again.
"Think you can step it up a notch?" she asked.
"I can manage." He fought back disappointment and the feeling he'd already been played more than once. She smiled when she turned to him this time and the waver in her voice couldn't be mistaken.
"It was worth the wait, Simon."
He listened to her sneakers puff against the sand as she ducked around the padded barricade. He counted a dozen steps before he sprang after her. He'd manage to step it up all right. Simon didn't intend to let Agnes Rutherford out of his sight for a second.
* * * *
Agnes heard his breathing as he closed in. She shut her eyes and willed him to keep going. She could still smell him and residual shivers danced along her spine at the thought of that kiss. Keep going, Simon, run right on by. She cracked one eye and caught him hovering by her shoulder. Damn it. He matched her pace, slowed when she backed off and refused to take the lead.
She stared ahead and watched the canyon widen as they neared the ravine and the third obstacle. She'd done her part, had warned him about the faulty section. Why didn't he take the hint and run, for heaven's sake? Why did the man have to match her stride for stride? Why'd he have to kiss her, for that matter? Agnes sighed and then bit her lip to snuff out the sound. He reminded her too much of his father.
They'd almost reached the bridge and Simon hadn't budged. Time to take things into her own hands. Agnes knew they couldn't cross the bloody obstacle in tandem. She faked a stumble and snarled out the side of her mouth as she fell back a stride, "Get a move on, Maxwell!"
He pulled ahead.
Agnes watched him take the ramp onto the plank bridge. This ravine cut a narrow gap through the canyon bottom and the span of the obstacle could be covered in less than a dozen strides. She counted as his feet slammed onto the boards. Three strides and he leapt, right where Spaulding painted the green line, right where the trap waited.
Simon launched across the bridge segment and came down without missing a beat. The final leg of the bridge held strong. Agnes smiled and ran up onto the first section. She followed her instructions, leapt the faulty plank and crossed the canyon gap, but Simon ran unscathed in front of her. Spaulding was not going to be pleased.
Agnes increased her pace and closed in on him. She had plenty of experience dealing with Spaulding's temper. She checked the top of the walls again. She knew her brother well enough to know he might pull something--something they hadn't planned--but the rock rim remained vacant. She had experience dealing with her brother all right, enough to be worried. She frowned at the canyon top again.
He'd nearly blown a fuse when he found out she'd gone down into the basement. Agnes's smile twisted to one side. She'd managed to convince him then, hadn't she? She leaned forward, put a little effort into her steps and decreased Simon's lead by three paces. He moves like his father, she thought, almost exactly the same build.
The second time she'd snuck down to see the prisoner, Agnes found him hanging upside down from the rickety bunk beds her parents stowed inside the cell. Agnes couldn't imagine where her father had produced the metal cage, but the beds she supposed had come from the local Boy Scout camp. She peered through the bars at Mr. Maxwell as he executed a series of jackknife movements while suspended by his knees.
"Hello, Agnes," he said on the downward fall. Then he inhaled and rose up to show her his back again. "I didn't think you'd be back. You ran away so fast yesterday."
"What are you doing here?" she asked him, her voice squeaking along with the metal bed frame.
"That's a good question." Mr. Maxwell grabbed the top railing and flipped toward the floor. He somersaulted and landed in a crouch next to the bars.
Agnes took a large step backward.
"I suspect you may know the answer to that already." He smiled.
Agnes saw the kindness in his creased eyes. She never answered him. They both knew what her parents had done. Instead, young Agnes folded her legs and plopped down on the musty floorboards. "Tell me why you do that?" She pointed to the bunks where he'd been exercising. "Isn't it hard?" She laughed at the memory, could still see his expression. He'd looked so much like Simon.
She sped up and closed the gap to two strides. The larger chasm waited. Spaulding's designer had had some fun there and a pair of steel cables stretched across the expanse. The nearest end attached to scaffolding atop a platform and the hoops that would carry them to the other side gleamed at the top of a short, padded stair. Agnes shifted her breath, centered her thoughts again and caught up with Simon as they reached the bottom step.
They jumped together, both grabbed a ring at the same time and kicked off, sliding along their respective cables out into the open. Agnes tucked up her knees and felt a rush of speed. The view below, far below where the big mats waited for an unfortunate slip, sent a nervous tremor through her body. It felt almost as exhilarating as Simon's lips against hers, as the weight of his strong hands gently resting at her hips.
Simon. She turned her head against the currents of air and a flash of blue zipped along to her right. Smiling, she pressed her knees into her chest and pulled ahead. Her arms may not have a man's strength, but her lighter weight proved an advantage on this particular apparatus. The canyon bottom flashed beneath her, the safety mats a blur of red and blue as she neared the far side.
She saw Spaulding at the last second. He stood on the farthest wall, dressed in his Spartan getup, red cape billowing in the air currents gusting up the stone face. His spandex suit shimmered like a flame against the sky. Her heart jumped. Agnes nearly lost her grip on the ring. Their plan did not include The Spartan. She twisted and tried to see if Simon had noticed her brother.
He was too busy watching her. He winked at her. Agnes shouted, but the wind stole the sound from her lips. She kicked her feet down, hoping to slow her slide and allow Simon to gain on her. Her hands slipped against the metal and she had to swing back around to save herself from falling.
Smoke puffed against the rock as The Spartan triggered the explosion. Agnes screamed and kicked her legs. Her hoop flashed and pivoted, but her cable held strong. Its neighbor, however, fell slack. Agnes heard the zing of loose metal as the strand whipped and snaked through the air. He might have killed one of us, she thought, either one of us.
Simon plummeted toward the mats. Agnes clenched her teeth and gripped her ring more tightly. A few yards to safety. She glanced down to watch the glint of his track suit grow smaller. Damn Spaulding anyway. She didn't want it like this and he knew it. The mats should prevent any serious injury, but what if Simon landed wrong? The sudden drop had surprised him. He'd been focused on her. Agnes owed his father better than that. She cursed into the wind and let go of her ring.
* * * *
They'd bound his ankles as well as his wrists. Simon wiggled his palms together against restraints that refused to give even a fraction. His eyes blinked against the smooth fabric of a blindfold.
He'd landed hard. The rush of wind and adrenaline on the way down hadn't prepared him for the waiting goons' attack. Still, he'd blacked at least one eye before they knocked him unconscious. He smiled in the dark and tried to wrench his hands free. Nothing.
Voices murmured at the edge of his comprehension. As he struggled and twisted to sit up, he recognized Spaulding's high-pitched whine, "You're ruining everything."
"Kidnapping Maxwell was not a part of the plan."
Agnes. Simon froze at the sound of her voice.
"You agreed to do this my way, Spaulding."
"I want a guarantee," Spaulding snarled. "What makes you so certain you can beat him?"
"I beat you, didn't I?"
Simon strained to hear Spaulding's reply. They kept moving around. The sound faded in and out. His stomach clenched against the image, against the casual conversation, the intimacy of siblings arguing. Teaming up with his archenemy qualified as quite a black strike on the potential Mrs. Maxwell's resume. He didn't want to think about it.
"He didn't fall at the bridge," Spaulding continued to argue.
"Just as well," Agnes said.
Their voices came close enough that Simon would bet they stood within arm's reach.
"I told you when you insisted on that stupid trap that I prefer to win the race fair and square."
"Why?" Spaulding truly couldn't imagine a reason to play by the rules.
Simon held his breath and continued to feign unconsciousness. He wanted to hear the answer, probably more than Spaulding did. Why should Agnes hang on to any thread of honor if she intended to walk alongside her brother, if she intended to follow the path of the Rutherfords before her?
"Maybe because you could never do it?" she retorted, a taunt meant to cut at Spaulding's inadequacies, no doubt.
Simon frowned. It wasn't an answer at all.
"Do you know what I think?" Spaulding jibed back. "I think you're sweet on him. I think you're going to let him win."
Agnes snorted.
Simon heard it echo and considered their possible locations. Somewhere near the ravine? Somewhere out of the open and beyond the range of the helicopters. He resisted the urge to strain against the bonds again.
"You're out of your mind, Spaulding."
Simon didn't care for that tone at all.
"You know what his father did to me."
Agnes's words sparked a flare of anger in his chest. His father.
"Oh, yes." Spaulding mocked her now. "You mean when you let him out?"
"He tricked me. You know that, and what did I get for it? Sent away, isolated from my family and pawned off on an ancient aunt for ten years."
Well that explained a lot. Simon frowned and tried to reconcile Agnes's tale with his father's description of the girl he'd known. The only explanation he could think up reeked of tragedy. In light of this, he'd be hard pressed to doubt her familial loyalty.
He'd almost bought it, had almost fallen into those dark eyes and the words his father spoke too many years ago. Poor Agnes, indeed. He'd only wanted to believe in her, had invented reasons to hope. Now he lay trussed up and blindfolded and feeling like a super schmuck.
"Now," Agnes purred at her brother. "Are you going to let me finish this thing my way, or do I have to get nasty?"
"Agnes."
"Just stay out of my way, Spaulding. Get back up there, show up at the finish line, be seen and, for the love of God, remember to limp!"
"I--"
"You look like an idiot walking around in that thing."
Simon heard footsteps retreating and tried to judge the size of the room from their echo. He gauged it to be cavernous and the word matched his original suspicions. They had him in a cave, no doubt near the ravine where he'd tumbled into their trap. Now Spaulding would return to the finish line. The mayor and the whole town would watch Agnes cross first. Not on his shift.
He arched his back and twisted his wrists. His bonds held. He bent his knees, pulled his ankles in closer and rubbed his feet together. He kicked them. He rolled onto his back and felt along the floor with his whole body. If he lay in a cave, there might be a rough spot, even a projection he could use to free himself.
"Simon?" Agnes called nearby.
He renewed his efforts.
"Simon, hold still for heaven's sake."
He shook his head blindly and scooted a few inches to one side, hopefully away from her. The floor did feel rough, pitted and laced with nubs that proved a little too smooth for his purposes. He twisted against them just the same.
"Simon."
Her voice hovered near his ear. She knelt beside him.
"Simon, don't be ridiculous. How can I untie you while you're writhing around like that?"
"Silence, fiend!" Simon deployed his favorite line just for her. "I'll not fall prey to your villainous plot, Rutherford."
"Rutherford," Agnes whispered. "I hate to tell you this,
Maxwell
, but you've already fallen."
Simon clenched his jaw.
"Now hold still so I can get these off."
He felt her hands brush at his wrists and pulled hard in the other direction.
She heaved a sigh. "Really, Simon. Do we have to do everything the hard way?"
"You won't win today, Agnes."
"Fine, but can we please get you free before you beat me?"
She touched his hands again and he scooted away.
"Simon!"
"What?"
"If this is a trap, why am I still here? Why am I not scampering back up the nets to finish the race while you lie here in the dark?"
"I don't know."
"Then can I please untie you now?"
"Fine." He stopped moving and waited. This time he let her touch him, her hands quickly loosening whatever tied his wrists together. As soon as the restraint fell away, he reached up and tore the blindfold from his eyes. He blinked against the darkness until Agnes's outline materialized at his feet.