“She mentioned that there was a new development in Alex Pardini’s death, right?” Marsh asked me.
“I think that’s what she was trying to say.” I sure couldn’t swear to it. “We’re going to have to ask her when she wakes up.”
The surgeon finally came out to talk to us at around three A.M. He said Helms was stable and holding her own. She’d be unconscious for at least the rest of the night and on strong pain meds the next day.
In other words, we might not have any answers about what had happened to her, or what her new information was that might have caused her to get shot, until we were already in Mobile for the last leg of the race.
“Don’t worry,” Marsh told us when the surgeon had gone. “I’m staying here with her. I won’t let anything else happen to her.”
It seemed as though there was nothing else to do. Uncle Saul said we should go back and get some sleep. I agreed, though it was hard leaving Helms.
We were back at the hotel by three thirty A.M. Everything was so quiet. Even the manager at the night desk whispered good morning to us as we walked by.
Uncle Saul decided to go up and sleep for two hours.
Miguel and I went upstairs. He walked me to my door and we went inside. The room was mostly dark. Crème Brûlée was snoring on the chair.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Miguel said.
He started to walk away and I caught his hand. “Will you stay instead? I don’t think I can sleep, and I don’t want to be alone.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him. “I can do that.”
We ended up sitting up against the pillows on the bed in the dark room. I had thought we could talk; you know, exchange secrets we wouldn’t have said at any other time. I leaned against his chest and heard his heart beating. I thought about him being alone and smoking after his wife and baby had died.
I closed my eyes to gather my scattered thoughts before I spoke, and the next thing I knew, the alarm on my phone was going off. It was six A.M. Time to go on with the race.
“I think I fell asleep for a while,” Miguel whispered, a smile in his voice. “How about you?”
“I think I completely passed out, and I apologize if I was snoring louder than my cat.”
“There were a few gasps and a little muttering, but no snoring,” he assured me.
“That’s good. I’d hate to snore the first night we spend together, you know?”
He kissed me, and we sat together silently for a few minutes.
“We have to go,” he said. “After this is all over, we’ll talk about us. Tonight, we’ll be home again. I’ll see you later, Zoe.”
I didn’t really see him leave, but I saw the door open and close. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. After the terrible night I had, I’d expected to feel much worse.
Miguel assuring me that I didn’t snore helped. Seeing his face first thing was great, too. That smile was enough to chase all my blues away.
I felt lighthearted and ready to face the day. It was time to take out the bikini.
– – – – – – –
There was a large crowd waiting for us in downtown Birmingham. The TV show promotion, and the building tension to see who would win, had created fans. I saw my name on two large posters that were held in the air.
“Look! There’s Zoe and Delia!” A man yelled and waved.
“Weird.” Ollie shook his head. “Why was he yelling for the two of you and not me?”
Uncle Saul slapped his back and laughed.
Ropes were up to keep the crowds away from the food trucks in the pre-dawn darkness. Camera crews were on hand from several of the major TV networks. It seemed odd after being in Atlanta, a much larger city, that people would make such a fuss over us in Birmingham.
All the food truck vendors were wearing robes or large shirts that covered up their bikinis when we met in front of the stage where Patrick Ferris was waiting.
“Why isn’t he wearing a bikini?” Ollie asked in a sour voice. His super-long Crimson Tide T-shirt covered his bathing suit.
“Because he isn’t part of the race.” Uncle Saul’s bikini was covered by an ankle-length trench coat. “He gets to wear what he wants. Anyone taking odds on him making it through the rest of the race?”
“I’ve got some money to put on that!” Bobbie Shields was wearing a loose-fitting flowered dress over her bikini.
Her daughter, like Delia, wore her bikini out in the open. Not surprising since she looked awesome in it. It was one of those suits with the patches in strategic places that seemed to be held together with magic.
Patrick was going through his usual spiel, reminding us all of the rules and the challenge for that day. I could tell everyone was extra nervous. This was the end of the line for two more food trucks. Only one stop to go before a winner was announced.
Dante was there, up by the front of the stage. He was wearing his black bikini with no covering. It looked good on him. He pulled it off with fantastic abs and a taut tush.
I clung to my pink robe and didn’t plan to remove it until I had to.
Miguel was there in jeans and a Biscuit Bowl T-shirt. Ollie had a few words to say about the outriders not having to meet the challenge. He was mostly ignored as the time neared for us to get started on making food for the day.
There was no sign of the Our Daily Bread team. Had they given up rather than wear bikinis? It seemed like too much to ask for. I waited for them to make an appearance.
When everything pertinent had been said, the remaining food truck teams started back to get ready for the day. Chef Art had managed to get a TV crew from Mobile to come in and tape us making food.
“You all remember to wear your hats,” he reminded us before making room for the cameramen.
Ollie and Uncle Saul looked at each other and sighed before they removed their outer garments to reveal the skimpy bathing suits beneath them.
When Ollie removed his T-shirt, I heard an audible gasp from Delia.
She stared at him. “Which one of us is supposed to look better in a bikini?”
TWENTY-FIVE
My jaw dropped, too. I had never seen Ollie wearing so little. He made Dante look like he’d only started working out a few days earlier. Ollie had muscles on his muscles. He was in awesome shape.
“Man!” Uncle Saul shook his head. “You look good. Why were you covering up?”
“I’m wearing a woman’s bikini.” Ollie punctuated each word with a dollop of sarcasm. “Why do you think?”
“I love the dragon tattoo.” Delia ran her hand up his back from the spot where the dragon’s tail ended under the red bottom to the head that was arched back on his broad, muscular shoulders.
“Thanks!” He looked surprised and pleased that we were so complimentary.
I took the opportunity, while everyone was gawking at Ollie’s physique, to remove my robe and quickly stash it in a bottom storage bin in the kitchen.
“Wow!” Miguel approved quietly, but with a lustful smile that I enjoyed.
I felt myself blush all over—and I mean all over. “Okay. Let’s get going or we don’t have a chance of having the food ready by eight. Uncle Saul, what are we making today?”
He’d chosen a simple, but sure to please, menu. His gumbo was to die for, even though we’d have to take a few shortcuts to have it ready in time. For our sweet dish, he’d chosen berries and whipped cream.
We jumped right in. Delia and I chopped precooked vegetables, sausage, and chicken while Uncle Saul started the biscuit bowls. The berries had to be thoroughly washed—that was Ollie’s job.
It was hard to ignore the cameramen. It was already like being in a fish bowl. Sometimes I felt like the camera was going right in my ear. Could they come any closer?