UCI won’t do it,” Travis said. “When nothing bad happened at the Tour de France this summer, they persuaded themselves they were in the clear. Never mind the intelligence we’ve received to the contrary.”
“Obviously, the feds are overreacting, as usual.” Luke repeated the complaint they heard too often in the news.
“The UCI are determined to prove they can run a safe race here in the States,” Travis said.
“You can bet it will come back on us if they don’t.” Luke shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and jingled his change, eyes still sweeping over the crowd. “What if we’re wrong and none of our suspects is the bomber?” he asked. “What if it’s one of the racers? Or a racing official?”
“The Bureau has other people looking at them,” Travis said. “We’re focused on the outliers, the people who don’t have a logical reason to be at every race where there’s been a bomb.”
“The people who we were lucky enough to capture on video,” Luke said. “I worry about the ones who slip past, unnoticed.” He’d let down his guard one time and failed to notice the men who might have the answers to what had happened to his brother. If Luke had been more vigilant, maybe Mark would be home right now with his daughter, instead of “missing, feared dead,” as the notation in the police file of his case indicated.
“Our man is here, I know it,” Travis said. “Focus on what we can do, not what we can’t.”
Good advice, though Luke found it hard to implement. He continued to scan the crowd, then stilled as he recognized a familiar blonde head.
“What do you see?” Travis asked. He leaned closer, following Luke’s gaze, then nudged him in the side. “The woman in the blue dress? Definitely a knockout.”
Morgan had traded her jeans and tank top for a formfitting evening gown of a shimmery, iridescent blue silk. She carried a cocktail in one hand, a small silver evening bag in the other and turned her head from side to side, as if searching for someone.
“She looks familiar,” Travis said. “Someone from our videos?”
“She’s a journalist, writes for racing magazines,” Luke said. At that moment, Morgan turned in his direction and their eyes met. The now-familiar jolt of connection went through him, and he started toward her.
“Hey, Luke. I was hoping I’d see you here.” She touched his arm. “What a crush, huh?”
“Yeah, a lot of people.” But he wasn’t looking at any of them anymore, only her.
“See anyone, uh, interesting?” Her eyes filled in the question behind the question—had he seen her brother?
He shook his head, but before he could say more, Travis inserted himself between them. “Since Luke’s not going to introduce me, I’ll have to do it myself,” he said. “I’m Travis Steadman.”
“Hello, Mr. Steadman.” She shook his hand. “Are you with the FBI, too?”
He grinned. “How did you know?”
“You have that look about you.”
“What kind of look?” Luke asked.
“Very official.”
“It’s an unfortunate side effect of our training,” Travis said.
“Are you two headed to Aspen for the first stage of the race tomorrow?” she asked.
Was she making conversation or asking for another reason? Luke hedged his answer. “I’m not sure. What about you? Do you follow the racers around the state?”
She shook her head. “I wish I could, but it’s not in my budget. As the racers get closer, I’ll make a few day trips, maybe get in a few interviews with the top athletes. But most of the time I can stay in Denver and follow the race on television. At the end of the week, I’ll be in a good position to report on the final stage of the race and the results.”
Luke liked this answer. Unless his superiors changed their minds, the plan was for him and a few others to stay in Denver all week, as well, while the rest of the team followed the racers. Previously, the bomber had waited until the last day of the races to make his move, when the biggest crowd and the most media coverage were in place. But there was no guarantee he’d stick to that pattern. Meanwhile, maybe Luke and Morgan would have the chance to get to know each other better.
The crowd began to move toward the ballroom doors. “I guess it’s time to go in,” Travis said.
“May I?” Luke offered Morgan his arm. “That is, if you haven’t already arranged to sit with someone else.”
“No, um, that would be nice.” She laid her hand on his arm, a touch as light as a butterfly, yet he felt it all the way up to his chest. He was definitely in trouble, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get out of it. At least not yet.
By the time they made it inside, most of the tables near the front were already full. Travis steered them toward an empty table at the back, near the kitchen. “Not most people’s idea of choice seating,” he said, “but it works better for our purposes.”
“I get it,” she said, as she took the chair Luke held for her. “It’s a good place to watch the rest of the crowd.”
“She’s a fast learner.” Travis took the chair on one side of her, while Luke sat on the other side. “How did you two meet?” Travis asked.
“Um...” She glanced at Luke.
“I recognized her from the surveillance video and started following her,” Luke admitted. “She caught me and demanded to know what I was doing.”
“She caught you?” Travis grinned. “Didn’t we teach you better than that?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our mayor.” The introduction saved Luke from having to come up with a reply. As they ate their salads, a parade of local dignitaries made speeches praising the athletes, the sponsors, the spectators—pretty much everyone, up to and including the sanitation workers.
“Notice how no one’s mentioning the bombings,” Travis said.
“I’m sure it’s in the back of everyone’s mind,” Morgan said. “No sense putting more of a damper on the evening by bringing it up.”
“Where were you when the bombs went off in London and Paris?” Luke asked.
“You were at those races, too?” Travis was immediately more alert, focused on her. Luke sent him a quelling look.
Morgan didn’t appear to notice the exchange. “I was stuck on a shuttle in Paris,” she said. “Furious because I was missing the arrival of the winners at the finish line. By the time I got there, the ambulances were carrying away the injured. I realized how lucky I’d been.”
“And in London?” Travis asked.
“I was at the finish line, interviewing the leading American racer. We’d moved into the doorway of a building across the street to get out of the sun.” Her
