Mzatal was still on the mini-nexus, and as I passed I felt how much stronger the flows were than the previous day, coiled with potential energy like a compressed spring.
An exultant shout from the direction of the obstacle course drew my attention. I heard another shout, then the sound of Bryce cursing along with a musical peal of laughter. A few seconds later Bryce and Eilahn burst from the woods pelting neck and neck toward the house. At least I assumed it was Bryce. It was hard to be sure since he’d apparently done a face-first, full-body plant into mud somewhere along the course.
However, he didn’t let what looked like an extra ten pounds of mud slow him down, and even though I knew damn well Eilahn could outrun any Olympian, and was certainly sandbagging a bit for his benefit, Bryce still managed a final kick to finish neck and neck with her.
Eilahn grinned widely as Bryce flopped to the ground. “You fight dirty,” he managed, then let out a wheezing chuckle. “I love it.”
“I should have warned you about her,” I said as I approached them. “No such thing as a fair fight in her book.”
Eilahn bared her teeth. “A fair fight is the one you survive.”
“I’m with you, sister,” Bryce said as he pushed up to sit. He swiped a hand over his face and flicked mud away. “Though I admit I didn’t see eye to eye with you when you hooked my leg and shoved me into the mud.”
“I wished to be certain of my victory,” she stated.
“And stepped on my back.”
“Very certain.”
“You were already winning!” Bryce said in exasperation. “You stopped, waited for me to jump the log, and then tripped me.”
Eilahn tilted her head. “I wished to be very certain of my victory. And it was most amusing.”
Bryce lobbed a chunk of mud at her which she nimbly dodged. With a parting musical laugh she loped off into the woods.
I cocked an eyebrow at Bryce and smiled. “Do you want the hose?”
“I think that’ll be a good start,” he replied with a laugh.
He levered himself to his feet while I fetched the hose and turned the water on for him.
“I’ll let you sluice yourself off,” I said, handing him the hose. “But I’d like to pick your brain once you have the worst of the mud off.”
“I’m all yours,” he said with a smile as he began to rinse.
“I need to get something from the living room, and then I’ll meet you on the back porch.”
He nodded and held the hose over his head. Smiling, I headed inside. It took me a few minutes to find the journal I needed in the stack on the coffee table, and by the time I returned to the back porch Bryce had not only finished rinsing off but had even found a battered towel to dry himself. He’d also exchanged his wet and muddy clothing for battered-but-clean t-shirt and shorts, and his drying shoes sat in the sun on the steps.
“Ready for my brain picking,” he said.
“I’ll try and make it painless,” I replied and sat in one of the rocking chairs, gestured for him to do so as well. “This is one of Tracy Gordon’s journals—the one that has your name in it along with several others.” I passed it over to him. “Do you know any of these other names?”
He read through the list, all humor fleeing from his expression. “Shit.”
My gaze locked onto him. Finally, something. “You do know them? How?”
“I know about half of them.” He looked up at me, perplexed. “What the hell?”
“Anything unusual about them? Any common link you can think of?”
“The ones I recognize work—or have worked—for StarFire or other companies Mr. Farouche owns.” He frowned in thought as he drew a finger down the list. “But they do all sorts of things. I mean, they’re not all—” Pain flashed briefly over his face before he could control it. “They’re not all like me. Hanson is an accountant. Stevens is Mr. Farouche’s in-house financial advisor. Sonny—he’s listed here as Jesus Ramirez—is kind of like me. Aberdeen is the surveillance specialist for StarFire. And Henrietta—” He shrugged in bafflement. “Hennie is a damn cook.”
I slumped in the chair. Great, so at least half of the people on the list worked for Farouche, but we still had zilcho idea why they were in Tracy’s journal. “Any link apart from working for Farouche you can think of?”
Bryce considered for almost half a minute, then gave a shrug. “Nothing I can come up with.”
“Did you all come on board at the same time?” I asked, frustration rising. “Are you all from the same area? Are you all allergic to Ethiopian peanuts?” I threw up my hands in desperation. “There has to be something.”