Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(27)

Vero turned to whisper in my ear. “One hundred fifty pounds? That’s nothing,” she said. “Harris definitely weighed more than that. And don’t even get me started on Andrei Borov— Ow!” she yelped as I stepped hard on her toe.

“After you’ve delivered your dummy to the finish line,” Nick called out, “you will complete four laps around the track. Points will be awarded for the fastest completion times for each section of the course. Are there any questions?” He surveyed the class. “Then partner up and form a line beside the nearest set of cones. Those of you sitting this one out will be assisting the instructors. Take a clipboard and a stopwatch and report to Officer Roddy for instructions.”

I spotted Roddy’s head above the crowd and started toward him. Vero pulled me up short. “What are you doing?”

“I’m observing.”

“No way,” she said, pulling me toward the cones. “We are here to get the full experience.”

“No,” I corrected her in a harsh whisper. “We are here to find EasyClean.”

“And we are not going to do it sitting on the sidelines. Even Mrs. Haggerty is getting in on the action.” Vero pointed downfield at my elderly neighbor. Her bright pink running shoes matched her lipstick, and her sweatpants were emblazoned with the word JUICY on the ass. Her grandson held her hand as she attempted a few tame stretches.

“I don’t think we have to worry about Team Neighborhood Watch,” I said.

“Maybe not, but check out Riley and Max.” Vero tipped her head toward the podcasters as they performed exaggerated lunges by the starting line. “Those two did not come to play. But I’m pretty sure they’re in worse shape than you, so stick with me and try to keep up.”

I rolled my eyes as Vero sat on the ground and reached for her toes. She smacked my leg and gesticulated for me to start stretching, too. Ty squatted beside her and leaned close to her ear. “Want a little pro tip?” he offered. Vero nodded, eager for an advantage. “Bend from the knees and let your legs do the work. Women carry most of their strength in their lower body, and the dummy’s a lot denser than it looks.”

“No kidding,” she said, glaring after him as he jogged onto the course. “Did he just mansplain to me the most effective way to move a body? That’s it,” she said, getting up and rolling her sleeves. “Now we definitely have to win this thing.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I turned at the sound of Nick’s voice beside my ear, coming face-to-face with the whistle hanging around his neck.

“Yes, she does,” Vero said.

Nick smirked over his stopwatch. “Okay, then. Ready?”

“Wait,” Vero said. “I have a question about the dummy. Does the body have to be in one piece when we move it, or is there some wiggle room in the rules for that? Because I was thinking—”

“We’re ready!” I pushed Vero toward the starting line. “Are you nuts?” I whispered to the back of her head.

“It was a legitimate question!”

The whistle blew. Vero darted onto the course. She took a running leap toward a high wall made from smooth wooden boards, hooking one hand over the top and dragging herself up to straddle it. Perched on top, she craned her neck to find Riley and Max.

“Move your ass, Finlay!” she shouted down at me. “You can run faster than that! Breathe! In through the nose, out through the mouth!”

“This isn’t Lamaze!”

“Come on, push!”

“What would you know about pushing!” I clasped her outstretched hand and pulled myself up the wall with a grunt, teetering like a seesaw when I reached the peak and nearly plummeting face-first down the other side. Vero vaulted neatly off the top, landing on her feet as I slid down the wall on my belly. By the time I made it to the bottom, Vero was already at the next obstacle, facedown on the ground, army-crawling on her elbows under a web of ropes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, panting as I watched her feet disappear under the nylon mesh.

“You can do it, Finlay!” she called over her shoulder. “It’s just like the car at the salvage yard!”

“That’s not helping!” With a resigned fuck, I ducked down on my knees and scooted on my belly under the ropes, following the soles of Vero’s shoes and blinking away the dirt she was kicking into my eyes.

Vero scrambled out the other side. She rose on her toes, checking the progress of our competition. “We’re gaining on them, Finn. Hurry!”

When I emerged, Vero hauled me to my feet. I ducked after her through a concrete tunnel. Then over a concrete tunnel. We high-stepped through a series of tires, then over a beam on a swinging contraption made of more ropes. When we made it to the end, filthy and exhausted, our CPR dummy was waiting for us, supine on the ground.

Vero and I took a moment, hands on our knees, breathing hard, sweat dampening our hairlines as we surveyed the competition. Riley and Max were already wrestling with their dummy, the deadweight of its loose limbs dragging on the ground as they tried and failed to surge ahead. Riley stumbled backward, holding the dummy’s feet. Max’s arms were hooked under the dummy’s armpits as she struggled to hold the weight of its head and torso without tripping on the arms.

“True crime, my ass,” Vero muttered.