Thirteen
He’d lost. How could that have happened?
Nasim didn’t know. He’d kept up with her, even passed her a few times. They’d seemed almost perfectly evenly matched. And then there had been that surge of power, that fierce acceleration, the one which sent her shooting ahead of him like a horse that had just been kicked.
There was no magic involved, no trick. It was only that Bailey knew cars better than he did, how to handle them, how they worked. Indeed, he’d probably only won their second race because he was more familiar with the course they’d driven. Given that same knowledge, she probably would have beaten him then as well.
Scowling, he snapped his fingers and conjured a map of New Mexico, then spread it out on the dining room table. There was Los Alamos, a small dot on a map th
