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As she closes on the twins, Jillian tries to think of something devastatingly clever to say. Something that will remind them that, thanks to Jill Kendal, Britte and Kristin Kiergaard are no longer the world's best women triathletes. Preferably, something that will make them angry. It'll be fun watching them try to act like it doesn't bother them. But nothing comes to mind. So when she pulls up next to the twins, just past the nine-mile marker, she says nothing at all, she just looks over at them and nods. "Hallo, Jill." The twin running next to Jillian returns her nod. "Good seeing you." Like hell. "You too, Kristin," Jillian says. It must be Kristin, she thinks. Kristin doesn't say much, but Britte doesn't speak to her at all. A light drizzle has begun to fall, more of a mist than real rain, coating Central Street with a slick sheen. Glad I'm off the bike, Jillian thinks. I had enough trouble just staying on the goddamn course without having slick roads to worry about. She glances at Kristin and Britte; they sport identical braids that bounce in unison as they run. "Did you know that there's some new girl ahead of us?" "Ja, we know." Kristin sounds pained. "Do you know who she is?" "Hell, no. But she impressed the hell out of Jago, whoever she is. He doesn't think I can catch her." "Jago said that?" "No way. But he was thinking it, the son of a bitch." "It cannot be so," Kristin says, and Jillian isn't sure if Kristin means that Jillian can catch the new girl or that Jago doesn't think that she can't. "You and Britte may have to split third- and fourth-place money this time," Jillian points out, helpfully, "instead of your usual second and third. If you know what I mean." "Jill," Kristin says, after a long pause, "there is no money for four places in this race. Only three places. Five for the men, but only three for us. You did not know?" "Didn't know and don't care. All I care about is first place." A policeman holds up cross-traffic on Main Street; he waves and tips his hat to them as they run by. Jillian smiles and waves back. She grabs a cup of PowerAde from a wooden table that stands on the sidewalk in front of the Natick Town Hall. The cool liquid feels good sliding down her dry throat. Jago would be furious, Jillian thinks, if he knew that I ran through the last three aid stations without stopping for a drink. But Jago isn't the one busting his ass out here trying to make up half an hour on some goddamn phantom. So the hell with him. I feel good. I feel strong. It's time to pick up the pace. "Well," she says, "guess I better go meet the new girl." "Jill, can you slow her down? Send her back to us?" Kristin looks straight ahead as she speaks, as if asking for help is painful and she can't bear to make eye contact. "I would be greatly... appreciate." She shoots a glance at Britte, who appears to be ignoring the conversation. "We both would be greatly appreciate," Kristin adds, with a tone that implies that her sister had better not disagree. Britte snorts in disgust and shakes her head, but says nothing. "Yeah, well..." Slow her down? How? Tie her shoelaces together? Pull down her shorts? Jillian shrugs. "I'll see what I can do." And then she is pulling away, almost imperceptibly at first, but the gap between Jillian and the twins grows wider and wider as Jillian eats up the road with long powerful strides, looking for all the world like God's own golden running machine.
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