Gold Medal Murder Read Online Free

we were ready to leave, Scott Trevor had even begun to appear in my dreams! And boy, were those some strange dreams.
    Joe and I took separate flights from Bayport to LA. He would be meeting up with Scott first, in an official ATAC briefing so that Scott would know exactly who and what he was. The next day, I would be presented to Scott as the winner of the “Biggest Fan” competition held by Sportztime. Sportztime was currently filminga documentary about Scott, and our first meeting was to be captured on camera. I just hoped that we had the case wrapped up before it aired!
    The taxi from the airport dropped me off outside of Scott’s giant house/complex, which was right outside LA, along the water. In all the interviews, Scott said he preferred swimming in the ocean to the pool, unless he was racing. I was struggling up the walkway when a voice yelled out to me.
    â€œWait! Stop! Go back.” A man came running out of the house toward me with a microphone in his hand. He was exactly what I thought people from LA would look like: tan, tall, blond. Though in his forties, he was obviously still in good shape. A cameraman came running after him. I almost did a double take when I recognized Vijay, who pulled the camera away from his eyes just long enough to shoot me a quick wink.
    â€œHi,” I said. “I’m—”
    â€œFrank Carson, I know.” Carson was the fake last name ATAC had given me for the mission. The man with the microphone continued talking. “I’m Alex Smothers, founder of Sportztime. And I wanted to get you exiting the taxi for the doc, but now the taxi’s gone and the shot’s ruined. Oh, well, let’s get you inside.”
    Alex Smothers had been an Olympic swimmer in the 1980s, and had managed to turn his fame into a lastingsports media empire. He also didn’t seem to breathe between any of his sentences. If he could swim as fast as he could talk, no wonder he had been so famous! I’d done some reading on him, too, since he was the host of the “Biggest Fan” competition I had supposedly won. The competition had been real enough—ATAC had just rigged the results for me.
    Scott’s house wasn’t just big, it was a complex. There were wings and levels and gardens, all climbing up a hill in some prime waterfront real estate. We entered through the gym. And this wasn’t some basement home gym, with a few weights and one of those “total workout machines” that were advertised in my spam mail. This was a full private gym: treadmills, barbells, weight machines, sauna, and Jacuzzi. And, of course, a full-size Olympic pool.
    Scott was doing laps when I entered. I’d seen the same thing in a lot (a
lot
) of television clips, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. The way he moved was unreal. It was as though the water parted to make room for him. He was so at home in the water it was like he was a merman or a dolphin—something definitely not human or meant to live on the land. Before I’d even begun to grasp how fast he was moving, he had already crossed the length of the pool and was climbing out near me.
    A man ran over to hand Scott a towel. In my mind,I checked him off from the list of people and names with which ATAC had provided me. It was Lee Singh, Scott’s manager. Singh had “discovered” Scott at the age of twelve, when he’d been Scott’s coach on his middle school swim team. He had been a close friend and advisor ever since, though it was only recently that he’d taken up the position of manager as well. There were a number of other people in the room as well: Joe, in his role as Scott’s new personal assistant; Lexi Adams, Scott’s girlfriend and fellow Olympic athlete; and Lexi’s manager, who looked (from the strong resemblance) to also be her father.
    With a broad smile on his face, Scott walked over to me.
    â€œHey man,” he said.