Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  “I guess we know why it’s still on the market,” I tell Drew.

  “Should we make an offer?” Drew deadpans. I roll my eyes at him knowing that if he wanted to, he could probably pay for a house like this with cash.

  We park at the curb and stare at the house. Drew squeezes my hand before pulling it to his lips and delivering soft kisses across my knuckles. The confusion my body is experiencing is outweighed by my fluttering heart. His effect on me is unnerving.

  “You never did tell me this guy’s name,” he states, meeting my gaze.

  “Oh, sorry,” I reply, slightly caught off-guard by his affection. “It’s Sargent Dosdell.”

  “Wait. What did you say his name was?” Drew says, his body stiffening.

  “Sargent Dosdell. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I know that name,” he says, looking confused as he climbs out of the car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Expect the Unexpected

  Drew

  As we stand in front of the house I rack my brain for why that name is so familiar. I’m positive there is significance, but for some reason the memory of why is buried in the back of my mind. It gets me thinking that maybe it’s the name of someone I knew a long time ago, except that doesn’t feel right. Frustrated, I push the thought to the side and instead imagine what this so-called ‘safe house’ is used for.

  The house is breathtaking with a large, albeit overgrown, yard. With the help of a landscaper it would be perfect for hosting outdoor events for hundreds of guests. But the surrounding area is desolate. Based on appearances alone I conjure up scenes from many horror flicks, sending a chill down my spine. Why did we ever agree to meet this guy? Is there something between him and Breanne?

  Aggravated by the thought, I wonder how well he knows her. There’s no way he knows her better than I do, right? He’s been in her house but he’s certainly never spent the night with her. Just the thought of some guy being in her house, a place I’ve never been, pisses me off. Even his name pisses me off. Sargent Dosdell, I inwardly mock in an annoying, childish tone. Again I’m bothered because I know this name and it’s not because of Breanne. The name is not someone who has ever done a security detail for me. I don’t think it’s a friend of my agent or someone associated with the Red Sox. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself – you’re better with faces, I tell myself and it’s true. Once I see his face I’m sure it will all click into place.

  We walk across the street and Breanne’s phone rings.

  “Hi,” she answers with familiarity, listening intently as we stand at the curb in front of the house. She pauses. The corners of her mouth pull down and uncertainty registers in her eyes. “Ok, we’ll see you shortly then.”

  “What now?” I ask.

  “He’s running later than he thought he’d be. I guess he got tied up at the airport or something. Two of his former colleagues are here already and he said we should go inside and start explaining what happened. He’ll catch up when he gets here.”

  “Why do you look so concerned?” I ask, noticing that she’s fidgeting with her necklace.

  She shrugs, “I would feel better if he was here.”

  Jealousy is rearing its ugly head and I try hard to fight it, or at least conceal it. She doesn’t need him, she needs me. I throw my arm around her shoulder and pull her closer.

  “Well, I’m here and I won’t leave your side.”

  She grins and wraps her arm around my back, giving me a gentle squeeze. “We need to get back in the car and follow the driveway to the back of the house. There’s a garage attached to the house that should be open. He said we should leave the car outside,” she tells me, resting her head against my chest. And like the snap of a finger my nerves calm.

  After getting back in the car and parking at the back of the house, we walk into the four-car garage. Actually in size it’s much more like a barn. Yes, it fits four cars but there are stairs that lead to some type of loft. At the opposite end of where we entered are two black SUV’s. Cautiously, we make our way towards them and I attempt to look inside each vehicle. The windows are heavily tinted, though, making it impossible to see anyone or anything. I shrug at Breanne and turn towards the door at the back of the garage that leads into the house. She pulls the handle, but it won’t budge - it’s locked. We exchange a curious glance and I pull on it before I notice a buzzer and intercom to the right of the door.

  I remind myself this place may appear to be abandoned but it’s not. It’s used, maybe even often. I press the intercom button and am still surprised when it works. I’m expecting someone to ask for a password but there’s no indication that anyone has even heard us until seconds later when a small circle lights up red and the door makes a clicking sound.

  When we pass through the door we are standing on a landing to a short set of stairs that lead up to the house, and another longer set that goes down to the basement. I have no desire to go to the basement, but out of curiosity I walk down and give the door a quick tug and find it’s locked, too.

  “Did Sargent Dosdell say where these friends of his would be?” I ask.

  “Yeah. The main floor,” she confirms, and steps forward towards the stairs leading to the house. When I don’t follow she gives my hand a yank.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask, feeling more certain that I should trust my gut and get the hell out of here.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Besides the obvious?” I ask, gesturing around with my free hand. I sigh and glance up the stairs. “We don’t know these people. We can think of a better plan. Let’s go back to the car and get out of here. We’ll figure it out together.”

  “We’ve had days to figure it out and we haven’t come up with anything better,” she attempts to justify.

  “Technically, we’ve only had a few hours of knowing we were in deeper shit that required more of a plan,” I counter.

  She takes a step closer and places her hands on my chest. “All I want is to get home to my family and to keep them safe. Sargent Dosdell has been helping me with Mark’s case and I think he can help us now,” she pauses. “If you aren’t sure I can just go in.”

  “If you think for one second I’d let you go in alone then you’ve lost your mind!” I proclaim. I sigh and quickly play out each option in my mind. Ultimately, I go against my better judgment.

  Slowly, we make our ascent up the stairs. Not surprising, this door is locked too and requires us to be buzzed in. We step through the door and I am more than a little disappointed. Given the security measures in place just for accessing the stairwell from the garage, I would have expected something a little different. Like a comforting, yet high-tech interior to put the people who come here at ease. But the inside actually seems to be in worse shape than the unfinished area outside. It’s as if the house was gutted by an amateur contractor and left for someone else to deal with.

  The door we came through put us at the back of a huge, open room, lined with oversized windows, which was meant to be the kitchen judging by the location of the pipes and drains. Aside from the plumbing and four walls holding this room together, there is nothing. I take a few steps further into the space, pulling Breanne behind me. Glancing back at the windows I’m confident that they have some kind of film over them because I know there was more sunlight outside. Thinking back, I don’t remember being able to see inside the house as we pulled around to the garage, but then again I wasn’t really paying that close attention.

  The more I look around, the more concerned I get. Not only does this place not match my expectations; right about now I feel anything but safe. I’m about to head back out the door when I see a stocky figure appear in the distance to my right.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” the man announces in a welcoming voice and motions with his hand for us to come his way.

  Breanne and I exchange a sideways glance before making our way towards the man, heading down a hallway that leads to the front of the house. As we get closer,
the stout, bald man pushes a door open. He holds it for us and when we enter it’s as if we’ve entered the high-tech lab of a crime show. There are several flat screen TV’s on the wall and even more computers and other high-tech equipment neatly displayed on the half-dozen tables. Only one of the computers and flat screens is being used, but it’s an impressive operation.

  The door closes behind us and I instinctively turn. Visually, there is nothing alarming about this man. He’s probably in his late 40’s or early 50’s and may even be shorter than Breanne. He’s likely armed but I suddenly feel relieved; if necessary, we can probably take this guy. I feel my confidence growing and then suddenly remember this guy isn’t alone.

  “I’m Drew, and this is Breanne,” I say extending my hand to the man. He smiles kindly and nods to Breanne and then extends his hand as well.

  “Lucas,” he replies, firmly grasping my hand and in one movement gives it an equally firm shake.

  “This place is,” Breanne pauses, and I can tell she’s trying to think of an appropriate way to describe the safe house. “It’s different.”

  “At one point I’m sure it would have made a nice home for some rich mogul,” Lucas says.

  “It’s an interesting set up, with the different style homes. I don’t think I’ve seen a neighborhood like this before,” she continues.

  “Well, this area was hit hard over the last decade with the economy, Pittsburgh being mainly blue-collar. This was supposed to be a mixed-income community. Ya know, blending all the classes. Unfortunately, when the housing market crashed a few years ago the construction stopped. And when business picked back up I guess people realized that rich people weren’t going to want to live next to the projects,” he theorizes.

  “Hmm,” Breanne and I say in unison.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Lucas says, flipping his cell phone open. He appears to be reading an unpleasant text or email as his expression has changed from warm to one of aggravation.

  “Everything ok?” Breanne asks.

  “Fine ma’am,” he says curtly.

  “Uh, ok,” she replies.

  He must sense the anxiety portrayed in Breanne’s simple response as his aggravation fades. “Pierce, my partner, is out securing the perimeter,” he explains. “Apparently he left his key in the basement and is now stuck in the stairwell.” Lucas shakes his head as he types a response.

  “Do you two work together often,” I ask and Lucas laughs.

  “We’ve been partners for nearly three decades. We live next door to each other, eat most meals together,” he trails off as he continues typing. “There really isn’t anything we don’t do together.” He flips his phone closed and slips it into his back pocket. “I’m going to let Pierce in and then we’ll get started,” he says, and then leaves the room.

  “I wonder why they didn’t drive together,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Good question,” Breanne mutters back. I turn to face her. She looks exhausted; beautiful but exhausted. I am exhausted. I could literally fall asleep on the floor if it was an option.

  “You alright?” Breanne asks.

  “Just tired,” I reply.

  While we wait I look over the room and all the electronics. There are no windows in this room but there is another door in the back corner. The only computer that’s on flips between different camera angles – the front of the estate, the garage, and the stairwell. The flat screen monitor on the wall shows something different. It looks like an aerial view of streets, maybe of this area but I’m not sure. There are four or five blinking red dots dispersed throughout the monitored area, all of them moving. I want to spend more time looking this over to see if I can figure it out but the sound of footsteps approaching distracts me.

  When the door opens, a very tall, very muscular, man with a buzz cut and wearing all black steps into the room.

  “You must be Pierce,” I say, walking forward and extending my hand. “This is Breanne and I’m Drew.”

  Hesitantly he shakes my hand and nods at Breanne. This greeting is followed by an awkward silence.

  “Um, it’s a good thing Lucas was able to let you in,” Breanne says, attempting to make small talk. He doesn’t respond but he looks slightly amused.

  “Will he be back soon?” I ask. His eyes narrow slightly and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile, but again he says nothing.

  Instinctively, I take Breanne’s hand and casually pull her backwards so she’s forced to move behind me. Something is off. Without question she complies. I feel her pulse ricochet off my now clammy hand. Clearly she’s feeling the same way.

  I carefully re-evaluate his appearance. I mentally note that he is even more intimidating than I first thought. He’s my height, but he has got to have at least 20 pounds of pure muscle on me - there is no way this guy isn’t on steroids. To top it off, he has a rather large scar extending from the corner of his left eye to the center of his cheek that could only have been made by a knife’s blade. Shit, if he looks this bad I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

  I squeeze Breanne’s hand tightly, hoping she will follow the story I’m about to deliver.

  “Shit,” I exclaim and turn to her. “We forgot the paper that the pilot dropped.”

  “Oh, that’s my fault,” she mutters without missing a beat. “I left it in the car. I’m sorry.”

  “Since Sargent Dosdell isn’t here yet why don’t we grab it? Maybe he’ll be here by the time we get back inside,” I add. I turn to him and state, “we’ll be right back.”

  We start making our way between the desks towards the door. This guy, who I’ve determined is not Pierce, walks towards us and stops a few feet in front of us. He crosses his arms across his chest like a bouncer at a nightclub.

  “You go. I’ll keep her company,” he replies, a glint of sinister humor blazes in his dark eyes.

  Breanne has my hand in a death grip. “After what we’ve been through we’re not too keen on being separated,” I explain, my anxiety soaring to an all-new high. “We’ll be right back.”

  I focus on the door and again walk forward.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” a deep and strangely familiar voice calls from behind me.

  The silhouette of a man appears in the shadows at the back door. He slowly enters the room. From what I can tell he is a few inches shorter than me though still tall. A variety of tattoos cover his dark, overly tanned and overly muscular arms, neck and half of his face. He’s dressed completely in black except for a red baseball cap that he’s got on backwards. He takes a step closer and flips the hat forward.

  “Missing something?” the tattooed man asks, taking another step into the room.

  Motherfucker! That’s my hat! I pull Breanne closer. Feeling like a caged animal I assess how we can get out of here.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the tattooed man says. “This time you aren’t going to be so lucky,” he promises. He turns his gaze from me to the other man who I have mentally nicknamed ‘Scar’. “You ready?” he asks.

  Glancing over my shoulder I watch ‘Scar’ nod with a salacious grin, then I turn back to the tattooed man just in time to watch his fist whiz towards my face.

  I wake in a dark, damp room that I liken to a dungeon. I’m handcuffed with my hands behind my back and secured to the metal chair I’m sitting on. Duct tape tightly seals my mouth shut. I feel my legs restrained to the chair as well but I don’t think it’s by metal. I try to see but my left eye has practically swelled shut, making it hard to determine much of anything other than that we are fucked.