Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  For a long time he doesn’t move and he says nothing. Eventually, he eases his grip slightly and releases a deep sigh. Tension radiates from his body but his breathing is starting to become regular again. He pulls his face back just enough to look at my face, but he doesn’t let go. Gently, he runs his fingertips over my swollen cheek and then delivers several chased kisses across my forehead, nose, eyes, cheeks and lips.

  “I…I,” he stutters, resting his forehead against mine. He swallows hard and his jaw tenses. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again. I should have been able to stop him,” he says as he sits back, taking me with him.

  His weight is resting on his heels and part of the chair. I have to straddle him to keep us both from falling backwards. I cup his face with my entwined hands, tilting his chin up so he’s forced to look at me. When he does I realize the anguish he feels from not being able to protect me. I felt the same watching helplessly as he was punched and kicked.

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself,” I plead. I lift my hands behind his head so that my arms encircle him and gently caress his hair. “I know you’d do anything for me. You’ve already saved me in too many ways to count. It’s my fault we even came to this place.”

  “This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known,” he sighs, falling back against my forehead.

  “It was my fault and you know it. You made that scene so he’d take the gun off of me. God, I thought he was going to kill you right in front of me. Even if he had shot me two seconds later, I would have died knowing that you died because of me. Because I brought you here.” I pull back and remove my arms from around him. Drew grabs my arms and holds me firmly in place.

  “That’s bullshit. We both made the decision.” His mood has changed from vulnerable to angry, and I find my reaction mirroring his.

  “You didn’t want to come here. This was all me,” I cry. I have no idea why I feel the need to fight, but I do. My chest is heavy with too many emotions. I feel guilt for convincing Drew to come here; confusion over how these guys found us and why Dosdell isn’t here; anger that I’m in this situation; horrified, yet satisfied, that I was able to stop at least this gunman; and ashamed that in the moment that I was sure was my last, all I could think of was how badly I wanted Drew to hold me one last time. I want to scream!

  “Will you stop?” Drew pleads, his patience thinning as we play tug of war with my wrists.

  “No! I won’t,” I shout, trying to break his hold. I take a deep breath to start again just as Drew groans in aggravation. But before I get the chance, his lips are on mine kissing me with a fierce need so deep that it causes me to lose all train of thought. He’s dropped my arms, which have gone limp anyway, and tightly holds my head between his hands like a vice.

  When he pulls back he looks at me unapologetically. I stare at him breathless, dizzy and gasping for air. The corners of his mouth pull up slightly and I think he actually looks proud. Judging by how I feel right now, he should be. I was on the verge of losing it but all that’s lost now is my ability to think of why. In this moment I realize I’m in trouble when it comes to him, and it’s not because of my body.

  “Are you done yet?” he questions.

  “What was that for?” I fire back, confused.

  “Taking your breath away so you’d stop fighting with me,” he smirks.

  “Huh? What?” I ask.

  “Who knew it’d work so well. I’ll have to remember that in the future.”

  “Remind me never to confess a weakness to you in the future,” I say, as I begin to understand what he’s talking about. In the barn I confessed how his kiss had left me breathless. Big mistake!

  “Who said it was a weakness?” he asks, catching my arms and holding me in place.

  “Just wait until I find one of yours,” I threaten.

  “I only have one and I’m staring right at it,” he says, as a shy smile creeps over his face. His words make no sense because he’s staring at me.

  “Once I figure it out, there will be payback,” I promise, and my eyes unintentionally drift to his mouth, wishing we were anywhere but here.

  “I can’t wait. Although, I’ve seen what your capable of,” he nods in the direction of the gunman. “You kind of frighten me.”

  “You should be scared. Although, you don’t really have much room to talk,” I mutter. I turn my attention to the gunman and feel a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. “I can’t believe I did that, Drew.”

  Drew grabs my face with both of his hands and searches my eyes. “He was going to kill us, Breanne. It was defense. And that worthless piece of shit deserves everything he got.”

  I reluctantly push up from Drew and nod, still feeling like a horrible human being.

  “Don’t think I won’t distract you with my lips if I have to,” he chides.

  I roll my eyes and once again help him push the chair upright. It’s better for both of us that we are in a race against time. If not, I would seriously consider fighting with him. But, we are in a race against time and wanting his lips on mine is not something I should be wanting.

  We each take one of his ankles, working profusely to unknot the restraints confining him to the chair. Unable to make much progress with our hands I give him the key which he uses as a knife, vigorously sawing back and forth until the rope frays to a point where he can pull it apart. My hair piece is not quite as effective as the key so I twist my hair back into a bun and wait until he’s finished. When he’s done, he starts on his other ankle rather than let me help. Unable to do much else I sit, kneeling on the floor, and watch him.

  This gives me more time to appraise his left eye which has already swollen shut and the large goose-egg on his forehead. Taking a punch like he did and face planting on the ground must have caused a concussion. I raise my hands to touch the goose-egg but am stopped by his grasp. Drew slides off the chair so that he too is on his knees, facing me. I was so absorbed in looking at his wounds I didn’t even noticing his other leg was free. Feverishly, he begins cutting away at the restraint on my wrists and after a few seconds the keys break through the knot and the rope falls to the floor.

  “He knew about Mark.”

  “I heard.” He takes my hands in his and rubs the laceration wounds left on my wrist.

  “How did he know? What the hell, Drew?” I continue, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “Somehow they knew we survived. I bet they’ve spent the last few days digging up everything they can about us in order to use it against us. That’s what he was trying to do. Break you. Obviously, he doesn’t know you that well or he would’ve known it would do the opposite,” he rationalizes as he smooth’s my hair. I let his words sink in and come to the conclusion that he must be right.

  “But how did they know we were alive?” I ask.

  “Clearly they’re well connected and resourceful.”

  “I wish I knew who they were,” I say, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

  “Me too,” he states.

  Without a word he walks over to the tattooed man. Bending over him Drew places his forefingers on the side of the man’s neck that I didn’t puncture and checks for a pulse. Drew presses his lips together and I can tell something’s wrong. With an unreadable expression he looks at me and tells me, “He’s still alive.”

  A chill runs through me at the thought of this guy still having some ability to harm us, though it’s ridiculous given his injuries. Drew watches me impassively for a moment, and then takes the gun from the tattooed man’s back pocket. “We need to get out here before he comes to,” he says, and I nod in agreement.

  Knowing that Drew was unconscious when we were brought down here, I know I’ll have to guide us out. We are now in the basement of the house. I remember passing through an empty wine cellar and billiards room to get to the room we are now in, and if my memory serves me right the other gunman walked to a room across from this one with our cell phones. I explain this to Drew.

  “We should
try to get our phones,” I suggest.

  “It’s too dangerous. Let’s just get out of here,” he says.

  We both glance around the room for another way out – perhaps there’s a bulkhead. There are several small windows, all of which I could fit through. Drew, however, could not so that won’t work, although he tries to persuade me to go.

  “I’m not leaving you,” I protest.

  “What’s our plan then?”

  “Let’s just crack open the door to see if the other guy is around. If he’s not, it’s only one set of stairs to get to the back door and then we’re out of the house,” I suggest.

  “Then what? We can’t risk running to our car. We could be shot.”

  “They took the keys from you anyway,” I recall. Drew moves back to the gunman and feels around to his front pockets.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Checking for our car keys, or his. If we find his keys we could take his car from the garage. I bet it’s bullet proof,” he says, and then shows me a phone he’s pulled from his pocket. He opens it and I watch his eyebrows rise.

  “What?” I ask, curious.

  “His last call was to Dosdell,” he replies, then turns the phone off and places it in his pocket.

  “Why would he have called Dosdell?” I ask, confused.

  Drew stares at the ground, deep in thought. He starts pacing and mumbling. I can’t make out what he’s saying but when his face flips up it’s clear he’s had some kind of epiphany.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Holy fucking shit!”

  “What?” I ask and then wait. Several seconds pass and I’m getting impatient. “What’s wrong, Drew?”

  “Nothing,” he replies and looks anywhere but my face.

  “And I’m the bad liar? Tell me now,” I demand.

  Drew looks at me wearily. “It’s Dosdell. I told you I knew the name.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, unable to follow.

  “On the plane. One of the gunmen said something about cleaning up the casings from the bullets. Then he said Dosdell would be pissed if they were sloppy.” Drew is pacing, looking like a walking version of ‘The Thinker’ sculpture.

  “It’s a coincidence. I’m sure more than one person has that last name,” I tell him.

  “Where have you ever heard that name before?” he challenges. When I don’t answer I can tell he thinks we’re almost on the same page. We aren’t.

  “Drew, that makes no sense. Did you even stop to think that it’s not his phone? It’s probably Lucas’s phone,” I retort, incredulously. Drew takes it out of his pocket and rolls it in his hand repeatedly.

  “You don’t believe me. I mean, about what I heard, do you? Damn it, I know they said his name, Breanne. I’m telling you this guy used you to shut us up.”

  “I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you. I just think it’s farfetched that there’s a connection between him and this situation,” I say, feeling my temperature starting to rise.

  “Farfetched? The gunmen from the plane dropped his name like he’s on clean up duty for them. We already know he’s in law enforcement so he’d be able to cover shit up. And let’s not forget that as soon as we start communicating with him, the gunmen miraculously show up at a place we never knew about and that has no connection to us,” he challenges. “It’s not a coincidence. Think about it, Breanne. Why would he want to fly out here? What did he say to you? That he’d personally make sure this situation was resolved? Don’t you see? He’s in on this. He was going to take care of things by killing us so no one found out what happened. He’s not a good guy!”

  “Fine!” I shout. “Let’s go with your theory. What the hell does this have to do with me? What’s the connection? Was my presence on the plane part of this whole ordeal or was that a coincidence? Did he want me dead? I have no fucking secrets or information. Why would an officer of the law who was trying to help me want to kill me and hundreds of others? I wasn’t even supposed to be on the plane!”

  “Maybe that’s how they knew about Mark,” he says quietly.

  “Right. And I guess next you’re going to tell me that somehow Mark’s murder is connected to the takedown of the plane,” I snap and Drew’s eyebrows rise in wonder. His mouth hangs open slightly. He has enough common sense to shut his mouth and then wipes his hand over his face. He actually thinks Mark is connected. He starts to speak but I can’t take any more of this.

  “Just stop!” I bark. I’ve been talking way too loud and now I’m basically shaking. If he shares one more stupid theory I’ll go catatonic. How could he even think Mark was connected to any of this?

  “Even if he’s the same Dosdell it doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t explain why he sent Lucas and Pierce. Lucas really was trying to help. No wonder we saw two cars. Pierce and Lucas rode together and the other two must have come after. They aren’t on the same team!” I hiss. “And if Dosdell knew I was on the plane then why would he call me so many times afterwards and leave all those messages? If he did know, maybe that’s why I’m alive.” I rant on.

  None of this makes any sense. Our emotions have been up and down too many times to count in the last few days and I can’t keep up anymore. I may faint or throw up if I don’t focus on something else.

  “Hey,” Drew says taking a few steps towards me. When he’s close enough he reaches for me, but I push past him. I’ve changed my mind about wanting to figure all this out. I can’t do this. I just want to be home already. I clear my throat and turn back to him when I’m somewhat less hysterical.

  “What are you going to do with it?” I snap about the phone that’s still in his hand. He eyes me with concern before slowly looking away.

  “Give it to the authorities for evidence, I guess. Maybe they can figure it out,” he replies quietly.

  “Why don’t you turn it back on and call 911?” I suggest, annoyed. His eyes widen as if it’s a novel idea. Drew presses the “on” button just as we both hear the sound of scuffing feet approaching.

  “Shit!” I exclaim. “Do you know how to use that?” I whisper, pointing to the gun.

  “No, do you?” he asks.

  I shake my head. Guns scare the hell out of me. I’ve never held one. This is actually the only time I’ve been near one. I can’t believe I’m going to suggest taking it, but what choice do we have?

  “Give me the gun and you get that chair. We can hit him over the head if he comes in and then use this to scare him,” I suggest. Drew looks at me like I’ve watched one too many detective shows, but agrees. Given the conspiracy theory he just rattled off I think the same about him.

  “I know you’re pissed right now. Just make sure you keep it pointed away from me,” he says handing me the gun. And with shaking hands I take it.

  Holding the chair overhead and standing against the wall so that the door will shield us from view, we wait. The footsteps stop right outside our door and the sound of a key twisting in the door sends my heart racing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taking the Lead

  Drew

  ‘Scar’ takes four steps into the room and stops. I close my eyes and silently release a deep breath. This is no different than warming up in the bullpen, I tell myself. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders backwards. Focus. I open and clench my fists repetitively around the chair to get my blood flowing. Breathe. Bouncing on the balls of my feet I feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins in overdrive. My head is pounding and my vision is blurred but it won’t stop me from taking this dickhead down. Coming through in a pinch is what I do. It’s my thing, and I’ve never had more at stake. Focus. Breathe. I own you, fucker.