Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “Move away from the window.”

  I nod, moving further into the room. As I do, I steal a glance over my shoulder and watch the light and figure I’d seen moments before, vanish.

  “Are we in danger?”

  “We haven’t confirmed that anyone’s out there. It could have been any number of things.”

  “Such as?” Does she think I’m stupid?

  Corinne opens her mouth to speak, but is saved by her phone. “Spencer, what did you find?” Her eyes dart to the window and she purses her lips while she listens.

  “Why don’t you go back to bed?” she suggests moments later after ending her call.

  “I can’t sleep now,” I reply. “What did Spencer find?”

  “It was probably paparazzi, nothing for you to worry about.”

  I walk back to window, watching as a flashlight shines in the area the mystery person stood only minutes ago. An eternity later, Spencer comes back and asks Corinne if he can speak to her alone.

  “Enough with the secrecy bullshit. What did you find?” I ask, exasperated, before she has a chance to join him in the hallway.

  “We aren’t hiding anything. There was nothing out there aside from—”

  The ringing of my phone cuts Spencer off.

  “Did I wake you?” Drew’s voice is about two octaves lower than usual, giving away that he’s just woken up.

  “No, I’m still awake. Did you just land?” I walk into the other room, noticing both Corinne and Spencer relax as I retreat.

  “Mm hmm,” he grumbles and I imagine him stretching.

  “How was the flight?”

  “I actually slept most of the time. Why are you still awake?”

  “I miss you,” I mutter, completely distracted.

  “I miss you too.”

  I glance back towards the two agents and zone out. What are they talking about?

  “Did you fall asleep on me or is something else keeping you up?” he asks when I’ve been quiet for too long.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Why do I feel like you’re preoccupied?”

  “Um, it’s nothing.”

  “Breanne, you can’t even lie over the phone. Tell me what’s up.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” My voice cracks, giving me away.

  “Why don’t you tell me so I can decide that for myself.”

  “I thought I saw someone in the backyard right before you called.”

  “Seriously? Who was it?”

  “I’m not sure. Spencer checked it out and said he didn’t see anyone, but now he and Corinne are quietly discussing something in the other room. They said it’s likely the paparazzi, but based on how they’re acting I don’t buy it.”

  “Shit,” he curses under his breath. “I should be there with you. I’ll get on the first plane back to Boston.”

  “What? No. I’m fine. Promise. I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  “Of course I’m worried. You guys are everything to me and I’m not there.”

  “You flew all the way out there, Drew. You have to do what you went there for. We’ll be fine here until you get back.”

  Drew sighs heavily. I can hear Brett in background asking him what’s going on. He must brush him off because the only thing I hear now is him breathing, followed by a low groan.

  “As soon as I get off this plane I’m boarding another one home.”

  “Stop, ok? This is ridiculous. I have security here. You’re not coming back until you’re supposed to. Now, tell me what your day looks like,” I say, trying to distract him. The last thing he needs right now is to feel guilty over taking care of his own responsibilities. After several more attempts by him, insisting he’ll come home, he finally gives up.

  “Brett and I are having breakfast with the GM of the Giants, and then I’ll have to rush to the Golden Gate Bridge where the photo shoot is taking place. I didn’t plan on going to Alexis’s until Saturday, but given what’s going on at home I’ll go there after the photo shoot and catch a flight home sometime Friday night or Saturday morning.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “It’s settled. Now tell me what your plans are for today.”

  “Not much today. I’ll be fairly busy tomorrow, though.”

  “Lunch with Vivian?” he asks.

  “Yeah, and I have an appointment with a very distinguished man who usually asks me to undress and drop my knees open as soon as he walks in the room.” I add the last part desperate to lighten the mood.

  “Excuse me,” he shouts and I can’t help laughing. If anyone on the plane was sleeping, they aren’t now.

  “Calm down, I’m going to see my OBGYN, Dr. Miller.”

  “Your doctor for your…it’s…he’s a man?”

  “That he is.”

  “Change it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How can you not see that it’s inappropriate for another man to have his hands in places that only I should be allowed?”

  “He delivered all three of the kids, Drew. I’m not changing doctors. Besides, he’s retirement age. I promise you he’s not getting off on this.”

  “Even more reason for you to change to a female doctor; he’ll probably miss something important.”

  “It’s fine, and I promise you that there is nothing enjoyable about the appointment.”

  He exhales loudly. “They’re starting to let passengers off. Can I call you back?”

  “You should get some rest. Text me when you get to the hotel and call me when you get up, alright?”

  “This topic isn’t closed,” he informs me.

  “But it is,” I reply with finality.

  “We’ll see. I gotta go. We can discuss this more tomorrow. Promise you’ll call me if something else comes up.”

  “Promise.”

  As much as I want to hear his voice sooner than later, I pray that I have no reason to call him before he wakes up.

  SIX

  Degrees of Separation

  “What was that about?” Brett asks as soon as I end my call with Breanne.

  Where the hell do I begin?

  I drag my hands over my face and stare through my fingers, looking at nothing in particular. How can I protect her when I’m not there? What’s going to happen when the season starts up and I go on the road? And why the hell is she going to let some old pervert put his hands—

  “Drew?” This time it’s Agent Everett’s voice encouraging me to speak.

  “Someone was in Breanne’s backyard, watching her. When Agent Spencer went to check it out, the person was gone.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly. When we get to the hotel I want to review my schedule for tomorrow,” I tell Brett. “I need to get as much done as possible at my sister’s after the photo shoot so that I can finish on Friday and leave first thing Saturday morning. Can you change the flights?”

  “That’s what I do best,” he grumbles.

  My head snaps towards him following his sarcastic remark. He tries his best to hide his smirk as he holds his hands up in surrender to placate me. I am not in the mood for any shit.

  “Bad timing, sorry. I’ve got it covered.” Brett offers me an apologetic smile.

  After collecting our luggage, we walk through the airport. Approaching the lobby area, I’m floored by the mob of fans holding signs for me, welcoming me to Giants’ territory. By fans, I mean a few men peppered amongst the rows of women, most of whom are wearing shirts that cover slightly more than their bra, jumping up and down, asking for my autograph. I smile politely and continue walking, desperately wanting to get to the hotel.

  “Drew, you need to pose for at least a few pictures,” Brett coaches.

  I purse my lips and glare at him, wanting to strangle him for the suggestion. I look back to the fans and reporters and unfortunately acknowledge that he’s right. Even if things don’t pan out with the Giants, and I hope they don’t, seeing fans support me could be the final pu
sh the Sox need to renew my contract. After taking a few cleansing breaths, I nod at Brett and walk towards the crowd. Purposely selecting a spot near the male fans, I hand Brett my luggage and smile for the cameras. I sign a few autographs and turn to wave goodbye to the masses, when a female fan gets overly frisky with her hands and kisses the edge of my mouth while taking a selfie. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction.

  “Alright, everyone. As much as I appreciate you all coming out here this evening, I won’t be posing for any more pictures if you’re going to pull stunts like that. I’m spoken for and madly in love.”

  The few ‘aw’s’ are barely audible over the roaring ‘boo’s’.

  “Who’s the lucky girl, Drew?” one reporter asks.

  “Is it Amber?” someone else yells.

  “So the rumors that you’re back together are true?” another reporter chimes in.

  Fuck this.

  “Breanne Sullivan. I’m involved with Breanne,” I quickly correct. “Thanks again for coming out.”

  I walk over to Brett to collect my things and quickly type out a text to Breanne, letting her know that I just confirmed our relationship to the press, and apologize for not being there to tell the kids in person. She had wanted to give it a little more time, which I get, but I’m sick of waiting. And kids aren’t stupid either, or so I’ve been told. Besides, the press hounds me religiously. They know where I spend my time. The last thing I want people to think is that I’m with anyone other than her.

  Gripping my phone as I wait for Breanne’s response, I fall behind Brett and Everett who’ve taken the lead, and make small talk with O’Conner.

  “It’s 10pm, O’Conner. Why aren’t all these people in bed?”

  “Good question, son. Only idiots would drag themselves to the airport to watch a washed up ball player walk down a hallway.”

  I toss my head back and release a boisterous laugh at his honest, surly response. “Thanks,” I reply, cupping his shoulder. Before I’m able to further express my appreciation for O’Conner staying true to himself, a man bumps into me, sending my phone crashing to the ground several yards away.

  “Oh shit, man,” the guy, who could only be described as a stoner, apologizes.

  With his back towards me, he runs and retrieves my phone. Seconds later, O’Conner scoops him up and in the blink of an eye the guy’s face is flush against the wall. O’Conner forcefully snatches my phone from his hands and gives it to Everett who is now by their sides.

  “It was an accident, pops. Ease up.”

  Not appreciating the nickname, O’Conner pulls him off the wall slightly and then shoves back harder. “How’s that for pops? Keep your hands against the wall. Where is your license?”

  I’ve come to enjoy O’Conner and Everett’s company, but it’s pretty clear from instances like this that they miss real action.

  “Guys, let him go.” I take my phone from Everett and assess the damage. There’s none, except a scratch to the case that could have been there before. “The phone’s fine. He said it was an accident. Let’s go before you two cause a bigger scene.”

  O’Conner shoves the guy away and both he and Everett resume walking as if nothing happened.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Go away,” I yell, rolling further into my pillow.

  “You overslept. Get up!” Brett yells through the door of my hotel room.

  Groaning, I force myself out of bed and head to the bathroom. I splash my face with cold water, trying like hell to remove the grogginess that’s clouding my brain. I can’t remember going to bed last night. I grab the edge of the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. Why the fuck do I feel like I’m forgetting something?

  Suddenly recalling the issue Breanne’s dealing with at home, I return to the bedroom and grab my phone to make sure she didn’t call. I’m relieved that she didn’t, only because that means nothing else has happened. I shoot her a quick text, letting her know that I’ll call her soon, and then shower and dress in record time.

  Dashing out the door, I’m greeted by my three traveling companions, none of whom seem pleased to have been kept waiting. Together, we head towards the elevator. As we wait, my phone pings, signaling that I’ve gotten a new message. Curious, I unlock my phone and read a few messages I must have missed in my haste to get ready, and smile as I look them over. She’s not pissed about my slip with the reporter. Thank God. Not caring about the crowd of fellow hotel guests that’s formed around my entourage while we wait for the elevator, I call Breanne.

  “Hey, you busy?” I ask when she answers on the fourth ring.

  “Never too busy for you. Did you get any sleep?”

  “As good as could be expected without you.”

  She laughs. “Seeing how we haven’t spent a night together since the barn, you must be going on months of shitty sleep.”

  “About that. Don’t you think it’s time that changed?”

  “Lets figure it out when you’re back, ok?”

  “You aren’t mad? I haven’t checked the news yet to see if anyone actually cares, not that anyone’s opinion other than yours counts.”

  “Oh, people care. I’ve already received a dozen calls from reporters.”

  “Don’t answer them. I’ll have Brett work on a press release. Until then, just ignore them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That has a nice ring to it. You should call me that more often,” I reply, as the elevator doors open.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I let the other people get in the elevator before stepping in myself. “You’ve called me God before, switching to ‘sir’ shouldn’t be that hard.”

  A woman gasps behind me, followed by Brett nudging me in the ribs. Unfortunately for everyone else, this conversation is the only thing I give a shit about right now. If anyone’s uncomfortable they can plug their ears.

  “Not going to happen,” she replies.

  “You talk a big game now, when we’re separated by thousands of miles. We’ll see what happens when I get back.”

  “Keep dreaming, baby.”

  “That sounds like a bet.”

  “Sounds like there’s even less of a chance now.”

  “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

  “You are so obnoxious,” she sighs. “And I miss you like crazy.”

  “Me too, beautiful. So back to us having sleepovers.”

  “Seriously? Are you capable of thinking about anything other than sex for more than 30 seconds?”

  “I don’t think I mentioned sex. Did any of you hear me mention sex?” I turn slowly to face the four women and one man standing behind me. They’re all in business suits, and all of them are looking at anything other than me.

  “Where are you?”

  “In an elevator with the guys and a handful of strangers.”

  “Drew!”

  “What were we talking about again?”

  “How we won’t be having sexovers anytime soon.”

  “Any more peeping Tom’s?” I ask, stepping into the main lobby of the hotel, ignoring her ridiculous claim. Of course we’ll be having sexovers.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but the day’s young.”

  “Listen, I’ve gotta go. My schedule is hectic so I probably won’t have time to call you until I’m on my way to Alexis’s later.”

  “Take care of your stuff and call me when you can. If you’re not in the mood to talk, just send me a text letting me know you’re ok.”

  “I will. Do you promise to call if something comes up?”

  “Promise.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “That was brutal,” I mutter, slumping down into the back seat of the town car.

  “Which part?” Brett asks.

  “All of it. Between flying, the shit going on at home with Breanne, the meeting with the Giants and the photo shoot, I’m spent. I know it sounds lame, but I’m beat,” I tell him.

  �
�You sure you don’t want to have an early night and go to Alexis’s tomorrow?”

  “No. I need to get this over with. The sooner it’s taken care of, the sooner we can all go home.”

  “At least let me help,” Brett offers as we pull up in front of the hotel.

  “Thanks, but you’ve done enough just by coming out here with me. I need to do this alone.” I pause and then turn my focus on O’Conner and Everett. “You know what I mean.”

  “If you change your mind, I’ll be there.” Brett opens the car door and steps out.

  “Thanks. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning.”

  We pull into the driveway of my sister’s house, which is conveniently located one block from a liquor store. I have a feeling I may need a little liquid courage to get through this.

  Never did I imagine coming to this house without my sister. She hasn’t been here in months and life all around her house has gone on. Kids are playing down the street. The landscaping appears to have been kept up. Everything is in its place, except for her.

  Stepping out of the car, I dig through my wallet for the instructions for Alexis’s over-the-top home monitoring system. The two-bedroom ranch style house has a double-entryway, with the outside door being more like a wrought-iron gate with about a six-foot space between it and the front door to the house. I walk up to the first door and punch the access code, a number that updates every 60-seconds on my phone, into the keypad. Once we’ve entered the enclosed area between the two doors, I grab the doorknob and wait.

  “Is that a thermal imaging fingerprint verification system?” O’Conner asks.

  “Is that what this is called?” The door opens and O’Conner whistles through his teeth.

  “Why did your sister set her house up like Fort Knox?”

  “I’d asked her to get a security system since she wouldn’t take in a roommate. She always was an overachiever.”

  Lights automatically turn on as we enter the living room, as if we’re being welcomed home. Everything is perfectly clean, exactly the way she left things. I take a stack of the unconstructed boxes from Everett and walk through her home. While Alexis lived here for a few years, you’d never know it by the interior. Few pictures and decorations grace the walls. The living room is furnished with one couch and a TV. The guest room has a bed and nightstand, but that’s about it. The kitchen has four bar stools, but no table, and the bathroom is practically empty. There’s nothing in the shower or on the sink. And then it hits me. She’d probably packed most of her toiletries and had them in her suitcase the night she died.