Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “You can’t be fucking serious.” Brett tilts his head to the side, probably wondering if I’m putting on a show for his benefit. Everett ends his call and tosses the phone back to Brett. “Pull the picture up on your phone,” I command.

  He does as I’ve requested and sure enough, he’s telling the truth. You can’t see my face but it definitely appears to be me, wasted with my arms draped over two women that I’d argue looked paid for.

  “Fuck.” I look at the photo again, hoping it’ll trigger a memory. “That might be me, but I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. There’s no way. I love Breanne; you both know that. I’d never risk losing her. I don’t even know who those women are.”

  “Good luck with that conversation,” Brett mutters. “You seriously don’t remember what you did after the photo shoot?”

  “No!” I shout.

  Disgusted by the picture, I minimize the screen and begin scanning Brett’s contact list.

  “Please tell me you have her number?”

  “Why would I have Breanne’s number?”

  “Aren’t you the one who spoke to her on the phone and told her I’d be at the airport a few weeks ago?” I yell. Can’t anything go right?

  “She called from Agent Jackson’s phone,” he retorts. “And before you ask, no I didn’t save it.”

  I close out his contacts and open his call history, searching for a time and date that corresponds, but the list doesn’t go back that far.

  “It’s 3pm,” I say out loud for my own benefit. That means it’s 6pm in Boston. Breanne’s no doubt seen the picture and she can’t get ahold of me. That or she doesn’t want to speak to me.

  “Breanne hasn’t called you?” I ask Brett.

  “No.”

  I’m screwed.

  Using Brett’s phone, Everett gets ahold of Corrine who insists that Breanne is out for a run with Agent Spencer. Over speakerphone, we explain what we can about our situation and then I plead with her to have Breanne call me immediately once she gets back to the house. After packing our things in record time, we go through yesterday’s events repeatedly on our way to the airport, until we’re both exhausted and admit it’s pointless. Neither of us remembers shit and all I can think about is how after everything, I can’t lose Breanne now. I need to get back to her and get this bullshit resolved.

  A colleague of Everett’s meets us at the airport and assists us in getting through the first airport security checkpoint, given that we don’t have our ID’s. Seconds later, he’s gone and we move to the next checkpoint.

  I watch impassively as Everett steps through the full-body scanner and then collects his belt and shoes from the bin. It takes Brett nudging me to alert me to the fact that it’s my turn. I lazily muster enough energy to push my tray onto the conveyer belt and make my way to the scanner. I walk through the contraption without incident, but my belongings haven’t been so lucky. The TSA agent behind the x-ray machine motions for another agent to come over. Confused, I look to Everett who joins me at the end of the conveyer belt.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask the two TSA agents.

  “We’re going to need to speak with you privately. Please step to the side.”

  “Ok,” I reply, puzzled.

  “I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation on assignment to protect Mr. Scott. If you’re going to question him about anything, I’ll need to be present.”

  Two more members of TSA arrive and tell us that we need to follow them. I glance over my shoulder towards Brett who’s wondering what the hell could possibly be wrong now. I hold out my hands as if to say ‘who the fuck knows’ and shake my head.

  Everett and I follow our escorts to a private room where I imagine we’ll be interrogated. My mind has been jumbled since I woke this morning; I can’t begin to make sense of this latest dilemma. The only items I put in the bin were my shoes and a pair of sunglasses that Brett bought me. What the hell could they have found in my shoes?

  “Hand over your ID’s,” the first man demands as soon as we’re all seated.

  “We don’t have them,” Everett says and then proceeds to explain our situation.

  The two TSA agents look at each other and then back to us. “We’ll have to verify your story before continuing.” One agent leaves the room after getting contact information from Everett. When he returns, he confirms that our story checks out.

  “During the scan of Mr. Scott’s belongings, we discovered stapled documents stuffed in the sole of his shoe. Anytime someone confiscates an item in their shoes it’s cause for concern. We’ve determined the particular items found in your shoe are harmless; however, given what you’ve just shared we believe you may find them helpful.”

  He slides a folded wad of paper across the table to me. Opening them, I find stapled receipts.

  “What is it?” Everett asks.

  I can’t begin to formulate a response as I finish reviewing the first receipt and flip to the next, and then the next. Despite never having seen these documents before, by the time I get to the fourth and final page I’m overcome with a sense of déjà vu. Starting from the beginning, I analyze each page again to be sure I’m really seeing what I think I am. Three receipts for items I’m familiar with; an expensive necklace; a silver, tin, jewelry box; a bill for engraving services with the phrase ‘beyond logic lies the truth’; and last, a copy of a shipping label with Breanne’s address on it. Each receipt contains Alexis’s signature.

  “Drew?”

  I fling the stapled items to Everett, fold my arms across the table and bury my face. I don’t get it. This has to be some kind of prank. Breanne was convinced that Mark had arranged for those items to be sent to her as clues. Why would Alexis buy those things and send them to Breanne? How did she even know her, and how did the receipts get in my shoe?

  “We must have gone to Alexis’s house,” Everett reasons.

  “Then why can’t we remember being there?”

  His hand flies to his neck and I instinctively do the same. “Because we were drugged,” Everett replies matter-of-factly. “Can I use your phone?” he asks one of the TSA agents.

  Everett contacts the same agent who helped us when we first got to the airport. I listen as he explains what’s going on and arranges for us to have blood work done, hoping that they can determine if we were drugged. My attention wanes and it’s only when Everett pats my shoulder and motions for me to follow him that I realize his conversation has ended. I’m exhausted.

  “Where’re we going?” I question.

  “Back to Alexis’s.”

  It’s nearly 8pm by the time we pull into Alexis’s driveway. If I was here yesterday, I’d expect a memory to surface, yet as we approach the house my conscious mind tells me that I haven’t been here in months. Flanked by Everett and a new four-person team of FBI agents, I grab the door handle and wait for my identity to register before stepping aside so that one of the local agents can enter the code on the keypad. Even though my phone is missing, the FBI was able to manipulate the security app and rerouted the pin to one of their phones. Seconds later, the door opens and we all step inside.

  Lights flicker on as we walk into the living room. The house is immaculately clean, and it’s in exactly the same state I remember it being in a few months ago when I came here to get a dress for her burial. I watch somewhat detached as the agents spread out into different rooms, one standing guard at the doorway. I scrub my face, trying unsuccessfully to recall some detail of information as I look around. Nothing comes to mind and nothing is out of place, yet something feels off.

  I make my way to Alexis’s bedroom and take my time cataloguing every item my eyes land on. The books are perfectly stacked on her shelf; the picture frames are neatly organized; her bed is made; and the carpet still has lines from the last time it was vacuumed. Running a hand through my hair, I head to the closet. I walk in, look around and push her clothes hangers to the side, one at a time.

  “Notice or remember anything?” Everett asks upon
entering.

  “Not yet,” I reply, continuing my pointless task.

  “The team needs to take your fingerprints so they can distinguish them from others they may find. Once they’re done in the house, they’ll go through the neighborhood to ask if anyone noticed unusual activity yesterday. Our rental car has been reported as stolen. We’re hoping someone saw another vehicle in the driveway, or better yet, recalls seeing someone drive off with ours.”

  “That’s the most you’ve said today.”

  Everett drops his gaze to the floor. “My job is to protect you Drew, and I clearly failed. We were both overpowered, drugged and my partner is missing, maybe dead. It’s a lot to process.” Everett clears his throat. “The technicians are here to draw our blood. Let’s get that over with,” he tells me before leaving the room.

  I step back to follow him as my hand runs down the sleeve of the last shirt in her closet, and pause when I get to the end. My fingertips are wet. I flip my hand over and smell the pasty liquid. White paint.

  “Everett,” I shout and show him my hand when he returns.

  Everett shoves the clothes out of his way and runs his hand up and down the wall near where the shirt would have rubbed against it. As he presses what he describes as a soft patch, his hand pushes through the plaster.

  “Any idea what was there?” Everett asks.

  “No.”

  He continues inspecting the wall and then leaves to get another agent. He returns with two men and after they carefully examine the custom wall support inside the drywall, they conclude that there must have been a built-in safe. After that revelation, I’m ushered to the living room for my blood work and left wondering why anyone would take a safe from Alexis’s wall and go to such lengths to cover it up.

  I watch through the front window as neighbors gather in the yard directly across the street, gawking and discussing the chaos at my sister’s house. I wonder if any of them knew her well, or at all. The thought is depressing. Not only is Alexis not here, she’s mixed up in all of this somehow.

  “You ready to head back to the airport? Brett’s waiting for us.”

  “I didn’t do what I came here for,” I reply.

  “I’d like to tell you we can stay and pack up, but we can’t touch anything. This is now part of a crime scene and for now, this is all evidence.”

  I start to tell him that I understand when Everett’s phone rings.

  “Everett,” he answers.

  “That was Agent Jackson,” he tells me after ending the call. “O’Conner was found 40 miles from here in a hospital outside Palo Alto. Video footage at the hospital shows a black car without plates leaving him at the entrance to the emergency room. He was coherent but couldn’t say much.”

  “Lets go see him.” I’m already walking toward the door.

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not? Is he alright?”

  “When he was first examined he was presenting symptoms associated with a heart attack. Blood work disqualified that hypothesis. What they found were high traces of a substance not commonly known; one that’s sometimes used in covert military operations to incapacitate threats. Last Jackson heard was that he was placed into CIA custody.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. I can tell you that if the CIA is involved, we won’t be able to make contact with him. We shouldn’t talk about this anymore until we’re back in Boston. I don’t know how Jackson got ahold of that information but there’s no way it was given willingly, even if it came from Patterson.”

  “This is such a mess,” I mutter. “You need to tell me what I’m allowed to say because I need to make a statement to the media. I didn’t see any press at the airport, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

  “You can’t say anything.”

  “What do you mean I can’t say anything?” I ask.

  “This is part of an ongoing investigation. I mean just what I said; you can’t say a word.”

  “That’s really what you expect?”

  “That’s what the FBI expects.”

  “So I’m just supposed to let the world think I fucked over Breanne with two sluts from a bar? No fucking way.”

  “What would you say? That you were drugged? People will want to know why. If you say you were ambushed so that a safe could be taken from your sister’s house, the public will want to know what she was hiding and who attacked you. We aren’t in a position yet to play our hand, Drew…we don’t have enough information. It isn’t fair; I get it. That doesn’t change anything, though. You can’t say anything.”

  “Breanne doesn’t deserve this and it could ruin our relationship. I’m not risking that.”

  “What about risking the truth? Huh? If you go public there’s going to be conspiracy theorists, crazy fucks that will turn this into a circus. It’ll take the focus off the investigation and the people responsible for all of this could get away. Is that what you want?”

  My blood is boiling. This really is bullshit, but I’m not stupid. “No.”

  “Then until I tell you different, your only response to the media is ‘no comment’. We clear?”

  Begrudgingly, I agree. “At least do me a favor then before we head out.”

  Everett looks at me questioningly.

  “Take a picture of the receipts and my neck and text them to Breanne.”

  “Drew,” he begins. “I can’t—”

  Everett stops mid-sentence and takes his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen and hands me the phone. “It’s Breanne.”

  I answer the phone and launch into the speech I’ve spent hours working out in my head, yet I only get a few words out when she interrupts.

  “Just come home.”

  NINE

  Traditions

  “Welcome to Dunkin’ Donuts. Would you like to try a Wake-Up Wrap for 0.99 cents?”

  “No thanks. We’ll take five medium hot regulars.”

  “Will that complete your order?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your total comes to $10.30. Please drive up.”

  “You’re going to need more than coffee this morning. Maybe you should’ve asked for a turbo shot,” Corinne suggests as she drives around to the window.

  “If they’re adding shots it had better be alcoholic,” I reply. Not to be dramatic or belittle other events, but yesterday had been one of the worst days of my life, and I’ve got a lot of comparisons. I need a freaking break.

  I sip my coffee in silence as we speed through the tunnel towards Logan Airport, imagining what I’ll say to Drew when he walks off that plane. Despite running through the events repeatedly, I’m not sure where to start. We had agreed during our brief conversation late last night that we wanted to talk face to face. Though Corinne had relayed his messages and had given me updates from Everett, I need to hear it from Drew when I could look in his eyes.

  I’d already come to the conclusion that whatever occurred was the result of foul play, and the call Corinne received an hour ago further confirmed that there was indeed wrongdoing. Not that my doubts lasted very long, but I’m kicking myself for being skeptical of Drew at all. We can’t seem to escape the impending threat that we’re both continually faced with, and it’s getting closer every day. If only we knew who was after us, and what they wanted.

  My phone pings as we pull up to the curb at the arrivals area. “He just got his bags. He’ll be out in a few minutes,” I tell Corinne.

  “When are you going to tell them?”

  “I’m hoping he’ll figure the added security is because of my visitor the other night.”

  “I guess that’s partially true. Get ready because here he comes.”

  He’s going to take this so hard.

  I step out of the car and run to Drew who has just spotted me. Disheveled hair and exhaustion never looked so sexy. He drops his luggage and when I’m close enough, I launch myself into his arms and squeeze him tightly.

  I could have lost him.

  Just as
I predicted, Drew figured out that I was keeping something from him, but it wasn’t based on the additional security. He waited until Brett took off and his luggage was loaded into the trunk before he started asking questions. It became clear fairly quickly that he mistook my apprehension about giving him bad news as me having second thoughts. I assured him that wasn’t the case and luckily, he accepted my request to wait until we got to his place before we discussed it. Surprisingly, instead of starting an inquisition, he focused on holding me with one arm and chugged his coffee, and I happily complied.

  When we arrived at his house, Everett and Corinne accompanied us inside while the other two agents remained outside. Everett closes the door as Drew leads me into the living room. “I’m so sorry bab—”

  “Don’t,” I tell him, cutting him off with a kiss before he has the chance to continue. “Don’t apologize for something you had no control over.” He watches me with uncertainty but eventually nods, slumps onto the couch and pulls me into his lap.

  Drew glances over at Everett and tells him and Corinne to take a seat. It’s then that I notice the small puncture wound on his neck and recall the ordeal Corinne said they’d been through. I mistook his blood as lipstick. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers over the spot, and even though I’m gentle, Drew blanches at my touch.

  “Sorry,” I exclaim, yanking my hand away.

  “You’re fine, it’s a little sensitive.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “There isn’t a lot to tell aside from what you already know. I had my meeting with the Giants, I did the photo shoot and that’s the last thing either of us remembers. It wasn’t until I was pulled aside after going through airport security that we knew we’d been to Alexis’s house, and that was sheer luck.”

  Corinne told me something found in Drew’s belongings caused him to miss his earlier flight, yet neither of us knows what it was. I nod, encouraging Drew to continue.