Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “TSA found things, receipts, stuffed in the sole of one of my shoes as they went through the scanner.”

  “Receipts? Of what?” I ask.

  Drew runs his hand through his hair. “This is going to sound insane. I’m still trying to process it because it makes no sense.”

  I wait patiently as he takes a deep breath. “Drew,” I prompt.

  “Your alexandrite necklace and the jewelry box.”

  “What?” I ask. “How did you get those? And what does that have to do with Alexis?”

  “We assume they came from a safe that was taken from her house after we were ambushed.”

  “What safe? And why would your sister have receipts for my things?”

  “Because Alexis bought them.”

  “She what? No. That can’t be right.” I stare at him in disbelief. “Where are they? I want to see them.”

  “With the FBI. They were taken as evidence.”

  Covering my mouth with my hand because I’m scared of what will come out, I close my eyes and process Drew’s words. His sister bought those things. Not Mark.

  “Why would your sister do that? We didn’t know each other. She would have had to of known about Mark’s death and our anniversary. I don’t get it.”

  “We think it was a warning of some sort,” Everett chimes in. “Of what, we aren’t sure yet.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “If we did, we can’t remember,” Everett replies.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” Drew reaches up, cupping my chin and searches my eyes. “Alright, now it’s your turn. I can tell something’s happened. Has the person from your backyard returned?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I pause and take his hands in mine, staring at them briefly, trying to come up with the best way to break this to him. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Corinne put her hand on Everett’s shoulder.

  “Just what, Breanne?” he questions.

  I hesitate, worrying my bottom lip. I need to get this over with, yet this isn’t the sort of message anyone likes delivering. “Whatever you were injected with had a really bad affect on O’Conner. Babe…he didn’t make it.”

  Drew’s mouth parts marginally and his eyes drift away from mine. He untangles me from him and abruptly stands, knotting his hands behind his head. He paces silently for a few beats and then walks to the window, looking at what, I can’t say. I push off the couch, wanting to comfort him, but Everett beats me to it. He pats his back and says something to Drew that I can’t hear.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him when they both return to the living room.

  Drew pulls me into a bear hug and buries his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply several times.

  “You ok?” I ask.

  “No.” He pulls back, and glances to Everett. “I’m far from ok.”

  Nothing I say will make a difference. Despite how rigid O’Conner was, Drew had developed a fondness for him.

  “First the so-called safe house and now my sister’s place. This is the second time I’ve been someplace that hardly anyone knew about, where I’ve been attacked and other people have died. It’s not a coincidence,” Drew tells the three of us. “Whoever tried to find us in Pittsburgh is still trying to get to us now.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Corinne chimes in; her tone is less than convincing.

  “Really?” Drew counters and then turns his attention to Everett. “How could they have found us? Do you think we were followed?”

  “O’Conner and I would have noticed.” Everett exhales and looks to Corinne, then to me and finally to Drew. I’m certain Everett’s going to tell us that the FBI is working all possible leads and to leave it to the professionals, but he doesn’t. “Wait. The guy at the airport.”

  Drew’s forehead scrunches and he runs his hands through his hair. “The stoner?”

  Everett nods. “He had access to your phone.”

  “For less than 10 seconds,” Drew retorts.

  “Someone experienced in planting a transponder wouldn’t need any more time than that.”

  “Is that something we can prove?” Drew asks.

  “Depending on the make and model we could potentially trace it to where it was bought and attempt to track down the culprit,” he says. “If we had your phone.”

  Drew sighs, exasperated.

  “How do we know this won’t happen again? Is it even safe to go to New York?”

  “Spencer will be with us. That’s three people directly protecting you, Drew. The other two agents will be there as well, though you won’t see them.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” he replies. “They could have killed me before if that’s what they wanted.”

  Watching the sunrise over frost-covered vineyards on the way to Drew’s parents’ house in upstate New York is relaxing. As we’ve driven along winding dirt roads, I’ve been able to momentarily forget everything outside this car for about five hours, allowing us to have some sense of normalcy. Maybe it’s the change of scenery, or the holidays. Or it could be that this is the first car ride Drew and I have had without being chauffeured by FBI agents. It’s just the five of us in this car, and while our vehicle is sandwiched in between two others being driven by the agents, I love the privacy.

  Over the last few days Drew, Everett, Corinne and I have dissected every aspect of the trip to California, the plane crash, Alexis and Mark’s deaths, attempting to draw connections between them all, and coming up empty handed in terms of motive. Despite the constant presence of Corinne, Everett and Spencer, the FBI has given us no information, other than letting us know about service arrangements for O’Conner, which we attended yesterday in Cambridge. It was an intimate service, with only a dozen or so family members and several of O’Conner’s colleagues. I had hoped attending the service would give Drew closure. It didn’t. He’s so angry about what happened that when he was informed that O’Conner’s replacement would start when we return to Massachusetts next week, he refused, telling Patterson that O’Conner couldn’t be replaced. Surprisingly, Everett agreed.

  I look over at Drew, who’s exhausted to the point where he actually looks like he’s aged. I offered to drive so that he could rest, but he insisted that if he was going to be forced to travel in a minivan the only thing that would preserve his manhood would be driving it. Who was I to protest? He hasn’t been up for much conversation, and I can’t say I blame him. Death has been trailing in our wake for months and the ghosts are becoming restless.

  “Are we almost there?” I ask, sounding like an impatient child.

  “Almost,” he says, planting a kiss on my hand. “I warned you it was a long ride.”

  “That, you did.” I go back to twirling my necklace. Once I found out that it was from Alexis it felt right to wear it again.

  Brian McKnight’s ‘Back at One’ ends and Drew tries to turn off the radio. I hear the beginning of ‘Tell Me It’s Real’ and swat his hand away.

  “Leave it!”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

  He’s annoyed, and for good reason. I’ve forced him to listen to 90’s rock, R&B and everything in between for the last few hours. Between his silence and the endless miles of cow pastures and cornfields, I needed some form of entertainment. I glance over my shoulder, making sure the kids are still asleep. Then, I scoot as close to Drew as the seat will allow and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “Shush, the intro is the best part.”

  Drew groans. “What did I do to deserve this torture? Haven’t I been through enough?”

  As the chorus nears, I pull my knees up and clear my throat, determined to make him laugh. We come to a four-way stop and I make my move. Leaning across the aisle, I grab his face and belt out the lyrics. Drew’s jaw tightens, giving away that he’s fighting to keep a straight face, and I up my game. His eyebrows lift as I shift the car into park, unbuckle and climb onto his lap. Holding his face with both hands, I continue singing.
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  A face splitting grin spreads across his face. “Baby, this is definitely real.”

  He leans forward and kisses me deeply, as if we’re alone. I forget where we are and lose myself in the feel and taste of his lips, until a car horn blares. I look out the back window to see the only vehicle besides our three-car caravan in sight. Aside from an approaching Amish horse-pulled wagon coming from the other direction, there has been no traffic. I roll down the window and motion for the other car to pass us all. A rusted Chevy passes by and the driver flicks us off, shouting for us to ‘get a room’. Not caring, I shrug it off and wave to Everett and Corinne who are in the car behind us.

  “Try not to get us arrested.”

  “Arrested? I doubt this sprawling town of,” I glance at the GPS. “Of Penn Yan has a fleet of traffic cops.”

  “Bite your tongue, ma’am.”

  “Watch your words, sir.” Drew smirks, pulling my hips against his lap as he grinds upwards. “The idea of me calling you sir really gets you going, doesn’t it?”

  “Almost as much as hearing Keith Sweat excites you.”

  “That was K-Ci & Jo-Jo, not Keith Sweat. Big difference.”

  “How many boys felt you up listening to that shit when you were in high school?”

  “None, though when I saw the video for ‘All My Life’ I fantasized that one day this guy in my calculus class would serenade me as a way to profess his never-ending love. I had such a crush on him. I remember sitting on the bottom row of bleachers at the Winter Formal. He slowly walked over, looking nervous as he approached me when the interlude started. It was perfect, like out of a movie. I clasped my friend’s hand and squealed, thinking ‘this is it’. He stopped before me when the words to the song started…” I pause thinking back to that moment.

  “If you’re about to tell me that you let him get to second base on the dance floor, I’ll kill him.”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I sigh, dramatically. “I never got to dance to that song. He asked my friend instead and I watched them make out.”

  Hammondsport is a quaint town, with only one stoplight, nestled at the head of Keuka Lake. As we turn onto Main Street, I feel a sense of comfort that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt in Boston, though it’s been my home my entire life. The houses and yards are beautifully kept. Sidewalks line the streets. The high school is only the size of Maddie’s pre-school, but the view of the lake—that can no doubt be seen from classrooms—must make up for what’s lacking in student population.

  We take a right on Sheather Street, passing by several shops and Drew dutifully tells me about each one. Of the handful of restaurants and bars in the picturesque town center, Drew points out the few that have been there since he was born; others apparently come and go like the seasons.

  “I just want to show you one more thing before we head up to my parent’s house,” Drew tells me, continuing down the beautiful tree-lined street that I’ve noticed has become more residential, aside from the random B&B’s here and there.

  “See that one?” Drew asks pointing to a bright turquoise Inn to my right. “That was the birthplace of Glenn Curtis.”

  I stare at him confused. “Should I know who that is?”

  “Seriously?” he asks, and I rack my brain. Who the hell is Glenn Curtis?

  “He was only the father of aviation,” he proclaims, and I have to laugh.

  “Umm, I’m pretty sure that would have been the Wright brothers.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. They did fly before him, but no one really saw it so it doesn’t count. Glenn Curtis had the first publicly observed flight in the country, and he designed warplanes for the Navy,” Drew explains. “He was the man.”

  “How come I’ve never heard of him before?” I laugh.

  “Because you lead a sheltered life. We’ll fix that, though. I’m going to take you to the Warplane Museum while we’re in town to prove my point.”

  “I can’t wait.” Drew’s so excited it would be hard not to look forward to it. “So, that’s what you wanted to show me?”

  “No,” he says, parking the car. “This is.”

  My eyes trail from his face to the spectacular view ahead of me.

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  Sloping hills on either side cradle the calm lake a mere hundred feet away from where Drew’s stopped the car. A light fog dances over the top of the water and the way the early morning sun glistens on the surface takes my breath away. I open the car door and step outside, stretching my legs and inhaling the scent of fall.

  “What do you think?” he asks, resting his hands on the roof of the car.

  “I want to live here one day,” I reply without a second thought.

  Being at his parent’s house is like stepping into a Pottery Barn catalogue. It has this modern rustic feel, enhanced no doubt by the Thanksgiving décor. The best part is that it’s cozy and smells amazing. As if being here is second nature, the kids toss their things on the couch and run outside to play with Drew’s dad, while his mom helps Drew and me get settled.

  “These are for you.” I hand Drew’s mom a flower arrangement and balloons that the kids picked out.

  “How sweet,” she beams, placing them on the kitchen counter.

  “Breanne, I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with the kids,” she says, leading upstairs and down the hallway.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Scott—”

  “Nancy,” she scolds.

  “Sorry, Nancy. It’s perfectly fine. It’s only been a few days since I told the kids how serious Drew and I were. It’s probably too soon to be sharing a bed,” I admit. Was that too much information for his mother?

  On cue, Drew wraps his arms around me from behind. “What she means to say is that it’s ok for this trip but that we’re going to start house hunting when we get back to Boston.”

  “Is that so?” I ask, turning into him.

  “It’s a fact.” He kisses the tip of my nose and smacks my backside before heading outside to join his dad.

  “Will Drew be in the room across the hall?” I ask.

  “He’ll be on the couch in the living room.”

  Nancy’s smile fades and her gaze trails to the closed door across the hallway. That must be Alexis’s room.

  I put my hand on her shoulder as she silently folds a blanket. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly, Breanne. Alexis would want Drew to stay in there. It’s too soon for me though. I can’t believe this will be our first big holiday without her.”

  Despite having lost someone myself, I can’t quite find the words to comfort her, so I hug her instead.

  Later that night, I’m restless in bed. The unfamiliar sounds of night in the country are driving me crazy so I decide to quietly make myself a cup of tea. As I’m waiting for the water to heat up, I hear Drew mumbling in the other room. Walking quietly behind the couch, I listen.

  “Run. Alexis, they’re coming,” he mutters.

  “Who’s coming?” I whisper.

  “Spiders,” he unconsciously replies and then rolls into the couch.

  I consider waking him, but he needs rest. Pulling the blanket over him, I kiss the back of his head, deciding it’s better to let him be. Just as I cross back into the kitchen I hear him say, “Some bites have no cure.”

  “Mom, you gotta get up.” Colin insistently tugs on my arm until I roll over.

  “Mmm,” I grumble, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the light. Inhaling, I’m welcomed with the most wonderful scent. Cinnamon rolls and coffee.

  “Ok, ok. I’m getting up.”

  I quickly throw on clothes and freshen up in the bathroom before making my way to the kitchen where I find a flurry of activity. The kids are eating at the counter with Drew. Nancy is whisking eggs while eyeing turkey-shaped pancakes on a griddle. And Paul is…stretching?

  “Finally,” Drew says upon making eye contact with me.

  “Why didn’t you get me up sooner?” I ask, planting a kiss on his cheek and th
en each of the kid’s heads. I look at the clock on the wall and groan. “It’s only 7am.”

  “There’s a lot to do today, my dear,” Nancy informs me.

  “More pancakes Noni!” Maddie squeals.

  “It’s coming dear,” Nancy sings, the joy over her new nickname evident by her radiant smile.

  “Why is your dad stretching?” I quietly ask Drew.

  “Flag football baby. Hurry up and eat.”

  “What?”

  “Thanksgiving and football go together.”

  “Why can’t we just watch it on TV? Isn’t that the tradition?” I ask.

  “Colin wants to know the rules of the game. There’s no better way to learn than to actually play, so we’ve decided on a new tradition.”

  “Shouldn’t I be helping your mom with all the cooking?”

  “Oh, I appreciate the thought Breanne. I’ve got it under control. Enjoy yourself.”

  I turn to grab a piece of sausage and roll my eyes, knowing I’ll have to put on my happy face.

  “I saw that,” Drew says, pulling me into his lap. “It’s going to be fun. Promise.”

  Twenty minutes later, I walk outside and watch as Paul and Drew hold opposite ends of a measuring tape, while Colin is spray painting the grass parallel to the men, and the girls toss the ball back and forth.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “Marking the end zones,” Drew says like it should be obvious. “Could you put the spray paint on the table by the garage?”

  I take the spray paint and head over to a table that has a portable flip scoreboard and a countdown clock the size of a boom box.

  “Wow, you really take your sports seriously.”

  “Anything worth doing, is worth doing right,” Paul chimes in.

  “Alright, let’s do this.”

  Paul explains the rules and splits us up into two teams of four. It’s Drew, Paul, Aubrey and Corinne against Maddie, Colin, Everett and me. We’re all handed two pieces of cloth which we stick inside the waistband of our pants and huddle up to plot our strategy. Since our team won the coin toss, we get the ball. Everett decides that I should run the ball while Maddie and Colin block. He hikes the football and as soon as it’s in my hands I take off down the field, juking past Aubrey and narrowly missing Paul on my way to the end zone. Having lost track of Drew, I glance over my shoulder feeling ridiculously excited, only to be side-tackled and thrown to the ground.