Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  I pull back, creating just enough space so that I can appraise Mark’s appearance, and immediately notice how much he’s changed. Holding his face in my hands, I study every inch of his face. Distinguished white hairs blend with his naturally dirty-blonde mane. His forehead is marked with permanent lines that hint at unimaginable stress. Without including the fresh gash near his right temple, it’s clear that Mark’s been through a lot. He’s aged beyond the time we’ve been apart, yet he’s still the same man. And he’s alive.

  “Oh my God…you’re really here,” I choke out the words.

  “It's me,” he confirms.

  “Mark,” I whisper, the tears starting all over again. He wipes my tears away with the pad of his thumb and attempts to soothe me.

  “Shh,” he quietly hushes.

  Completely overwhelmed with too many emotions to name, I once again encircle my arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. Smiling widely, I pull back and peck Mark’s cheek before stepping out of his reach.

  “I can’t believe it, Drew,” I say spinning around and grabbing Drew’s hand. “You were right.”

  The way Drew’s hand barely holds mine, and the detached tension radiating from his nearly naked body slowly registers. I drop my hold on Drew and retreat backwards a few steps so that I’m standing an equal distance between the two men. Nervously, I pull at the hem of Drew’s shirt, only now appreciating the fact that I’m standing in front of Mark wearing nothing besides my fiancé’s shirt, and Drew is only in his boxer briefs. The elation I felt moments ago has completely dissolved. Could this get any worse?

  My hands knot in my hair, pulling at the roots, purposely inflicting pain to prove to myself that this is actually going on. The burning of my scalp confirms it…this is happening. Standing between what I thought was my past and what is supposed to be my future, I’m at a complete loss. Unable to comprehend what’s going on, I drop my hands and look anywhere but at Mark or Drew. I’m suddenly feeling really exposed and it’s not due to my lack of clothing. It’s like I’ve entered some other realm. I have so many questions.

  “How are you here?” I finally ask, pacing the floor in front of Mark. “I mean…I…I identified your body. I saw the blood…it was you…it was definitely you.”

  I wait for him to say something, anything, yet his focus seems to be on the tile floor.

  “Were you drugged? Kidnapped? Brainwashed?” These possibilities sound ridiculous even as the words are coming out of my mouth. Something must have happened though. He’s been gone for years. I need an explanation. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  “No one.”

  “What do you mean ‘no one’?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “I don’t…I…someone must have done something. It’s not like you faked your own death,” I laugh at the absurdity.

  My face falls when no one else reacts to my statement. Don’t jump to conclusions. Silence and confirmation are two very different things, right?

  “Where have you been?” I press. “Jesus, Mark. Tell me you didn’t fake your own death.”

  “Tell her,” Drew barks when several seconds pass without an answer.

  Why do I get the feeling that everyone in the room knows something I don’t?

  Mark’s head snaps up and his eyes dart to Drew. Ever so slowly, a smug ‘screw you’ grin lifts across Mark’s face. “I’d like to be alone with my wife.”

  “Fuck that, I’m not going anywhere,” Drew replies. His hand cups my hip, pulling me against him. He then sidesteps in front of me so that I’m blocked from Mark’s view.

  “I didn’t ask your permission.” I peek out from behind Drew and watch as Mark nods to Spencer. “Take him outside.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll take him,” Everett says, walking towards Drew.

  “I’m not leaving her,” Drew counters, brushing Everett off.

  “Get him out.”

  “No. Mark, he’s staying,” I insist, though no one’s paying attention to me. Spencer yanks Drew backwards at the same time Mark pulls me toward him. Spencer quickly puts Drew in some kind of hold that looks incredibly uncomfortable and makes it impossible for him to move. “Hey, get your hands off him! Stop! You’re hurting him. Let him go!”

  “Don’t,” Mark scolds me.

  What the hell is going on?

  Spencer marches Drew to the door that leads to the back deck while I struggle to pull my arm out of Mark’s grasp. “Damn it, Mark. Get your hands off of me. It’s the middle of January. He’ll freeze.”

  Mark stares at me with an unreadable expression. “Fine. Spencer, take him upstairs,” Mark commands and then returns his attention to me.

  “Was that necessary?” I ask as Drew’s escorted out of the room.

  “After what I spent the last hour listening to, I’d say so.”

  I process his statement. The last hour? What was I doing the last…oh, God. I cringe at the thought of Mark hearing Drew and I having sex. Then I snap.

  How dare he!

  “The last time I saw you was two years ago when you were laid out on a morgue table. From what I can gather it seems like that was your doing. Even if you have a solid explanation for what happened, you have no room to judge. Start explaining, Mark. Tell me what happened.”

  “I didn’t have a choice in leaving. I was doing my job.”

  “I don’t follow. You worked for a venture capital firm.”

  “I can’t share everything with you, but if you calm down I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  I drop my head to the side and narrow my gaze. “Excuse me? What I need to know? You’re back from the dead and all of a sudden we’re on a need to know basis? I’m your wi—”

  That saying about old habits being hard to break is true. Being in Mark’s presence is making it hard not to react like an angry wife. Am I technically still his wife?

  Mark studies me with a blank expression, confirming that he’s only going to tell me what he thinks is necessary. He’s always been direct and somewhat controlling, but this isn’t the reunion I would have expected if you’d told me my dead husband would show up one day. Feeling as if I’m on the verge of breaking, I shut my eyes tight and inhale. The rich smell of cedar that fills my lungs is all it takes to trigger my memories from earlier this evening of coming face-to-face with the smoker who’s been watching me.

  “You,” I say pointedly, shoving a finger into his chest. “It was you. The past few months, and tonight…you’re the one who’s been spying on me aren’t you?”

  Mark doesn't say anything, though he observes me cautiously. The corner of his mouth falls marginally in a lopsided frown, revealing his trepidation, and it bothers me. At least have the balls to fess up.

  “In New York,” I continue. “You were in New York on Thanksgiving and that night in the backyard. That was you, wasn't it?”

  “Yes,” he admits.

  “Why?” I whisper, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. If you've been here, why are you just now showing up?

  “I shouldn't even be here now, Breanne,” he says flatly.

  “What the hell does that mean? Why shouldn’t you be here, Mark? Where have you been? Is this about money? Are you in trouble with the mob or something?”

  “They don’t particularly like me, but no. My disappearing has nothing to do with the mob.”

  “Out with it already. I deserve answers.”

  “I’m in the CIA.”

  I balk at his revelation. The idea of Mark toting a gun and going on top-secret missions is somehow unimaginable. “Since when?”

  “Far too long,” he replies. “I’ve been doing undercover work since before I met you.”

  “You’re joking, right? That makes no sense. What about your job?”

  “It was all part of my cover.”

  “What cover?” I ask. Mark’s eyes dart to some point behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I find Spencer has rejoined the room and is shaking his head. “What?�
� I whip back to Mark. “Are you incapable of answering for yourself?” I ask, getting agitated. “What cover?”

  “It’s complicated,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Everything has been complicated these last few years,” I hiss. “Why shouldn't you be here?”

  Mark briefly closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been on an undercover assignment for years. It required shedding my true identity in order to infiltrate an anti-technology group that abandoned its original non-violent charter. The members became power hungry and greedy, eventually turning into extremists. In order to be successful, I had to fake my own death and become a member of their organization. If anyone in the organization finds out that I’ve been in contact with you or that I’m in the CIA, it will compromise everything.”

  My mouth falls open and my gaze volleys between Mark and Spencer.

  “This has to do with the plane being ambushed, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It really is all connected. You...Alexis…it’s all linked.”

  “Yes.”

  Christ, Drew was right all along.

  “When? I mean, you were gone long before anything happened to the flight…I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not going into all of that tonight.”

  “You have to tell me something.”

  The look on Mark’s face confirms that I’m not getting more from him in terms of the investigation, so I change tactics and revert to my original objective.

  “When did you know that you had to leave?”

  “Whether it was this assignment or another one, it was always a possibility.”

  “It was always a possibility,” I repeat. “You married me and started a family with me, knowing that one day you’d likely have to leave us?” I stumble back until I collide with a wall. “How could you do that? Do you have any idea what you put us through?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “And I thought that we were your life!” Can he really not see how screwed up this is?

  “It’s not like I could have quit. I always knew what was expected of me.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t. And neither did your children. God, did you even love us, or was having the perfect family part of your rouse?” I take four huge steps forward and slam my fists against his chest. “Did you ever stop to think what any of this would do to the kids and me? Or did you forget about us the moment you walked away? Were you watching the day we lowered your empty coffin into the ground?” I raise my arms to strike him again but grabs my wrists.

  “Is that why you didn’t want to have Maddie? Too much baggage for you?”

  “The bigger our family became, the more people I had to leave behind.”

  I continue trying to free my hands from his hold. Eying my fist, Mark’s grip tightens. Darkness consumes his narrowed glare as his pupils dilate. His heated stare is concentrated on my balled up hands, which he’s pulled to within inches from his face.

  My engagement ring.

  “From the sound and look of it, you’ve been doing just fine,” he snarls.

  I stop struggling and feel my hostility begin to dissolve into hurt. I’m so confused I don’t know how to feel about anything right now. All I know is that I’m exhausted and I want to be alone.

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  I don’t even realize that I’ve started crying yet again until my sight becomes blurry. I’d give anything not to show him how much this is affecting me because clearly it never affected him. Damn this hurts.

  “You’re really going to marry him?” he asks, finally letting me go.

  “I guess that depends on whether or not I’m still married to you.”

  “If we were wou—”

  “Go to hell,” I practically spit, cutting him off.

  “Calm down, Breanne.”

  “In a matter of minutes you’ve managed to alter a decade of memories. Don’t tell me to calm down! I’ve spent years grieving for you; consoling our children while you’ve been off doing who knows what.”

  “I’ve been protecting our country.”

  “Stop trying to justify this. It’s clear that you only care about yourself. How could you do this to me?”

  “I'm here, risking everything, because of you.”

  “Well I didn’t ask for this. Not to mention, I've been in danger for months.”

  Frustrated, Mark turns his back on me and places his hands on the counter. “This isn't easy for me either.”

  “I could give a shit if this is hard for you! You put us in this situation.”

  Mark drops his head. “We’ll go into more detail tomorrow. I think there’s been enough excitement for tonight.”

  “You’re joking. You really have nothing else to say? Why the hell did you even come back? I mean…are you back? Tell me what all this means, Mark!”

  He whips around. “I told you. I’m here to protect you, and I’m back until this situation gets resolved. In order for that to happen, I need you to stay out of the public eye, and more importantly, stop talking about the investigation. Don’t discuss anything related to what happened on the plane or the aftermath. Keep the events that took place in California to yourself, and under no circumstances are you to mention to anyone that I’m alive.”

  “So when you said you’re here to protect me, you really meant that you’re here to solve a case.” Mark groans. “Well you can relax. I haven’t said a word to anyone other than Drew and the authorities.”

  “No?” he challenges.

  “And Vivian, but she’s practically family, and I didn’t really tell her much.” He searches my face. “What?”

  “Distance yourself from her.”

  “Why? Have I put her in danger?”

  “No. She is the danger.”

  Vivian is the danger. I repeat his words to myself several times. “Why would Vivian want to hurt me?”

  “We’ll get into the details tomorrow, Breanne. I’m not prepared to share more information tonight. You need to go home and sleep on this. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “You seriously think I’ll be able to sleep? You appear from thin air and basically tell me that everything I’ve known has been a lie.”

  “If you share this information with Drew make sure that conversation doesn’t take place in our house.”

  “Of course I’ll tell him. Wait, why can’t I talk in the house? Is it bugged or something?”

  His expression tells me all I need to know. Of course it is.

  “Who’s listening? Vivian?”

  Mark hesitates a moment too long. “Yes. She recently planted listening devices in an attempt to get more information about developments in the case. After what you shared with her the other night she’s on high alert. I’ve given her a false lead that’s taken her out of state for a couple of days, but she’ll still be listening.”

  “The picture frames,” I mutter. “She brought a picture frame and a few gifts for the kids. I’m throwing them away.”

  “Don’t. She’ll get suspicious. Besides, there could be more. For now, watch what you say.”

  I grab the gem of my necklace and begin rubbing it between my fingers. Beyond logic lies the truth.

  “The necklace. Alexis was warning me about Vivian, wasn’t she?”

  Mark doesn’t respond. How did I not see this before? The colors of the necklace match Vivian’s signature red hair and striking green eyes to a T. Depending on light exposure, the alexandrite gem changes like a chameleon, much like Vivian’s intentions. I guess some people do keep their enemies closer. But why am I her enemy?

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  Is it possible to grieve for someone who’s come back from the dead, if the person they turn out to be isn’t the person you loved? It feels possible. The different stages of grief flash in my mind. In a matter of seconds I swear I jumped from denial to anger. I may spend some time at the bargaining stage to ge
t some semblance of control, but I’ll be damned if I spend another minute of my life on depression. I’ve cried too much over this man already.

  “You’re right. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

  I slowly back out of the room, then turn and jog toward the stairs, taking them two at a time and ignoring the sound of my voice being called. Sprinting into the bedroom, I blindly search for my bag near the entrance to the bathroom. By the time I feel the soft fabric of my favorite sweatpants and step into them, I’m being yanked from behind.

  I gasp.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Damn it, Drew! You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Answer me.”

  “No. I’m not ok. I’m…I don’t know what I am,” I snap.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “We are home. This.” Drew forcefully points his finger at the ground. “This is supposed to be our home.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  We’re both silent for what seems like an eternity.

  “I’m not taking you back there,” Drew says.

  “I’ll take myself then.”

  “Sarah and your father knew I was proposing tonight. If we go back to your house, Sarah will know that something’s wrong and you can’t lie on your best day. We’re going to my place.”

  “Fine.”

  We collect our things and leave the house without seeing Mark again. He mentioned discussing more with me tomorrow but I seriously hope he stays away. I need to process everything and I have no idea where to begin. I can’t believe he’s alive.

  Drew insists on driving us, leaving Everett and Spencer alone in the other car. I know he wants me to open up about my conversation with Mark, but I can’t yet. I need to make sense of it in my mind first. I desperately try to think of the happier events this evening and fail. My emotions have been all over the place. Neither my head nor my heart can keep up.

  As the car glides around the curves of the narrow back roads, I start losing it. How have I trusted these people and not known who they really were? I pull my legs up to my chest, balling into a cocoon in the passenger seat and do my best to stay calm.