A full-bodied roar followed, as if every person in Werner Park recognized true greatness even in the form of a frail eighty-nine-year-old man with grizzled white hair.
Trevor walked to the edge of the dugout and applauded along with the rest of the players. He hadn’t talked to Grizz in about a year. It had never occurred to him to invite his favorite coach to Omaha. This was Paige’s doing—the big surprise. He looked over at the visiting owner’s box, where Paige waved, grinning from ear to ear. And then he got another surprise. She was wearing an enormous T-shirt that hung off her body and had something scrawled on the front in black Sharpie. Squinting, he realized it was the Catfish T-shirt he’d given to her the first night they met, in her rental car.
He burst out laughing and blew her a kiss, though it was the barest fraction of the love churning in his heart.
Grizz. Nina. Paige. Could he ask for anything more?
He managed to intercept Grizz for a gentle hug before the man climbed into his prime front-row seat. As he strode to the plate, it occurred to him that he’d rather gouge out his eyes than play anything less than his best with Grizz Walker in attendance.
But his nerves got the best of him. In his first at-bat, he hit into a double play. In his second, he popped up to the pitcher. In his third, after banging his head against the back of the dugout wall for about ten minutes, he finally managed to rip a triple. Grizz cheered as if he were Mickey Mantle.
He’d played his worst game in weeks, but it hadn’t been on purpose. In fact, that one taste of near-failure was enough to drive home the truth. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—throw a game. But maybe the Wades would think that he had.
Unfortunately, the Catfish did just fine without him at his best. They won by one run.
The Catfish went back to Kilby two games up, needing only one to reach the final championship game. Trevor wondered if he should return himself to incarceration. Because unless he was behind bars or incapacitated, how was he going to bring himself to do what the Wades wanted?
He lectured himself during the long bus ride through America’s heartland to Kilby. No more showing off. This wasn’t about him and his pride. He’d just have to find a way to torpedo the team. Crush’s team. Paige’s father’s team. How could he do that and still live with himself? His thoughts were still going in sleepless circles when he trudged down the hall to his room at the Days Inn and saw that someone had beaten him there.
A giant red W marked his door. Bloodred, the color the Wachowskis always chose.
He spun around, half expecting to see a group of enforcers converging on him. But the hallway was empty. He was alone with his ominous thoughts. No way was he going inside his hotel room. Who knew what awaited him there? He should go out to Bullpen Ranch, grab Nina, and the two of them could disappear to Mexico or something.
But then he’d never see Paige again. Or Dwight. Or anyone else in the baseball world. He’d be running and hiding forever. Most importantly, Paige would think he’d run off on her, that he didn’t love her.
But what else could he do?
There was only one choice, really. Quickly he turned and headed for the exit. Twenty minutes and he’d be at the ranch.
Paige couldn’t believe she’d ever thought baseball wasn’t exciting. The anticipation before Game Three had the entire town of Kilby on the edge of celebration. Sweep, sweep, was the rallying cry.
Then came the shocking news. Trevor Stark was out of the lineup for Game Three. He wasn’t even in the stadium, which was extremely strange. No one explained why. Crush refused to answer when Paige asked him. He disappeared halfway through Game Three and spent the rest of it talking to someone in his office. Even the players seemed confused. On the field, they looked lost.
The Storm Chasers took advantage and rampaged to a 7-2 win. The series was now 2-1, the Catfish with the edge. An atmosphere of nervous stress swept through Kilby. No one talked about a sweep anymore. They talked about “hanging on” and “fending off the Chasers.”
But Paige’s biggest concern was Trevor. Where was he? He didn’t answer any of her messages. He’d checked out of the Days Inn. Dwight didn’t know where he was. Nina didn’t even know. When she asked Crush, he told her not to worry about Trevor. He also said that security was being doubled throughout the stadium, and to be alert for anything unusual.
The whole thing was unusual.
Then, mysteriously, came word that Trevor would be batting fourth in Game Four. The news electrified Kilby. With Trevor back, the talk changed to “clinching in four” and “resting before the championship game.”
Paige had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, she was going to strangle Trevor the next time she saw him. Even if she had to run onto the field to do it.
On the evening of Game Four, Paige and Nina reached the stadium about half an hour before game time. Paige dropped Nina off at the staff entrance, then parked Crush’s Range Rover in the owner’s parking area. It was going to be a beautiful night for baseball. Streaks of gaudy persimmon glowed on the horizon. In a sky the color of lilacs, the first pinprick star flickered into view. The scent of sun-heated asphalt pricked her nose. The stadium was sold out. Long lines of vehicles snaked all the way out to the road, their metal catching the sunset like mirrors. Paige had to shield her eyes from the flashes of light.
Inside the stadium, the organist played a rising set of chords, the sound wafting into the parking lot. Duh-duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh. Paige could picture the happy fans searching for their seats, stocking up on hot dogs, peanuts, beer, and the Kilby specialty, Catfish jerky. She hoped the special playoff season T-shirts she’d ordered were selling well, and that the Baseball’s Hottest Outfield posters would be considered collector’s items rather than a reminder of yet another embarrassing moment in Catfish history.
After locking the Range Rover, she hurried toward the staff entrance, her favorite cowboy boots thudding on the still-warm pavement.
Nina must have already gone inside, because she saw no sign of her. She pulled open the door and stepped inside. The staff entrance opened onto a small foyer with an elevator on one side and a staircase on the other. It was a small space, something cobbled together during a stadium renovation from the 1970s. There wasn’t much place to hide, so a soft squeal seemed completely out of place.
“Hello?” she called. “Nina, is that you?”
She stepped into the foyer, jumping when the front door crashed shut behind her.
She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. What was wrong with her? This was a busy baseball stadium, not some haunted house.
Shaking off the feeling that something was wrong, she went to the bottom of the staircase. “Nina!” She called. “Where’d you go?”
Stupid question. There was only one place to go. Up. She started up the stairs. Nina must have dashed ahead for some reason. Maybe she’d seen Leiberman. Maybe she had to pee. Maybe Nina was tired of being shadowed by her.
Halfway up the stairs, a scuffling sound drifted from the direction of the elevator. Now that definitely wasn’t right. Nina would never have taken the elevator. Nina had told her that she’d once been trapped in a mall elevator and since then always took the stairs or an escalator.
Paige launched herself down the stairs. At the elevator, she punched the button. The door opened an inch, then closed, opened again, then closed. Was it malfunctioning or something else? She looked around for something to jam between the doors, but the foyer had nothing in terms of decorations. The next time the doors opened, she stuck her right cowboy boot between them. Not wanting to risk any broken bones, she quickly she pulled her foot out of the boot. With a steel inset in the toe, the boot worked like a charm, preventing the doors from closing. Able to peer inside through the narrow opening, she saw a terrified Nina in the grasp of a tall, wiry man in a black leather blazer. His hand was clamped over her mouth, her face turning red.
Paige pulled out her cell phone to dial 911. No reception. She turned and ran toward t
he front door as the elevator doors whooshed open behind her.
“Give me that phone,” the man ordered in a nasal voice that definitely did not come from Texas. She kept running. If she could just get outside, she could get a signal and call for help. But just as she reached the door, the man, dragging Nina along with him, managed to catch up and grab her. He knocked the phone from her grip and smashed it under his heel.
She backed away. “Who are you? What do you want with Nina?”
Nina’s right cheekbone looked swollen. She seemed to be in shock, barely aware that Paige was there. The man had hit her. The bastard.
“You stay out of it.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jacket, yanked her forward and locked one cuff around her wrist. Viciously, he jerked her toward the stair railing. Crap. He was going to imprison her in the foyer with no cell phone while he did God knew what to Nina. No one would come this way until after the game. No one would be able to hear her scream or yell for help.
The other cuff was a few inches from the stair railing, ready to close her in, when Paige lunged for Nina. She grabbed the girl’s nearest arm and hauled her forward, thrusting her wrist into the cuff. It clicked shut, and there they were, handcuffed together.
Whatever happened next, at least Nina wouldn’t be on her own. He probably had the key, but if he looked for it, Paige thought she could try to grab the gun she’d spotted under his jacket. Maybe.
“You crazy bitch.” The man in black leather scowled. Paige realized he was younger than he’d seemed at first, probably around thirty, with a wispy beard. “Getting kinky on me. Fine, I’ll take two for the price of one. Come on, both of you.” He yanked them back to the elevator. Paige didn’t struggle. Not only did he have the hidden sidearm, but he also wore a Leatherman attached to his belt. He never would have made it through the metal detectors at the front gates. Pretty smart of him to use the staff entrance. She made a note to inform her father of this gap in security—assuming she made it out alive.
She motioned to Nina to stay quiet, stay calm.
The girl nodded. Though still pale, she wiggled her fingers to touch Paige’s and shot her a relieved smile. The kidnapper kicked Paige’s cowboy boot across the foyer and pushed the two of them into the elevator. He punched the Up button. “Now where in this building can I find good cell reception?”
Chapter 27
“WHO ARE YOU, mister? Can you explain what this is all about? I’m sure we can work it out, whatever it is.” Paige tried to stay calm as the elevator ascended through the levels of the stadium.
“We can skip the chitchat, doll. Right now I want a good signal. Fucking technology.”
“I can help with that. The best cell phone reception is on the field or in the stands. A few corners here and there aren’t bad, but mostly the stadium’s pretty bad for cell phones. We use landlines a lot.” It seemed ridiculous, talking about cell phone reception with a kidnapper. Or whatever he was. “What’s, um, going on? What are you after?”
“Don’t ask me questions, ’cause they don’t fucking tell me anything,” he grumbled. “I’m one step away from a babysitter. Can’t believe they sent me down here on Fight Night.”
“Kilby’s actually a really nice place,” Nina piped up. “Sure it’s small, but the people are friendly.”
The kidnapper shot her an incredulous look. “I’m not looking to relocate.”
“Are you from Detroit, then?” Paige asked. “Do you work for the Wachowskis?”
He clammed up as the elevator reached the top floor, which was used for storage. An open, low-ceilinged space, it was filled with piles of boxes, some neatly labeled, others simply shoved haphazardly into corners. Pushing Paige and Nina in front of him, the kidnapper prowled fretfully through the space, looking at his phone. Finally he stopped short.
“Two bars.”
Paige met Nina’s eyes, trying not to laugh. “Do you have Verizon? You should try AT&T.”
“Thanks for the tip.” The kidnapper hit a number on the phone, then walked a few steps away to conduct his conversation.
“Is he after Trevor?” Nina whispered to Paige. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea. Just don’t say a word until we figure out what he wants.” Overall, he didn’t seem very menacing. If he was with the Wachowskis, he must be more of an underling. Not that he couldn’t still hurt them if he chose. He might be on the wiry side, but he was strong.
The kidnapper spoke into his phone; she craned her neck to listen. In the low rumble of conversation, all she caught was the word “sister” and the word “deliver.” So this was about Trevor.
Flipping his phone shut, the jittery man came back and dragged the two girls to an old couch shoved up against the wall. “Sit down.”
Awkwardly, Paige and Nina coordinated the action of lowering themselves down to a sitting position. The handcuffs made it uncomfortable and difficult, and Paige nearly yanked Nina off her feet when she stumbled. He took a zip tie from his pocket and attached Nina’s ankle to the leg of the couch. Paige sniffed. It smelled of cigar smoke and locker room. A castoff from Duke’s office?
The kidnapper took her backpack away and dug through it for her wallet. He checked her ID. “Paige . . . Notswego?”
“That’s right.” Paige put on her most innocent expression. She hadn’t gotten around to changing her driver’s license back, and now she was thankful. It probably wouldn’t help this situation if he knew she was Crush’s daughter.
“What is that, African?”
“Yes.”
“Reminds me of that basketball player just got signed by Golden State, what’s his name . . . Hudson Notswego.”
“My husband. Ex-husband,” she added quickly, in case he was thinking in terms of ransom money.
“Yeah?” The man seemed genuinely impressed. “Got a killer jumpshot. Wait . . . isn’t he with that talk show lady? The one with the boobs?”
Paige stared at him stonily. One more black mark against Hudson, that she’d have to deal with questions about him and Nessa while being held hostage. “Can we change the subject, maybe? Like, why you’re keeping us up here in a storage room? It seems a little stupid because there’s no way out. When they come for you, you’ll be trapped.”
But the man seemed unworried about that possibility. “Hudson Notswego. That’s some contract he signed. Did he cheat on you? Heard that most of those NBA players get a lot of pussy. You’re probably better off without him.”
Next to Paige, Nina gave a soft giggle. “You’re definitely better off,” she whispered in Paige’s ear. “Trevor would never cheat on you. He really, really loves you. You love him too, right? You’re not going to break my brother’s heart?”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“Hey!” The man snapped his fingers. “No whispering.”
Paige barely looked over at him. The kidnapper didn’t seem bent on hurting them, so she no longer feared him. Actually, he seemed nervous more than anything else, as if he was afraid of screwing up. “What are you talking about?” she asked Nina.
“Trevor thinks you’re like a baseball princess, and he’s more of a peasant. I’m pretty sure he wants to ask you to marry him but thinks he doesn’t deserve you. He didn’t say that, because he doesn’t talk about this stuff. It’s just my theory.”
“Doesn’t deserve me? Why would he think that?” In dismay, Paige rattled the handcuffs, making Nina flinch. “Sorry.”
“Because of his . . . you know . . . our past. His record. All the bad stuff from before.”
The man loomed over them like a telephone pole in black leather. “I said, no fucking whispering. Talk out loud, so I can hear.”
“That’s fine.” Nina cleared her throat. “Actually, I want to talk out loud, because I have something to say to the Wachowskis.”
“What? No!” Paige tried to put her hand over Nina’s mouth but couldn’t manage it with the clanking iron bracelet. “Don’t you dare, Nina.”
Nina shoved h
er hand away. “You can’t stop me. This is my life, and my brother, and I want him to get all the good things he deserves.”
Paige rolled on top of her. Maybe she could squish the breath out of her, make it impossible for her to talk. Nina kicked Paige in the shin, then wriggled her head free.
“Girl fight.” Smirking, the kidnapper held up his phone to take a picture. “This job just got more fun. Makes up for missing Fight Night. I’m gonna have to put my money on Notswego’s ex on this one.”
“I’m Trevor Leonov’s sister,” squeaked Nina.
“True that, but you don’t got his upper body strength, and the other girl’s taller, so—”
“I’m not talking about your stupid girl fight, moron! My brother didn’t hurt Dinar Wachowski! I did!”
The traditional singing of the Star-Spangled Banner had barely ended when Trevor and the rest of the Catfish ran onto the field. Game Four. If they won this game, they’d be on their way to the Triple A championship game. If they lost, the series would be tied.
Most importantly, he was supposed to play ball as if everything was normal. That’s what the FBI had requested of him and Crush.
At first, when he revealed the whole story to Crush, burn scars, threats, hotel door graffiti, and all, Crush had yanked him from Game Three. “Your life is more important than the damn championship,” he’d growled. But then he’d called a buddy in the FBI. The Feds wanted to see if they could trip up the Wachowskis, who they’d been monitoring for some time. Based on their surveillance, nothing big was in the works, they told Trevor. They were just hoping for a slip of the tongue caught on wiretap. He had nothing to worry about, they assured him. They took his cell phone, put him in a secure hotel, and told him to act normal.
Yeah right. Tell that to the anxiety tightening his gut. He hadn’t even dared to talk to Paige or Nina; best to keep them out of it for now.
Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel Page 27