Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

by Teresa Michaels

  “Why’s that of interest?” I ask. “Given that the passengers had to pay top dollar for their seats on the maiden flight, it makes sense to me that they’d be interested in technology. That was the point of the airline, ease of travel because of technological advances.”

  “True, but it’s of interest to the public because they want answers. Conspiracy theorists will grab onto this and twist it in unconceivable ways. It wasn’t just a handful of passengers. Except for Breanne, every passenger, including you, Drew, donated to those organizations,” he explains. “Just so you’re prepared, Breanne, the conspiracy theorists will use that to spin you as being connected to what happened and the media will eat it up.”

  “I wasn’t even supposed to be on that flight,” Breanne defends.

  “We know that,” Patterson says. “We’ve prepared a statement that confirms neither of you are suspects and we’ll do whatever we can to minimize the focus on you.”

  I rub her arm to reassure her that we’ll get through this. “If they think you’re involved, they’re bound to think I’m involved too.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better,” she says, and then returns her attention to the conversation. “What about Dosdell and that guy Arnold?”

  “We’re still looking into that,” he admits. “That said, I want to remind you that everything we’ve discussed needs to be kept confidential and once these details have been made public, the FBI will appreciate your continued cooperation by keeping quiet. You already gave the media pertinent information during your viral plea for help. The names Dosdell and Arnold aren’t public information and for the sake of the investigation it needs to stay that way. Make sure not to divulge anything else, not even to family.”

  “Agent Patterson, before you go I wanted to ask about Mark’s exhuming.”

  “I wish I could give you an update. We had planned to exhume his body on Monday; however, we’ve run into a few roadblocks in terms of the permits. As soon as we are able to move forward, we’ll contact you.”

  “You still think there’s a connection between Mark and what happened to the plane?”

  There’s a long silence. “At this point I’ll consider any angle. I’ll be in touch. Oh, and Drew. Next time you get on a plane, make sure you take the flight.”

  FIVE

  Distractions

  Draped over a body pillow and shrouded in darkness, I plead with my mind to shut off so that I can sleep. I haven’t slept in days and I’m flat out exhausted.

  The last couple of weeks have been amazing, mainly because Drew has spent all his time at my house, staying until midnight nearly every night. Without hesitation he’s attended two dance recitals and basketball practices, read books with the kids and helped with homework, assisted with making lunches and brushed their teeth at bedtime. Dinners have been made with laughter. House keys have been exchanged. We’ve become closer and I’ve fallen harder—if only it could stay like this forever.

  Since the day we reunited I’ve known that Drew would have to go to San Francisco at some point, I just didn’t think it’d be so soon, and now the day has come…today’s the day. This evening, Drew will board a plane to California. Given our recent history that alone is stressful enough. But what’s eating at me is that for the next four days he’ll be on the opposite side of the country without me, packing up his sister’s house in an attempt to get closure, and meeting with people who will quite possibly decide that his career will continue 3,000 miles away from me.

  Accepting that sleep isn’t in my future, I pull off my sleep mask and check the time. How is it already 6:30am? I groan and toss my legs over the edge of the bed, pausing long enough to notice the lack of occupants. Where are the kids? I head to Colin’s room first, open his door and frown when there’s no sight of him. I check the girls’ room and find they aren’t there either. Curious, I head downstairs.

  The view I’m greeted with makes my heart swell. Yup, I definitely just fell more in love. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, I watch as Drew dishes out an assortment of breakfast food onto plates for the kids and Sarah, all while holding Maddie, who clings to his neck. Colin and Aubrey meanwhile, are anxiously sitting on stools at the counter, and Sarah is pouring coffee. Not to go all Jerry McGuire, but this man really does complete me. Despite everything Drew has going on, he’s still making time for us. My mind automatically begins concocting different scenarios for forcing him to stay in Boston, and I’m not ashamed to admit, if only to myself, that most of them revolve around us being alone with little to no clothing.

  “Anything I can help with,” I ask, stepping into room.

  “Mom!” Maddie cries.

  “We were gonna surprise you in bed,” Colin groans, sounding more than a little disappointed.

  “Told ya she’d be up soon,” Aubrey adds in an, ‘I told you so’ voice, directed towards everyone.

  “As much as I appreciate the idea of breakfast in bed, all of you couldn’t have fit, and I’d rather be together.”

  A satisfied grin spreads across Drew’s face as he sets Maddie down on a stool and walks over to me with a cup of coffee, kissing me on the cheek.

  “You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell him.

  “I wanted to spend time with you guys before I left,” he shrugs. He places his arm around my waist and gently caresses my hip. How I ever could have doubted that I belonged with him is beyond me.

  “Well, this is perfect. I’m starving.” I lean past him and grab a piece of crispy bacon, moaning as the flavor dissolves on my tongue.

  Drew steps closer and murmurs in a husky voice, “I am so jealous of that bacon.”

  “I’d choose your meat over this any day,” I whisper back in the most seductive voice I can muster at this hour.

  He groans, dropping his head to my shoulder. The gentle grip he has on my hip intensifies to the point where I’m sure his knuckles are white. Laughing, I look across the room and make eye contact with Sarah who is watching us fondly. There’s no way she could have heard our conversation but between our body language and the way my face matches the bowl of strawberries, I’m sure the gist is clear.

  “Why don’t we move this party into the dining room,” Sarah suggests, grabbing plates and ushering the kids to the table.

  Once the room has cleared, I turn to face Drew. He pulls me closer, linking his hands behind my back. “Seeing as I couldn’t wake up next to you, satisfying your appetite with food this morning is the best I could do.”

  I long for the days when waking up together is our norm. It’s too soon for sleepovers and I’m not ready to uproot the kids. I’d never ask Drew to sleep in a bed I shared with another man, nor would I ask him to move into the house Mark and I owned together, but God, I really wish he could just stay the night. There’s no sense in figuring it out until he gets back though, because a lot depends on where his job takes him.

  “How very considerate of you,” I reply.

  “I’ll show you how considerate I am before I leave for the airport.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I say and then take a long sip of my coffee.

  I really don’t want him to go.

  “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me,” he tells me, addressing my unspoken thought.

  “Impossible,” I mutter.

  Unable to keep a lid on my anxieties, I ask a question that’s been hounding me relentlessly. “What if the Red Sox don’t come back with an offer and the Giants are your only option?”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” he replies as if he’d anticipated what I’d ask. “I’m more or less having this meeting to keep my options open and to put pressure on the Red Sox. Brett’s been talking with the management. Even if they only extend me for a year or two, I’ll take it. No matter what, my priorities are here.”

  Priorities plural. He really does think of us as a package deal. The thought has me close to tears. Get yourself together. He’s got enough to worry about without you making him fe
el worse. I clear my throat and nod, staring into my mug, because if I look at him he’ll read my fears as if they’re being displayed across a billboard. Or worse, he’ll think that I have doubts about our relationship, which I obviously don’t.

  “Hey,” he tips my chin up so that I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Stop worrying. You and I being together is non-negotiable. We’ll make it work. Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. But if you need something to take your mind off things, I’d be more than happy to distract you.”

  “Not everything can be resolved with those lips,” I chide, softly kissing his very delectable lips. Who am I kidding? He’s making everything better right now and we both know it.

  “I disagree, but I’d be happy to rely on other methods if you’d prefer.” He pushes against me so that his rock hard length is pressed into my side.

  My internal temperature rises about twenty degrees just thinking about all the ways he could sidetrack me. “We should probably join everyone in the dining room before one of us forgets that we aren’t alone.”

  He playfully bites my earlobe, igniting a small fire that blazes a trail straight to my core. The heat of his breath against my neck further intensifies my desire, making it nearly impossible to function. Damn him.

  “Eat quickly,” he commands. “I’m starving, and not for breakfast.”

  My appetite has vanished and I could use a cold shower. If I make it to the table without combusting, it’ll be a miracle.

  After getting Colin and Aubrey on the bus, Drew and I chased Maddie at the park for just shy of two hours. By the time we dropped her off at the house with Sarah, I was exhausted, and that was hours ago. Now, I’m practically comatose.

  Sweet drenched and breathless, I lay sandwiched between Drew’s body and the granite countertop in his kitchen, my legs dangling over the side. All I wanted was a drink. One glass of water. But before I could open the cupboard, Drew had me hoisted up and flat on my back. At that point I couldn’t remember what the hell I’d been doing, and quite frankly I didn’t care. What I do know is that Drew is a man of his word. Not only is he very considerate, he’s proven it to me several times. Once the high wore off from my fourth climax, I started wondering if death-by-orgasm was actually a thing because I swear I’m close.

  Groaning, Drew presses off of me and rests his weight on his elbows, hovering inches above my face. The loss of his body heat combined with my bare backside being flush against the cool countertop sends shivers down my spine. Rubbing one of my arms, Drew watches me, looking as in need of a nap as I feel.

  “If I don’t finish packing now I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I can think of worse things,” I reply. “In fact, I’ll make it very worth your while if you stay.”

  “And how would you do that?”

  “I’ll tell you right after my nap.”

  I whimper, stretching beneath him. Drew’s eyes trail downward to my exposed breasts and his mouth follows suit. He nuzzles my nipple before taking it in his mouth, coaxing a different kind of groan.

  “You’re not making this easy for me, you know?” he says, pressing his erection against me. “In fact, you’re making this very hard.”

  “I think you’re supposed to call for help after four hours,” I tease. How the hell can he be ready to go again?

  “Like I’d ever need a pill when I have you.” Drew licks his lips like a lion about to ravage its prey.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “I’m not going to be able to sit until you’re back as it is.”

  “Good. That means you’ll think of me often.”

  “I always do.”

  Drew caresses my hair as he stares at the space to the side of my head, the corners of his mouth pulling down. I’m 100% committed to our relationship, and I know he is too. We’ve gotten to a really good place, but that doesn’t mean that we aren’t both vulnerable to the unknown. He doesn’t want to go on this trip, and I don’t want him to leave; yet he needs to do this.

  “I love you,” I say, cupping his face. “You know that, right?”

  His nod is less than convincing.

  “Do you want me to come with you to the airport?” We decided the other day that it’d be best for me not to go with him to the airport due to all the press related to his last flight.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” he replies, his gaze locking with mine. Drew kisses me quickly and then shoves away from the counter, wearing nothing but a forced smile. “Come on.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later, we’re out the door. Drew walks me to the car and I do my best to put on a happy front. He opens the door but doesn’t drop my hand. I take his and bring it to a rest over my heart, silently telling him what I’m too emotional to say. All yours. We tell each other we love one another countless times, and then I reluctantly pry myself from his grasp and get in the car. If I don't initiate leaving, he really will miss his flight.

  Once I’m seated, I roll down the window to get one more kiss. “Try to stay out of trouble,” I tease him.

  “I’ll do my best. If anything happens, I’m sure you’ll know about it before I do,” he mocks, not knowing that I already turned off the Google Alerts.

  “Remember that,” I warn.

  The kids are tucked in and fast asleep, and like always, I’m wired, my mind racing at a million miles an hour. Drew texted around 8pm before his flight took off. Since then, I’ve spent my time trying to tire myself out by reading, but it’s no use because I’m constantly checking the status of his flight online. Unable to sleep, I head downstairs at 11:30pm and make myself a cup of tea. Holding it just under my nose, I inhale the scent of chamomile, praying it will calm me down like the packaging claims, and take a tentative sip. What I really should do is take something to knock me out since there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep until Drew’s plane touches down in a few hours.

  I leisurely walk through the downstairs clutching my hot mug, and end up in Mark’s old office. I sink into one of the oversized leather chairs, adorned with antique brass nail head trim, and slowly gaze around the room. The love he had for our country is evident in all aspects of this room. Historical novels and biographies on former presidents line the bookshelves that span the majority of the wall opposite his desk. The only interruption being the fireplace and an artistic rendition of the American flag that hangs above it. On the wall behind me there’s a framed copy of the Declaration of Independence, and a marble replica of Mount Rushmore that sits upon the desk. Even the humidor I got him for our fifth wedding anniversary has the presidential seal. It’s a historical buff’s version of a man cave. If he’d been more charismatic, he’d have been a great politician.

  I walk around his desk, take a seat in his chair and place my mug on his desk, a gesture that would start a fight if he were here. Thinking how perfect this room could be as a reading den with the right color paint and décor, I decide that this will be the next space I purge. Opening his desk drawer, I observe the perfectly organized folders containing our taxes, bills and other important documents. Being the type that does everything online, I really have no need for this kind of a system, or the majority of the desks content. As my fingers run over the countless tabbed file folders, I fail to remember the last time I looked at any of this. All of this has been untouched for the most part since Dosdell was here.

  Dosdell.

  I cringe at the unpleasant reminder of a person I’d like to forget. Since I definitely can’t sleep now, I fetch a few boxes and bags to get started. Not wanting to wake the kids by using the shredder, I start the fireplace, toss in the mounds of unwanted paper and watch them slowly burn.

  Hours later, the books and decorations are boxed and the desk is void of files, except for a few work related documents that I’ll give to Vivian when we have lunch this week. Satisfied, I leave the office and head to the sink to wash my hands and turn off the light. Maybe I can finally sleep. I dry my hands and start pulling the shade down, only to free
ze in place when something outside catches my eye.

  Squinting, I spot something small glowing in the distance that rises and falls every 15-20 seconds. What the hell? I watch carefully for another full minute when the motion registers. I gasp, chills coursing throughout my body. My hand reflexively flies to my mouth to stifle the scream that ends up trapped in my throat. Holy shit. A person is standing in the trees at the edge of my backyard, smoking.

  Please be hallucinating.

  Unconvinced that my mind is playing tricks on me, I call to Corinne whose sleeping two rooms away. My voice barely comes out as a whimper, as if it’s hiding like I wish I were. If I wasn’t paralyzed with fear, or afraid that the image before me would disappear, I’d physically go get her, but in this moment I’ve been rendered immobile.

  “Corinne,” I call, somewhat louder. “Corinne,” I say again. I repeat her name several times until I hear her rushing into the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. Without taking my focus off the silhouette, I point to the image. “Who the hell is that?”

  Corinne places her hand on my shoulder and urges me away from the window. I take two steps back, keeping my gaze locked. I’m vaguely aware of her radioing for Spencer to check the perimeter, and if I’m not mistaken, the sound of her removing her gun from the holster on her hip. Of course, that could just be my imagination because my attention is too busy focusing on who could be out there.

  A myriad of possible culprits flood my thoughts. Could it be the paparazzi, Dosdell or maybe whoever masterminded the attack on the plane, coming for retribution? Oddly enough, I’m not worried about Dosdell. Somehow I know he wouldn’t hurt me. What scares me shitless isn’t being faced with terrorists necessarily. It’s the fact that the most precious people in my world are quietly sleeping upstairs.

  “Breanne,” Corinne says sternly.

  I face her, fully aware that her normally calm demeanor has been replaced with tension. “Hmm?”