Rundown (Curveball Book 2)

  “The outline won’t take long, but you have to stay completely still,” I explain.

  Her eyes go wide and her bottom lips tremble. “You’re serious?”

  “I thought it was better than a ring.” I yank her forward so she lands in my lap.

  “Are you ok with this?” I ask and she eagerly nods.

  The tattoo artist claps and rubs his hands together. “Alright, let’s get started.”

  A few hours later, he hands me a mirror so I can see his handy work. The image of her handprint outlines three phrases I’ll never forget: every word; all yours; forever.

  “What do you think?” the tattoo artist asks.

  “It’s perfect,” Breanne answers for me.

  “Need help?” my dad asks, holding the screen door open.

  “I’m good. This is the last box.”

  Once the decision was made to leave the Red Sox, we agreed that staying in Boston wasn’t what we wanted long term. It’s not that we don’t love the city, because we do. It’s just that after how insane the last seven months have been, we agreed that a fresh start was exactly what we needed. The kids will finish the school year and then we’re on our way to New York, where we’ll rent a place on Keuka Lake until the house we’re building is finished.

  I carry the box I’m holding into my childhood bedroom and find Breanne sitting on the bed with her back resting against the headboard. Gazing out the window, she absentmindedly fiddles with her necklace, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking.”

  She uncrosses her ankles and sets her feet on the floor. Rising slowly, she picks something up from the bedside table and then walks to the dresser and places the item down. The jewelry box.

  “This is going to sound silly. I don’t know, maybe it’s my hormones. I just…I don’t want to wear this anymore. I think it’s time to put it away. Get closure.”

  Breanne’s nervous and I’d bet she doesn’t want to offend me because these things came from Alexis. Smiling, I cup her face in my hand. “They were clues, not gifts. She’d probably want that too.”

  I unclasp the necklace and set it inside the jewelry box. Bending down, I open the box containing my framed photos and place them on the dresser as well. I reach in to get another and end up cutting my thumb on something sharp.

  “Shit. Do you have a Band-Aid?” I ask, sucking on my thumb to prevent blood from staining the carpet.

  Breanne reaches into her purse and pulls one out. “What did you cut it on?” she asks as she triages my wound.

  Carefully, I root through the box until I come across my watch, which contains a few remaining pieces of jagged glass. “This, I think.”

  I hold the watch out and let Breanne inspect it, certain she’ll tell me I need a tetanus shot.

  “Do you ever plan on getting this fixed?” she asks. “You’re lucky the compass or the hands haven’t been damaged.”

  As she says this, she cautiously sticks her pointer finger inside the watch, maneuvering between the broken shards jutting out, and gasps.

  “Did you cut yourself?” I ask, reaching for the watch.

  “Will you look at this?”

  Breanne ignores my request and instead lifts the watch closer to her face.

  “What is it?”

  “That,” she says pointing to the big hand of the watch and for the first time I notice the unique design.

  “A key,” I whisper.

  “You’re the one who holds the key,” she whispers, quoting a line from Alexis’s letter.

  “Do you think…”

  “I don’t know.”

  With the help of a pair of tweezers, Breanne finagles the key out. It’s tiny and fragile and I have no idea how this small thing could unlock anything sizeable enough to hold any content of worth.

  “Do you still have Alexis’s letter?” she asks.

  Taking out my wallet, I find the letter and place it on the dresser before us.

  Not all treasure is buried,

  Some is simply locked away.

  At times, dangling in front of you,

  Or stored out of harm’s way.

  Shattered glass can’t break our memories,

  They aren’t measured with a clock.

  You’re the one who holds the key,

  She the door to unlock.

  Guard the people and secrets you uncover,

  As those who protect us sometimes lie.

  When the tides have changed and the danger’s gone,

  Make a wish and say goodbye.

  1-4-3

  I haven’t looked at the riddle Alexis wrote in months, but the words are forever branded into my memory. Upon reading the passage I remove the necklace from the jewelry box and mutter the words ‘dangling in front of you’ while staring at Breanne’s reflection in the mirror. Reaching for the jewelry box, Breanne answers with ‘out of harm’s way’.

  Picking up the watch I chant ‘shattered glass can’t break our memories, they aren’t measured with a clock. You’re the one who holds the key, she the door to unlock.’

  Looking around the room, I think of what Breanne could possibly have to unlock. Having similar thoughts, Breanne searches the necklace for a hole thinking that the necklace is actually a locket. It’s not.

  Frustrated, Breanne sets the necklace in the jewelry box and shuts the lid, tracing her fingertips over the intricate 3-D design of a church on the lid.

  “This is an exact replica of the church Mark and I got married in. From the windows, to the steps that lead to the oversized wooden doors. Even the landscaping in front of this church is identical to the real one. It’s perfect. It’s…wow.”

  “What is it?”

  “The oversized wooden doors.”

  “Is that a keyhole?”

  I try not to get too excited because if this doesn’t work, I’ll be severely disappointed. I watch skeptically as she picks up the small key and position it just above the small slot.

  Breanne shrieks. It actually fits inside.

  She turns the key and I swear to God my heart briefly stops when I hear a faint ‘click’ before one of the tiny doors pops open a sliver.

  “Holy shit. Can I?” I ask, gesturing to the jewelry box.

  Biting her lip, Breanne hands it over and with the tip of my finger I open the door the rest of the way and press the other door open as well. We both gasp at what lies just inside the enclosure.

  An SD card.

  Flipping the jewelry box over, I smack it until the card flies out from where it’s snuggly nestled.

  “Fuck. This was in there the whole time,” I say in disbelief.

  “Let’s see what’s on it,” Breanne suggests, firing up my decade old desktop computer.

  Joining her at my childhood desk, I hesitate. “Wait. If this is the code she wrote and no one else could figure it out, it’s not going to mean much to either of us.”

  “Maybe it’s something else,” she proposes. “I mean, if she had completed the code, she could have just given it to the CIA herself. Why hide it?”

  “Because she didn’t trust the CIA enough to hand it over. Mark mentioned that she was very skeptical.”

  “Why complete it then?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Alexis always completed everything she started. Even if it was only for herself, she might have seen the challenge and done everything she could have done to see the project through,” he explains. “Or, she completed it because she thought there was merit to the idea that someone else hacking the airline’s system, like Ridges proposed, was a possibility…I don’t know.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

  Breanne inserts the card. A small screen pops up, asking for a password. I’m relieved when 1-4-3 works. Once we’re granted access, another window pops up and asks if we want to download the content on the file. Selecting yes, we watch three files appear. Breanne double-clicks the first one, titled ‘BW’, which appears to be an addre
ss book of sorts. Scrolling through, there are several names that stick out. A senator from New Hampshire and a famous artist. Some of these people were passengers on the maiden flight. We continue scrolling and come across Vivian’s name.

  “I bet this is a member list of Black Widow Threads.”

  “I think you’re right,” I agree.

  The next file contains some of the documents Mark showed us that had been retrieved from Alexis’s house. In addition to that are several other documents pointing to corruption and outlining the connection to the Threads organization. The last file is called is called ‘Counter attack’.

  Breanne’s about to open it when I stop her. “Let’s wait. That’s probably code we won’t be able to understand.”

  “What do you want to do with this?”

  I pick up Alexis’s letter and re-read the last few lines.

  Make a wish and say goodbye.

  “Call Mark. We’ll give the card to him. With Dosdell out of the picture, I’d say the danger’s over. They can figure out the rest.”

  Breanne smiles in agreement. “Can I have the watch? I’ll put it with the necklace in the jewelry box.”

  I hand it over and observe her walk into the closet and set it on a shelf.

  “I have an idea,” I tell her.

  An hour later, Breanne and I are sitting on my parent’s boat in the middle of Keuka Lake, silently bobbing.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asks for the tenth time.

  Hunched over with my forearms resting on my legs, I rub my thumbs over the jewelry box that contains the watch and necklace.

  “Alexis and I used to throw pennies in the lake when we were young...like the lake was our own wishing well. I’m sure she knew we’d need closure if we ever figured this out. Let’s make a wish and say goodbye.”

  Breanne stands and walks the short distance to the back of the boat. “Ok, then. Just don’t tell me what you wish for or it won’t come true.”

  “All my dreams came true when I met you.”

  Taking the jewelry box, I kiss it one time in thanks to my sister before winding up and launching it into the white-capped waves. I pull Breanne into my arms and stare at the water, grateful to be moving forward.

  EPILOGUE

  A delicious chill runs through my body as warm arms wrap around my waist. The sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on leans in so close that his nose is literally in my hair. Catching me off guard, he inhales deeply and groans, “What shampoo do you use?”

  My heart is pounding and I couldn’t make a sentence right now if I tried. A hot, younger man isn’t only hitting on me, but an hour ago he also became my husband. Captivated, I turn to face him, which is a huge mistake because now our faces are nearly touching. It’s physically impossible in this dress, but I swear I can feel every inch of his body pressed against mine.

  “Excuse me?” I ask. Not because Drew clearly knows what shampoo I use, but because his question is reminiscent of one of the first conversation we ever had.

  “Your hair. It smells good,” he replies nonchalantly. “And, you’re blushing,” he whispers, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body.

  “That’s because I can’t wait to get you out of that tux and spend a few hours together, uninterrupted.”

  Pressing up onto my tiptoes, I place a kiss on Drew’s lips and then glance over my shoulder to get a better view of the kids. It’s been one hell of a ride getting to where we are today. Drew and I are married and have built a wonderful life together in New York. Just two weeks ago construction began on the land where our winery will be, and Drew has been doing sports commentating for a mix of local and national media outlets. The people responsible for the horrible events that brought us together are either dead or in prison. Mark is back in all of our lives and it’s been a surprisingly easy transition. My father finally found love again, with Sarah of all people, and we’ve been blessed to have them as one of our neighbors. We still have Everett and Corinne protecting us and we’ve become great friends. Best of all, our family has grown with the addition of our baby boy, Keaton Scott, who has just turned three months old.

  “Mr. Scott,” a woman calls from behind us. “Are you ready?”

  Drew straightens up and takes a step back, politely gesturing to me with his hand that it’s almost time for us to make our entrance. Our wedding party, which is a hodgepodge of friends and family, assemble for their entrance in front of us. As instructed, we stand to the side as the groomsmen and bridesmaids pair up and disappear through the door when called, likely dancing their way to the dance floor.

  “When we met on the plane did you ever think it would lead to this?” Drew inquires.

  “Never,” I admit.

  “I knew I had you the moment our hands touched for the first time,” he whispers, caressing circles on my hand.

  Rolling my eyes, I squeeze him. As presumptuous as he is, it’s true, and I still get that same sensation each time we touch. I never would have admitted it at the time, but deep down I knew our connection was more than attraction from the beginning.

  Colin yanks on Drew’s sleeve, and whispers something in his ear once they’re on the same level. Drew grins and nods before Colin and Maddie disappear into the crowd.

  “Honey, are you sure you don’t want Grandpa to take Keaton?”

  Aubrey looks over her shoulder at us, completely confident in her ability to carefully pull her sleeping baby brother in his wagon. “I’ve got this, Mom.”

  Knowing how cautious she is with him, I smile back and nod, watching as they disappear through the threshold and the doors close behind them. She’s nearly seven years old. It’ll be fine.

  Drew pulls me closer to the door and then leans forward to kiss my cheek, immediately erasing my worries. Pulling me flush against his body, he deepens the kiss.

  What I wouldn’t give to lose this dress right now.

  “You better step back Mr. Scott, or our guests are going to get a show when those doors open.”

  “What’d I do?” he feigns innocence. Ignoring me, he trails kisses down my neck.

  “You’re invading my space.”

  “Now that you’re my wife, isn’t your space mine?” he asks leaning back with a raised brow.

  “It’s always been yours.”

  “And it always will be.”

  I’m not sure if I gasp or moan but I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as Drew seals his lips over mine. Our tongues dance and I desperately want to get our appearance at the reception over so we can continue this more privately. I knot my fingers in Drew’s hair, deepening the kiss when clapping and cheering erupt, signaling that the doors to the ballroom have been opened, giving the few hundred people at our reception a preview.

  Drew pulls back laughing, completely unashamed. “Shall we?” he asks, smiling.

  We link elbows and stride towards the dance floor, shaking hands and acknowledging our guests along the way. The closer we get, the faster my pulse races. As wonderful as this day has been, I absolutely hate being the center of attention and this crowd is much larger than I’m used to. We step closer to the edge of the wooded floor and all the lights dim. When we’re only a few feet away from where we’re to begin our first dance as husband and wife, Drew kisses me chastely and then pushes down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit in a chair that someone’s just set behind me.

  “W-what are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m about to one-up your high school fantasy,” he says and then delivers that killer wink I fell for long ago. “Enjoy the show.”

  The show? What on Earth is he talking about?

  Just as Drew steps onto the dance floor, Colin hands him a pair of sunglasses, white gloves and a white scarf. All the men in our wedding party, including my father, Brett and several Red Sox players, join Drew, filing into a single line behind him that extends the full width of the faux wood flooring. All of them take on the same stance—legs spread shoulder width apart, hands clasped in front and their hea
ds bowed to the ground. All of them are wearing the same ensemble.

  The piano interlude begins and I gasp when I recognize the beginning of a song that is not the one we selected for our first dance.

  Oh. My. God.

  No he didn’t.

  My jaw drops open as Drew repeatedly mouths the word ‘baby’ into a microphone. At the same time, the men who’ve been standing directly behind him slide out two at a time with each reprise of the word, until they from an upside down V with Drew in the center. Clasping my hands over my mouth to contain my nervous laughter, I’m certain that my face must be ten shades of red. An entire swarm of butterflies lets lose in my stomach. I can feel every set of eyes in this room flickering between the spectacle on the dance floor and me. He freaking choreographed a dance to one of my favorite songs. Just when I thought I couldn’t love him anymore than I already do…

  Good God. He’s not lip sinking. That’s his voice and man is he good. Is there anything he can’t do?

  Mesmerized, I bite my lip and watch my husband croon K-Ci and Jojo’s “All My Life.” In my periphery, I’m aware of his back-up dancers snapping their fingers and stepping from side to side in beat to the music. I should probably enjoy the entire show, yet I can’t take my eyes off Drew. He slowly makes his way to a spot in front of me that’s just out of reach, serenading me and dancing in a way that shouldn’t be allowed in public places. It’s not indecent by any means, but I have no other way to describe the way he moves than sensual. And he’s all mine.

  Returning my heated gaze, Drew continues toward me, never breaking eye contact. Drew drops to his knees right in front of me, clenching the microphone with one hand and taking mine in the other, then belts out that he really does love me, exaggerating the word ‘love’ even more than they do in the actual song.

  Our guests scream, clearly enjoying this, and I can’t say that I blame them. He stands, bringing me with him onto the dance floor. By the time we’ve made it to the center, the song is nearly over. Drew looks at me with the most sincere expression to what is now most definitely my favorite ballad of all times.