Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (20 page)

“
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.
 

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?”