Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (43 page)

Tapping
my feet at a ridiculous pace isn’t helping to get there fast. 
Rocking back and forth in my seat isn’t either.  Fuck, I could
literally crawl out of my skin.  I’d rather run to her than
sit here in this car, which is ridiculous.  I just want to get
there already, and I don’t want to rely on
him
.

Wait
a minute…

I
take the gadget Breanne placed in my pocket and plug it into my
phone.  A small, colorful wheel spins on my screen. 
How
long does this freaking take? 
I’m about to take the thing
out when a map pops up onto my screen.  It takes another minute
to fully load but fragmented audio has already started to come
through. 

Thank
God.

Everett
pulls the car to a stop as Breanne’s coordinates upload.  I’m
about to curse him out for wasting time, when his car door is yanked
open. 

“
I’m
driving,” Mark shouts.

Wasting
no time, Everett swiftly let’s Mark slip into the driver seat and
then gets in the back.  Mark grabs my phone, hits a button on
the touch-screen that turns the coordinates into driving direction
from our location to the target, even as it moves.  As much as I
hate what he did to Breanne and his intentions, at this moment I’m
glad he’s here. 

“
Did
you put her up to this?” Mark snaps, peeling out onto the road.

“
You
can’t be serious,” I reply.  Everett pats my shoulder,
wordlessly telling me to chill out.  I have no choice but to
stand down because something more important has my
attention: Breanne’s voice.

 
Turning
the volume up as high as it’ll go, I hold the phone out so Mark can
follow the directions.  Like a hawk, my eyes bore into the phone
as if Breanne will telepathically sense that I’m telling her to get
the hell away from Vivian.

“
Where
are we meeting your contact?” Breanne asks. 

“
That
warehouse near the bridge,” Vivian replies.

 
Glancing
at the map on my phone, I try to figure out what bridge they’re
near.  They must be close to the Zakim. 

“
Does
he know why we’re coming?” Breanne asks.

“
I
didn’t tell him we were coming.  He’s not a big fan of
visitors.  He might not have agreed to help if I gave him
advanced notice.  If you’re standing in front of him, he won’t
really have a choice.” 

Mark,
Everett and I listen intently while following the directions. 
We’re only ten miles from the location when the slamming of car
doors echo from the other end of the line.

Gravel
crunches beneath her feet, causing the tempo of my heart rate to
accelerate dramatically.  Screeching pierces my ears, followed
by a slam and I attribute both to them entering a warehouse through a
heavy, metal door. 

“
Does
he live here?” Breanne asks, her breathing picking up in speed.

“
For
now,” Vivian replies.

Their
out of sync footsteps reverberate in the absence of conversation, and
then abruptly stop.  Relying solely on sound is seriously
screwing with me, sending my audible sensation into overdrive.

Jingling
keys. 

More
metallic screeching. 

Slamming. 

“
Arnold? 
Arnold?  There you―w-what?  No…no.  Arnold!” 

The
intensity of her pleading sends a chill down my spine, but nothing
prepares me for what happens next.

Bang
.
  

Screaming.

“
Nooooo!”
I bellow.  “Fuck.  No. No. No!”

It
takes Everett pinning me to the seat by wrapping his arms around me
from behind, to get me to stop thrashing.  My inconsistent
breathing makes me so dizzy, I have to fight against my body’s
reaction to what I’ve heard so that I don’t black out.

“
Hurry
up!” I spit at Mark, who’s lost all coloring.  

“
Wh-why’d
you do that?” Breanne shrieks, the trembling of her body apparent
in her voice.  

She’s
talking…she’s alive.  Thank God.

“
Don’t
be frightened, Breanne.  I’m with the CIA.  I’m not
going to hurt you.”

“
Is…is
she dead?” Breanne cries.

Several
seconds of silence elapse before a man’s voice finally answers
,
“Yes.”

I
can hear the muffled sound of Breanne sobbing.  

“
Who
is that?” I ask Mark.  He looks downright sick which only
fucks with my head worse.  “Who?” I demand. 

“
You’re
shaking,” the man says.  

Why
do I know that voice? 

There’s
shuffling followed by the unmistakable sound of gagging.  

“
This
way,” the man says. 

Based
on the shooing and dragging sound I envision he’s ushering Breanne
away from Vivian’s body.
 

“
I
wish you didn’t have to see that.  Vivian was a dangerous
woman.  Here, have a seat and I’ll explain.”

“
N-n-no. 
I want to go home,” Breanne stammers.

“
Fuck,”
Mark growls.

“
What’s
going on?” I ask Mark. 

He
doesn’t respond.

 “
Sh-sh-she
called you Arnold,” Breanne states shakily. “Who are you really?”

She
knows him.  Whoever Arnold is, it’s someone that we know.

“
Be
quiet, Breanne,” Mark warns as if she can hear him.

“
You
know who I really am,” the man replies.

Thump.
Thump.

Mark
slamming his fist on the steering wheel jolts me.  Perspiration
accumulates on his forehead, trickling down his face.  Clenching
his jaw, he looks like he’s on the verge of a heart attack and I’m
right there with him.  The car accelerates while his white
knuckled grip increases.  

“
FUCK!”
Mark roars.

“
What
the hell’s going on?” I demand of him yet again.  “Damn
it, Mark.  Tell me who the fuck that is or so help me G—”

“
Dosdell.”

Last
Chance

My
entire body is shaking.  There’s nothing left in my stomach
and yet, I can’t stop heaving.  I don’t want to be here. 
I want to go home and crawl into bed with Drew and the kids.
 Unfortunately, I have this sinking feeling that this night is
far from over.  What the hell was I thinking?  And where
are Mark and Drew?

I
glance back at Vivian’s lifeless body, watching the pool of blood
grow.  I’ve seen my share of violence recently but this is
unbearable. 

“
You
didn’t have to shoot her,” I snap. 

It
doesn’t matter that Vivian wanted to kill me for reasons that are
beyond my understanding.  Witnessing a murder is a horrific
experience and no amount of hatred for the victim can prepare you for
how unsettling the reality is.  

Since
when was homicide part of any plan?

“
This
may come as a shock to you, but Vivian was involved in some shady
organizations.  She’s not the person you thought she was.”

No
shit,
I want to scream but my inner sass is nowhere to be found.
 

“
Please
take me home.  I’m not feeling well.”

“
Soon
enough,” Dosdell says, guiding me toward a ragged couch and taking
a seat next to me.  “First we need to talk.”

Pressing
my hands repeatedly down the length of my jeans, I attempt to rub the
sweat from my palms.  I do my best to ground myself enough to
have a conversation, except I can’t.  This warehouse is
spacious, yet I’m suffocating in his proximity. 

He’s
on your side.

Doing
my best to recall Mark’s explanation of Dosdell’s involvement, I
remind myself that he was Mark’s mentor and friend.  Mark
trusted him to protect me before everything went wrong.  He must
have had justified reasons for killing Vivian.

“
Where
are your FBI escorts?” he asks.

“
Home…maybe
looking for me.  I don’t know,” I reply.

“
Nobody
knows where you are?” he asks.

I
shake my head. 
If they did, wouldn’t they have been here
by now?

“
Vivian
bringing you here wasn’t on her agenda tonight.”

“
I’m
sorry,” I whisper. 

“
I
can fix this, but first you need to tell me what she was bringing you
here for,” he explains calmly.

“
Please…just…I
need a minute.”

“
You’re
in shock.  Come here.” 

He
wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. 
Involuntarily, I stiffen.  His touch is anything but comforting.

“
Mark
never wanted you to be exposed to these things.  You see, Mark
was also in the CIA.  As hard as it might be for you to accept
this, his death came at the hands of the woman behind you.”

Why
is he talking about Mark as if he’s really dead?

“
After
Mark passed, I took over a case involving Vivian.  Based on the
last conversation I had with her, I’m aware of an attack that took
place at Drew’s sister’s house a few months ago. 
Unfortunately, confidentiality requirements prevent me from going
into more detail about my involvement without you sharing what you
know.  Are you feeling well enough to discuss this?”

Instead
answering his question, I ask one of my own.  “Why did she
call you Arnold?”

“
As
I mentioned, I’ve been working undercover.  That often entails
concealing my true identity.”

“
Then
who’s the real Arnold?”

Dosdell’s
eyes flint back and forth between mine, evaluating my question. 
Pursing his lips together, his expression falls. 

“
I
know you’ve been through a lot.  Losing Mark, what happened to
your flight and now Vivian.  It’s hard even for me to
process.  If you want to see justice served, you need to tell me
what you know.  Why did Vivian bring you here tonight?”