Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (18 page)

“
Breanne
hasn’t called you?” I ask Brett.  

“
No.”
 

I’m
screwed.

Using
Brett’s phone, Everett gets ahold of Corrine who insists that
Breanne is out for a run with Agent Spencer.  Over speakerphone,
we explain what we can about our situation and then I plead with her
to have Breanne call me immediately once she gets back to the house.
 After packing our things in record time, we go through
yesterday’s events repeatedly on our way to the airport, until
we’re both exhausted and admit it’s pointless.  Neither of
us remembers shit and all I can think about is how after everything,
I can’t lose Breanne now.  I need to get back to her and get
this bullshit resolved.

A
colleague of Everett’s meets us at the airport and assists us in
getting through the first airport security checkpoint, given that we
don’t have our ID’s.  Seconds later, he’s gone and we move
to the next checkpoint.

I
watch impassively as Everett steps through the full-body scanner and
then collects his belt and shoes from the bin.  It takes Brett
nudging me to alert me to the fact that it’s my turn. I lazily
muster enough energy to push my tray onto the conveyer belt and make
my way to the scanner.  I walk through the contraption without
incident, but my belongings haven’t been so lucky.  The TSA
agent behind the x-ray machine motions for another agent to come
over.  Confused, I look to Everett who joins me at the end of
the conveyer belt.

“
Is
there a problem?” I ask the two TSA agents.

“
We’re
going to need to speak with you privately.  Please step to the
side.”

“
Ok,”
I reply, puzzled.

“
I’m
with the Federal Bureau of Investigation on assignment to protect Mr.
Scott.  If you’re going to question him about anything, I’ll
need to be present.”

Two
more members of TSA arrive and tell us that we need to follow them.
 I glance over my shoulder towards Brett who’s wondering what
the hell could possibly be wrong now.  I hold out my hands as if
to say ‘who the fuck knows’ and shake my head.  

Everett
and I follow our escorts to a private room where I imagine we’ll be
interrogated.  My mind has been jumbled since I woke this
morning; I can’t begin to make sense of this latest dilemma.  The
only items I put in the bin were my shoes and a pair of sunglasses
that Brett bought me.  
What the hell could they have found in
my shoes?
 

“
Hand
over your ID’s,” the first man demands as soon as we’re all
seated.

“
We
don’t have them,” Everett says and then proceeds to explain our
situation.

The
two TSA agents look at each other and then back to us.  “We’ll
have to verify your story before continuing.”  One agent
leaves the room after getting contact information from Everett.  When
he returns, he confirms that our story checks out.

“
During
the scan of Mr. Scott’s belongings, we discovered stapled documents
stuffed in the sole of his shoe.  Anytime someone confiscates an
item in their shoes it’s cause for concern.  We’ve
determined the particular items found in your shoe are harmless;
however, given what you’ve just shared we believe you may find them
helpful.”

He
slides a folded wad of paper across the table to me.  Opening
them, I find stapled receipts.

“
What
is it?” Everett asks.

I
can’t begin to formulate a response as I finish reviewing the first
receipt and flip to the next, and then the next.  Despite never
having seen these documents before, by the time I get to the fourth
and final page I’m overcome with a sense of déjà vu.  Starting
from the beginning, I analyze each page again to be sure I’m really
seeing what I think I am.  Three receipts for items I’m
familiar with; an expensive necklace; a silver, tin, jewelry box; a
bill for engraving services with the phrase ‘beyond logic lies the
truth’; and last, a copy of a shipping label with Breanne’s
address on it.  Each receipt contains Alexis’s signature.

“
Drew?”

I
fling the stapled items to Everett, fold my arms across the table and
bury my face.  I don’t get it.  This has to be some kind
of prank.  Breanne was convinced that Mark had arranged for
those items to be sent to her as clues.  Why would Alexis buy
those things and send them to Breanne?  How did she even know
her, and how did the receipts get in my shoe?

“
We
must have gone to Alexis’s house,” Everett reasons.  

“
Then
why can’t we remember being there?”

His
hand flies to his neck and I instinctively do the same.  “Because
we were drugged,” Everett replies matter-of-factly.  “Can I
use your phone?” he asks one of the TSA agents.

Everett
contacts the same agent who helped us when we first got to the
airport.  I listen as he explains what’s going on and arranges
for us to have blood work done, hoping that they can determine if we
were drugged.  My attention wanes and it’s only when Everett
pats my shoulder and motions for me to follow him that I realize his
conversation has ended.  I’m exhausted.

“
Where’re
we going?” I question.

“
Back
to Alexis’s.”

It’s
nearly 8pm by the time we pull into Alexis’s driveway.  If I
was here yesterday, I’d expect a memory to surface, yet as we
approach the house my conscious mind tells me that I haven’t been
here in months.  Flanked by Everett and a new four-person team
of FBI agents, I grab the door handle and wait for my identity to
register before stepping aside so that one of the local agents can
enter the code on the keypad.  Even though my phone is missing,
the FBI was able to manipulate the security app and rerouted the pin
to one of their phones.  Seconds later, the door opens and we
all step inside.

Lights
flicker on as we walk into the living room.  The house is
immaculately clean, and it’s in exactly the same state I remember
it being in a few months ago when I came here to get a dress for her
burial.  I watch somewhat detached as the agents spread out into
different rooms, one standing guard at the doorway.  I scrub my
face, trying unsuccessfully to recall some detail of information as I
look around.  Nothing comes to mind and nothing is out of place,
yet something feels off.

I
make my way to Alexis’s bedroom and take my time cataloguing every
item my eyes land on.  The books are perfectly stacked on her
shelf; the picture frames are neatly organized; her bed is made; and
the carpet still has lines from the last time it was vacuumed.
 Running a hand through my hair, I head to the closet.  I
walk in, look around and push her clothes hangers to the side, one at
a time.

“
Notice
or remember anything?” Everett asks upon entering.

“
Not
yet,” I reply, continuing my pointless task.

“
The
team needs to take your fingerprints so they can distinguish them
from others they may find.  Once they’re done in the house,
they’ll go through the neighborhood to ask if anyone noticed
unusual activity yesterday.  Our rental car has been reported as
stolen.  We’re hoping someone saw another vehicle in the
driveway, or better yet, recalls seeing someone drive off with ours.”

“
That’s
the most you’ve said today.”

Everett
drops his gaze to the floor.  “My job is to protect you Drew,
and I clearly failed.  We were both overpowered, drugged and my
partner is missing, maybe dead.  It’s a lot to process.”
Everett clears his throat. “The technicians are here to draw our
blood.  Let’s get that over with,” he tells me before
leaving the room.

I
step back to follow him as my hand runs down the sleeve of the last
shirt in her closet, and pause when I get to the end.  My
fingertips are wet.  I flip my hand over and smell the pasty
liquid.  White paint.

“
Everett,”
I shout and show him my hand when he returns.  

Everett
shoves the clothes out of his way and runs his hand up and down the
wall near where the shirt would have rubbed against it.  As he
presses what he describes as a soft patch, his hand pushes through
the plaster.

“
Any
idea what was there?” Everett asks.  

“
No.”

He
continues inspecting the wall and then leaves to get another agent.
 He returns with two men and after they carefully examine the
custom wall support inside the drywall, they conclude that there must
have been a built-in safe.  After that revelation, I’m ushered
to the living room for my blood work and left wondering why anyone
would take a safe from Alexis’s wall and go to such lengths to
cover it up.  

I
watch through the front window as neighbors gather in the yard
directly across the street, gawking and discussing the chaos at my
sister’s house.  I wonder if any of them knew her well, or at
all.  The thought is depressing.  Not only is Alexis not
here, she’s mixed up in all of this somehow.

“
You
ready to head back to the airport?  Brett’s waiting for us.”

“
I
didn’t do what I came here for,” I reply.

“
I’d
like to tell you we can stay and pack up, but we can’t touch
anything.  This is now part of a crime scene and for now, this
is all evidence.”

I
start to tell him that I understand when Everett’s phone rings.  

“
Everett,”
he answers.

“
That
was Agent Jackson,” he tells me after ending the call.  “O’Conner
was found 40 miles from here in a hospital outside Palo Alto.  Video
footage at the hospital shows a black car without plates leaving him
at the entrance to the emergency room.  He was coherent but
couldn’t say much.”

“
Lets
go see him.” I’m already walking toward the door.

“
We
can’t.”

“
Why
not? Is he alright?”

“
When
he was first examined he was presenting symptoms associated with a
heart attack.  Blood work disqualified that hypothesis.  What
they found were high traces of a substance not commonly known; one
that’s sometimes used in covert military operations to incapacitate
threats.  Last Jackson heard was that he was placed into CIA
custody.”