Rundown (Curveball Book 2) (31 page)

“
I
wish,” he scoffs and then sighs.  Drew runs his fingers though
his hair and shakes his head.  “I would never lie to you.”

I
have no idea what to say.  He wouldn’t lie to me.  I know
that.  Still, I continue trying to process what Drew’s told me
and come up short of explanations.  Despite the concern on his
face, it can’t be true.  He’s mistaken…that’s all there
is to it. 

I
push off Drew’s lap, going nowhere because he’s holding onto me
for dear life.  Needing answers, I try again and this time he
lets me go without a fight.  I rush down the dark hallway toward
the kitchen where a dim light is glowing.  Apprehensive about
what awaits me on the other side of the threshold, I come to a halt
just outside the room and brace myself against the doorframe.  I
sense Drew behind me, though he makes no move to touch me. 

Breathe
,
Breanne
. 
Breathe
. 

For
being an automatic response, taking in air is suddenly requiring a
great deal of effort.  My heart’s racing and I’m slightly
nauseous with anticipation.  I force myself to release the air
that I’ve been holding and step into the kitchen.   The
moment do, I become temporarily paralyzed as my eyes land on a man
that I’d recognize anywhere.   

Oh
my God.

It
can’t be…but it is.

It’s
him.

My
knees start to buckle.  My hands fly to my face and I begin
sobbing uncontrollably.  Drew steadies me from behind before I
run the short distance that separates Mark and me, and I launch
myself into his arms. 

“
Mark…Mark,”
I cry over and over again. 

I
wrap my arms around his neck, terrified that if I let go he’ll
disappear.  Though his body is flush against mine, I’m certain
that this isn’t real.  My fear is quickly dispelled when Mark
returns my embrace.  His tall, lean frame feels exactly the same
as I remember.  Sinking into his arms I sob loud and ugly for a
long time, reliving two years of grief.

I
pull back, creating just enough space so that I can appraise Mark’s
appearance, and immediately notice how much he’s changed. 
Holding his face in my hands, I study every inch of his face. 
Distinguished white hairs blend with his naturally dirty-blonde
mane.  His forehead is marked with permanent lines that hint at
unimaginable stress.  Without including the fresh gash near his
right temple, it’s clear that Mark’s been through a lot. 
He’s aged beyond the time we’ve been apart, yet he’s still the
same man.  And he’s alive.

“
Oh
my God…you’re really here,” I choke out the words.

“
It's
me,” he confirms.

“
Mark,”
I whisper, the tears starting all over again.  He wipes my tears
away with the pad of his thumb and attempts to soothe me. 

“
Shh,”
he quietly hushes.

Completely
overwhelmed with too many emotions to name, I once again encircle my
arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly.  Smiling widely, I
pull back and peck Mark’s cheek before stepping out of his reach. 

“
I
can’t believe it, Drew,” I say spinning around and grabbing
Drew’s hand.  “You were right.” 

The
way Drew’s hand barely holds mine, and the detached tension
radiating from his nearly naked body slowly registers. I drop my hold
on Drew and retreat backwards a few steps so that I’m standing an
equal distance between the two men.  Nervously, I pull at the
hem of Drew’s shirt, only now appreciating the fact that I’m
standing in front of Mark wearing nothing besides my fiancé’s
shirt, and Drew is only in his boxer briefs.  The elation I felt
moments ago has completely dissolved. 
Could this get any
worse? 

My
hands knot in my hair, pulling at the roots, purposely inflicting
pain to prove to myself that this is actually going on.  The
burning of my scalp confirms it…this is happening.  
Standing between what I thought was my past and what is supposed to
be my future, I’m at a complete loss.  Unable to comprehend
what’s going on, I drop my hands and look anywhere but at Mark or
Drew.  I’m suddenly feeling really exposed and it’s not due
to my lack of clothing.  It’s like I’ve entered some other
realm.  I have so many questions. 

“
How
are you here?” I finally ask, pacing the floor in front of Mark. 
“I mean…I…I identified your body.  I saw the blood…it
was you…it was definitely you.”

I
wait for him to say something, anything, yet his focus seems to be on
the tile floor.

“
Were
you drugged?  Kidnapped?  Brainwashed?”  These
possibilities sound ridiculous even as the words are coming out of my
mouth.  Something must have happened though.  He’s been
gone for years.  I need an explanation.  “What happened?
 Who did this to you?”

“
No
one.”

“
What
do you mean ‘no one’?”

“
Exactly
what I said.”

“
I
don’t…I…someone must have done something.  It’s not like
you faked your own death,” I laugh at the absurdity.

My
face falls when no one else reacts to my statement. 
Don’t
jump to conclusions. Silence and confirmation are two very
different things, right?

“
Where
have you been?” I press.  “Jesus, Mark.  Tell me you
didn’t fake your own death.”

“
Tell
her,” Drew barks when several seconds pass without an answer. 

Why
do I get the feeling that everyone in the room knows something I
don’t?

Mark’s
head snaps up and his eyes dart to Drew.  Ever so slowly, a smug
‘screw you’ grin lifts across Mark’s face.  “I’d like
to be alone with my wife.”

“
Fuck
that, I’m not going anywhere,” Drew replies.  His hand cups
my hip, pulling me against him.  He then sidesteps in front of
me so that I’m blocked from Mark’s view.

“
I
didn’t ask your permission.”  I peek out from behind Drew
and watch as Mark nods to Spencer.  “Take him outside.” 

“
That’s
not necessary.  I’ll take him,” Everett says, walking
towards Drew.

“
I’m
not leaving her,” Drew counters, brushing Everett off.

“
Get
him out.”

“
No. 
Mark, he’s staying,” I insist, though no one’s paying attention
to me.  Spencer yanks Drew backwards at the same time Mark pulls
me toward him.  Spencer quickly puts Drew in some kind of hold
that looks incredibly uncomfortable and makes it impossible for him
to move.  “Hey, get your hands off him!  Stop!  You’re
hurting him. Let him go!” 

“
Don’t,”
Mark scolds me.

What
the hell is going on?

Spencer
marches Drew to the door that leads to the back deck while I struggle
to pull my arm out of Mark’s grasp.  “Damn it, Mark.  Get
your hands off of me.  It’s the middle of January.  He’ll
freeze.”

Mark
stares at me with an unreadable expression.  “Fine. 
Spencer, take him upstairs,” Mark commands and then returns his
attention to me. 

“
Was
that necessary?” I ask as Drew’s escorted out of the room.

“
After
what I spent the last hour listening to, I’d say so.”

I
process his statement.  
The last hour?
 What was I
doing the last…oh, God.  I cringe at the thought of Mark
hearing Drew and I having sex.  Then I snap.  

How
dare he!
 

“
The
last time I saw you was two years ago when you were laid out on a
morgue table.  From what I can gather it seems like that was
your doing.  Even if you have a solid explanation for what
happened, you have no room to judge.  Start explaining, Mark. 
Tell me what happened.”

“
I
didn’t have a choice in leaving.  I was doing my job.”

“
I
don’t follow.  You worked for a venture capital firm.”

“
I
can’t share everything with you, but if you calm down I’ll tell
you what you need to know.” 

I
drop my head to the side and narrow my gaze.  “Excuse me?
 What I
need
to know?  You’re back from the dead
and all of a sudden we’re on a need to know basis?  I’m your
wi—” 

That
saying about old habits being hard to break is true.  Being in
Mark’s presence is making it hard not to react like an angry wife. 
Am I technically still his wife?
 

Mark
studies me with a blank expression, confirming that he’s only going
to tell me what he thinks is necessary.  He’s always been
direct and somewhat controlling, but this isn’t the reunion I would
have expected if you’d told me my dead husband would show up one
day.  Feeling as if I’m on the verge of breaking, I shut my
eyes tight and inhale.  The rich smell of cedar that fills my
lungs is all it takes to trigger my memories from earlier this
evening of coming face-to-face with the smoker who’s been watching
me. 

“
You,”
I say pointedly, shoving a finger into his chest.  “It was
you.  The past few months, and tonight…you’re the one who’s
been spying on me aren’t you?”

Mark
doesn't say anything, though he observes me cautiously.  The
corner of his mouth falls marginally in a lopsided frown, revealing
his trepidation, and it bothers me. 
At least have the balls
to fess up.

“
In
New York,” I continue.  “You were in New York on
Thanksgiving and that night in the backyard. That was you, wasn't
it?”

“
Yes,”
he admits.

“
Why?”
I whisper, shaking my head. “I don’t understand.  If you've
been here, why are you just now showing up?

“
I
shouldn't even be here now, Breanne,” he says flatly.

“
What
the hell does that mean?  Why shouldn’t you be here, Mark? 
Where have you been?  Is this about money?  Are you in
trouble with the mob or something?” 

“
They
don’t particularly like me, but no.  My disappearing has
nothing to do with the mob.”

“
Out
with it already.  I deserve answers.”

“
I’m
in the CIA.”

I
balk at his revelation.  The idea of Mark toting a gun and going
on top-secret missions is somehow unimaginable. “Since when?”

“
Far
too long,” he replies.  “I’ve been doing undercover work
since before I met you.”

“
You’re
joking, right?  That makes no sense.  What about your
job?” 

“
It
was all part of my cover.”

“
What
cover?” I ask.  Mark’s eyes dart to some point behind me. 
Looking over my shoulder, I find Spencer has rejoined the room and is
shaking his head.  “What?” I whip back to Mark.  “Are
you incapable of answering for yourself?” I ask, getting agitated. 
“What cover?”

“
It’s
complicated,” he states matter-of-factly.

“
Everything
has been complicated these last few years,” I hiss. “Why
shouldn't you be here?”

Mark
briefly closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. 
“I’ve been on an undercover assignment for years.  It
required shedding my true identity in order to infiltrate an
anti-technology group that abandoned its original non-violent
charter.  The members became power hungry and greedy, eventually
turning into extremists.  In order to be successful, I had to
fake my own death and become a member of their organization.  If
anyone in the organization finds out that I’ve been in contact with
you or that I’m in the CIA, it will compromise everything.”