Free Rundown (Curveball Book 2) by Teresa Michaels Page B

version of a man cave.  If
he’d been more charismatic, he’d have been a great politician. 
    I
walk around his desk, take a seat in his chair and place my mug on
his desk, a gesture that would start a fight if he were here. 
Thinking how perfect this room could be as a reading den with the
right color paint and décor, I decide that this will be the next
space I purge.  Opening his desk drawer, I observe the perfectly
organized folders containing our taxes, bills and other important
documents.  Being the type that does everything online, I really
have no need for this kind of a system, or the majority of the desks
content.  As my fingers run over the countless tabbed file
folders, I fail to remember the last time I looked at any of this. 
All of this has been untouched for the most part since Dosdell was
here. 
    Dosdell . 
    I
cringe at the unpleasant reminder of a person I’d like to forget. 
Since I definitely can’t sleep now, I fetch a few boxes and bags to
get started.  Not wanting to wake the kids by using the
shredder, I start the fireplace, toss in the mounds of unwanted paper
and watch them slowly burn. 
    Hours
later, the books and decorations are boxed and the desk is void of
files, except for a few work related documents that I’ll give to
Vivian when we have lunch this week.   Satisfied, I leave
the office and head to the sink to wash my hands and turn off the
light.  Maybe I can finally sleep.  I dry my hands
and start pulling the shade down, only to freeze in place when
something outside catches my eye. 
    Squinting,
I spot something small glowing in the distance that rises and falls
every 15-20 seconds.  What the hell?  I watch
carefully for another full minute when the motion registers.  I
gasp, chills coursing throughout my body.  My hand reflexively
flies to my mouth to stifle the scream that ends up trapped in my
throat.  Holy shit.   A person is standing in the
trees at the edge of my backyard, smoking. 
    Please
be hallucinating.  
    Unconvinced
that my mind is playing tricks on me, I call to Corinne whose
sleeping two rooms away.  My voice barely comes out as a
whimper, as if it’s hiding like I wish I were.  If I wasn’t
paralyzed with fear, or afraid that the image before me would
disappear, I’d physically go get her, but in this moment I’ve
been rendered immobile. 
    “ Corinne,”
I call, somewhat louder.  “Corinne,” I say again.  I
repeat her name several times until I hear her rushing into the
kitchen. 
    “ What’s
wrong?” she asks.  Without taking my focus off the silhouette,
I point to the image. “Who the hell is that?”
    Corinne
places her hand on my shoulder and urges me away from the window. 
I take two steps back, keeping my gaze locked.  I’m vaguely
aware of her radioing for Spencer to check the perimeter, and if I’m
not mistaken, the sound of her removing her gun from the holster on
her hip.  Of course, that could just be my imagination because
my attention is too busy focusing on who could be out there. 
    A
myriad of possible culprits flood my thoughts.  Could it be the
paparazzi, Dosdell or maybe whoever masterminded the attack on the
plane, coming for retribution?   Oddly enough, I’m not
worried about Dosdell.  Somehow I know he wouldn’t hurt me. 
What scares me shitless isn’t being faced with terrorists
necessarily.  It’s the fact that the most precious people in
my world are quietly sleeping upstairs. 
    “ Breanne,”
Corinne says sternly. 
    I
face her, fully aware that her normally calm demeanor has been
replaced with tension.  “Hmm?”
    “ Move
away from the window.” 
    I
nod, moving further into the room.  As I do, I steal a glance
over my shoulder and watch the light and figure I’d seen moments
before, vanish. 
    “ Are
we in danger?”
    “ We
haven’t confirmed that anyone’s out there.  It could have
been any number of things.”
    “ Such
as?”  Does she think I’m stupid?
    Corinne
opens