“WHO ARE YOU, mister? Can you explain what this is all about? I’m sure we can work it out, whatever it is.” Paige tried to stay calm as the elevator ascended through the levels of the stadium.
“We can skip the chitchat, doll. Right now I want a good signal. Fucking technology.”
“I can help with that. The best cell phone reception is on the field or in the stands. A few corners here and there aren’t bad, but mostly the stadium’s pretty bad for cell phones. We use landlines a lot.” It seemed ridiculous, talking about cell phone reception with a kidnapper. Or whatever he was. “What’s, um, going on? What are you after?”
“Don’t ask me questions, ’cause they don’t fucking tell me anything,” he grumbled. “I’m one step away from a babysitter. Can’t believe they sent me down here on Fight Night.”
“Kilby’s actually a really nice place,” Nina piped up. “Sure it’s small, but the people are friendly.”
The kidnapper shot her an incredulous look. “I’m not looking to relocate.”
“Are you from Detroit, then?” Paige asked. “Do you work for the Wachowskis?”
He clammed up as the elevator reached the top floor, which was used for storage. An open, low-ceilinged space, it was filled with piles of boxes, some neatly labeled, others simply shoved haphazardly into corners. Pushing Paige and Nina in front of him, the kidnapper prowled fretfully through the space, looking at his phone. Finally he stopped short.
“Two bars.”
Paige met Nina’s eyes, trying not to laugh. “Do you have Verizon? You should try AT&T.”
“Thanks for the tip.” The kidnapper hit a number on the phone, then walked a few steps away to conduct his conversation.
“Is he after Trevor?” Nina whispered to Paige. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea. Just don’t say a word until we figure out what he wants.” Overall, he didn’t seem very menacing. If he was with the Wachowskis, he must be more of an underling. Not that he couldn’t still hurt them if he chose. He might be on the wiry side, but he was strong.
The kidnapper spoke into his phone; she craned her neck to listen. In the low rumble of conversation, all she caught was the word “sister” and the word “deliver.” So this was about Trevor.
Flipping his phone shut, the jittery man came back and dragged the two girls to an old couch shoved up against the wall. “Sit down.”
Awkwardly, Paige and Nina coordinated the action of lowering themselves down to a sitting position. The handcuffs made it uncomfortable and difficult, and Paige nearly yanked Nina off her feet when she stumbled. He took a zip tie from his pocket and attached Nina’s ankle to the leg of the couch. Paige sniffed. It smelled of cigar smoke and locker room. A castoff from Duke’s office?
The kidnapper took her backpack away and dug through it for her wallet. He checked her ID. “Paige . . . Notswego?”
“That’s right.” Paige put on her most innocent expression. She hadn’t gotten around to changing her driver’s license back, and now she was thankful. It probably wouldn’t help this situation if he knew she was Crush’s daughter.
“What is that, African?”
“Yes.”
“Reminds me of that basketball player just got signed by Golden State, what’s his name . . . Hudson Notswego.”
“My husband. Ex-husband,” she added quickly, in case he was thinking in terms of ransom money.
“Yeah?” The man seemed genuinely impressed. “Got a killer jumpshot. Wait . . . isn’t he with that talk show lady? The one with the boobs?”
Paige stared at him stonily. One more black mark against Hudson, that she’d have to deal with questions about him and Nessa while being held hostage. “Can we change the subject, maybe? Like, why you’re keeping us up here in a storage room? It seems a little stupid because there’s no way out. When they come for you, you’ll be trapped.”
But the man seemed unworried about that possibility. “Hudson Notswego. That’s some contract he signed. Did he cheat on you? Heard that most of those NBA players get a lot of pussy. You’re probably better off without him.”
Next to Paige, Nina gave a soft giggle. “You’re definitely better off,” she whispered in Paige’s ear. “Trevor would never cheat on you. He really, really loves you. You love him too, right? You’re not going to break my brother’s heart?”
“What? Why do you say that?”
“Hey!” The man snapped his fingers. “No whispering.”
Paige barely looked over at him. The kidnapper didn’t seem bent on hurting them, so she no longer feared him. Actually, he seemed nervous more than anything else, as if he was afraid of screwing up. “What are you talking about?” she asked Nina.
“Trevor thinks you’re like a baseball princess, and he’s more of a peasant. I’m pretty sure he wants to ask you to marry him but thinks he doesn’t deserve you. He didn’t say that, because he doesn’t talk about this stuff. It’s just my theory.”
“Doesn’t deserve me? Why would he think that?” In dismay, Paige rattled the handcuffs, making Nina flinch. “Sorry.”
“Because of his . . . you know . . . our past. His record. All the bad stuff from before.”
The man loomed over them like a telephone pole in black leather. “I said, no fucking whispering. Talk out loud, so I can hear.”
“That’s fine.” Nina cleared her throat. “Actually, I want to talk out loud, because I have something to say to the Wachowskis.”
“What? No!” Paige tried to put her hand over Nina’s mouth but couldn’t manage it with the clanking iron bracelet. “Don’t you dare, Nina.”
Nina shoved her hand away. “You can’t stop me. This is my life, and my brother, and I want him to get all the good things he deserves.”
Paige rolled on top of her. Maybe she could squish the breath out of her, make it impossible for her to talk. Nina kicked Paige in the shin, then wriggled her head free.
“Girl fight.” Smirking, the kidnapper held up his phone to take a picture. “This job just got more fun. Makes up for missing Fight Night. I’m gonna have to put my money on Notswego’s ex on this one.”
“I’m Trevor Leonov’s sister,” squeaked Nina.
“True that, but you don’t got his upper body strength, and the other girl’s taller, so—”
“I’m not talking about your stupid girl fight, moron! My brother didn’t hurt Dinar Wachowski! I did!”
The traditional singing of the Star-Spangled Banner had barely ended when Trevor and the rest of the Catfish ran onto the field. Game Four. If they won this game, they’d be on their way to the Triple A championship game. If they lost, the series would be tied.
Most importantly, he was supposed to play ball as if everything was normal. That’s what the FBI had requested of him and Crush.
At first, when he revealed the whole story to Crush, burn scars, threats, hotel door graffiti, and all, Crush had yanked him from Game Three. “Your life is more important than the damn championship,” he’d growled. But then he’d called a buddy in the FBI. The Feds wanted to see if they could trip up the Wachowskis, who they’d been monitoring for some time. Based on their surveillance, nothing big was in the works, they told Trevor. They were just hoping for a slip of the tongue caught on wiretap. He had nothing to worry about, they assured him. They took his cell phone, put him in a secure hotel, and told him to act normal.
Yeah right. Tell that to the anxiety tightening his gut. He hadn’t even dared to talk to Paige or Nina; best to keep them out of it for now.
Out in left field, Trevor caught the ball Dwight whipped toward him, then hurled it back to Bunner at second in the last “around the horn” before the game started. His shoulder felt nice and loose, his arm strong. Too bad he wouldn’t get one more chance to play before Grizz. He’d begged his old friend to come down to Kilby with the team and watch the rest of the series. But Grizz had elected to go home and rest up.
“It’s enough that I got to see you play the way I always knew you could,” he told Trevor.
“If I get the call-up to San Diego, I’m flying you in.”
“Done deal. I’ll be there. But make it quick, boy. I can’t hang on forever.” He winked at Trevor and the other players, who had clustered around to shake his hand and get his autograph. Watching the respect his teammates gave Grizz made Trevor want to shoulder bump every single one of them.
And to think he had Paige to thank for the chance to see Grizz again. Hungry for the sight of her after a day of deprivation, he glanced over at the owner’s box. Two empty seats glared back at him.
No Paige. No Nina.
Crush, armed with his Armani shades, sprawled in his seat as if the outcome of the game made no difference to him. Next to him sat Mayor Trent, her posture upright, hair teased to Texas politician poufiness, a Go Kilby smile on her face. Behind them sat Marcia Burke and a few other members of the management staff who Trevor didn’t recognize. And there, at the front of the box, the shocking absence of Paige and Nina.
Maybe they were in the ladies’ room. Both of them. Maybe they’d gotten stuck in traffic on their way to the stadium. No reason to be alarmed yet.
Trevor spent the top of the first inning lecturing himself not to panic. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for their absence; he just didn’t know it yet. Luckily, no balls made it to left field. Farrio retired the side with only one hit, a harmless single. As Trevor jogged to the dugout, he tried to catch Crush’s eye, hoping to get a read on whether he was worried. But the owner was caught up in a conversation with the mayor and never looked in his direction.
None of the first three Catfish batters got on base, which meant that Trevor only got as far as the on-deck circle before the inning ended. After handing off his bat and helmet to the bat boy, he jogged slowly to left field again, scanning the aisles and seats for a glimpse of tumbling brown locks or Nina’s short blond tuft of hair. Maybe they’d decided to sit somewhere else this time. Maybe Crush had asked them to stay out of sight. Maybe he was being paranoid.
Maybe love was making him nuts.
He barely followed the action on the field during the second inning. With one out, two Storm Chasers got on base, and the next batter hit a long fly ball to left. Lost in anxious thoughts about Paige and Nina, he didn’t even notice until Dwight screamed his name. With Dwight yelling the entire time, he ran at top speed to chase down the ball. When he caught it, pure muscle memory told him to twist in midair and whip it back to second base.
A 7-4-3 double play. End of inning. No score.
The radio play-by-play drifted into earshot as he ran to the dugout. “As so often happens, the guy who makes a brilliant play to end the inning is the first up to bat. Trevor Stark has been unbelievable this entire series. Watching him is like watching a chess grandmaster playing in a public park or a NASCAR champ in a bumper car. He’s always been a player to watch, but now he seems to have hit turbo boost on his game. The Friars have got to be salivating right about now. My guess is, we get through the championship and bye-bye Trevor Stark.”
Trevor rolled his eyes as he swung into the dugout. Stupid commentary. He hoped none of the other players took it seriously. If Dwight hadn’t gotten his attention out there, he would have missed that play by a mile. Baseball was a team sport, why didn’t anyone seem to remember that? Especially the Wades.
At the reminder, a chill shot through him. In that dark little side street in Omaha, he’d made Paige promise to watch all the games, and to make sure Nina came too. Maybe it was selfish, but it relieved him of worry. She’d said, Where else would we be?
But she wasn’t here.
Batting helmet and gloves on, he grabbed his favorite bat and went to the plate. The next time he checked, the girls would be there. They’d be settling into their seats with drinks or waving bright blue foam catfish.
But the two seats were still empty. Crush was deep in conversation with Mayor Trent, their heads bent together. Cozy as hell. But where were Paige and Nina?
With one foot out of the batter’s box, he took a practice swing. Mechanics were good, no pain, he felt nice and loose and warmed up. Powerful, as if home runs would come streaming off his bat. He knew the Storm Chaser pitcher well, knew that his curveball didn’t always drop and that he threw more than his share of wild pitches. Already he could see the fear in the hurler’s eyes.
If it weren’t so early in the game, he’d probably get walked. But the manager wouldn’t call for a walk now, especially with no one on base.
Here came the first pitch. Wide and outside. Ball one. Trevor backed out of the box, glanced again at the owner’s box. No Paige. Where else would she be?
Second pitch. Another ball, so wide the catcher barely managed to save it.
I’ll be staring at you the entire time.
Ball three barely cleared his ankles. In the owner’s box, Crush laughed at something the mayor was saying. No Paige. No Nina.
Trevor couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped out of the batter’s box. “I’m out,” he told the umpire.
“Huh?”
“I’m out. Tell Duke or whatever you’re supposed to do.”
He jogged across the infield diamond. All around him, shock waves reverberated. He heard confused murmurs from the audience and a “What the fuck?” from the Storm Chaser third baseman as he cruised past. The play-by-play radio announcer was going nuts. “With three balls and no strikes, Trevor Stark just did something so bizarre, I can’t think of a single precedent in all my years in baseball. Instead of completing the at-bat, he is now running across the field, straight toward the third base line. Everyone else is backing away, in case they have a lunatic on their hands. If so, that sure would explain a lot about Trevor Stark’s erratic history since he signed that big contract with the Friars.”
He ignored all of it and ran straight to the padded barrier along the third base line.
“Crush!” he yelled. “Crush Taylor!”
The entire stadium went quiet. People stood on their seats, craned their necks, shushed each other. So much for acting normal.
Crush’s head swiveled around and he ripped off his sunglasses. “What the—”
“Where are Paige and Nina?” Trevor asked urgently. If anyone understood how important this was, it would be Crush.
A frown creased Crush’s forehead, but Trevor couldn’t tell what it meant. Duke appeared at Trevor’s elbow, screaming. “You’re out. You hear me? I’m taking you out of this game.”
Trevor held him off with one hand. “I already took myself out. Crush, have you seen them here today?”
Slowly, Crush rose to his feet. “Haven’t seen them.”
“Call Paige.”
Holding his gaze, Crush dialed Paige’s number, then slowly shook his head. Panic flooded Trevor’s body, made the blood pound in his ears. “Something’s wrong, Crush. Alert security. Please.”
“Calling right now.” He pushed a button on his phone. “Meet me in the concourse, Trevor.” He bent to say something to Wendy Trent. She nodded and got to her feet.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Duke kept jabbering questions at him. The other Catfish poured out of the dugout to join the two of them beneath the owner’s box. Trevor needed to go in the opposite direction, toward the dugout, so he could reach the concourse. He tried to muscle through the throng of his teammates, but Dwight blocked his way.
“Tell us what’s happening, Trevor.”
“I have to get through.” He scrambled for his usual icy calm, but it was no use. Images of glinting knives and vicious men kept chasing through his head. His heart raced so fast he could barely draw a breath, let alone speak. His words came out in a stammer. “Paige is missing, and so is Nina. I can’t explain it all right now, but it’s bad. They could be in danger. I need to get through. Let me through.”
But instead of letting him through, they surrounded him and buoyed him toward the dugout. In his terrified state, Trevor barely understood what was happening. All he knew was that his teammates whisked him through the dugout and down the corridor and before he knew it he was on the concourse. Crush strode toward him, trailed by the head of stadium security, who was issuing commands into his headpiece.
The owner paused at the sight of the throng of players. “What the hell? Who’s supposed to be batting right now?”
“Me, I guess,” said Ramirez. “Duke, you better replace me.”
“With who?” The manager rolled onto the concourse, rubbing his belly. “Ain’t no one in the dugout to replace you.”
Crush raised his hand for quiet. “Question for you all, since you’re here instead of where you’re supposed to be. Who’s up for a search party?”
A jumble of voices answered in a chaotic free-for-all. Finally Dwight’s deep voice cut through the chaos. “If Paige is in danger, none of us want to be on that field.”
“Fair enough. Bob, brief them on what we know so far while I make a call.” Crush turned aside to mutter into his phone, out of earshot of the players.
The security chief, a potbellied, nearly bald former cop, addressed the group of players. “According to the guards at the exits, no cars have left the lot in the past hour. Paige was seen entering in Crush’s Range Rover about forty-five minutes ago. What that means is that chances are good that she’s still somewhere in the stadium.”
“And my sister Nina? Small, blond?”
“There was someone in the Range Rover with Paige, but the guard didn’t get a good look at her. We’re going on the assumption it was her.”
Crush ended his call and rejoined them.
“Mr. Taylor, what do you want me to do with the people in the stands?” the security chief asked.
“I’ll handle that. You get these guys organized.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Trevor, come with me.” Crush beckoned him off to the side.
As Trevor followed, a TV mounted in the corridor caught his attention. Donna MacIntyre and Mayor Trent were at the pitcher’s mound, where a mic had been set up.
“Hello, Kilby Catfish fans, and welcome to our guests here from Omaha. I’m the mayor of Kilby, Wendy Trent, and I have an important announcement for y’all. The Kilby Catfish have decided to forfeit this game.”
The audience erupted into boos.
“I know, I know, they’re so sorry for the inconvenience to y’all. Unfortunately, we have a potentially dangerous situation happening here in the stadium, and we want all of y’all to be safe. The head of security has asked that you all stay right where you are until further notice. We don’t want anyone taking any risks with their safety. As soon as they feel it’s safe for you to leave, we’ll let you know. In the meantime, Ms. Donna MacIntyre has some games and contests to help keep you entertained. Thank you all so much for your patience and cooperation.”
Crush shook his head in admiration. “Hell of a woman, that mayor. Come on, Manning is waiting for us.”
Trevor glanced back at the Catfish, who were now being joined by members of the security team to listen to the chief’s instructions. Dwight caught his eye and sent him a reassuring wink.
And just like that, he knew. Never again would he shut anyone out. Paige had melted all that ice away from his heart, leaving nothing but love and a desperate need to get her back in his arms and never let her go.