Double Play (12 page)

“
There’s no sense dragging
Spencer
into this mess, too.”

“
I
can’t believe he’s going along with this. That’s some friend you’ve
got there.”

She shrugged.
“I’d try to distance myself too, except I can’t since it was at my
apartment.” She fell backwards onto the bed, hitting the fluffy
pillowtop mattress with a soft thump.

Benji plopped
down next to her. “I know. It is
my
apartment too, remember?
I had lousy freshmen hassling me all day long because of
it.”

She frowned. “I’m
sorry.” She turned toward him and smiled. “But that does make me
feel better.”

He wrapped his
arm
s
together. “Well,
I’m glad I can keep you company.”

Cat snuggled her
head into the nape of his neck.

“
Cat?”

“
Yeah?”

“
What
did you mean by lying to the police was
like
old times?”

She stiffened,
but didn’t move her head. “It’s nothing.”

He sighed and
pulled away from her. “Great. More secrets.”

Cat sat up,
hesitating. “Okay. Quinn and I didn’t exactly lose touch over the
past decade. Something happened.”

Benji rose up on
his elbow, his blue eyes widening with curiosity.

“
I was
twenty, going to school and living with Grams. One day, this
bouquet of roses comes from a ‘Patrick.’ Well, the only Patrick I
knew was my English professor and I was pretty sure they weren’t
from him, so I thought it was just a mistake. Until it happened
again, a week later. And the card specifically said, ‘Catriona, I
really enjoyed talking to you, I can’t wait until we can do it
again … and more.’ So I was freaked, calling the flower shop,
trying to figure out what was going on. Then Quinn comes over, not
at all surprised to see the flowers.”

“
He
sent them?”

“
No.
This isn’t a ‘brother sends sister flowers from a secret admirer to
boost her self esteem’ story. It turns out Quinn was prowling a
dating website and found a guy from Chicago, Patrick Knox. He
started reeling this guy in while pretending to be me. He’d sent
him pictures of me, even chatted with him online using my real
name, school, everything. That way if the guy did some digging,
it’d all check out.”

“
Why?”

A wry smile passed her lips. She often forgot
how naïve Benji was. So naïve, in fact, that he couldn’t see where
this was going.

“
I
told him to stop
,
but
before he did,” Cat pressed her lips together, “he robbed him.
Cleaned the guy’s apartment out
while he was at work
. Seems Patrick had confided in
‘Catriona’ his
six-figure
job as actuary, his electronics hobbies
and his address. He might as well have given him a paystub and a
blueprint.”

“
Damn.”

“
It
gets worse. This guy’s not stupid, he makes the connections,
especially when ‘Catriona’ stops answering emails and doesn’t log
on to chat. So he calls the cops and they come question
me.”

“
And
you told them it was Quinn, right?”

She hesitated.
“Quinn would’ve faced a felony—up to fifteen years in prison. I
couldn’t do that to him. I had an airtight alibi: I
was in
a broadcast journalism class
that day. Not only did eighty classmates see me, but I was on the
campus news channel.”

“
Didn’t they link you to Quinn?”

“
They
asked a couple questions but he was already long gone by the time
they’d connected the dots.”

Benji shook his
head sadly. “That’s messed up.”

“
I
swore I’d never talk to him again after that but—”

“
Family.”

“
Yeah.
I don’t really have enough to be picky.”

He wrapped his
arms around her. “Don’t worry. We’ll get married and make our own
family so you’ll have plenty to pick from.”

Cat faked a smile
and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah.”

Cat made sure she
was on her way to the press box well before the gates opened. She
couldn’t take the chance of encountering a disgruntled Soldiers’
fan armed with a beer and nacho cheese; the silk dress she was
wearing was dry-clean only
and
her taupe ankle boots were genuine suede
.

She could hear
the muffled conversation when she was still three feet away from
the door, but the second she stepped inside, the room fell
quiet.

“
Hey,
everyone.”

No one responded.
Her cheeks warmed as she made her way to her chair. She lowered her
eyes to avoid their curious gazes but finally summoned enough
courage to peek up as she sat down. To her surprise, no one was
looking at her. She cleared her throat. Nothing. She plopped her
laptop on the desktop, making sure it hit with unnecessary force.
Still, no one looked in her direction.

She wasn’t
surprised that the national media was ignoring her. She’d given an
interview so they had no other use for her. Besides, they were
outsiders with salaries in the high sixes and egos even larger.
She’d have gotten the same treatment a week ago.

What Cat didn’t
see coming was the shutout from the local guys around Buffalo. That
curveball had come inside and left a painful bruise. She had spent
a season with them, watching games, joking and sharing snacks, only
to have them snub her as if she was a turkey dog vendor.

Cat sat at her
station and stared out toward the stadium. The empty seats
represented her loss of hope. The Soldiers not only had to get
through this game, but win the series in order for her to be
acquitted. If they showed that they could win without Ryan Brokaw,
by the next round of playoffs her involvement would be all but
forgotten.
Or so she
hoped.

“
Hey
Sports Fans, whatta ya hear?” Spencer burst through the door and
kicked it shut.

He was greeted
with smiles and a few hellos. Cat scoffed at the reception and
averted her eyes to the field.

“
Yoohoo, over there.” Spencer wiggled his way toward her,
waving a coffee in the air.

Suddenly,
everyone jerked their heads up and watched them
intensely.

Spencer took note
of the attention and stopped. “What’s going on here?”

“
Nothing. Have a seat.” She pulled out his chair.

He frowned at the
uninvited audience and loudly stated, “I know our colleagues aren’t
giving you the Heathers treatment. They’re way too professional to
act like bitchy schoolgirls.”

Cat smothered a
smile as he sat down, giving her a surreptitious wink.

The first eight
innings flew by. It had been a pitchers’ duel, but thanks to the
catcher’s solo home run, the Soldiers
now
clung to a 1-0 lead going into the
ninth.

Their closer
stepped onto the mound. Despite the stat that Adam Alvarez led the
league with a beautifully low WHIP—walks and hits over innings
pitched—and had not blown a save all year long, the fans remained
silent as the inning started. Adam struck out the leadoff batter to
put the first out on the board. It was an easy one, too. The
Chicago rookie hadn’t even gotten his bat off his shoulder. He
threw his meanest curveball to get the next hapless batter to
strike out swinging. The fans exploded and the stadium began to
titter with excitement. They were on their feet now.

Then it happened.
The third batter took four straight balls to get on first base. In
a failed attempt to keep the runner in check, the umpire called a
balk on Adam that moved the runner to second.

The fans fell
quiet again, their silence casting a heavy pall over the stadium.
The balk had put the runner in scoring position on second base. Now
it would only take a hit for Chicago to tie the game—or worse, a
homer to take the lead. Then fate—a proven baseball fan—intervened
and Braden Kendal stepped up to the plate. The muscled monster led
the league in home runs.
The
catcher ran up to the mound to counsel Adam for just a few seconds
and then retreated back to home plate. Adam quickly checked the
runner on second and started his delivery.

Cat cringed when
she saw the pitch leave Adam’s hand and travel to the plate. It was
a fastball right in Braden’s wheelhouse and as his bat connected,
Cat could’ve sworn she saw a smile on his face. He knew it. The
sound of the ball off the bat confirmed this liner was going
places. It flew toward the right field corner, but before it could
reach its destination, Damien Staats leapt from his stance at first
and made a diving catch to end the game.

Cat clenched her
fist and pumped it in the air. The Soldiers’ players came charging
out of the dugout to hail Damien in a wildly jumping mob on the
field. The Chicago fans, clad in blue jerseys, wilted in the stands
like day-old, plucked Hydrangeas. They were soon overtaken by a
triumphant celebration of the Soldiers
'
Nation.

Spencer gave her
a big grin, his eyes shining behind the square black frames of his
trendy glasses. She smiled back. The room had emptied out around
them. The national reporters had left the room the second the ball
had hit Damien’s glove.

Cat pointed at
their empty chairs. “They’re already down in the clubhouse. I guess
that’s an advantage to being completely unbiased.
”

“
Unbiased? Try soulless. How does that catch not solicit a
reaction?”

“
Oh,
it solicited a reaction. A ‘let’s take advantage of the local
celebration to score the best spots downstairs’ reaction.” She
grabbed her bag and nodded to the doorway. “Let’s go.”

She had just
pushed the elevator call button when Spencer hooked her
arm.

“
Come
with me.”

“
But
we need to get down to the clubhouse.”

He pulled her to
the stairwell. “Trade secret. After playoff games, the elevators
are packed. Stairs are much quicker.”

The metal door
slammed behind them. Her
high-heeled boots
clunked on each concrete step as
she tried to keep pace with his penny loafers. He stopped on the
landing.

“
Cat,
wait. I need to say this. I’m sorry you’re getting the cold
shoulder over everything.”

“
I
know you are.” She reached for his arm on the handrail.
"
Don’t worry, I can handle it.
Believe it or not, it’s not my first time as an
outcast.”

“
Well
you aren’t with me. I’m always here for you to vent with, escape
to
,
or even make out
with, whatever you need.”

She gasped and
slapped him playfully.

He smiled.
“Teasing.”

She nudged him
forward. “Let’s go. We’re missing the shaving cream
pies.”

Once inside the
clubhouse, Spencer took off for Adam Alvarez. Cat headed straight
for the mob around Damien Staats. She was a sucker for a white
knight.

She wiggled past
the other members of the media
to get closer to the first baseman
.
He was wiping shaving cream off of his
beaked nose, undoubtedly a “gift” from his teammates to show their
appreciation for his game-winning play. White globs of Barbasol
still remained in his sweat-soaked brown hair.
Damien had
always given the team reporter highest priority and she was
counting on that professional courtesy to extend into the playoffs.
It was the least he could do for the person unfairly branded his
poker buddy by everyone in baseball.

She butted in
before the pudgy reporter wearing Midwest Sports credentials could
ask another question and thrust her recorder in his
face.

“
Damien, you were playing off the bag when you caught that
liner. Did you have a hunch it was gonna head for right
field?”

Damien didn’t
respond. He’d made a millisecond of eye contact and she was ten
inches from his ear so she knew he had heard her question. Cat
recoiled from embarrassment.

The bombshell
reporter next to Cat pursed her
bright red
lips in a subtle smirk before shimmying
in closer to the first baseman, hips first.

“
Damien, that ball was ticketed for right field, how’d you know
to play off the bag?”

Cat was steaming
mad. The question was a direct steal of the question she’d just
asked. Damien, however, beamed at the national reporter.

“
Well,
I ….”

Cat tuned out his
canned response. She expected to be iced out by some people, but
surely a guy in the same boat could throw her a life raft,
especially when he was one of the people who had thrown her
overboard.

She glowered at
the big-nosed jock as he chuckled toward the other
reporters.

No. Damien’s
the type of guy to save both flotation devices for himself. One for
him and one for his ego
.