Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel (29 page)

“First time I saw you play. You were playing left field and reading a book half the time. Never missed a play, and hit the seams off the ball, but you had a book out there. What was it?”

Everything went still, except for that damn knocking. “You saw me play back then?”

“Grizz Walker called Buck O’Neil, who called me. Said I had to see you, so I went. I sent my report to the Friars and here you are.”

“
You’re
the one?” He scanned Crush’s face for signs he was making this up, but the owner’s hazel eyes met his levelly.

“Yeah. I’ve been watching you since you were a sprout. I always say you can tell everything you need to know about a man from the way he plays.”

Trevor swallowed hard. “I play hard. I play to win.”

“You play cold.”

Rage flashed through him, tightened all his muscles into one long high-tension cable. “Who’s the one who let Paige leave for three years? Who’s the one standing around
while
she’s missing
? I’m not cold. You don’t know anything about me. I love Paige. I’ll take care of her.”

Crush gave a sneer as he hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “You think Paige needs taking care of? Maybe you don’t know her all that well.”

“That’s not how I mean it.” Trevor inhaled deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to be the one in her corner, the one she always knows she can turn to, the one who’ll love her no matter what. She wants to be a counselor, and I think she’d be great. I’ll support her all the way, whatever she needs or wants.”

The pounding . . . or maybe more of a thumping . . . stopped. Trevor whooshed out a breath of relief.

“You really do love her,” Crush said slowly.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“Are you willing to put it all on the line?”

“What do you mean?” The pounding started up again, or maybe it was the blood in his head, the urgency to act, to do something.

“On the baseball field. The way everything ought to be settled.”

“What?”

Crush’s walkie-talkie blared. He listened to the crackling static for a moment.

“They found a woman’s cowboy boot in the staff entrance, along with the broken pieces of a cell phone.”

Trevor’s heart squeezed. “What does the boot look like?”

“Blue, with embroidered flowers.”

“That’s Paige’s boot.” He’d know those boots anywhere. Every time he saw them he wanted to strip off the rest of whatever she was wearing. “God. Did they find anything else?”

“No. There were some signs of a struggle, a plant knocked over, the crushed cell phone, but no blood. Bob thinks they got on the elevator.”

“Which comes to this wing.” Trevor whirled around, ready to search inside every vent duct if need be.

But Crush stalled him with a firm grip. “Manning searched this area already. Every office, every cubicle. They must have moved on to somewhere else.”

“Then
let’s go
.” Trevor’s patience with this conversation was long over, and that irritating
thump-thump
just made it worse and—

He stopped. Grabbed Crush’s elbow. “What’s that noise?”

“You mean that hammering from . . .” He trailed off, and they both looked up. An especially emphatic
thump
made them both jerk to attention.

“Upstairs,” Trevor choked.

As one, they ran down the hall toward the elevator. “I forgot there was an upstairs,” Crush said. “There’s nothing but junk up there.”

“And something banging around.”

“Manning!” Crush called to the agent as they passed his office. “We could use some backup.”

Trevor reached the elevator door first and jabbed at the button.

“Stand back,” said Agent Manning, joining them with his gun raised as the door slid open. The elevator was empty. He ushered the other two men inside. “Same routine when the door opens. You two stand out of the line of fire.”

Trevor nodded tightly as the elevator whooshed upward. Adrenaline was racing through his body. What would they find up there? Paige and Nina held hostage by some unknown number of Wachowski gang members? Or a few redneck Wade cowboys? Maybe a combination? Would they be hurt, unconscious, bleeding? It was incredible how many scenarios raced through his mind in the short time it took the elevator to rise from the second to the third floor.

But not even his wildest imagination could have conjured up the sight that greeted him.

Paige and Nina seemed to be wrestling with a broken-down couch. They were sweaty and dusty, and a pair of handcuffs linked them together. Nina slid to the floor at the sight of the men.

“About time!” his sister said accusingly. “Do you have any idea how heavy this couch is?”

But Trevor had already locked gazes with Paige. Everything else faded away. With a smudge on her cheek and that wild bird’s nest of hair, her smile shone brighter than a torch in the wilderness.

P
AIGE COULDN’T STOP
smiling at the sight of Trevor Stark in his baseball uniform stepping out of that elevator. His eyes were wild, as if he’d walked through a fire to get to them.

He rushed toward them, reaching the couch in a few short strides. Crouching between them, he hugged them both to his chest. “Are you okay? Any injuries?”

“Just another day at the gym,” Paige told him. “If by gym you mean lifting heavy furniture over and over again.” In fact, her body was throbbing from the exertion of manhandling that stupid couch. “That man went down the back stairway. I don’t know his name but he was definitely connected to the Wachowskis.”

Crush strode to the rear door and peered down the stairway. “I see footsteps in the dust. Christ, I’d forgotten all this was up here. Gotta send a note to the cleaning crew.”

An efficient looking man in a business suit squatted down next to Nina and took out a knife. He sliced through the zip tie as if it was butter.

“Who are we looking for?”

Paige gave him a description of the kidnapper, but she had a feeling it was a waste of time. “I think someone was going to pick him up.”

“We’ll take you to a sketch artist,” the agent said. “We’ll find a dummy key for these cuffs too. I’m going to need detailed statements from both of you.”

“Of course.” Paige leaned to give Nina enough slack so she could scratch her ankle. Trevor had his arms around his sister and one warm, reassuring hand firmly placed on Paige’s back. She hoped he never took it off.

“How long have you been cuffed together like this?” Trevor gently slid a finger under the steel circlet around Paige’s wrist.

“Paige did that,” Nina said proudly. “He was going to cuff her to the stair railing so she couldn’t make trouble, but she didn’t want to leave me alone with him. She got herself cuffed to me instead.”

Crush paused in the midst of striding back to their group. “You’re telling me Paige crashed your kidnapping?”

Nina giggled. “I guess so. It was a lot less scary that way. Sometimes it was even fun, like when we started trying to move the couch and kept falling over each other . . .” Paige didn’t hear the rest because Trevor fixed his crystal green eyes on her with a look so intense it nearly set the room on fire.

“You put yourself in danger for my sister.”

“Well . . .” She hadn’t really thought of it that way. “I didn’t want her to be alone. And he was going to stick me in the foyer where no one would ever hear me. I figured we’d have a better chance together.”

Turbulent expressions chased themselves across his face. Gratitude, fury, amazement . . . love. Had he ever looked icy? Impossible. “I love you,” he said in the softest voice imaginable, as if he felt too much emotion to speak more loudly. “You are the most incredible person I’ve ever known.”

“Hey,” interrupted Crush. “Family members present.”

But Paige and Trevor were already deep in the kind of soul-searing kiss no external words could penetrate. As she closed her eyes and let a sweet, strong river of happiness lift her up and away, she forgot they had an audience that included her father, Trevor’s sister, and an FBI agent. None of that mattered. This kiss was a public claiming, an announcement to the world, loud and clear. Paige and Trevor, Trevor and Paige. Just let someone try to pry them apart. It would take much more than a handcuff key to accomplish that.

T
he Wachowskis and the Wades turned on each other right away. The nervous man who had so briefly kidnapped Paige and Nina was pulled over by the Texas State Troopers just outside Kilby city limits. Special Agent Manning got plenty of opportunity to question him. Manning learned that Dean Wade had contacted the Wachowskis and offered a deal. He told the syndicate where to find Trevor Leonov. In exchange, they sent a bottom-rung operative to Kilby with instructions to use Nina as leverage against Trevor. When the entire team walked off the field, the Wachowskis pulled the plug.

Both the Wades and the Wachowskis offered to testify against each other, but the Wachowskis were a much bigger catch, so the Wades got the deal. Crush was disappointed, but not Trevor. He looked forward to telling the FBI every single thing the Wachowskis had done to him and his family.

But amazingly, it turned out that he and Nina were already safe from the Wachowskis. Nina’s confession had changed everything. Once Dinar Wachowski discovered that the person who had injured him was also the kind girl who’d been sending him gifts and cards and drawings over the years, he put his foot down. No
more retaliation against either of them. Not Trevor, not Nina, not anyone. It was over. Once and for all.

Trevor was free. Free to love Paige, free to play ball.

Since the Catfish had forfeited Game Four, the series was now tied. Whichever team won the next game would earn the right to compete in the Triple A National Championship. With all the off-field drama, the game garnered national attention. How often was a team owner’s daughter kidnapped and a stadium put under lockdown? How often did an entire team spontaneously walk off the field and forfeit a game? A thousand baseball analysts couldn’t find any previous instances of such shenanigans.

Paige made Trevor tell her the story over and over again. How he’d watched their empty seats. Abandoned his at-bat. How Dwight and the other Catfish had followed right behind once they knew what was up.

“It was because of you,” he told her. “You’ve helped just about every one of those guys and they care about you. That’s fine, as long as they know that you belong to me.”

“I think they know,” said Paige wryly. “You’ve barely even let go of my hand since it happened.”

“Not until I have to.” He lifted their clasped hands to his lips. “For, like, baseball stuff.”

Crush, of course, ate up the publicity. Even though the Wades were going to escape charges by testifying against the Wachowskis, there was no way they’d be permitted to buy the team. But Crush wasn’t taking any chances. He still wanted to keep his vow and win the championship.

“If you win, it will be thanks to Trevor,” Paige told Crush, cornering him on the field before an interview with ESPN. She’d insisted on dragging Trevor along for this confrontation. In every corner of the field, players
were stretching, working out, tossing the ball around. The buzz of the upcoming game generated a low simmer of excitement. “He’s done so much already. How about helping him out now?”

“I’m already paying his damn salary,” Crush grumbled. “What else does he want from me?”

Trevor stiffened. “I don’t need your charity, Crush. I can make my way just fine.”

Paige gave him a “shush” sign. “Dad, you said if Trevor played well, the Friars might call him up. He’s played more than well.”

“Yes, well, they probably will, then.” The camera operator approached with a body mic, which he attached to Crush’s Catfish shirt.

“
Make
them,” Paige insisted. “They’ll listen to you.”

“There’s only one person who can make them pay attention.” Crush jerked his head toward Trevor. “Him. And the Friars are burnt out on Trevor Stark. He’s got to do something spectacular. Something they can’t ignore.”

“Like what?”

“He’s a slugger. He’ll figure it out.” At a gesture from the cameraman, he tapped the mic with a murmured “Testing, testing.” Paige bit her lip, frustration rolling off her in waves. “Tell you what,” Crush said when the audio check was done. “Trevor, if you accept my challenge, I promise to do my part with the Friars.”

Challenge? Trevor wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about, but he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge. He tilted his head in agreement. “I’m in, whatever it is. And whatever it is, you’re going to lose.”

“I might. I just might. But—are you sure it’ll be a loss?” With a cryptic wink, Crush turned to the waiting camera crew. As they began their countdown, Paige tugged Trevor out of camera range.

“What challenge?” she asked, looking perplexed. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“Nope.” He guided her away from the crew. “But I intend to win it.”

“Game Five. Give me something spectacular,” Crush called after them.

G
ame Five took place on a muggy, leaden evening under a sky filled with sullen clouds. The flags hung limp on the flagpoles, moisture heavy in the air. Low scoring weather, the commentators agreed. Look for ground balls, as the batters will try to tire out the fielders. And don’t expect home runs. With that amount of humidity, the balls just wouldn’t get enough lift.

Trevor had never felt so ready for a game. It all came down to this moment. For the first time in his adult life he was able to fully focus on a game without a whisper of worry about the Wachowskis.

Paige was right where she ought to be, in that seat in the owner’s box, her brilliant smile scattering sunshine wherever she looked. Crush sat next to her. He realized, as the stirring tones of the National Anthem rolled through the stadium, that he actually wanted to win for Crush. He cared about the man. The revelation that Crush was largely responsible for his baseball career had really thrown him for a loop. All this time he’d thought the owner despised him. But really, Crush just wanted him to be the best he could be.

Which was exactly what Trevor wanted.

The need to prove himself, to show everyone some spectacular play, consumed him. At batting practice, the power flowing through his body had actually unnerved him. He’d held back, focusing on control and precision. During his pregame visualization routine, his usual crystal clear imagery had taken on a different ap
pearance. Intense, rimmed with fire, as if formed from flame instead of ice.

As he walked onto the field for his first at-bat, it seemed surprising that the grass under his feet didn’t burst into flames. He nodded to the umpire and the catcher, whose eyes widened at Trevor’s intensity. Settling into his stance, he used the dirt of the batter’s box to ground himself. Plant his feet. Become aware of his thighs, his body, his connection with the ground.
Focus.

Too much adrenaline. To work some of it off, he purposely overswung on the first pitch, a fastball. The pitcher’s shoulders relaxed as he received the ball back from the catcher.
Good, let him get overconfident.
Trevor made a show of getting down on himself, stepping out of the batter’s box, muttering to himself. He didn’t look over at Paige, but he felt her presence filling him with light and warmth.
Something spectacular.
He needed something spectacular.

When he stepped back into the box, one word described how he felt.
Invincible.
The next pitch came to him like a message from destiny, a fat, juicy ball drawn inevitably to the middle of plate, where it met a perfect lethal blur of a swing. He crushed that pitch. Obliterated it. Every head whipped around to watch the ball fly. An awed roar lifted him and sent him cruising around the bases. Kids scrambled all the way to the top seat of the bleachers to find the ball. Had anyone ever seen a home run hit that far in Catfish Stadium? He doubted it.

In the dugout, the electrified Catfish surged to their feet, exchanging high fives.

As he rounded third, Trevor stole a glance at Paige. One look into her eyes and he got fired up all over again.

Sure, an extra-long home run was spectacular, but he was just getting started.

In his next at-bat, he hit another home run. Another in his third. Three home runs in four innings. In his fourth at-bat, with a man on second, the Storm Chasers walked him. Despite the pregame predictions, it was a high-scoring game, with several pitchers brought in on both sides. The Omaha team beat up on poor Dan Farrio, who gave up seven runs in one inning. But Trevor kept the Catfish in the game. By the sixth inning he was personally responsible for five runs batted in. And he felt stronger than ever.

In his fifth at-bat, he reached for a curveball that dipped low and outside and muscled it into a long drive that slipped over the right field fence, just over the wildly gyrating Storm Chaser trying to stop it. Home run number four. Number five should have been a foul, but even the winds were blowing in his favor today. At the last second the ball wafted two inches to the right of the left field foul pole.

Then, in the eighth inning, he made minor league history. He hit his
sixth
home run of the game, a floating butterfly of a ball that landed at Brian the peanut vendor’s feet. With a huge grin, the kid brandished the ball high in the air, then handed out all the peanuts on his tray for free. The crowd and the radio commentators went absolutely wild. “No one has hit six home runs in a game since 1902, when Jay Clarke hit eight home runs in one game. But that game was played on a temporary field with a right field wall only 210 yards from home plate. That puts an asterisk next to that record, if you will. It’s considered unbreakable. No one’s come closer than five until today. You’re witnessing history, folks. Absolutely phenomenal. Can Trevor Stark keep this going and become the only guy to hit seven?”

In the owner’s box, Paige was jumping up and down,
shrieking, but Crush sat back, arms folded, a slight smirk on his arrogant face.

Instead of celebrating with the rest of the Catfish, Trevor set his jaw and kept his focus on the field. The game wasn’t over. If Crush wasn’t impressed, the Friars wouldn’t be.

And now that the brakes were off, Trevor wanted to be on the Friars postseason roster the way he wanted air in his lungs.

In the ninth inning, with the Catfish down two runs, the bottom of the batting order came up to bat. Shizuko, Backman, and T.J. Gates combined for a beautiful rally that tied the game.

In the top of the tenth inning, “Killer” Garrett, the new reliever just called up from the Double A team, put a lid on the Storm Chasers except for one slip, a wild pitch that allowed in one run.

The Catfish went to the bottom of the tenth inning down one, with Trevor scheduled to bat second. Leiberman struck out. Trevor strode to the plate, glared at Crush Taylor, and slammed the first pitch so hard it knocked a light out of the scoreboard, sending a spray of sparks into the velvety night air.