Rundown (Curveball Book 2) by Teresa Michaels Page B

must be the ‘Widow’, which means she was purposely put
on that aircraft.  But who is the ‘Widower’?  Convinced
that answers must be somewhere in the folder, I flip to the next
item, which is a folded obituary section of a newspaper. 
Circled in red is the obituary for Mark Sullivan.
    My
head might literally explode.  
    I
pinch the bridge of my nose and try like hell to deal with this. 
Why the hell does Alexis have this shit?  Looking up at the TV,
I watch Everett wrap the few small belongings left in the living
room.  Maybe he can make sense of this.  I decide to review
the rest before sharing when a thought occurs to me. 
    Shuffling
through the mound of paper, my brain kicks into overdrive.  I
recheck the dates of the email outlining a death, and compare them to
the dates of Mark’s obituary.  They line up.  I
immediately think Mark is the ‘Widower’, but dismiss the idea
because the dates on the emails occurred up to a year after Mark’s
death. 
    From
the beginning, I had a feeling Mark was connected and now I know for
sure he is, but how he’s involved remains a mystery.  Adding
to the confusion is the fact that the necklace and jewelry box were
purchased about a year after Mark’s death, and only a few months
after Alexis started working at the airline.  This is also
around the same time she went from having concerns with the code, to
agreeing with her manager’s approach.
    Not
getting the connection, and refusing to be kept in the dark, I
frantically flip through the few remaining documents.  515
references the pilots for the maiden flight, describing them as
‘plumbers’, whatever that means.  Another one calls out that
the coding Alexis has been working on, linking thumbprints to bank
accounts and other personal information, is almost complete. 
That same day, Alexis emails her manager requesting time off. Her
request is denied and she responds with her resignation.  It’s
the day she was leaving for Boston―the day she died.  
    And
then it hits me. 
    Her
death wasn’t an accident.
    Stunned,
I look through the stack again and then put it back in the folder.
 None of this adds up.  What I can’t understand is that
if Alexis was aware of the conspiracy to take down the plane, why
didn’t she tell anyone and why did she remain working for the
airline for so long?  Another thing that strikes me is that
Breanne and I were linked long before we met. 
    Pushing
off the bed, I stride to the door when a crash from the other room
startles me.  Immediately, I look at the TV and witness two men
accost Everett, who is putting up one hell of a fight.   Fuck .
 I look down at the pile of evidence in my lap and scramble to
put everything back into the folder. I lock the bedroom door and
quickly push the small bookshelf against it as quietly as possible;
hoping they don’t know anyone else is here. What if I’m
holding what they want? The doorknob to her bedroom jiggles,
justifying my concern.
    Bang. 
Bang.
    The
force of someone’s body slamming into the door torments me as I try
to figure out what to do.  I grab my phone and the folder and
then dash to the closet. Haphazardly, I jam the folder back in the
safe and slam the door, but not before a few pieces of paper fall
out.  I pick them up, stuff them in my pocket and panic.   They
can’t find this . Fisting the paper in my pocket, I take it
out, fold it flat and stuff it into the only place I can think of.  
    The
banging gets louder and it’s clear I’m in deep shit.  The
door bursts open just as I’m pulling out my phone to dial 9-1-1. 
It’s too late.  Two men charge at me, knocking me to the
floor.  Kicking and punching, I claw my way to the door of the
bedroom as a sharp sensation pricks my neck.  I attempt to push
the men away and collapse.  I’m dizzy and sweating.  My
vision is cloudy, my ears ringing.  My entire body feels warm
and weightless, yet heavy at the same time.  I hear muffled
voices around