Curveball (2 page)

He raised his hand. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even ask.” He sighed and turned
his head toward the frosted window. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Sorry.”

Roger’s head jerked back to the room and met Cat’s uncomfortable gaze. “Aimee, would
you excuse us for a minute?”

Aimee didn’t have to be asked twice. She backed her head of the doorway and clicked
the door shut softly behind her like she had never been there. Cat closed her eyes.
Aimee wasn’t going to be the only one with a busy schedule today.

Roger gave her a car salesman’s smile that he was sure to repeat in his eleven o’clock
press conference when he broke it to the Soldiers’ fans that he wasn’t going to attempt
to re-sign its veteran third baseman. “Ms. McDaniel.”

Cat took a deep breath. “Mr. Aiken.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask.”

His face didn’t say that. It said, “I’m asking and I know you shouldn’t say no.”

“And yet you are, right?” The snarky comeback slipped out. She followed up with a
smile to let him know she meant no harm. Meanwhile, her mind thumbed through its excuse
catalog.

Toothache? Stomachache? Backache?

“Just to get this straight, you’re not asking me to address the press conference,
are you?”

She'd done her homework on the Buffalo Soldiers and might be able to hold her own
in a sports bar, but answering to a ravenous group of reporters was another story.
No, that couldn't be his demand.

He shook his head. At least he had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Actually
... I need someone to handle the personal situation with my daughter.”

"I’d love to help you, but I took the Metro here from the hotel. I don’t even have
a car.”

He pulled a set of keys out of his desk drawer and dangled them from his hand. “Ever
been behind the wheel of a Bentley?”

Her eyes momentarily lit up before she closed them in the crushing way every batter
did after strike three.

I’m a fortune cookie, all right. And in place of my spine is a tiny scroll that says
“Do not mistake temptation for opportunity.”

The phone rang three times before Benji finally answered.

“So am I the proud boyfriend of the newest member of the Buffalo Soldiers?”

Cat nestled the cell phone between her shoulder and ear as she opened the luxury car’s
door, anxious to get inside. “Not yet. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

The fresh, leathery scent blasted her before she even got in the car. She made a mental
note to quit buying her old Jeep the “new car smell” line of air fresheners, because
this scent couldn’t be replicated by a little cardboard tree from the gas station.

Benji yawned into the phone. “I was dreaming it was going to be a balmy seventy degrees
today. Oh wait, it
is
seventy degrees because this is Las Vegas. Remind me again why you want to move to
Southern Canada?”

“Because they actually called me back.” She and Benji had had this exchange several
times now. They hadn’t been an item very long—the teenage girl in her had just celebrated
their four month anniversary—and without the help of the adorable biology teacher
who had just happened to be her neighbor, she would never have succeeded in exposing
König’s dastardly doping scheme. He supported her career, but his support had its
limits. She sat in the cushy leather seat and cooed. “Oh wow, this is the nicest place
my butt has ever been.”

“Either you really will do anything for that job or I’m going to need some context.”

She nestled into the bucket seat. “I’m currently being hugged by the driver’s seat
to Roger Aiken’s two-hundred-thousand-dollar Bentley.”

“Did you steal it? Do I need to get us fake passports and glue-on mustaches?”

“No, yes and yes.” She paused for moment to reconsider. Fleeing the country might
beat the ordeal she was about to expose herself to. “There’s a catch.”

“He made you play catch? Is that like a standard interview thing in the baseball world?”

She momentarily pulled the phone away from her ear to check her signal, giving it
a quick shake for good measure. “A catch. As in, a proviso.”

“Oh. Did it have anything to do with your butt?”

“Ha. During the interview, Roger got a phone call. It turns out Paige Aiken pissed
off her college and Roger volunteered me to smooth it out—armed with a blank check.”

“What? I would’ve told him to deal with the brat himself. He made the little monster.
What’s she still doing in college anyway? Isn’t she, like, thirty?”

“I’m guessing it’s hard to complete your degree when you don’t go to classes.” Cat
leaned back in the seat, still admiring the car’s interior. It was beautiful, but
she wasn’t sure that the wood trim, onyx controls and navigation system that would
confuse an astronaut were worth twice what she owed on her student loans. “Roger seems
to be the only one who hasn’t seen her dewy, pouty-lipped face and curly brown hair
plastered all over the front page of supermarket tabloids.”

“Not just her face.”

“Ew.” It was crass, but unfortunately all too accurate. The finest finishing schools
along the Eastern Seaboard hadn’t taught Paige Aiken how to exit a limousine like
a lady. That was especially dangerous when your skirt didn’t have enough material
to cover the ass of an actual Barbie doll, not just a person who had done her best
to resemble one. Cat turned the key and the engine greeted her with a low rumble.
Cold air whooshed out of the vents and she hurried to turn off the fan, fumbling with
the climate controls. “Okay, let me call you back this afternoon. This is not a talk-and-drive
vehicle. One scratch on the bumper and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life sweeping
the Soldiers’ Bleachers out for free. “

“Okay, good luck with the brat.”

“I’m gonna need it.”

She parked the Bentley in the last spot in the last row in the last lot on the campus.
She checked three times to make sure that the doors were locked. Paige Aiken notwithstanding,
Fillmore University didn’t rank high on the list of Crime Stoppers’ hot spots. Nevertheless,
with its wide chrome grill and ebony windows, the gold sedan begged to be in the subject
line of a campus police report.

The frigid wind whipped her copper-colored hair across her face. She made an attempt
to tuck it behind her ears but it flew out before she’d moved her hand away. She shoved
her gloveless fingers in the wool pea coat’s pockets. She still owned a puffy Gore-Tex
parka from her days of enduring Illinois winters but had sacrificed it in favor of
formality and lighter luggage—a decision she regretted this morning. She followed
the directional signs to the center of the campus, avoiding the busy students crisscrossing
in her path on their way to Friday lectures. Even after the twenty-minute trek to
Lindeman Hall, she was still shivering and longed for an August afternoon in Vegas.

A portly security officer was stationed at the desk outside the student affairs office.
She purposely scooted her boots across the linoleum as she approached so as not to
scare him.

“Hi. I’m here regarding Paige Aiken.”

This must be what Hannibal Lecter’s defense attorney felt like.

His eyes didn’t leave the newspaper as he threw a finger behind him. “She’s all yours.”

Cat saw the back of the flattened black and blond striped ponytail through the window.
It was a new look. Just a few months ago, Paige had been photographed on her dad’s
arm at the ESPYs wearing her naturally dark brown hair long and curly.

She rapped on the open door before stepping into the dean’s office.

“Daddy, thank God you’re here.” The multicolored hair whipped around and the tabloid
princess glared at her through dark eyes. “Who the hell are you?” Her lips pursed
into a perfect pout.

Cat closed the door behind her. “Catriona McDaniel. I work for—I mean, your dad sent
me.”

“Ah.” In one quick sweep of her long eyelashes, Paige took her in. She turned back
around and slumped in her chair. “Father of the Year too busy again?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve got it rough.” The desk Paige sat in front was
empty. “Where’s the dean?”

“Emergency colon stickectomy.”

“Cute.” Cat sat down in the padded vinyl chair next to her. “I guess I’ll just wait.”

“Whatever. It’s so damn hot in this stinking office. I think Barney Fife out there
is trying to sweat me out.” The chair creaked as Paige brought her long leg up to
her hands. The camo cargo pants clung to her thighs in the overheated office. She
rolled the ends up to capri length and tied them with the attached ribbon. She dusted
a leftover piece of green lint off her dark leg and kicked her combat boot up on the
dean’s desk.

Cat momentarily considered telling G.I. Barbie to show some respect but turned instead
to the rest of the office. Various degrees hung on the wall behind the large leather
desk chair. A tall bookshelf contained a shelf of collegiate accolades, followed by
stacks of faculty directories, course catalogs, university constitution and student
rules. The bottom two shelves were crammed with yearbooks dating back three decades.

The clip-clap of high heels approached and the office door swung open.

“Finally.” Paige sighed and slowly pulled her leg off the desk. “Dean Lin, it’s Friday
and I’m a young, single gal in the prime of life. I’ve got places to be, boys to do.”

Cat cringed and stood up, adjusting the belt around her wrap dress so that it was
centered under her belly button. “I’m Catriona McDaniel. Roger Aiken couldn’t make
it.”

The tiny woman gave her a curt nod. Her hair was trimmed in a bob and framed her tight
face without a single black strand out of place. Her lips were lined with a shade
of red lipstick professionally selected to complement her olive skin. Cat gulped.
This was not a woman who tolerated messiness of any kind.

“Dr. Suzanne Lin, PhD.” She enunciated each letter of P-H-D with proud emphasis. She
smoothed out her conservative navy pantsuit and sat down behind the desk, gesturing
for Cat to do the same. “I’m Dean of Students here at Fillmore. I’m not sure what
Paige has filled you in on, but there was an incident early this morning.”

Cat didn’t really care what Paige had done. She just wanted to pass on Roger’s vow
of contrition and get the hell out of this trust fund camp they called a college.

“Mr. Aiken sends his apologies and he’s fully prepared to right his daughter’s wrong.”

The dean shook her head and toggled her computer mouse. “I’m afraid it’s a little
more serious than that. You see, Miss …?

“McDaniel.”

“Miss McDaniel, Fillmore looked the other way when Paige set off the fire alarm in
the library during midterms. We shrugged our shoulders when she skydived into the
end zone in the last quarter of the homecoming game. We even let it slide when she
streaked through the biology lab, an act that may or may not have led to Professor
Coleman’s angina attack. But this ... we’ve got vandalism, defacing a city monument,
lewd and lascivious conduct ….” The dean swiveled her computer monitor around to face
their chairs and double-clicked on a photo to enlarge it.

Cat leaned into the screen to make sure the pixels weren’t playing tricks on her.

Nope. That’s what I think it is.

She raised an eyebrow and turned to Paige, whose smile was poorly hidden behind a
perfectly manicured hand. “Tell me you didn’t.”

The dean turned the monitor back around. “I’ve got an entire security staff and a
memory stick of video footage to confirm she did indeed, Miss McDaniel.”

“Do either of you know how difficult it is to remove cyanoacrylate from cast metal?”
Dean Lin addressed this question to Paige, who simply rolled her eyes as the dean
continued. “One thousand of our most esteemed alumni members arrive today for the
unveiling of our refinished hundred-year-old bronze sculpture. But that is not to
be, for there is presently a veritable fruit basket cemented to the groin of Millard
Fillmore.”

Paige burst out laughing and turned to Cat in search of affirmation. When she didn’t
get it, she pressed her lips together and threw her palms in the air. “Okay, first
off it was just Krazy Glue, not some secret formula from the chem geeks’ lab. I’m
sure they’ll come off with a little nail polish remover.”

“
They’ll
?” Cat asked with trepidation.

“One banana and some grapes.” She waggled her eyebrows at Cat. “The student market
didn’t have any kiwis.”

The dean pounded on her desk, refocusing their attention. “This is no joking matter,
Ms. Aiken.”

“Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s pretty funny. McDee, you’ve got a sense of humor,
don’t ya?”

Cat looked back and forth from the dean’s icy glare to Paige’s daring stare. They
were both waiting for her to pick a side. She sighed. “I can understand your outrage,
Dean Lin.”

“Oh jeez! It was just a stupid statue of some crusty old white dude who doesn’t even
matter anymore.”

The dean made choking gasps as she struggled to formulate a response. Cat intercepted
before she could be subjected to a lecture about the thirteenth president and his
contributions to both the U.S. and this particular university. “Okay, okay.” She placed
her palm on Paige’s forearm. “Let’s not get into a whole thing here. Dean Lin, I’m
sure the Aiken family will pay for the statue’s restoration. Won't they, Paige?”

Paige shrugged. It was a glib, careless shrug that made Cat want to slap her. She
peeked over at Dean Lin’s glower and saw she wasn’t the only one.

Cat took a deep breath, weighing her options. She wondered if the fake mustache and
passports were still on the table.

We could drive through the night. Make it to Mexico by tomorrow afternoon. I can work
in Mexico, they’ve got baseball. Benji too, Mexico has plenty of colleges that would
welcome a biology professor.

It’d never work. She couldn’t even find hair extensions that matched her shade of
red, let alone a set of facial handlebars. Plus, Benji didn’t speak Spanish. He was
fluent in Huttese, proficient in Klingon and knew a few Mandarin curses he’d learned
from Firefly, but no Spanish.