The Heart Of The Game (38 page)

Cody crouched and called for a back door slider. Max whiffed and cursed.

“You said no cursing,” Henry protested from his spot at shortstop.

Max ignored him and roughed up the dirt near the plate with the toe of his shoe.

“That’s Kaz’s best pitch,” Cody said from behind the plate. “Even Trout can’t get a piece of it.”

Max squared his shoulders. “Let me see it again.”

Kaz fired one in—off speed, Cody knew, but at Max’s level, a ninety-mile-an-hour pitch and an eighty-mile-an-hour throw wouldn’t look too dissimilar. The only difference was the reaction time it allowed a hitter. And to Max’s credit, the kid got a piece of it. The ball sailed foul, but it was a good hack.

That Kaz could adjust his speed and still throw a damn good pitch showed why the guy was already an All-Star. Every ounce of Cody’s being wanted to catch for Kaz. He was a genius, and a genius that Cody understood. Some pitchers and catchers were like that, like they’d been paired in heaven or something. Kaz didn’t like Thornton. The guy was arrogant and really didn’t fit the team. But even though Thornton had a bad year, usually he had a hot bat.

Cody signaled to Kaz for the next pitch and shook off his troublesome thoughts. Too damned many uncertainties were hanging in the balance of fate.

Max connected solidly. Cody watched Zoe run and catch the ball before it hit the mud. Her graceful athleticism still stunned him. He was still watching her when Kaz’s next pitch bounced off his chest protector.

“Thought you called for a change-up,” Kaz said with a knowing look.

“Stick to pitching,” Cody said. Did everyone in the extended Tavonesi universe know how he felt about Zoe? His mind wasn’t on his catching as Kaz threw a few more pitches. Max connected well. The pitches the boy missed could’ve blown by most minor leaguers. But by the time Alex called out last pitch, Max was flagging. His weight was unbalanced. But he showed promise as a hitter, no doubt about that.

“Let’s go see about those surprises,” Max called out as he removed his batting glove. He and the boys took off, racing toward the castle.

Zoe and Sabrina walked in from the outfield.

“Sure wouldn’t be playing pick-up ball in Montana in December,” Cody said as he stripped off his gear. He looked up at the clear blue sky. “God, I love this place.” The words fell out before he thought. But he didn’t miss the flush in Zoe’s cheeks or the way she shoved her hands into her pockets and turned away. Why the hell California couldn’t captivate her, he didn’t know. But it hadn’t, and he’d just have to live with that fact.

“I’ll help you with the snacks,” Zoe said to Sabrina. “From the look of those boys, I hope you have a lot of food.”

Sabrina looped her arm through Zoe’s. “Loads. Between Kaz and Alex—and let’s not forget our raft of cousins—I’ve learned to pretend I’m feeding an entire team.”

Kaz offered his help and the three of them walked off without looking back.

Cody helped Alex gather the remaining gear and he and Cody started back to the castle. About a hundred yards along, Alex stopped in front of a row of wires and vine. He put down the gear bag and pointed to a wire that had come loose.

“Give me a hand?”

Cody helped him hold tension on a post while Alex tightened a wire and then reclamped an irrigation line at the end of the row of leafless plants.

When they finished, Alex nodded toward a gnarled gray plant at the end of the row.

“That’s the original grape cutting my father brought over from Bordeaux. I keep an eye on it.” He squatted down and felt the dirt below the plant. “Sort of like keeping an eye on his dream.”

Cody hadn’t thought much about the origins of the vineyard or Alex’s role in developing the business. It still astonished Cody that Alex could manage an All-Star career and kept an operation like Trovare going. But as he watched his friend’s face, he knew that more than a love of baseball or a keen sense of business fueled his efforts. Alex was keeping some part of his father alive, rather like Zoe was doing for her mother by opening the gallery. Perhaps the death of a loved one did that, made a person want to keep the memory of those who’d passed on present by means of a tangible project, a project that could be seen and touched and serve as a reminder of the past. A reminder of the way the past was linked to the present and the mysterious power past events could wield to affect the future.

Neither of them said much on the walk back to the castle. They reached the driveway just as Zoe was getting into her car.

“Fed the troops already?” Alex said as she rolled down her window.

Zoe looked at Cody and then Alex. “Sabrina’s still at it. You’d think those boys hadn’t seen food in months.”

Alex leaned an arm on the door of Zoe’s car. “Want to stick around for Mass and stay for supper after? Mother’s just back from Antarctica. We’re hosting Mass in the chapel. The priest’s a bit wonky, but she loves him. It’d be great to have you.”

“No,” Zoe said, looking everywhere but at Cody. “I really can’t. I’m late to help set up for Christmas Eve dinner. Come over after; Dante would love to see you. He said that baseball’s catching on in Australia.”

Cody knew her well enough to hear the effort she was making to keep her voice smooth and measured to hide her emotions. Noticed too that no invitation was extended to him. Evidently he wasn’t the only one who knew they’d better not spend any more time in close quarters.

“Jackie’s in charge of my schedule tonight.” Alex stepped back from the car. “She’ll be back from the lab in an hour. I’ll let you know.”

“Ciao. Thanks for a good day, you two.”

Zoe drove off, waving out the window as she headed down the drive.

“You’re mighty quiet,” Alex said as they mounted the steps to the drawbridge.

“I might never see her again. At least not for a long time.” It felt good to admit the truth.

“Why not come to the party at her place, day after tomorrow. Maybe she’ll change her mind. Women do, you know.”

“She didn’t invite me.”

“
Both
our families are hosting the party; it’s a reunion of sorts. Consider yourself invited.” Alex stopped at the door to the castle. “Gualdieri’s coming, thought you might want to know. I like him as little as you do.”

Was Alex baiting him?

“Yeah, well, Vico Gualdieri has the advantage. He’s a Roman.”

“And that means what?”

“Familiar.”
Damn
. He was in no position to explain what Vico’s real advantage was. That he was a man from her social class, from the city she loved and was departing for sooner than Cody wanted to remember. “Polo guy and all that.”

“He’s also a jerk.” Alex crossed his arms. “Want to tell me what’s been eating you?”

It was only a matter of days before Zoe would be leaving and then everyone would know her plans. Cody caved and told Alex in confidence about her gallery project. And about her return home.
And
about his deep knowing that any move on his part to keep her from what she really loved would be a disaster—if not now, surely later. And though he wished he could engage Alex’s good counsel about his concerns for Zoe’s safety, that would be crossing into territory his dad had specifically warned him against entering.

Alex was quiet, apparently mulling over the information.

“I get it,” he finally said. “That’s tough, man. You can’t change the course of another person’s dream.” He waved an arm up at the looming towers of Trovare. “I learned that lesson early on.” He drew his brows together. “I’m just lucky Jackie loves it here, that her work is here. If it hadn’t been...” He shook his head as a dark, stormy look crossed into his eyes. “I honestly can’t say what might’ve happened. But I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned—you ignore love and you’re playing with fire. It’ll burn you in places that you didn’t even know you had pain receptors.”

“I didn’t say I was in love.”

“You wouldn’t be looking down the road, thinking about Zoe’s long-term well-being, about what makes her truly happy, if you weren’t in love. We wouldn’t have had this whole touchy-feely talk if you weren’t in love.”

Cody nodded. Hearing the truth from Alex drove the pain deeper. “I can’t help wishing she’d wake up and fall in love with California.”

Alex quirked his mouth into a half smile. “Sure you don’t want to stay for Mass? Call on the powers of the heavens?”

“I need to get back to the city. But put in a good word in for me, would you?” Cody fished his car keys out of his jeans pocket. “Thank Sabrina and Kaz and give my best to Jackie.”

“Will do.”

Cody shook Alex’s hand and headed back across the drawbridge.

“Hey, Bond...”

Cody turned back.

“Miracles happen,” Alex said with a wry smile. “
I
know. And isn’t this the season for miracles?”

Cody nodded. And wished he believed in miracles.

Christmas morning should’ve felt like any other morning, but it didn’t. Cody made coffee and toast and stared down at the lights strung on houses and buildings in the city below. Even the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance seemed to have taken on a more festive hue in honor of the day.

There was no escaping that it was Christmas Day and he was alone. For the past five years he’d liked it that way. Wherever he’d been, he’d made a simple breakfast and then gone for a long run. And he always called his sister. He checked his watch. Kat would be in Montana. He decided to call later when he was in a more cheerful mood. He’d already checked his phone five times to see if there was a message from his dad. But maybe even spies took Christmas Day off.

He reached for the fridge and saw the fortunes he’d stuck onto it with magnets. At the time, keeping them seemed like a good idea. Now he stripped them off the fridge, but he couldn’t bring himself to toss them into the trash. And gave up trying to pretend he was fine.

He donned his running gear and drove across the bridge and out to Rodeo Beach. It was still early enough that most people were opening presents and having breakfast with their families. He had the beach to himself except for a dad wearing a Santa hat who was tossing a Frisbee to two small boys down the beach.

The littlest boy missed a toss, and Cody retrieved the Frisbee before the surf carried it away. He tossed it back to the dad.

The dad stared for a moment. Cody prepared himself for what he knew was ahead.

“Hey, aren’t you Cody Bond?”

“Last I checked.”

“Dad! Dad! Take a picture!” the littlest guy shouted. “He’s my
favorite
player.” The boy ran up to Cody. “You’re my favorite player,” he repeated. “And I’m not just sayin’ that.” He turned to the boy with him—a brother, from the resemblance. “Danny, tell him I’m not making it up.” Before the brother could answer, the boy added, “You were
amazing
in game seven.
I
was out in the bleachers. I almost caught your home run!” He looked at his dad. “Tell him we did. It landed only three rows up from us. Next year we’re—”

“You have to forgive him,” the dad in the Santa hat broke in. “He sleeps, eats and dreams baseball.”

Cody squatted down. “What position do you play?”

“Third base, ’cause I’m quick. And I antoocipade.”

“Anticipate,” the dad corrected.

“Anticipate,” the boy mimicked. “I want to be a catcher, just like you, but right now we have three guys who catch and the coach says I’m too small.”

“That’s enough, Buster. Let Mr. Bond get back to his run.” The dad looked over to Cody. “Sorry for the bother.”

“It’s no bother.” And suddenly Cody’s Christmas spirit kicked into gear. “Do you have a pen?” he asked the dad.

The dad patted his jacket pockets and came up with one.

“Don’t suppose you have paper too?”

The guy sorted in his other pocket and came up with a receipt. “I don’t need this,” he said.

“Tell you what,” Cody said to the boys. “Give me your address and I’ll send you some tickets for a game. Good seats.”

If he didn’t make the team, he’d have to beg seats off Kaz or Alex. But heck, it was Christmas, might as well make the kids’ day.

The older brother lit up. “We’ve never sat anywhere but the bleachers. Wait till I tell Mom.”

“Could you send a signed baseball card too?” Buster asked.

“
Buster
.” The dad pulled the little guy back to stand beside him. “Just say thanks for what Mr. Bond is offering.”

Cody was relieved. He couldn’t promise to send a card. If he didn’t make the team, he wouldn’t have one.

“Thank you,” Buster said, looking down at his toes. Then he jerked his head up, a big smile plastered on his face. “Want to play Frisbee with us?” he asked with the guileless innocence of a seven-year-old.

If anyone had told Cody that he’d have one of the best Christmas mornings ever by simply playing Frisbee with a family of total strangers, he wouldn’t have believed them. But he did. And for about half an hour, he only thought about Zoe a hundred times instead of a thousand.

Cody finished shaving and threw on a shirt. Once again the laundry had put too much starch in his dress shirts. But he sure wasn’t going to iron them himself when the man down at the corner could do it for three dollars. His fingers fumbled with the starch-encrusted buttonholes. Then the tie he’d chosen wouldn’t knot properly. He tossed it away and grabbed another. His fingers wouldn’t cooperate, and it took three tries to get the darned thing on straight.

He shouldn’t even be going to the damn party.

Right
.

Like he had the willpower to stay away. Zoe had better get on a jet and fast before his baser instincts kicked in and overrode his good intentions.

He stared out the window of his condo. The storm that had been threatening for the past twelve hours was letting loose, the gray skies a perfect backdrop for his burgeoning piss-poor mood.

Maybe he was a masochist, but he couldn’t resist seeing her one last time.

His phone buzzed. Dad again. They’d texted back and forth since Christmas, but this was the first time he’d caught up with Cody.

“You have a moment?” His dad’s voice sounded solemn.

“You know it.”

“Did you have a good holiday?”

“Good enough.” Surely he hadn’t called to discuss holidays.

“My first Christmas with your mother in six years.”

“I heard. That’s great, Dad.”

“I’ll cut to the meat of it.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m headed out shortly. To the Tavonesis’.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat. “I would’ve called sooner, but my guys in Langley were off for a couple days before Christmas. We tracked your credit card hacker. You were right to suspect Vico Gualdieri: the information was buried and the tracks well covered, but he was behind the hack. He’s a clever guy, but he can’t know the level of intelligence he’s up against. It was a stupid move on his part, easily traced by people who know what they’re doing.” He was silent a moment before he said, “You must’ve done something to piss him off for him to take a risk like that. But that’s a classic foible of these young cybercriminals. They’ve been wined and dined and chased after by governments and corporations and they start to think they’re invincible.” He paused. “I take it he doesn’t like your interest in Zoe?”

“Maybe not.”

His dad was a perceptive man; it was likely all successful agents were. That Vico would go to such ends just to take a swipe at Cody seemed ludicrous. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of a snake like Vico having designs on Zoe. And the idea of hackers having the kind of power his dad described intensified the burn.

“In any case, Vico Gualdieri is just one of many hackers targeted in a high-clearance investigation involving fund siphoning from international banks. He and the others being investigated are suspected of stealing digital certificates, of using them to hijack data and bend it to their purposes. Modern-day bank robbery, really. From the info we have, it’s not clear who’s at the top of the bank-hacking operation, but Mafia families could be involved. Maybe the Gualdieris. But they aren’t likely in the lead.”

He paused and Cody knew he was sorting and editing, presenting only the information he was at liberty to tell him.

“I suspect that the bank hacks aren’t at the heart of this operation. And that Vico’s part of a nasty puzzle far more complex and dangerous than he may know. A puzzle that involves international arms deals and funding for terrorists.”

Cody heard his dad take in a breath. And realized he’d been holding his own. He made himself breathe as he listened.

“Some of the data leads to Santino Tavonesi, Cody. It’s puzzling, but... my guys suspect Santino is an undercover agent. And so do I.”

He cleared his throat, a sound Cody remembered from his childhood. Instructions usually followed.

“I don’t have to tell you to keep that information to yourself—no matter the circumstances?”

“Got it,” Cody replied.

“If the Gualdieris are part of an international arms-dealing ring, this could get ugly really fast. If Santino’s involved and he’s fearful that his cover could be blown, that explains why he moved the family, at least those he could, out of harm’s way.”

Cody’s mind raced. “I have to keep her from going to Rome.”

“Maybe, maybe not. If there isn’t Mafia involvement, she should be okay. Maybe even Santino doesn’t know who’s behind all this yet. But
delaying
Zoe wouldn’t hurt—at least until this wasp nest gets smoked out.”

“I think I can handle a delay. How long?”

“Four, maybe five, days. It looks like the sting to round up key operatives is planned for right after the first of the year.”

Cody could tell that his dad knew way more than he was revealing. But he also knew his dad had put himself on the line. And he’d trusted Cody.

“This cost you, Dad. Calling in favors.”

“Worth it, son. Keep this under wraps. And keep me informed.” His dad again inhaled a long breath. “And, Cody?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go doing anything too heroic. Or rash. There are professionals involved, a lot of them. And don’t tip off Gualdieri. I can’t tell you why, but just don’t.”

Such words in the past would’ve inflamed him. But now, now that he knew what could be on the line—the possible dangers—and how vast the team of people making an effort to put things right was, he understood.

“Right. I’ll call you when I get home.”

Cody palmed his phone and then shoved it into the pocket of his sport coat. The same inner voice that told him what a hitter would be looking for at the plate, that told him what pitch to call for from the mound—the voice he trusted—nagged at him now, telling him to act, but act intelligently. Whatever it took, he’d keep Zoe from returning to Rome.

He grabbed his rain jacket and raced out the door. He might not be free to make Zoe a permanent part of his life, but he sure as hell could make sure she was safe.