OBSESSION (The Bening Files (Novella) Book 4)

by Trautmiller, Rachel

  Like Beth. Robinson was right. Uttering her name didn’t mean anything one way or the other.

  Amanda glanced out the office’s picture window. A few cars passed down Carmichael Avenue. The redhead still had the magazine, but the blonde was nowhere in sight.

  Had she left? Amanda didn’t see anyone walking the street directly in front of the clinic. Hadn’t heard the chime of the front door.

  The clack of plastic on plastic brought her attention back to the receptionist. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m not—”

  A clipboard appeared on the counter as exasperation filled the other woman’s face. “Fill out the forms.”

  Amanda shoved them to the side and produced her badge. “I’m actually with Char-Meck PD. I’d like to know if you’ve seen these women.”

  The receptionist pulled the cheater glasses off the bridge of her nose and pointed them in Amanda’s direction. “Like I told the other cop that was in here, I can’t give out that information.”

  Davis? “Other cop? Short blonde girl with her hair in a tight ponytail?”

  The woman filing paused, tilted her head as if thinking, her ponytail moving in the same direction. Then she resumed.

  The receptionist let out a grunt and went back to her computer screen. “We’re a clinic that prides itself on keeping our patients’ medical records private. You want information, get a subpoena.”

  She placed the pictures on the counter anyway. The other woman’s eyes passed over all three in rapid succession.

  “Helen?” A petite woman with dark hair and eyes, wearing the same colored scrubs as the receptionist, wandered up to the desk behind Helen. She closed the chart in her hands. “Is something wrong?”

  “This detective wants private information, Dr. Dillon.”

  The woman’s eyes scanned Amanda and then lit on the waiting room. “Come on back.” She moved to the door that separated the reception area and what lay beyond, then opened it and waited as Amanda passed through. She offered a hand. “I’m Dr. Kate Dillon. And you are?”

  Why did that name ring a bell? “Detective Nettles.” She shook the outstretched hand. Tried to catch another glimpse of the woman beyond the front desk. A wall blocked her view. “I’m not here for anything other than a few questions about a possible patient.”

  “Come on. We can use my office.” She started down the hall. “Although, Helen is correct. We don’t give out personal information without the proper documentation.”

  Amanda followed her past three empty and sterile-looking exam rooms and a supply closet before coming to the end of the hall and an office that held two desks, an array of paperwork and two separate computers.

  A blond-haired man hunched over the one on the far wall, his back to their entrance. “Dr. Borian and I have been practicing here for the last ten years. Seth, this is Detective Nettles.”

  “Licensing and whatnot is up there.” His voice was deep, with a slight English lilt, and held hints of annoyance. He pointed to the wall on his left, which held various certificates and photographs. Some of him and some of Dr. Dillon doing leisurely activities. Hunting. A large gathering. An old graduation photo.

  He didn’t look away from his computer screen. “We are up to date on everything and you’ll find we stay abreast of both state and federal legislation changes.”

  Kate Dillon rounded the other desk. Eyed her colleague. “She’s here for information on a patient.”

  “Two of them, actually. Nora Flemming and Erin McCormick. Either of those women ring a bell?”

  His fingers paused on the keyboard. A grievous sigh came from somewhere deep. “I can’t stop what I’m doing every five seconds because some cop has a wild goose they’re chasing.” He stood and turned. Adjusted wire-rimmed glasses that made his stark green eyes stand out. Then he straightened his lab coat over a dark gray dress shirt and matching slacks. “We counsel a wide array of women and it doesn’t all revolve around abortion services. And unless you’re here to accuse me of some crime, I’ve got patients to tend to.” He shot a glare in Dr. Dillon’s direction before brushing past them both. The door hit the jamb in a jolt that shook the walls and sent a picture frame crashing to the floor at Amanda’s feet.

  She picked it up. The image of a familiar little boy caught her eye. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Next to him stood Rupert Dillon and the other woman in the room, smiling as if they were one big, happy family.

  Huh.

  “My son. When he was three.” Dr. Dillon stepped around the desk and grabbed the frame. “I don’t see him as often as I’d like. My ex-husband doesn’t exactly approve of what I do. As if the fact that he creates mind-numbing video games all day long is any better.” She placed the picture back in its spot on the wall.

  “Doesn't sound like there’s any love lost there. Yet you keep a framed family photograph in your office.” As if she held the idea of a former lifestyle dear.

  An ironic chuckle left her mouth. “Like I said, I don’t get to see him often, leaving me little opportunity to get a new picture. Believe me, I’m the last person with any illusions about where we stand. Rupert’s moved on. So have I.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “He doesn’t understand the importance here. The scared girls that come in because they’ve been raped, or the thirty-year-old whose doctor told her this fifth pregnancy would likely kill her. Or the teens who are too young to have sex and too afraid to talk to their parents. We try to be a safe harbor where they can get the information they need and make an informed decision.”

  “Two of your possible patients are dead.”

  Her face blanched. “If that’s the case, I’m unaware of it. We monitor every woman closely.”

  “And your colleague—”

  The phone on her desk let out a shrill peal. She picked it up and listened. “I understand. Put the patient in room three. I’ll be there in a minute.” Then she hung up. Took a deep breath. “Seth hates being bothered. Anything that takes him away from his patients or his research is something he doesn’t tolerate well. Leave the names of the women you’re looking for with Helen. If we’ve seen them, I’ll look into their charts and get back to you.”

  And then she ushered Amanda back to the reception area. Helen continued working on her computer. She presented the group of photos when Amanda came close. “You left these. The last one looks a little old to be having children.”

  “So, you’ve seen her?”

  “That woman?” She pointed out the window.

  Amanda turned. Caught sight of the flowery kimono-type dress her mother loved wearing, covered by a red rain jacket. She veered from the sidewalk into oncoming traffic as if she were taking a lazy stroll in a field.

  Amanda’s heart jumped into her throat as a gray sedan and a black Corolla headed toward her mom, from opposite directions. The older woman fiddled with something in her hands, her gaze jumping from whatever it was to a point across the street.

  Not to the soon-to-be-intersecting vehicles now laying on horns.

  The pictures fell from Amanda’s hands to the floor as she ran to the exit in time to witness a short blonde woman headed in Eileen’s direction.

  Davis.

  Directly behind her, a dark-haired man in a pressed suit closed the distance. He yanked the woman backward and toward the sidewalk, where she stumbled and landed on her rear.

  Davis turned her green eyes on Amanda. She wiped wetness from her face and looked away.

  The squeal of tires against wet pavement filled the air. The gray sedan swerved to miss her mom. It headed toward the buildings on the opposite side of the road. A gush of water jumped upward. Sprayed toward all three people standing.

  Water bullets smacked Amanda’s face. Chilled her as if they were more than the wet substance. Her mom didn’t move, just stared at the vehicle barreling closer.

  As if welcoming her own death.

  “Mom!” Oh, God. Muscle-seizing panic zipped through her system.

  The man i
n front of her picked up speed. He grabbed the older woman’s arm and launched her toward Amanda, seconds before the car whizzed past. The back of her mom’s head connected with her chin. Jarred Amanda’s teeth together.

  Colorlessness filled her vision. Her right elbow proceeded her body to the pavement. A spark of pain burst through her system, stole her breath.

  Breaking glass crinkled in the air. Her mother’s savior hit the windshield with a sickening thud. The vehicle lurched to a stop, just missing the first car. He slid to the asphalt like an omelet on Teflon, then smacked into the door of the sedan before landing in a forming rain puddle. Unnatural stillness emanated around them.

  Minus the rapid thud of Amanda’s heart. Oh, no. No. This was another one of those nightmares. She’d wake up next to Robinson. He’d tell her to lay off the caffeine.

  Her mom got to her feet. “We have to help that young man.”

  A crude sentence came from behind Amanda.

  “You guys good?” Davis didn’t wait for an answer, but headed toward the scene.

  Eileen Nettles moved along with her. Amanda stood, followed suit. She dabbed a finger to her chin, brought back a spot of blood.

  “Come on.” Davis knelt near the man and placed two fingers to his neck. A steady flow of blood ran around a mangled right eye. His left arm was trapped behind his body, the right lying haphazardly against the hard surface. The suit on his tall frame was torn in several places.

  The buzz of people around them hung in the air. A siren sounded in the distance. And suddenly this scene was replaced by another swirling in her mind. Rain by sunshine. City by dense trees. The crowd of people by just three. Amanda. Paige. Robinson and his blood. Everywhere.

  Her stomach surged upward. She sucked in a breath, focused on the scene in front of her.

  You’re not afraid.

  Davis moved shaky hands, almost as if unsure what to do. She wedged herself between the cars, at his back. “Hang in there, Rupert.”

  What? Amanda stepped closer and knelt beside him, opposite her partner. Beneath the blood and cuts and the road rash across his left cheek, she could barely recognize Jordan’s pain-in-the-butt half brother. What was he doing down here? And today of all days? “You know him?”

  “Yes.”

  She straightened. “How?”

  “Don’t move him.” Eileen Nettles positioned herself at his head. Placed her fingers to his neck and moved a ripped portion of his suit back from his shoulder. An oozing gash supplied a fresh well of blood. Eileen grabbed Davis’ hand and pressed it to the area. Then the older woman tore her jacket from her body and used it to shield him. “Hold firm pressure there. He’s got a pulse and is breathing. Amanda, help me keep his top half stable.” She looked up, her eyes clear. “He’s going to be disoriented if he stirs before the paramedics get here.”

  Whoa. “Mom?” It had been six months since the older woman had recognized her. At first, Amanda had written down lists of things she wanted to say, ask and share with the woman who’d taught her about honesty, bravery and love. Now that the moment was here, all she wanted to do was hug her. Hold on until all the darkness faded away.

  A pinch socked her between the eyes. Had her sucking in another slow breath. For whatever reason, Rupert had chosen to play hero. And Amanda was grateful. Owed him more than she could ever repay.

  “Don’t worry about the facial bleeding. It always looks bad, honey.”

  And sometimes it was just bad.

  “Mom.” Her voice carried a warble.

  She looked up, her eyes still clear and the AD fog at bay. How long would that last? Was it the result of the medication she’d been given? Was all of this the side effect of it? The random escapes. The knife. The dead women. Would she suddenly slip away and hurt Rupert?

  The crowd around them thickened.

  “Mom, maybe you should let Detective Davis switch spots with you.”

  The older woman shook her head. “No, honey, Vi needs to call Jordan.”

  Vi?

  As if she could hear Amanda’s thoughts, Davis’ gaze found her before skittering away. “Maybe Amanda’s right. I should—”

  “Call him. He’s your brother.”

  “What?” Amanda stood, causing a few people to step back. A sick swirl started in her gut. “Mom, how do you know…Vi?”

  A gentle smile curved the older woman’s mouth as if she needed to explain something to the much younger version of Amanda. Her mom patted Davis’ cheek. “I remember every face.”

  Amanda hadn’t been that oblivious. There was no way. Her heart started a whole body pound. And Robinson would have mentioned those details. He wouldn’t have left her in the dark. Except, some of those records weren’t accessible. Firsthand accounts were all they had.

  For some reason her memories seemed faulty and rose colored—Sandra’s words from nearly two years ago popped into her head—at best.

  “Vi is one of the many children your father and I had the pleasure to help.”

  “How?” The word barged through clenched teeth. It shouldn’t matter. She knew that.

  “Whenever we were at capacity at the house, we’d sometimes stop at the group home and spend some one-on-one time with the children. Show them a little love so they didn’t feel alone. Unwanted. Some of those children came from abusive homes. They were skittish, angry and distrustful. And some of them were just waiting out a situation in which their parents had made a poor choice. Vi was always the littlest girl with cute blonde hair and an imaginary friend. The staff worried about it, but I figured anything that helped with the anxiety dis—”

  “Okay.” Davis shifted.

  “I’ve known Vi since the day she was born. Rescued her from—”

  “Thank you.” Davis sent Amanda a heated glare. Held it. “Your mom visited the home. End of story. Can we move on now, Nettles? Or are you gonna lose your head over nothing?”

  Was Robinson right? “Depends on your definition of the word.”

  “You want an English lesson, Nettles?”

  “Why’d you cuff Dexter?”

  Something dark flitted across her face. She looked away. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him.”

  Before Amanda could sort through the confusion rolling through her, a shape emerged from the opposite end of the road. The movements were jerky as the person approached. A hoodie covered a lanky frame, an arm pressed to the left side of an abdomen. Darkness colored the area and spread across delicate fingers. The rain mixed with the reddish solution. Blonde hair poked from the sweatshirt. It fell backward as the figure—a woman—looked up. Her features were stark white. Her mouth moved without sound.

  Amanda rushed toward her as she began to fall. Caught her seconds before her head would have met unforgiving asphalt. The dark splotch extended around a swollen abdomen.

  A bloody hand closed around Amanda’s jacket. Dark, wide eyes latched on to her. “She promised… Save my baby.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAVIS HAD DONE something to Dexter. Robinson was sure of it. Something beyond cuffing him to an inanimate object in Robinson’s foyer. That much was obvious in the surly attitude his childhood friend sported, unlike anything he’d witnessed from the normally calm and collected chaplain before.

  “The lab was able to recover two latent prints from the other bowie knife Amanda found, along with Erin McCormick’s DNA.” Jordan’s voice was grim on the other side of the phone. “Matched Eileen’s prints.”

  The care center had no record of her leaving the facility that day. “And the other?”

  “I’m having the lab retest the sample.”

  “Why?” Robinson glanced inside Paige’s hospital room as he passed by. The teen doodled in the journal Dexter had brought up from the gift shop when he’d come—sans handcuffs.

  He hadn’t said anything about it. Robinson didn’t plan to mention it. Yet.

  “It belongs to Juliana Knight.”

  “What?” Robinson’s voice carried across th
e hall. A few nurses glanced in his direction. He moved away from Paige’s room. “Please tell me Dexter’s sister is not mixed up in all of this somehow.”

  The silence on the other end of the line said more than words. Juliana ran Knight’s Rescue Mission. Last he’d heard, she’d helped over five hundred homeless people rejoin society, had counseled unaccounted-for troubled teens and volunteered at local women’s shelters.

  This picture was wrong. In more ways than one.

  There was an explanation. There had to be. “Her prints weren’t on the second knife, correct?”

  “None that we found.”

  Okay. He paced past the door again. Had to think. “You said one of Erin McCormick’s friends knew she was expecting and thinking about terminating the pregnancy, correct?”

  “Yes, but the interesting part is that neither girl’s parents knew. And they were both in the second trimester with slender builds.”

  Not an easy condition to hide.

  “Both sets of parents say they communicated regularly via phone and in person. So tell me how Erin and Nora ended up dead and in rags?” That was the opposite of what Knight’s Rescue Mission did. Tenfold.

  “If Amanda can get information on if either woman was seen or not, then we’ll have more than hearsay to go on.”

  And a better look at a motive for their possible serial killer.

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “Not yet.” She’d been gone almost two hours. The radio silence wasn’t atypical, but a niggling sense of something—danger, anxiety, foreboding—had been prickling the back of his neck for the better part of that time. “Why?”

  “Word is, this morning, Sergeant Brink stopped by the care center where Eileen stays to collect the clothing she wore the day Nora Flemming was found. She wasn’t there. It sounds like the staff was in a bit of a panic.”