Aftermath

by Rachel Trautmiller

  All at once.

  “I’d equate it to the polar bear plunge. One minute you’re warm and dry, the next you’re freezing and pretty sure death has your number.”

  He slid the ring off and handed it to her, but didn’t release it. His eyes met hers, searching in signature Robinson fashion. With his whole being. “Just to be clear, the freezing part is after the complete mayhem at the ceremony, right?”

  More like the minute Lilly had spoken. And everything in between then and now.

  As if he knew the direction of her thoughts, he zeroed in on her finger and unwrapped the floss from it.

  She flexed it, full blood flow coursing through the phalange for the first time all day. “I got out of the water, but I’m still shivering.” The words jumped from her mouth, a little freeing. She unclasped the necklace Ariana had given her, took the ring from him and slipped it along the chain. Then resituated it at her neck and found herself trapped in his gaze.

  She’d forgotten how easy he was to talk to. How he listened with every fiber of himself. Attempted to hear the non-verbal and see to the heart. “There’s not a blanket big enough to warm me up.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROBINSON STEPPED BACK from Amanda’s side. Crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to dive into treacherous waters without first zipping his life vest all the way.

  It was tempting. But racing after a boat that appeared feet out of sight, only to find it was closer to land than the dark sea, where he resided, was futile.

  “That’s a terrible analogy. How am I supposed to come out the victor? If I stay in the water with you, I’m a jerk, because it’s freezing. And we’ll die. And if I coax you out and manage to warm you up—”

  “You’d be a hero.” She flexed her left hand some more. Rubbed the finger, a small smirk appearing on her lips. She leaned closer and whispered, “But you retired, remember? Seemed a little premature, but...” One shoulder lifted in a who-am-I-to-point-out-the-obvious shrug. She straightened.

  “Sounds like something my inner jerk would say.” Man, he loved seeing her with a teasing light in her eyes. With sass. Heck, he loved seeing her at all.

  He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m more inclined to help a beautiful woman in need.”

  The sound of her laughter floated around him, magical, like the downward play of snowflakes. Made him forget they stood outside of a serious crime scene—almost.

  The smile on Amanda’s face hadn’t dimmed. “Sure you are. You’ll have to reapply, buddy. There’s a character test this time around. Seems the last guy couldn’t handle freezing water.”

  He’d do more than deal with frigid temps while treading water. He’d point out the bridge that would help them avoid death. And keep them dry. He’d argue the finer points if he had to. “What’s with Unlikeable-Sam? And why do I feel the need to yank Ariana from her school?”

  Her eyes leveled on him, clear and sure. “Jordan, McKenna and I grew up with him. I don’t know about now, but back then he was the kind of guy you didn’t want your daughter interested in. Certainly not dating.”

  “If you find a man who wants their little girl dating anyone, let me know.” Last year, he’d barely been able to deal with Ariana having a mild crush on a boy in her class.

  Amanda pulled her lips to one side, in a smirk. “True, but that doesn’t stop naive girls from stupid crushes. And putting themselves in situations that have the potential to shape the rest of their lives, with boys who have about as much a concept of what that means as they do.”

  He braced both hands on the doorjamb, above his head and leaned toward her. “Coming from experience?”

  A strained laugh came from her mouth. “No. Awkwardness was my saving grace, there, and a curse all at once.”

  He straightened. “Meaning?”

  “I had a small, misguided crush on him. It wasn’t a secret. Most girls that age don’t see past the facade to the truth. And boys like him know it and exploit it to get what they want.”

  He’d been a stupid kid once. Seen it happen from a distance. Never taken part in an affair with an unwilling partner, to any degree.

  Were Sam’s actions, tonight, the replay of high school drama? “Good thing your taste in the opposite sex has improved over the years.”

  One dark eyebrow rose on her forehead. “Same to you, buddy.”

  “Got me, there.” He pushed off the vehicle. “So, Sam.”

  “There was a rumor junior year about him and a younger teacher. This particular woman has a child about the right age. Nothing ever became of it, however, so it’s possible it was exactly that. And people can change. Grow up.”

  He crossed his arms. Tonight hadn’t been an indication of it. Not from his perspective. “Next time try it with a little feeling. With the way both you and Jordan gave him the cold shoulder and McKenna’s stoically polite introduction, I’m not buying it.”

  “Jordan has never liked Sam.”

  That was good enough for Robinson. For Jordan—the guy who got along with most everyone, given enough time—to carry a grudge that long meant more than any words. “What did he do to McKenna?”

  “Long story, short. Sam showed up, drunk, to pick her up for their prom. Had a hotel room waiting. Probably with premade drinks laced with some type of drug.”

  Even though his protective Amanda instincts had been on alert long before Sam had shown up, his gut had been right on target about the other man. “I’m with Jordan, then.”

  “Her parents called his parents. They gave him the equivalent of a slap on the wrist. No one ever really found out about it, because the Richardson’s kept it quiet.”

  “Gee, I wonder why? Sounds like a good butt-whooping would have gone a long way. Some community service.” Something that let a person—a seventeen-year-old male know he couldn’t walk around doing whatever he pleased and get away with it.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Moore aren’t the type to stir the pot as long as their children are safe. Had they ever known about the hotel, I’d have a much different story to tell.”

  “What?” The question floated on the breeze.

  She turned toward him, sideways in the seat now. One leg tucked under her body. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t say a word. Jordan and McKenna don’t know. And there’s no reason to tell them.”

  “So, how did you find out?” Even as he asked the question, he knew. This was Amanda. The woman who didn’t know how to stop digging for the answers to any question. Let alone one that encompassed her friends.

  As if realizing she was touching him, she dropped her hand. Rubbed it over her forehead. “McKenna’s uncle enlightened me on the topic of Sam Richardson. He wasn’t satisfied with the meager way the parents handled the situation, so he checked out the details. Found out about the hotel. Put the fear of God into Sam.”

  Robinson could only imagine.

  “Sam never said two words to McKenna or I, senior year. No loss for either of us.”

  “Sounds like he moved on to other conquests. The question remains. Has he changed? Because he’s around kids all day. Young girls who are too innocent to know when a man is manipulating them. Boys who are impressionable and thirsty for any ideas on how to impress the girls.”

  Something dark glittered in her eyes. “If he hasn’t, you know I’ll find out.”

  Robinson planned to be right alongside her, finding those details. “I’m sure you will.” The wind blew a strand of hair near the edge of her lips.

  He resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. To find any excuse to touch her for longer than an accidental brush.

  “I want to go through Ariana’s locker on Monday. And I plan to pay Sam a visit. See how he interacts with his class.”

  “You’re not going to find anything outright. And why Ariana’s locker?”

  “Something’s happening at school.” Amanda tugged the strand from her mouth. “When I asked her why she skipped class in the first place, she clammed up. This after being pretty tell-all about h
er ordeal.”

  It was unlike his happy-go-lucky niece, who had been upbeat and upfront about her feelings, and everything else, even while Lilly had been in the hospital. “How much more worried should I be? Are we talking normal teenage drama or something worse?”

  A sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Has she mentioned anything?”

  “No.” But he’d been a little preoccupied by Amanda’s absence as of late. When was the last time Ariana had asked to sleep over at a friend’s house? Talked on the phone for hours or giggled about boys? He’d shrugged it off as the makings of a young girl trying to help her mother. What if it were something worse?

  And he’d missed it.

  Overlooked all the things he told others to watch for.

  Amanda’s fingertips brushed the back of his hand before her entire palm rested there, her fingers settling between his thumb and forefinger. And like a big schmuck, he could have held it for the rest of his life and been happy.

  “I know I don’t have any say, but you can’t send her back to school. Even without whatever is going on, it’s too risky. There’s only two weeks left anyway. And neither of us want to add her to the list of girls we are trying to find. She can’t hide out forever, but—”

  He placed the middle and forefinger, of his free hand, over her lips. A puff of warm air hit his digits. Those amber-colored eyes locked on him, full of anxiety and determination. And love. All aimed at a thirteen-year-old girl he considered more a daughter than niece.

  Her love for others always astounded him. Left him in a humbling place where he knew he’d never measure up to that kind of passion.

  Could never replicate it. Only drink it in and watch her in action. Keep her safe from people who thought she was an easy target because of it.

  If she’d let him.

  “You’re right. She can’t hide out forever, but she’s not stepping foot in that school, or out of my sight, until we get to the bottom of this. I’m not going to risk her life.”

  “Any chance she had something with her address on it, in her backpack?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t have a solid plan of action, just enough sense to know they couldn’t sit at his apartment wondering when these guys might catch up with them. If it were only him, that’d be another story.

  “We’ve got to find those girls, Robbie. There’s more than those three. It’s too perfect. Cold...”

  She stilled for half a beat and then scrambled out of the car, forcing him to move out of the way or end up with Amanda in his arms.

  A nice thought. Better reality.

  The brilliant light in her eyes could have lit up a path like a new set of headlights. “What if our unsub put her on ice?”

  He kept pace with her, her excitement fueling him. “After he killed her?”

  The beautiful head shook back and forth. “No. Beforehand. Anything below ninety-five degrees is hypothermic. Hospitals use targeted temperature management in cardiac and neurological patients. Lowers the risk of heart and brain damage. Increases blood flow between ninety-five and ninety-one.

  “Body temperature below ninety starts to harden everything. Heart starts to slow. Possible coma, heart arrhythmias. Death. My mom used to tell me stories about people who’d survived it.”

  “Let me guess, a little information that might keep you, and whatever foster kid living with you, safe?”

  She elbowed him as they approached the scene. “One little girl, in particular, always stayed with me. She wandered out in the middle of the night in forty below temps. They found her the next morning, by the front steps. Core temp of fifty-seven. She survived.”

  “Bet she didn’t have a needle through her heart.” He tossed her a pair of gloves. “What’s the point of doing that to someone you plan to kill anyway?”

  “Punishment. Torture. A sick game. If this isn’t his first victim—”

  “We can’t assume either way.”

  “Right, but there’s a reason why he put her here. This moment. This time.” Amanda neared the techs as they gathered up the young girl, in a body bag meant to preserve evidence. Already had her gloves on. She bent near the girl’s face and lifted an eyelid. Then she brought her hand back and rubbed her forefinger and thumb together. “It’s not glue. It’s ice. And I’ll bet we find the composition of tears in this mix.”

  And, if not for the needle piercing her heart, they could have had a shot at saving her. A giant flag waved in the air, louder than the words etched across the girl’s sternum.

  You’re too late. Try again.

  ___

  Journal Entry #112

  Age: 14

  THERE’S A LARGE Oak in our yard. It holds a double-seated swing with rusty chains that have dug their place inside the old bark. Never to be untangled.

  It sits on the back of my mom’s property. In a forgotten little spot, behind the garage. Tonight, the full moon illuminates the wooden slats of the seat as if knowing I’d need a place of comfort.

  A place to shed worthless tears, in private. Away from the disproving looks of my mother. The ones that say the salty mixture is uncalled for in every circumstance. Not befitting a Porterville. Too much weakness. A disgraceful lack of pride. It ignites anger and begets no comfort.

  If she only realized how called for they were. If she put herself in my shoes for even a second, or remembered I am her flesh and blood, she might cry, too.

  Wishful thinking on my part.

  Porterville’s do not cry. They do not simper about with their hearts on their sleeve. They are always right. Always know what’s best. They certainly do not daydream, but set their sight on a goal and achieve.

  I am not a Porterville. I can’t be. The other half of my genes must be dominant, whoever the faceless man is. I’ve long since given up hoping to learn his name. My mother either doesn’t remember him or never intends to tell me. As if the facts can harm her or me, somehow.

  It is a name with little impact on my future.

  The one I see much differently than she does. In it, fancy dinner parties are about the company around the table. Not the price of the China on its surface. Nor the fake cheers for good health and will.

  Instead of a centuries-old table, I envision a campfire. Marshmallows and graham crackers and chocolate. We wouldn’t need an overly priced roasting tool or a live-in maid to clean up behind us, all while cursing our existence. We could use old logs for seats. The sky for our tent. Tattered blankets for cushion. And we’d talk. Really talk.

  About normal things.

  Like first love. And college without preamble. Promise to never get old and remember the feeling forever. And ask questions that don’t come with stuffy answers. Or reproving looks.

  So, when Dana suggested a weekend for exactly that, I jumped at the chance. Life is short. We did all those things and more. And it was everything I’d dreamed. We shared secrets—ones I’ve never told a soul. We laughed. And danced. Burnt more marshmallows than we ate.

  And then Larry Catsky showed up, police gear and all. As if my mother had sent him after us, in an effort to appear caring. He put us in handcuffs like criminals. Started shouting about trespassing on private property. Shoved us into his police cruiser.

  Dana started crying. Mumbled something about Mr. and Mrs. Carter being so mad they’d do something drastic.

  I didn’t believe it. Not after all the time I’d spent with them. Their home was cozy, quiet and efficient without being grand. They smiled and asked questions while waiting for real answers. Were concerned about homework and projects and grades. They kissed each other goodnight.

  This wasn’t my first time in the back of this particular cruiser. I could move across the ocean, and I doubt it would be my last. I tried to comfort my friend. Dana’s parents would never do more than give a good scolding. Never.

  I’d been so sure.

  It’s been seven days. I haven’t seen Dana since.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU S
URE ABOUT this, A.J.?”

  Beside Amanda, Robinson shifted his sleeping niece in his arms. Waited for her to open the door to her apartment as if he weren’t holding a full-blown, dead-to-the-world teenager.

  Behind them, Lilly hadn’t said a word. Carried a bag with her book and notebook inside. And pain medication for Ariana. A blank look rested on her face, as if she weren’t really in this moment, but another.

  Nothing new, there.

  This had the potential to get ugly. Even a moron would see the disaster and back away with slow, precise steps.

  “We could always—”

  Amanda sent a glare in Robinson’s direction. Blamed the surge of irritation sliding through her system on the late—or early, depending on how she looked at it—hour. “If I wasn’t sure, I never would have agreed to have you all stay here. Besides, this was your idea, pal. No backing out now.”

  He shifted again. Pressed his lips together as if she’d given him an answer he didn’t like. And then he flicked a discreet glance back at his sister.

  There’d been no real discussion. One minute they were checking Mr. and Mrs. Rose into a nearby hotel and getting the all clear from his agents stationed at the hospital, the next picking up Ariana and Lilly. Then pulling into her apartment complex. He’d driven, taken over in usual Robinson fashion. And she’d been too emotionally drained from the morgue visit to argue.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. “This makes the most sense. I’ve got AtEase operational.”

  And even if this crew of deranged men had gotten a hold of Ariana’s address—a high probability due to the contents of her backpack—they wouldn’t have any idea where Amanda lived. She’d decreased her visibility dramatically over the last eighteen months.

  “Don’t get complacent, A.J. Just because you have a high-tech monitoring deterrent doesn’t mean nothing can come through that front door.”