“Yeah.” His voice was deeper than she remembered and carried the weight of sleepiness. The slight lisp that came from a piece of wire trapping upper and lower jaws together, was noticeable in certain letters. His eyes were closing. “Your cold fingers. Always like ice.”
They were? She shook her head. They’d met once. In all the faces he must see on a daily basis, she doubted hers had stuck long. What else had he lost during his battle for survival?
“Jaw hurts.”
“It’s broken. And wired shut. It’s going to be painful.” She was using that mom voice again. Couldn’t seem to get away from it.
“Whole body’s on fire.”
How much detail did she give, here? She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a mess right now. You probably broke your arm, on purpose, to get a little sympathy from the nurses around here.”
His lips turned upward, for half a second, before a grimace took over. “That explains why it feels like it’s in a vice grip.” The words came out garbled and run together. “You get the note I sent?” His hand tightened on hers, pinching her fingers against the edge of his cast.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t so delirious. “I did.” What else was she supposed to say?
“And no response? I worked…really hard on that letter. Used Hooked on Phonics and everything.”
How high was his morphine pump?
A hiss of noise came from his lips. His body jerked, his eyes flicking back open. “Your daughter.”
The panic there jumped right from his entire body to hers, in one sick roll. “Ariana?”
“She’s okay, Jonas.” Her brother’s voice hit her ears as he slid up beside her. “Led us, and the paramedics, right to you.”
Amanda appeared on the opposite side of the bed, a furrowed brow marring her forehead.
Jonas’ entire body relaxed. Even the grip holding Lilly captive. His eyes closed. “Brave girl.”
Lilly tucked both hands into her pockets. Willed the tingling in the hand he’d held, to cease.
Brave described her daughter to the letter. So much like Jeff. The thought hit her like a solid punch to the sternum. She should go. Get back to that fearless daughter of hers. Ask if she could borrow some backbone.
“You remember how you came to be near that warehouse, Jonas?” Her brother’s voice was soft, the urgency still unmistakable.
The other man shook his head, but didn’t open his eyes. “I was ambushed. Two or three men. Should’ve seen it coming. Let my guard down.”
“Why were you there?”
Jonas’ eyes snapped opened, then. Both flicking to his surroundings as much as the swelling allowed. That fear was back, this time heavy and poignant. Not the kind that came from monsters under the bed or robbers in your house. But from the honest to God blankness that came with an injury to head.
The blackout-drunk-type of nothing, in a chunk of time that should be filled with something. Thoughts of might be and could have would swirl. The if-I-can’t-remember-anything-could-have-happened. Maybe one day that chunk of time would hop back inside her skull, but chances were it never would.
And Jonas might be in the same boat.
Panic and pressure would only make the hope of remembering worse. It came with a healthy dose of anxiety and guilt. “It’s okay if you can’t remember right now.” She whispered.
Jonas’ gaze flicked to her, again. As if she’d been caught streaking through a busy intersection, those brown eyes trapped her. Made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Nice to see you.” His words were slow. Purposeful. “On that side of the bed, Lilly. Versus this one.” His free hand lifted toward his face, but fell back to the bed before he could complete the motion. “I gotta admit, you made it look easier than it is.”
I know you’re hurting... I am so sorry this wasn’t quicker. She’d assumed he’d meant the diary. Not... “What is he talking about?”
Baker Jackson shot Amanda a worried glance. As if they knew something she didn’t. And they wanted to do anything but tell her.
“What don’t I know?”
Her brother shrugged. It reminded her of those times in their childhood when he’d hoped to pull one over on one of their parents. “When Jonas was—”
“I stopped to visit, sometimes.” Exhaustion hung on Jonas’ syllables. “Blue’s not your color. Better in red.”
All eyes in the room were on her and the red shirt she’d pulled on this morning. She didn’t remember a lot about the rehabilitation center, but everything had been a cheery blue.
His fingers fumbled toward his jaw, again, this time tracing upward, toward the feeding tube taped to his cheek. Right under his half open eye. A grimace crossed his flesh.
Questions whizzed around Lilly’s mind. Why had he bothered? Even if he’d been building a case against the serial bomber, at that time, her bedside had afforded very little in the way of outright answers.
He tugged at the material on his cheek with unsteady fingers. Those deep brown eyes disappeared behind bruised eyelids again. “Gotta get outta here.”
“Leave that.” She stilled his movements. His hand fell to his chest in a heavy thud. Her fingers were cold in comparison to his. “You won’t be going anywhere if you don’t get adequate nutrition.”
“What’s so important, anyway?” Amanda rested her forearms on the bedrail and leaned on them. As if he had some secret he wasn’t revealing.
Jonas flinched as if trying to wake himself, his hand flicking toward Amanda and finding purchase on the sleeve of her charcoal-gray suit jacket. “Gotta go to Raleigh, Nettles.”
Anxiety punched across her face. Her gaze flicked to his loose hold. She straightened. “Me or you?”
He lifted that arm and shook it in Amanda’s direction, his finger pointed at her. His good eye was a bare slit. “She won’t talk to anyone else. Knows something.”
Beside Lilly, her brother stiffened. The air had gone stale around them. Much like sitting in a closed up roomful of chain smokers. “Not happening.”
Amanda’s gaze lit on Baker Jackson as she tucked her bottom lip inward. “Beth’s not going to talk to me either.”
“Call Dexter Knight. He’s working with her. He’ll help.”
Amanda was already shaking her head. A buzzing sound filled Lilly’s. She and her brother had grown up next door to the Knight family. They’d played in the sandbox together. Learned how to ride bikes without training wheels. Teased each other about crushes and stood up for one another like siblings.
Dexter had always been a guardian angel stuck in a young body. Always quiet. Always direct. Wise. Able to see the truth and the good in a person, no matter how far buried.
The Knight family rock.
And, three years ago, Beth had almost taken that from them. So why would he even put himself in a situation where he’d cross paths with her? Retribution? Vindication?
He couldn’t hope to redeem her. No. It wasn’t possible.
“Those girls.” Jonas gripped Amanda’s wrist, eyes wide and filled with pain, his head lifted off the pillow. “Promise me you’ll go.”
Amanda didn’t move.
“It might be their only hope.” Sweat dotted his upper lip. And his face turned a color similar to his crisp sheets. Lilly bit down on her tongue. Hoped to still the frantic rhythm of her heart. The need to rush to the nearest bathroom and expel every ounce of liquid in her stomach.
Amanda couldn’t agree. She wouldn’t. Baker Jackson wouldn’t allow it.
Jonas took a few short breaths. Lilly needed to do something. Find some way to help him and—
“Relax, Jonas. You’ve just had major surgery.” Amanda’s voice held a calm her face didn’t portray.
“You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen.” The words were a hoarse whisper. “The things these sick idiots do to kids. If she has answers, I want them. Say. It.”
“Okay.” Her voice carried across the room. “I promise. Now, lay back before you pass out. Or g
o into shock.”
Jonas hesitated a moment and then released her. Settled back in with a slow, deep breath. As if he were in pain so great he didn’t know if he’d survive the release. The button connected to his morphine pump lay within reach, but Lilly picked it up and pressed it into the hand lying near his stomach. He gripped it until his fingers turned white, but didn’t push it. Didn’t reopen his eyes.
Amanda’s probing gaze connected with Lilly’s. The same worry jumping through her body was evident in the other woman’s eyes.
“I’m coming with you.” The words floated around them. Had her brother eyeing her as if she were the craziest person on the planet. And maybe she was. After all, most of the population, even Amanda, didn’t go out of their way to visit inmates on Death Row.
Neither said anything. Amanda’s lips pressed together. Her gaze fell to the bed before zipping right back up, a silent question in their depths.
A glance down revealed a hand entwined with Jonas’ injured palm, his strong fingers gripping hers as if he might fade away otherwise.
Lilly didn’t remember taking her hand from her pocket. Or slipping it against his. What was she doing?
Comforting a patient. Nothing more.
Amanda’s gaze jumped back to the man in the bed. “What’s with the numbers on your hand, Jonas?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THERE’S NO END of story, A.J.
Robinson’s whispered words from the night before reverberated in Amanda’s heart. Beyond that, his sentences had been work related. In his defense, they hadn’t been alone since. To discuss their small disagreement in his SUV nor her newest reading materials.
Their impending death row visit.
Reading the diary was a part of Amanda’s job. Nothing more. If she took herself out of the equation, every written word didn’t send irritation sliding through her body faster than a rollercoaster without brakes.
And Jonas had obviously thought it important enough to send it to Lilly. To read Beth’s words himself. Amanda could, too, without falling apart or flying into a rage-induced rampage.
The one Robinson was waiting for. At the ready for a long, drawn out I told you this was a bad idea.
“What are we doing here, anyway? This place is about to fall in on itself.” The crunch of Davis’ shoes echoed behind Amanda, on the gravel path circling the house. Patches of tall weeds dotted the front and backyard of the old, boarded up rambler. A rusted swing set sat in the far corner of the lot, the chains to would-be swings long since missing. Some type of climbing shrub reached toward the top bar, of the play equipment, as if trying to pull it into the ground.
“What we always do. Follow leads.” Admitting to tracing a convicted serial bomber’s childhood moments would lead to how she’d decided to do so. Which led to Jonas. And a complete unraveling of the secrecy they worked toward.
Last night, he’d barely been coherent enough to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, but he’d meant what he’d said about Amanda going to Raleigh. It was her job to figure out why it was so important. What had led him to that conclusion.
And pray he remembered something in the meantime, because he had no recollection on why he’d scribbled this address on his palm.
And, after everyone had gone to bed last night, it had taken her a few hours of research to find a matching address that warranted a visit.
She ducked a low lying tree branch and circled back to the front. Weathered particle board covered every window and door with nothing to suggest anyone had been inside, in the last fifteen years. The front shrubbery was overgrown, reaching across the cracked sidewalk. A once white picket fence sat in disrepair, the gate rotten and half gone.
The home sat in a slowly dying neighborhood, as developers bought plot after plot in an effort to build an upscale outlet shopping mall. A mile from some of Charlotte’s more influential residences.
Davis shifted the folder in her hands open. “Don’t see how this relates to Kimberly’s case. This murder happened fifteen years ago. In broad daylight, slaughterhouse style.”
That tidbit had caught her attention, too.
“For Mrs. Carter, anyway. Mr. Carter appeared to have been electrocuted by standing water and frayed lamp cords. Discovered by—”
Amanda snatched the file, including graphic but grainy crime scene photos the other woman hadn’t had a chance to examine. Couldn’t bear to hear Beth’s name or see how Davis reacted to it. “It’s not the old crime I’m after. It’s...”
The setting. The woman involved. The investigators—including her former partner—working a case more dead end than anything. The address matching the numbers on Jonas’ hand.
Fifty-five, seventy-nine Bellvine Drive. The fact that there had been a murder here couldn’t be coincidence. Something had led Jonas here. And, eventually, to the warehouses near Robinson’s house.
“Looks like it’s been a cold case for seven years.”
“You got that off one glance?”
Davis shrugged. “Photographic memory.”
Beth had detailed how she’d tried to revive husband and wife, in an almost clinical form. A detachment a coroner used when composing notes. And, like a puppet on a string, Amanda couldn’t resist coming.
And yet, she didn’t want to go inside. Wanted to hightail it back to her car and forget this misadventure. Pack it away with the nothing going on there stack.
Because she didn’t relish the idea of more pity settling in her stomach. Screwing up her thought processes and mingling with the past twenty-four hours.
Your anger is driven by love. Even for...her.
Handsome man had to go and see past the obvious and point out the truth. And she’d always respected him for his stance in complete chaos. Even when it didn’t pan out in her favor.
“Where’s Mr. Hunk-of-love, anyway? He send you out here on another clandestine mission?”
What? “Mr. Hunk-of-love has his own life. His own job. An actual name.” And a surly attitude stemming from her refusal to negotiate their upcoming Raleigh adventure.
Davis scratched the bridge of her nose, her sight on something in the distance. “Trouble approaching. Your six.”
She turned. Spotted a tall woman running toward them, in black leggings and a demure blue tank top. An iPod was strapped to one arm, earbuds lodged in both ears. Blonde hair was in a pristine ponytail.
With any luck, the woman who’d carried Amanda for nine—eight months would run right past without a word. “Ignore it.” She headed toward the house and the crowbar she’d set near the front door. Picked it up.
“Hello, Amanda.” The voice was professional, but shock tinged the edges of the words. As if the older woman had hoped their paths would never cross again.
The feeling was beyond mutual.
“Don’t try to say you didn’t see me.”
Amanda turned around. Clenched the tool in her hand.
Davis hadn’t moved from the edge of the broken walkway. The younger detective tracked Sandra Porterville’s movements as she started toward them. Avoided the rotting fence as if she might catch some sort of disease walking by.
“I saw you. I’m a little busy.” She used the crowbar to point at the boarded front door.
“Breaking into abandoned houses?” Sandra took her time wrapping her earbuds and tucked them inside her armband.
“A lucrative side-job. You should give it a try.” She bit the corner of her lip. Miss Sass was teaming up with Naive Youngster in a miserable way, inside her mind.
Robinson would have a field day with that one. Might fix his cantankerous disposition.
“Very cute.”
She took a deep breath. Pasted a smile on her face. “That’s why they keep me around. Cute and funny are attributes on my official resume.” She turned toward the front of the house. “Davis, give me a hand, would you?”
Her partner met her at the door. Hazarded a glance backward. “You really think she’s gonna disappear just becaus
e you’ve dismissed her?” Her voice was the barest whisper.
One could hope. She placed the crowbar between the exterior of the house and the wood keeping her from getting inside. Applied pressure.
“The other gentleman went in through the backdoor, dear Amanda.”
She stilled. The way the older woman said her name always grated on her nerves. Sent little slivers of glass charging through her veins. Made her want to curl in ball and cover her ears.
Davis shot Amanda a glance, one blonde eyebrow raised above the other on her forehead. Gave a slight shake of her head.
Nothing looked out of place, but neither of them had ever been here before to attest to that with full accuracy.
Amanda lowered the tool and turned. Couldn’t help herself. “Oh? And when was this, Sandra?”
A sarcastic burst of air erupted from the woman beside her. “Like you can believe anything she says.”
Sandra straightened to her full five-eleven stature. Her arms folded across her chest and her lips pressed together. If she stepped up to them, she’d be the same height as Amanda and tower over Davis.
She tilted her head to one side as if studying them through a glass jar. Her cold, blue eyes bounced from Amanda to Davis and then back. “Somebody obviously never taught your friend any manners. It’s rude to make assumptions about people one doesn’t know.”
“Lady, it’s rude to—”
Amanda sent her elbow into Davis’ ribs, but didn’t take her eyes from the second to last person she wanted to see. Ever. Tried to stamp down a healthy dose of irritation. “When?”
“Four days ago. Same time of day. Gave me the same attitude as your friend, here.” A manicured hand pointed toward Davis, Vanna White style.
“Probably because he knows you should be in prison, too.” The vehemence in Davis’ tone left little to the imagination.
Amanda glanced in her direction. The other woman didn’t take her eyes from Sandra.
The sudden defense was odd, but she wouldn’t question it.
Sandra shook her head. “I’ve done nothing to warrant life behind bars.”
Yeah. Nothing being the key word. “This man have a name?”
Aftermath Page 22
