DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “You’re okay?” The concern in his voice caught him off guard. He did sound like a mother hen. “As much as I’d like to keep you from stealing my cases, I’d hate to have to clean up the mess if you fell and cracked your skull open.”

  There, that sounded better. Back on track.

  “No messes.” Her voice came out with a tired huff. “Got it.”

  He stood there for a minute, expecting something more. In the three years he’d known Amanda, fiery comebacks poured from her mouth in even waves. Her words and stance—one hand white-knuckling the metal rail of her hospital bed—lacked her usual exuberance.

  Uncertainty settled in his spine. “You’re sure you’re not dizzy or anything?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’m fine.” She curled her hand into a fist, thumb out and pointed toward where Eric had gone. “Now, beat it.”

  Okay. That was better.

  The questions he had could wait five minutes. Maybe he could regroup his scrambled brain while she dressed.

  Shoving the curtain aside, he stepped into the hallway and closed the thin sheet separating them. While every fiber of his being urged him to stay nearby, he checked it and walked toward Eric Dunham.

  A vacation wasn’t going to cut it.

  ***

  Every muscle in Amanda’s body hummed with the aftershocks of a personal earthquake.

  Her left knee throbbed, in angry protest, as she threw her jeans over each leg. Dark spots swam before her eyes, after she lifted her shirt over her head. She grabbed the rail of her bed and concentrated on breathing.

  Robinson was right to think she might crack her head open in here alone. If the positions were reversed, she would have been just as hesitant to leave. The last thing she needed, was either man rushing in to save the day with questions she couldn’t answer.

  As she pulled the bandage from her head, she could hear the hushed conversation of Eric and Robinson as if they’d moved away from her curtain. She jammed her feet into now scuffed shoes and peeked out of the opening.

  Both men stood near the nurse’s station, ten feet from her makeshift room in the ER. Eric had both hands in the pockets of his black suit as he rocked back on his heels. Robinson leaned on the palm he’d flattened on the counter to his right, his free hand clasped on the back of his neck. Right near the jet-black hair that had enough styling products to create a bullet proof helmet.

  Eric shook his head to whatever Robinson had said. They both looked in the direction she now stood. The agent’s crisp blue eyes lingered a moment longer. The intense flecks of green within that canvas-worthy blue, was etched into her mind. Not quite hazel. Too intricate to be considered just blue or green.

  As if she were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar before dinner, she stepped back from the curtain. The erratic beat of her heart bounced through her veins, her cells holding tiny knives all aimed at her brain.

  Eric had appeared in the ER twenty minutes after McKenna called him, an unflappable air about him, as if seeing the wreck of today’s events, in her eyes, didn’t faze him.

  Perhaps, it didn’t.

  Robinson had known where she’d be, today. For sure, Beth. Maybe Eric, too. Anybody who would take out a portion of the city without remorse, would surely make good on promises of retribution for broken confidences.

  Anybody who knew things about her—things she hadn’t dared admit to herself—was dangerous. The cop in her knew silence never paid off. The witness almost always ended up dead anyway, voiding the idea that keeping secrets kept a person safe.

  What was she supposed to do, when all the people around her were either suspect or family?

  The swirling in her stomach threatened another round of emptying. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth. Facing either man and pretending she was fine, minus her injuries, wouldn’t work.

  Get out, now. Figure out the rest later.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she slid back the portion of her curtain, opposite both men. Then she stepped into the hallway. Instead of giving into the urge to steal a backward glance, she picked up her pace. And maneuvered around the sea of people lining the hallways. A few nurses and a doctor buzzed from room to room and bed to bed. Nobody paid her any attention.

  The image of the sparkling ring Eric had presented her, brought a tightness to her throat. A simple Princess cut diamond nestled in a channel setting, a glimmering beacon. To what?

  I planned to wait until Christmas, but…

  Didn’t it figure Robinson would show up at that moment? Before she could hear any of Eric’s carefully prepared declarations. Would anything he said dispel the crushing anxiety the ring had conjured?

  Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and had her quickening her pace. Each movement brought an increasing throb to her head. She reached the emergency room doors and exited.

  Eric might not realize she’d disappeared for another ten minutes, but Robinson had a weird sixth sense about this type of thing. And if the reason he needed to borrow her had anything to do with official FBI reasons, it wouldn’t be long before he tracked her down and cornered her.

  She needed some answers of her own before that happened. Getting back to the Rainbow Café and retracing her steps was paramount to survival.

  After that, she’d figure out where to stay and whom to trust.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Devastating.

  It was the only word Amanda could think of, as her taxi stopped six blocks from what was left of the restaurant. What was left of a portion of the southwest corner of Charlotte, really. A fine layer of hazy dust still lingered in the air. Emergency personnel wore masks to combat breathing in the substance with prolonged exposure.

  Paramedics, CMPD, State Bureau of Investigations and FBI agents worked around destroyed stadium seating, signs and lighting. Garbage cans went from useful to disgusting, the trash littered on the ground. Street lamps bent, some of them across the road, taking out storefronts that might have gone unharmed, otherwise.

  A bench lay on top of one vehicle, garbage splattered across the hood and broken glass smattered in between.

  “Can’t get any closer.” The cab driver twisted toward her, his arm braced across the back of his seat. With his free hand, he pointed toward the roadblocks the FBI had set up. “See what I’m saying?”

  “This is perfect.” She shoved cash into his waiting palm and exited the cab. The sound of lingering emergency personnel sirens filled the air around her. The local news station van was parked nearby, a crew filming near the crime scene tape. The blue Channel Six logo stuck out against the white paint.

  As she picked her way to the blockade, she half expected to see Robinson’s ex-girlfriend, Kara, in the spot light, reporting. The woman had always gotten leads a little quicker than Amanda thought possible.

  Instead, Scott Jonas, Kara’s replacement, had the microphone in his hand. The other pointed toward the remains of the stadium, his mouth moving as he relayed whatever information he’d gathered. The wind ruffled his dark, curly hair and the blue polo shirt he wore.

  A piece of what looked like tin foil, flew in his direction, but he caught it seconds before it could become a dart aimed at the center of his forehead. Then he continued talking as if it had never happened.

  Amanda had run into him a couple of times since Kara’s death. The man was as tenacious as his predecessor had been, but was personable and had a way of sucking information from his sources.

  She didn’t have time for his questions right now, which is what she’d get, if he spotted her. As if sensing her nearby, his gaze connected with hers. The still-rolling cameras saved her from having to make up an excuse. She waved as if nothing were wrong and headed toward the closest guard—in the opposite direction of Scott Jonas. She presented her badge.

  “Sorry, Detective Nettles.” The man in front of her wore a black bulletproof vest with the yellow F.B.I. letters across it. His dark eyes scanned over her, landing on her bruised face and forehead. He
handed her badge back. “No one gets in, unless SAC Robinson gives the okay.”

  Oh, brother. “Are you new?”

  That stoic gaze shifted to their surroundings and then back to her, with no response. Robinson was training them well.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Robinson knows you did your job, but right now, I have an investigation to conduct.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Since you’re new, you probably haven’t seen me around. I work pretty closely with the FBI.” Except that hadn’t been as true in the last couple of months, because there’d been nothing, on which to collaborate.

  Granite had nothing on his facial features. They didn’t move at all, a perfect impenetrable mask of indifference. Either Robinson was finding these guys at a Marine surplus store, or she was losing her touch.

  With the way her brain jiggled inside her head, it could be a combination of both.

  “I’ve got my orders. For your safety, I recommend moving along, Detective. The FBI will contact you, if they need your help.”

  Perspiration formed on her upper lip. She had to get through. Had to get answers. The agent in front of her, shifted his hand near the duty belt, at his waist. Near his gun. A deliberate gesture she’d used herself.

  She stepped away from the line of yellow tape.

  The Rainbow Café stood one block ahead. Nobody lingered near the now-demolished doorway. Ten feet away, two paramedics lifted someone onto a stretcher. As they secured the backboard with straps, she noted a delicate hand resting on a slight abdomen bulge.

  Had Beth been anywhere nearby?

  A vice squeezed her heart.

  A lock of long, dark hair cascaded over the stretcher’s edge as the paramedics jostled it to avoid an overturned garbage can.

  No.

  Before the logical part of her brain could stop her, she ducked under the crime scene tape and headed toward the woman. Beth, like all the other people who’d been in the area, had been minding her own business, unaware of the calamity about to unfold. Tiny, razor-sharp needles worked at the backs of her eyes. They were innocent.

  “Stop!” The guard called from behind her.

  Shaky legs carried Amanda toward the paramedics. Two more steps and she’d know if…

  Something hit her from behind and froze her movements in comic book fashion. A sharp, intense pain radiated through every tissue of her body as if she’d stuck her hand in ten electrical sockets and been laid flat by a linebacker.

  Her muscles didn’t work. She sank to her knees, the left one hitting the pavement hard. Black splotches appeared in front of her, dancing in out-of-sync patterns.

  The jerk had a Taser.

  A shout came from somewhere behind her, the words an incomprehensible string of vowels and consonants. A harsh slap of shoes battering the pavement registered, before the sharp pain receded and arms were around her. The clean scent of spicy aftershave blocked out the charred smell, lingering in her nostrils.

  “I’ve got this.” Robinson’s breath drifted across her cheek, his gaze on something behind her. Probably, the trigger-happy guard. “Talk to me, Nettles.”

  A dull, humming ache settled in her bones. She took a deep breath, one of her palms finding the unmistakable wall of his chest. She met that concerned blue-green gaze head on. A jolt, similar to the Taser, went through her system.

  Amanda snatched her hand away from Robinson’s body. “Did the ambulance leave already?”

  “Just pulled off. We’ll get another one.” For the second time in less than an hour, he helped her stand. The vehicle in question maneuvered through a throng of people and debris, its red and blue lights flashing.

  “No. I need that one.” She shook off his arms and attempted to hobble after it.

  Warm hands found her shoulders as he hauled her back to face him. “Ah-uh. You got fifty-thousand volts trying to get in here. Now you’re just going to walk out?”

  “Stop man-handling me.”

  The warmth left her limbs as he raised his hands, palms up, in front of her. “You seem pretty insistent on running away.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Come on. You skipped shop less than thirty minutes ago—against medical advice and left your boyfriend to worry about you. And, as if I didn’t have enough crap on my plate, I’m chasing after you.”

  She watched the ambulance get further away and tried not to contemplate all the reasons Robinson stood in front of her, sinister or otherwise. “That’s your problem. I didn’t ask you to follow.”

  His jaw tightened and his eyebrows pulled lower on his forehead. “Believe me,” his voice was quiet, “if I had any other choice, I’d leave you be.” His hands balled into fists as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The action sent another wave of his scent in her direction. “What’s so important about that ambulance, anyway?”

  “Beth could be in it.”

  ***

  Those five words, uttered with dejection, stole Robinson’s breath.

  The urgency oozing from every pore of her body made sense, then. “She was down here with you? You’d already met her?”

  “You were listening.” The words didn’t meet her usual playful tone. She pasted a patronizing smile, on a face lined with pain, anyway.

  He’d tasted the bite of the Taser once, at Hogan’s Alley, in Quantico. While he didn’t plan to repeat the experience, as soon as the volts disappeared, so did the muscle contractions, paralysis and pain. He hadn’t been laid flat by an explosion first, however.

  “Kind of hard not to, when you never shut up.”

  Her eyes met his then, a fire blazing behind them. “Never mind.” Again, she tried to step past him.

  He moved into her path, an apology sitting on the tip of his tongue. The thought of the phone call he couldn't stop himself from making earlier, fresh in his mind. He'd almost hung up, but then, she'd answered. And normal words had left him exposed. Because, I hope everything goes well, today, with Beth implied a lot of things he wasn't entitled to think about.

  Sure, it sounded friendly to the innocent bystander.

  Robinson could come up with excuses a mile long. A half-truth still remained a difficult pill to swallow, at the end of the day. Luckily, sarcasm had come to his rescue and any words of encouragement, mixed with deeper meaning, had stayed locked inside his head.

  If he could find a delete button for the feeling, he’d gladly hit it. Reset would work just as well. Even Ctrl-Alt-Delete followed by End Process would be an improvement.

  “I’ll call the hospital and figure out the details, but you’re not going anywhere, Nettles. We’ve got to talk.”

  Wariness stole over her features. “I can’t do any favors for you, right now.”

  “No favors,” he agreed. The fact that she assumed all he wanted from her was exactly that, decked him square in the teeth. The words shot a big hole through the center of his friendship theory. “I’m not that big of a jerk.”

  “I’ll call the hospital, myself.” She patted her pockets and when she came up empty, threw her head back. “Any chance my cell is still in working order in my car?”

  Since verifying the story of two witnesses was top priority and he needed her to do so, he motioned her toward the café. “Only one way to find out.”

  Then he dialed Mercy hospital as he followed her to her car. He tried to ignore the sway of her backside, in hip hugging jeans.

  The government should consider using Amanda Nettles as a distraction tactic.

  He shook his head.

  At least two witnesses found her behavior odd. Both agreed, separately, that someone had called the café looking for her, seconds before the explosion. Part of him thought the whole thing might be nothing more than a coincidence. The other part, the one not influenced by his male chromosomes, told him something didn’t sound right.

  When an operator at the hospital answered, he informed them who he was and that he
was looking for Bethany Markel. It took his mind from the detective, for once.

  “All of the victims are being routed here, but she hasn’t been admitted at this time, Agent Robinson.” The girl on the other end of the phone said. “But we can call you if she arrives.”

  “Perfect.” Then he disconnected and relayed the information.

  Amanda’s Camry had a flat tire and all the windows were blown out. Glass crunched beneath their feet as they neared. Careful to avoid the jagged edges of glass, she reached through the window and grabbed her phone from the passenger seat.

  “What do you know?” She jiggled the device. The cracked faceplate looked as if someone had thrown it against the ground. “Twenty-seven missed calls.”

  “Speaking of calls. Several people said you received one a few minutes before the explosion. Care to elaborate?”

  She stilled for a fraction of a second, the motion so slight, he might have missed it, if he hadn’t been paying attention. Then she shrugged and resumed listening to the messages on her phone. “As you can see, I forgot my phone in the car.”

  “According to my source, the caller described you in vivid detail, right down to the kind of shoes you’re wearing.”

  Another shrug. “At least someone’s paying attention.”

  Robinson clenched his teeth together. How could she be so flippant? It wasn’t like her.

  A deep sigh came from her mouth. “Beth got stuck in traffic.”

  “That’s great. Can we focus?”

  She hit a button on her phone and continued listening. “I’m focused, Special Agent in Charge, Baker Jackson Robinson.”

  “The fourth.” The words came out, unbidden, but ingrained in him from birth. Be proud of your heritage, son. Someday, you’ll pass the name along.

  “What?”

  “If you’re going to spit that mouthful out, complete it.” Irritation he couldn’t squelch, laced each syllable. “It’s Baker Jackson Desmond Robinson, the fourth.”

  “Geez, there’s more than one of you walking around?”