DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  A zip of panic raced down her spine and dispelled what little safety remained. “Does anyone still use that word, Lawyer boy?”

  He froze. A heavy sigh brushed across the top of her head, before his arms fell from around her. “You two spend way too much time together.”

  Guilt swamped her and she prayed it didn’t show on her face. “Hazards of the job. A few pesky, G-men.” She moved out of his reach, irritation climbing up her back. She’d never done anything to feel guilty about. And just because some Timothy McVeigh wannabe thought he knew some secrets he could use to manipulate her, didn't make anything he said true.

  “Hopefully, you still had lunch somewhere.”

  He shoved his hands in his suit pockets. “I planned to skip it, but Kelsey invited me to eat lunch, with her, at the sandwich shop across from the office. She’s up for a promotion to assistant U.S. attorney.”

  “That’s, uh, great.” More guilt toppled from her shoulders and into her stomach. She should be happier for their friend’s possible upcoming shift in work status. Amanda couldn’t summon the energy. “I’m going to hit the shower. After that, sleep.”

  “If you’d stuck around at the hospital, you’d know you shouldn’t be left unattended for the next twenty-four hours.”

  A pregnant pause filled the space. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “I know, but I worry all the same.”

  If that was the truth, why hadn’t he come rushing to find her?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Amanda had dismissed Robinson easier than a piece of discarded gum.

  And he’d let it happen. Let McKenna side-track him into talk about how her reinstatement could help their current short-handed staffing problems.

  He didn’t doubt McKenna’s urgency on the matter. What held his skepticism, was the all-around evasion tactic the detective employed. He’d pumped McKenna for answers and found none on the subject of Amanda’s mystery phone call.

  Which meant she wasn’t sharing anything. With anyone.

  Robinson let himself into his apartment and flicked on the entry light. He waited for the barrage of tweener excitement that usually outlasted her bedtime, on nights like tonight.

  Having his niece living in his home, over the last year-and-a-half, ensured there was never a dull moment. Watching Ariana grow up was worth the nonstop girl talk.

  Yesterday, her crush had noticed her. The day before that, one of her friends had dared another girl, in their group, to dye her hair purple. One of these days, he might come home to find a pierced, tattooed teenager that locked herself in her room and played loud music.

  Robinson gave a revolted, whole body heebie-jeebie shake. Teenage girls terrified him. The same as when he’d actually been a teenager, himself.

  Tonight, the foyer remained quiet. Unless he counted the thoughts rolling around his head, which made him feel decades older than his thirty-six years. He took his time removing his shoes, trying to avoid the forming bruises from his close encounter with C4.

  What would Ariana do without him? Foster care, as Amanda’s friend had endured? Floating from home to home without anything to call her own? He couldn’t let that happen to his niece, who’d already gone through so much in the last eighteen months.

  He spotted the glow from the muted television, in the living room, and headed in that direction. On his couch, sat a young college student of maybe twenty-one, just a kid. Ariana enjoyed hanging out with her after school.

  Renee concentrated on the closed captions scrolling down his unimpressive television as a newscaster read the eleven o’clock news. A lock of blonde hair fell in front of her face. A thick textbook sat on her lap, a highlighter and pen in its crease. Soft snores came from the young girl lying next to her, a throw blanket draped across her body, sans piercings or tattoos. Ariana’s long tresses remained the same dark shade as when she’d gone to school that morning.

  “Renee.” He placed a hand on the nanny’s shoulder.

  She startled and her book slipped to the floor, highlighter and all. One hand rested over her chest and, even in the dim room, he could see a blush rising on her cheeks. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry.” He pointed toward the television. “You didn’t let Ariana watch the news, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Renee tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, eased off the couch and came to stand next to him. “But apparently, the teachers turned it on at school. After what happened in New York…”

  He didn’t need the reminder. It was all around him, in the increased security, the lack of faith people showed one another. In the way his staff was spread so thin, he could penetrate their efforts with a puff of his lips. Hopefully, he could count on McKenna’s official return to work—even on restriction until she had her baby—in the next few days.

  “She tried to wait up for you.” Renee clasped a hand at the elbow of her other arm. “Governor Terndale declared a state of emergency so, there’s no school tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for staying late, again. I owe you.”

  “It’s nothing.” She gathered her belongings, the color on her cheeks deepening. “I’m happy to do it. Besides, it looks like you’ve had a rough day.” She tugged on the torn sleeve of his suit jacket as she passed. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask. Anything I can get you before I leave?”

  Oh, boy. He shrugged the tension from his shoulders. Maybe he was reading into the smile of hers a little too much. It mirrored his niece’s when she talked about a certain boy from school. What was his name? Heath? Herald? Something like that. With any luck, he’d never have to commit it to heart.

  “I could hangout a bit if you need to unwind.” A shy smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “I noticed you have a few beers in your refrigerator.”

  Oh, no. No. Did he set her straight? Hey, you’re a nice young girl—woman, but I'm attracted to dark-haired detectives that routinely hand me my rear end on a plate. It seemed like a good way to lose a perfectly good nanny for his twelve-year-old niece and make himself look like an idiot in the process.

  He rubbed his chin, gliding his hand upward, over the scruff there. “No, thanks. It’s late and you’ve got class in the morning.”

  “They cancelled classes for me, too.” She held those books a little tighter to her body.

  Of course they had, taking away his easy escape. “Sorry, I’m not good company material tonight.”

  She hesitated, disappointment sliding over her face. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  He walked her out and then locked the door behind her. A whoosh of air left his lungs as he rested against the door. Every bone in his body throbbed and he’d only survived one explosion. Not two, like Amanda.

  The urge to call and check on her stole his breath. He shook his head. She had Lawyer Boy for that. Instead, he walked over to his couch, turned off the television and scooped his niece into his arms.

  “You’re getting too heavy for this, Ari.” He made his way to her room, glad for the nightlight she’d insisted upon since the age of five and tucked her beneath her covers. Clothes littered the floor and a jewelry making kit sat in disarray on her dresser. A blow drier, two curling irons and a horde of makeup mingled with the mess.

  On his haunches, he couldn’t help watching her peaceful slumber. She had her mother’s dark coloring—they came by it naturally, on their father’s side—the same pert nose, long lashes and thick hair.

  Ariana and his sister, Lilly, could have been mirror images. They still were, only the older half sat in a long term care facility, hooked up to wires and tubes. The product of a young kid’s mistake.

  One that had changed his world irrevocably. Gone were the days of staying out late and taking huge risks at work. Even in a relationship, he hadn’t taken the other person into serious account when making decisions.

  An accident had erased every basic function in his life. Casual dating wasn’t so simple. Mealtime wasn’t optional. Homew
ork wasn’t something in the past, but a necessity vital for graduation.

  How many families would say the same thing after today’s events? Sons forced to become the man of the house well before their time. Daughters moving from carefree, to makeshift mothers overnight. Mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents and coworkers coming together to fill whatever gap remained from this tragedy.

  “I miss mom.” The sleepy voice hit his ears.

  Robinson shifted. “Me too, Ari-Bell.”

  “And Grandpa.”

  The thought of the man who’d raised him made his throat close, so he kissed her on the forehead. “How about a visit on Saturday?”

  “’Kay.”

  “Were you waiting up for a specific reason?”

  Ariana shook her head against her pillow and drew the covers closer around her body.

  He tilted his head. “Worried?”

  “How can I not be?”

  “Because I’m always careful.” Except, today had been too close for comfort. “And I work with a great team.”

  She sat up then. “Mom said Dad was a careful driver, but that didn’t stop the accident. You don’t have any control over what other people do. They make mistakes.”

  A vice squeezed his heart. Claiming a spot next to her on the bed, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. “How long has this been bothering you?”

  Shrugging, she toyed with the edge of her pajama top. “Since Grandpa died.”

  Almost four months. They should have had a conversation about it a long time before now. He should have thought to ask her a bunch of questions sure to get her talking about her feelings.

  Twelve-year-olds almost never came clean about anything, unless pressed. Heck, a lot of adults didn’t even do it.

  “Watching the news in school didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  Another shrug and then she pulled back. “Maybe, a little. Renee’s worried too. I can tell by the way she kept checking her phone, after I’d asked if you had called.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. What would his sister want him to do in this moment? Lies? Half-truths? “Okay. Repeat after me. No news, is good news.”

  A quirky grin lit her face as if he’d just asked her to ride a bicycle upside down. “What?”

  “Repeat it. No news, is good news.”

  “No news is good news? That’s all I get?”

  “I could lie to you, Ariana, and tell you my job isn’t dangerous, but you’re smarter than that. I’m honest when I say I’m careful. I’m not going to do something that will make our family even smaller.”

  From the skeptical look on her face, he knew he had to be botching this royally.

  “Look, I don’t want you to worry. You’re too young for that. Promise me you’ll repeat the phrase and send up a prayer when you feel that way. That’s something your Grandpa taught me.”

  Ariana pressed her lips together.

  “It’s not always easy, but it helps.”

  “Okay.” The word came out on the cusps of exasperation.

  He tugged on a strand of her hair. “You know if you ever need to talk, I’m always here to listen. About anything.”

  Ariana remained silent for a minute. “Like my homework?”

  He chuckled. “That would fall under the definition of anything.”

  “So would clothes, shopping and makeup.”

  He nodded all while sending up a prayer that those subjects stayed more with her friends. Figuring out what type of jeans were most popular, might do him in.

  “And periods, sex and boys.”

  Robinson was still nodding like an idiot when a sly grin lit up his niece’s face. Half a second later, her words registered. Sex, boys and periods? He resisted the urge to cover his ears. A twelve-year-old shouldn’t even know what the word sex means, right? They certainly shouldn’t use those three words in one sentence.

  “Whoa, hold on there. Do we need to have a serious conversation about any of those things?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “Just making sure you were listening.”

  Relief coursed through him as he stood. “Still falls under anything, okay?”

  She nodded. “And you can talk to me, too. About love and stuff.”

  “Mm-hmm, sure.” He would totally talk to his niece about stuff. All the females in his life must have gotten together to plan this cosmic joke. “Goodnight.” He helped her get back under the covers. “Get some sleep.”

  “Love you, Uncle Robbie.”

  “Love you, too.” Then he avoided the piles of teenage debris, littering her floor, and made his way toward the door.

  “Uncle Robbie?”

  He paused, turning in her direction. “Yeah?”

  “Is Miss Amanda okay?”

  “She’s fine.” He hoped. “Why do you ask?”

  “She was on the news and they had her on a stretcher. I recognized her because she always wears her lucky pin.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Ariana gave a yawn. “She talked to our class last year about safety and afterward I asked her about the star-shaped pin she had on her collar. It was Miss McKenna’s uncle’s pin, when he was a cop. It has angel wings etched on the surface. She’s really okay?”

  “Safe and sound.” He wished that were true.

  Seeming satisfied, she rolled over. “Night.”

  “Night.” He closed her door so only a sliver of light shone through from the hallway. He stood there a moment. A lucky pin? How had he never noticed it? Why hadn’t McKenna kept it?

  He shook his head. Ariana had an eye for minute details and if she weren't his niece-turned-daughter, he'd nudge her in the direction of law enforcement.

  He doubted that was the vision her parents had for her. The worry would drive him insane. It was one thing to work in a sometimes dangerous career field and another to watch your flesh and blood do the same.

  Someday, Ariana might show more of an interest in the field, since she already asked him questions non-stop. He could hardly tell her it was off limits over a little loss of sleep for him, could he?

  He’d never had any choice in the parenting department. Not that he would trade her for the world. But, on nights like tonight, he wished he had a handbook to tell him if he was doing it right.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jordan had the mother of all migraines as he trudged toward his office Friday evening.

  Thankfully, most of his co-workers had left for the day and the corridor lights had been dimmed to the emergency setting. All he needed was Agent Rogge showing up with that eager grin, hoping to play boy scouts. One syllable out of the young agent’s mouth would blast this migraine to unbearable, in seconds.

  Before his accident, he’d never had one, but now they frequented like a relative that didn’t know when to leave. Or an agent that didn’t know when to stop brown-nosing.

  The doctors had said this might happen. And that during the healing process, he could deal with the current vice grip around his head. Of course, they’d used a whole bunch of technical terms McKenna had spent hours researching, until she’d worked herself into a frenzy. So, he kept their regularity a secret from her, opting to sit in the darkness of his office, rather than his home.

  It meant he didn’t see a lot of his wife. He didn’t know which hurt worse, the migraine or how much he missed her.

  He walked into the space he and McKenna called their own, shucked his coat and prepared to hunker down for a few hours. Once this baby died down, he’d turn off the lights, call his wife—

  He did a double take. She sat at the desk across from his, her feet propped on the corner. A pile of paperwork covered her thighs and rested beneath the swell of their growing child. A smile lit her face. “Fancy meeting you here, Agent Bening.”

  “And you.” The thud of each step, in her direction, increased the vice at his temples. With her sitting right here, it would be impossible to hide, but he could try. He kissed her
lips. The small movement set off a display of painful fireworks, in his body. “How are my girls?”

  “Better than you.” She gathered the papers in her lap and stood. “Another migraine?”

  He waved her off and pointed to the files in her hands. “What have you got there?”

  “Work.”

  Wariness stole over him. He took in the whirlwind covering her desk and the badge sitting in one corner. “What’s going on?”

  She shook her head and pointed toward the worn loveseat they’d placed in the office, months ago. The one that used to sit in his living room, before they’d consolidated household goods, following their marriage. “Go sit down and maybe we’ll talk.”

  Years of experience had taught him arguing with her never worked, not in a situation like this. The moment of indecision passed. He trudged over to the couch and eased back into the cushions. Sledgehammers on concrete were quieter than the crush of the fabric.

  “It’s weird seeing you in here, working.”

  “I know.” She turned on his desk lamp and then flicked out the fluorescent, overhead lights. The swirling in his stomach faded a small measure. A few seconds later, she handed him a Coke from their mini-fridge. “Take this.” She held out a white tablet.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a little Ecstasy I picked up from the evidence locker. I plan to have my way with you later and sell what’s left on the streets.”

  A laugh burst from his lungs. “You don’t need E to have your way with me.”

  After almost a year of marriage, he liked that a pink hue still formed on her cheeks, from time to time. “It’s the prescription the doctor gave you for this reason.”

  “No.” He opened the soda and took a generous swallow, hoping his stomach wouldn’t choose this moment to rebel. He closed his eyes. “I’ll be okay without it.”

  “You’ll feel better a lot faster if you quit being a wuss and take the medication. Or maybe you want to send me into early labor.”

  Even as his mind told him she was fine, his eyes snapped open. “Are you having Braxton-Hicks contractions again?”