“No.” She sat down next to him. “I’m not an idiot. I know you hide out here when you feel like this. This is the third migraine this week, right?”
“Infuriatingly, yes.”
“Taking a pill once, every now and then won’t hurt you, Jordan.” She forced the drug into his hand. “It’ll break the pain cycle.”
He shook his head and rolled the smooth tablet around like a pair of dice. He didn’t have time for pain nor the drugs required to remove it. “You know it knocks me flat for a good twelve hours.”
“And that’s worse than dealing with it, how?”
“If something were to happen when I’m on it, I’m useless.” Evidenced by the one and only time he’d done so, two months after his accident.
McKenna sighed. “It happened once. There was no way you could have known you’d have that kind of reaction to the first medication they gave you.” She glanced at the ground and then back up at him. “Or that I’d have a giant panic attack.”
With his free hand, he rubbed her back. “If I couldn’t wake you up, I would have had more than a panic attack, Slick. They would have had to commit me.”
Instead, he’d come to, in the ER, with a bunch of doctors asking his wife very personal questions, she could barely answer around her shallow breathing and the death grip she had on him.
McKenna tapped the hand with the pill inside. “It’s a different drug, a lower dose and I’m two-thirds less out of my mind than last time.”
He shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. He and pain were already real cozy together, with no separation in sight.
The thought of a few pain free moments sounded divine.
“Take it and we’ll discuss this case, the chat I had with Dr. Sorensen and then I’ll take you home.”
“I didn’t think you had an appointment with her until next week,” he said, referring to the on-staff psychologist, in the Charlotte field office.
“Ah-uh.” She held up one fist, index finger pointed toward the ceiling. “Pill first, questions later.
Jordan forced the tablet in between thumb and forefinger, then stared at it. McKenna was right. Stubbornness only hurt them both, here. Him more so than her. He hesitated. “You won’t stay up all night checking on me?”
She placed a hand on her rounded stomach and gave a pat. “Like I sleep through the night, anyway.”
“McKenna.”
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, a slight lift to one corner of her mouth. “You’re starting to get on my nerves, Bening.”
He blinked, unsure the woman in front of him was still his wife. Gone, was the withdrawn woman he’d spent the last seven months tiptoeing around. In her place, the good-natured, cocky FBI agent resided. Sure, he loved McKenna either way, but he preferred the spit and vinegar version.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “What did Ms. Psych have to say?”
“A deal, is a deal.”
“Fine.” He popped it into his mouth and took another chug of Coke. “But you’ve only got thirty to forty minutes before this baby kicks in. I want to be on the way home before that, Moore. I don’t want to run into anybody.”
A beautiful grin split her face, adding depth to the healthy glow of her creamy skin and dark hair. “Rogge left for the day, a while ago.”
Thank you, God.
“Now spill.” He slouched farther into the couch.
“She cleared me to come back to work.”
“I didn’t take the pill for an obvious confession.” The thought of her return to work exhilarated and terrified him. Those emotions might not have been crashing together so violently if this reinstatement didn’t coincide with a possible terrorist hunt on their home soil. As she’d said after the explosion, he couldn’t keep her on the sidelines forever.
McKenna laughed. “Relax. Since you knocked me up—”
“Best day of my life.” He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. He and McKenna had grown up together, but after the death of his mother and subsequent incarceration of her uncle, he’d moved across the country to escape. He’d let ten years elapse before coming face-to-face with the best friend he’d ever had. The beginning had been rocky, but the results well worth it.
“The drugs must be kicking in.”
“Nope.” Although the throb had dulled a little. “Just truth coming from these lips.”
“Well,” she continued, “in my condition, I’m not allowed in the field. It’s either consulting or paperwork.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders, still sure he’d never get used to the fact that one of his biggest dreams had come true. Her, in his arms. “Are you upset or thrilled? And what changed the good doctor’s mind?”
“No complaints from my corner. We spoke, at length, about Wednesday's events, their impact and how it felt good to be out there doing something. She agreed it’s time for me to move forward. Of course, it helped that Robinson put in a good word for me.”
Relief flooded through him. Having her back would lighten his load. It also meant he could probably call off the bodyguard he had tailing her every day. “So, you read over my files?”
She nodded. “I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but I think Amanda’s in trouble.”
Yeah, that summed up a not so pretty picture for their friend. “Did you review what we could salvage of the security tapes, from in and around, the stadium?”
“Yeah. Nothing looks suspicious, but I want to cross reference the time signatures and run everything in slo-mo. Robinson said you’re still working on questioning all the players, coaching staff and employees in the building within the last week.”
He nodded, the motion still bobbling his brain. “We tried to trace the call that she received minutes before the explosion. It came from an office building under renovations, a block over.”
“Prepaid cell phone?”
The things made their job so much harder, but not impossible.
“Yeah. It hasn’t been used since. That office has a clear view of both the stadium and Rainbow café. When I spoke with the owner of the building, he told me no one was inside due to a recent Asbestos discovery. The city was scheduled to inspect it later in the day, so they told all the crews to hold off until that could happen.”
“Has anyone talked to Amanda about the call? It could be unrelated.”
“Robinson doesn’t seem to think so, but he told me he’d get the details. At this point, we’re trying to rule out Al Qaeda, another terrorist group related to the rise of gang activity in the area, or someone acting independently.”
McKenna ran a hand across her forehead. “Were you able to recover any video from near the café?”
“We’ve got a feed from an ATM located just outside the door. Amanda parked in front of the café and went inside. Maybe two minutes later, she came back out, sat in her car for a few minutes, and then strolled back in. We’ve got about ten minutes of what seems to be random people in the area, leading up to the explosion. Then the camera was blown out.”
Mirrored on his wife’s face was the same dread that landed in his stomach upon watching the tape. “There aren’t any other videos?”
“A virus in the city’s computer surveillance monitoring system shut down most of the cameras in the downtown area, for a period of two hours on Wednesday.”
“Perhaps our guy knows the system.”
He closed his eyes again. “That’s our problem. Amanda does know the system. The way it looks right now, she’s lucky she hasn’t spent any time in questioning.”
The couch shifted and then he heard the creak of a desk chair as she sat down. “We have to talk to her, Jordan.”
CHAPTER TEN
The clanking of dishes brought Robinson from the remnants of a peaceful, but short sleep.
The red numbers on his clock confirmed what his body screamed. Eight-forty-five was the crack of dawn, after only two hours of sleep.
“Hey, kid. Can I share yo
ur cereal?” A female voice asked. Not Ariana’s, probably Renee’s, he couldn’t tell. Five more minutes. Maybe ten. He rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes.
“Sure,” his niece said. “The bowls are over there.”
“Thanks.” More clanking and then the soft pelting of cereal hitting china. Probably more of the sugary crap Ariana ate like hot cakes. Robinson ought to buy stock in it. Or make sure their dental insurance was up-to-date.
A stool scraped against the tile floor, in his kitchen, creating a sound he hated even more than the incessant beeping of an alarm clock.
“What’s with the yearbook?”
“Just looking at pictures from last year.” Ariana’s voice held a sheepish quality, as if she’d been caught coloring on the walls. This event had happened before. On his walls. She’d been four. Babysitting hadn’t been his forte, back then, and he’d been absorbed in case notes. Ariana had found crayons and an empty wall. Viola. Instant artwork.
“Can I see?” The other woman said. “Wow. You won an award for drawing?” The genuine interest in that feminine voice warmed over him. “That’s incredible.”
He could picture Ariana with a fierce blush. She’d dip her head and nod a little. The girl still didn’t know how much talent she had with a charcoal pencil and a pad of paper.
“When I was your age, I wasn’t near as good, but I kept at it anyway.”
Not Renee. Amanda. While his mind snapped to life, his body was slow to follow. He hadn’t seen the detective since Wednesday. Had been too busy to seek her out again yesterday and demand answers. Between heading the task force, his normal everyday duties, and a press conference held late in the day yesterday, he hadn’t had more than five minutes to piss, let alone track down a woman more elusive than Big Foot.
If he were honest, he was delaying the inevitable. Tracking Amanda down meant getting the truthful answers from her, which could end one of two ways. His mind was prepared for both, but the rest of him couldn't stand the alternative. Hauling her away in handcuffs might damage what was left of his sanity and his faith in humankind.
Time to remember he still had a job to complete.
With a groan, he got out of bed and threw on some shorts and a shirt, then brushed his teeth. He didn’t even try to tame hair that still held a mass of gel from the prior day. That would require a shower and shampoo.
“Who’s this boy next to you?” Amanda asked his niece as he stepped out into the hallway. Both women hunched over a book as they sat at the L-shaped bar in the kitchen.
Amanda had her dark hair pulled in a hair tie, at the back of her neck, like always. The dark dress pants she wore accentuated the longest, sleekest pair of legs he’d seen in forever. Three years ago, it had been the first thing he’d noticed. Before she’d dazzled him with her quick wit, take charge attitude and willingness to go above and beyond during a routine traffic stop.
No doubt, the green shirt tucked inside them turned her eyes from a warm honey color to liquid amber, the flecks of gold in her irises standing out.
Coffee. STAT. Maybe his mind would wake up a little more, so he could go on pretending the sight of her didn't do anything for him.
“That’s Hunter,” Ariana said, bringing him back to the present. “He’s my—”
“Watch how you end that sentence, my young grasshopper.” He flipped the book shut and planted a kiss on the back of Ariana’s bowed head.
Amanda looked up from the book and straightened.
“I was going to say friend.” His niece twisted around in her seat and rolled her eyes.
From the giant grin, accompanied by the pink splotches staining her cheeks, he didn’t believe one word, but decided not to push. “Finish your cereal before it gets cold.”
A small giggle filled the silence. Someday soon it might turn into teenage hormones and attitude, but for right now, he'd enjoy the sweetness.
“It’s already cold, Uncle Robbie.”
“So, it is.” He scratched his chest as his eyes scanned over Amanda, trying to avoid looking at anything but her face. The little strips of tape, on her forehead, were gone, a red line beginning to heal. “I trust you’re feeling better today, Detective?”
“Fantastic.” As if the last seventy-two hours had not taken place, she scooped a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. He couldn’t help but watch the motion.
“There’s coffee.” She used the same spoon to point to the pot, in the corner.
“Really?”
“Don’t look at me. There’s not enough sugar in this house to entice me to have a cup of that stuff. And, anyway, I wouldn’t know where to find the supplies.”
He padded into the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the cupboard, then he filled it to the brim.
“Renee set it up last night, Robbie.” Ariana finished her breakfast, jumped from the stool and placed her bowl in the sink. “She packed a lunch for you, too and brought us a homemade lasagna for dinner, later. I think she likes you.”
A swallow of coffee got stuck in his throat. A rough cough came as he cleared the blockage without spewing the liquid everywhere. Amanda threw a smirk in his direction, but remained silent.
“Sometimes people just do nice things for each other, Ari.”
The pre-teen rolled her green eyes, an occurrence that had been happening more and more. He should get used to it. “Okay.” She drew the word out. Then she grabbed the house phone from the charger, near the fridge. “I’m going to call Kate.”
“Twenty minutes.”
She turned back toward him. “Forty.”
“Fifteen.”
“Come on.” She pouted. “It’s Saturday. My homework’s finished and I already did my chores.”
He said nothing for a minute, then relented. “Thirty.”
“Thank you! Nice to see you again, Miss Amanda.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but dashed into her room and closed the door.
“You’re such a sucker.” Amanda spooned another bite into her mouth, the sound of her crunching eating up the silence.
“There are worse things.” He took the seat Ariana had vacated, next to Amanda. The scant trace of wild flowers floated in his direction. Blood whooshed through his ears.
“Like having your niece’s nanny prepare your lunch and dinner?” A snicker accompanied the words.
“Like that.” He sipped the warm liquid. Nope, it wasn't working. All of his senses had already zeroed in on the attractive detective sitting next to him. Nothing short of death would change that. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” In more ways than one.
“Depends. Has she done your laundry yet?”
“I don’t pay her that well.”
“You honestly think money’s going to matter? If what you’re thinking is true, all it would take is a little encouragement and she’d probably do anything for you.”
He shuddered. Then held back questions about what it would take to get Amanda to do anything for him. Shut it down, Robinson.
Yeah, he needed to date, again.
“Would it be so terrible? She’s gotta be twenty-four.”
“Twenty-one,” he said through a clenched jaw.
“You’re, what, forty?”
Ouch. “Thirty-six.” Those four years mattered whenever the next decade loomed on the horizon.
As if he’d said he was thirty, she shrugged. “So a little bit of an age gap. No big deal. Kara’s been gone for over six months.”
The name of his deceased, ex-girlfriend had him tensing. They hadn’t had a conventional relationship. While he’d never wished her any harm, he was glad that chapter of his life was over. He should never have allowed it to go on for as long as it had.
“This has nothing to do with Kara and everything to do with the fact that I’m not remotely interested in my niece’s nanny, age aside.” Why were they even discussing this? “And since when do you care?”
A deceptive look of innocence crossed her face. “I’m generally interested in my friend’s wellbeing
. She’s free. You’re free. Go get ’em, Tiger.”
Was he asleep and stuck in some bizarre Amanda-esque Wonderland? “Are you still suffering from a concussion?”
“I don’t know.” Her gaze locked with his, then. “Do we need to snuggle on the couch to figure it out?”
Oh, crap. He set his cup aside. Of course, that would come back to bite him in the butt. “Look, Amanda, I…”
“You, what? Thought you’d get cozy for a second and pump me for answers?”
“No.”
“It didn’t cross your mind?” As if they were in an interrogation room, she stood. Prosecutor against the guilty. What did he expect? Her dad was a judge. And she could be a ruthless interrogator, when needed.
“Keep it down, will you?” He glanced at Ariana’s door and found it closed. “She doesn’t know I was anywhere near that explosion and if she did, she’d worry.”
“It’s kind of obvious you weren’t at Chucky Cheese.” Amanda gestured to the bruises running up his leg and the cut on his chin.
“Will you sit down?”
She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest before complying.
“Let’s recap, shall we?” Robinson held out his hand, palm up, index finger pointed toward Amanda, the others curled back toward himself. “I needed some questions answered after the explosion, so I sought you out at the hospital. You skipped shop, and thirty minutes later, I pulled a Taser out of your back.”
He ticked his middle finger forward, alongside the pointer. “I follow you to your car, to have you ignore my questions about a very serious investigation that cost this city at least one-hundred civilian lives, three-hundred-fifty-nine injuries and killed four servicemen, another thirteen working with minor injuries.”
“Five.” The word held no emotion.
He paused, hand midair. “What?”
Amanda’s gaze, a little dazed, flicked from the edge of the counter to his face. “The fifth serviceman died this morning after being in ICU, for the past couple of days.”
He couldn’t focus on that. Not right now. Later, he’d get the details. He’d check in on the family. Say a prayer. “How do you know that, anyway?”
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 8
