DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Scott Jonas covered the story this morning.”

  She was blowing the wind right out of his sails, which wasn’t like the Amanda he knew. That woman was all sassy quip and smiles mixed with in-your-face truth and determination. The woman in front of him had none of it.

  “I gotta go.” She stood and grabbed a small handbag and dark jacket, at the edge of the counter.

  “Whoa.” He caught her wrist and held. “What’s the rush?”

  Amanda tugged against his loose hold. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Her words rolled around in his head. Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. “You wanna explain why we were thrown five feet due to another explosion, rigged to your car?”

  “I’m in the dark. Just like you.” The words came too quick. There was his wind again. Oh, ho-rah.

  “So,” he jabbed his free finger into the countertop. “You’re telling me you had no warning it was going to happen?”

  “None.”

  Robinson flicked her hand out of his grasp. He stood, made sure his full height towered over her, which was difficult given her natural five-ten stature. “You want to be mad about the fact that I comforted you and maybe myself for one brief minute after a day full of complete chaos, be mad. I’m not apologizing. You wanna lie to me, go right ahead. I’m used to it.”

  Her amber gaze locked on his, but her lips stayed shut.

  Fine.

  “For the record, if we had no connections, I’d have found a way to detain you already, concussion or not.” Bracing himself on the counter, he tried to ignore the clean scent of her shampoo. “Chew on that for a minute. You know where the door is, Detective Nettles. See yourself out. I’ll send you a bill for the cereal.”

  “Do you think a twenty will cover it?” She pulled out her wallet, dug out a crisp bill and laid it on the counter.

  He was insane. The fault lie with the woman in front of him, who he allowed to get under his skin every time they came into contact. “I don’t want your money.”

  She tilted her head, the stupid smile that had the power to bring him to his knees, blooming. “I’m pretty sure you’re giving me mixed signals, Robbie.”

  He stepped back so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. “Don’t push me, Nettles,” he growled. “This isn’t a joke.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Of course this wasn’t a joke.

  You wanna lie to me, go right ahead. I’m used to it.

  What did that mean?

  Up until a few days ago, Amanda had been ridiculously honest with everyone. If she asked Robinson about it, right now, he’d be just as forthcoming. At least, she wanted to believe he would be. Because if he wasn’t who she thought he was, if the life she’d built and the people inside it was a lie…

  Did she want to know the answer? It could be as simple as catching a perp in action or something much deeper. Darker.

  But, then, that was why she was here in the first place.

  Amanda cleared her throat. Robinson hadn’t moved. Still stood there with a hooded expression, a touch of turmoil inside that would be hard to fake. All her cop instincts told her he was on her side, but she'd be stupid not to take caution.

  Yesterday, she’d woken with a clear head. Enough to remember most of the prior seventy-two hours, with a few hazy moments in between. Most of which, Robinson had clarified without her having to ask him point-blank.

  This morning her plan to try and draw the perp out again had seemed solid. This guy wanted her to play his game. She was willing, if it meant he got caught sooner. This time she was ready for the call, complete with tracing software she’d installed on her new phone.

  Another one would come. It was only a matter of when.

  Having subtle conversations with Beth and Eric had produced nothing other than adding worry to both their plates. Was she okay?

  No. She had a madman who thought he knew things about her, killing innocent people. And trying to kill her. All while dictating her actions until that could happen.

  How could she be okay with that?

  Amanda had seen the paper, watched the news. The victim’s faces were etched in her mind. They were mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. Somebody’s world. Gone.

  Why?

  Ruling out Robinson was the last logical step before she had to, somehow, ask her dad if he had secrets she didn’t have a right to know.

  “Answer my questions or go home.” The crisp timbre of his voice conveyed the seriousness of this situation. She got it more than anyone.

  “What have you got so far, Agent Robinson?”

  Muscular arms folded across his chest, tightening his shirt across the conditioned physique beneath. “You know it doesn’t work that way, Nettles. You’re not on my task force.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

  “We’ve never been in this situation.” That blue-green gaze travelled the length of her body and came to rest on her face again. It sent a little zing through her system.

  Brush it off, Nettles.

  “What situation is that?”

  One of his dark brows rose a fraction of an inch. “Whatever game you’re playing, count me out.”

  “No games.” Not technically. She’d never tried to outwit Robinson at anything. Aside from giving him a hard time, once in a while, she’d never really had to. It was more enjoyable to work together rather than against.

  That eyebrow quirked higher on a face that said he could stand in one spot all day, the same stoic expression glued in place. “Call it what you will, but the Amanda I know would come out and answer my questions. There’s only one reason you wouldn’t.”

  There was way more than one. He had to know that. Had to realize she would never take the lives of so many innocent people. It was the opposite of everything she worked to uphold.

  The creak of a door opening caught their attention, seconds before Ariana came into sight. “There’s someone on the phone for Miss Amanda.”

  “Oh.” Her heart picked up pace. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. She hadn’t even told Eric she was coming here, sure that it would start a discussion she wasn’t ready to have.

  This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

  Not like this. She figured the call would come after she left.

  “Who is it?” Robinson asked.

  The girl shrugged and handed the phone over. “Some guy.”

  Each millisecond it took Amanda to raise the receiver to her ear, increased the knot of dread forming in her stomach. Why hadn't she thought of Robinson's niece before she'd come? Of the danger she could expose them both to?

  She hadn't been thinking, but trying to end the madness. Only, she'd forgotten you couldn't reason with crazy. You couldn't control it. This guy knew it. All her carefully rehearsed words went out the window.

  Robinson hadn’t moved from his spot. Watching her like a guard dog waiting for someone to cross the line into his territory.

  “Nettles.” She implemented as much self-confidence into her tone as possible.

  “Amanda Jeanette Nettles, I’m disappointed.” The metallic voice jangled her frayed nerves. She gripped the phone tighter in her hand. “You’re supposed to be smarter than this.” Silence. “Ask me what I mean.”

  “Why would I care?” She held up a finger in Robinson’s direction. Then she walked into his foyer, a good ten feet from where he stood. As if he wasn’t listening to the whole exchange, anyway.

  “If that were true you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing.”

  Amanda rubbed two fingers down the side of her face, until her entire hand met the nape of her neck and rested there.

  Stay Calm. Get Details.

  “What is it you think I’m doing?”

  “You always eat breakfast at the houses of your co-workers?”

  The cereal in her stomach congealed into poisonous lead.

  “You’ve seen what I’m capable of, so I’m not sure why you’d risk today’s ad
venture.”

  Amanda drew a shunted breath through lungs that didn’t want to expand. “Do you honestly think you can dictate my every move?” She whispered with a fierceness that made her chest ache.

  “The Earth’s overpopulated with people that take it for granted. I told you not to involve anyone else. Now, unless you want to endanger the lives of your precious FBI agent and his niece, I suggest you do as I asked.”

  “I don't negotiate with terrorists,” she said through clenched teeth. Those words had never sounded so bitter.

  A laugh met her ears. “How predictable. A line you learned from the academy. A worthless sentiment in my opinion. If I told you any one of your friends or family were in trouble, you'd step in front of a bullet for them.”

  Amanda swallowed. She hoped she never had to. “Wouldn't you?”

  The metallic voice let out a scoff. “This isn’t about me.”

  “Of course it is.” In some way, it always came back to something personal, didn’t it?

  A clicking sound, like a digitized tisk came over the line. “I’ll answer the question for you. I’m disappointed, because you haven’t gone to the source. Judge Nettles is getting kind of old. It would be a shame if he took all his secrets to the grave. You’ve got five minutes, Amanda, then you won’t have a pot to crap in.”

  The line went dead. She couldn’t move. This wasn’t happening again. Not here.

  “Go get dressed.” Robinson said from behind her.

  Amanda turned around, but didn’t meet his eyes. The chance of them being able to evacuate the building in five minutes or less was impossible. That was the point. Impossible tasks that hadn't a prayer of completion.

  “Why?” Confusion rolled over Ariana’s face. “Are we going somewhere?”

  Robinson glared at his niece. “This isn’t twenty questions. Just do it.” The young girl hesitated a minute, before spinning on her heal and going to her room.

  “You’re white as a ghost, Amanda. Should we be running?”

  “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have come.”

  Skepticism covered his face. “You’re not making a lot of sense. Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  The pressure on her chest increased, as if someone had shaken a two-liter of soda inside her diaphragm. He was her only chance at sparing damage to this building and the lives inside it.

  “Who has access to your apartment?” She tossed the phone on the counter as she scanned the area for anything that seemed out of place. Except, with the few times she’d been here, the search revealed nothing. She headed for the living room.

  “Except for Renee, I’m the only one with a key.” He followed. “And the maintenance crew.”

  She went to the couch and flipped up the cushions. Nothing. She moved to his stack of DVD’s and threw them from the shelves. They crashed to the ground with a clatter.

  He hopped out of the way as another pile collided with the floor. “What are you doing?”

  “He knew I’d come here.” Was she really that predictable? She'd been to this apartment twice, in the three years they'd known each other. The day of Kara's funeral and the night of Jordan's accident at Club Italia. Neither time had been long in duration or anything other than platonic. Except, both times they'd had disagreements, which had left her unsettled in their friendship.

  Eric had laughed off each recounting.

  Could this guy have been tracking her this long, waiting to make his move?

  “Who?” Robinson said as if he’d asked the question several times already.

  She moved on from the movies to the books. He grabbed her hands, halting her destruction of his property. “Look at me.”

  She complied, but kept her focus on that stupid over styled, jet-black hair of his. “We’re wasting time. Take Ariana and get out of here.”

  “Just tell me what we’re looking for.” His lips moved the barest of amounts, enough to let the words pass through his teeth.

  She pulled her hands away and continued her progress. “It could be a bomb—more C-4, anything. Just go.” She ran her hand under the shelving, then froze. “We could call in someone to discreetly check all the neighboring buildings.”

  No. It would take too long.

  For a second, Robinson didn’t move. Then he was right next to her, helping her clear the shelves. “What did he say? There’s got to be some sort of clue, otherwise we’d be dead already.”

  He was right.

  She scanned the destruction she’d created and moved on to the kitchen, opening cupboards as she went. Each breath came shorter than the last. “Go, Robbie.”

  “Am I supposed to run like a little girl?” He opened one near the fridge.

  “You have Ariana to think about.” Amanda pulled pots from beneath the stove.

  Robinson moved to where he kept the Tupperware and threw the plastic containers as he swiped his hand across the shelves. “You’ve got Eric.”

  Eric didn’t need her. Not the way Ariana needed Robinson. “It’s not the same.”

  “Was there a clue last time?” The stern tone of his voice didn’t invite farther arguing. They were running out of time.

  “I don’t know. He mentioned Eric, Beth, McKenna, my dad and you.” Recalling that moment should have been easier, but a haze fogged the moment and her brain. Pounding started in her temples. Tingling behind her eyes, begged for immediate attention.

  Get it together, Nettles. No time for tears.

  “Ariana, get out here.”

  “What’s going on?” The girl stepped into the kitchen and stopped. Her mouth opened and closed several times, her eyes flicking between both adults. “Have you guys lost your minds?”

  “Not now.” Robinson grabbed his keys and cell phone, then pulled her into a corner near the entrance and handed her both. “Go get in the car. Lock the doors. I’ll be down in a minute. Don't talk to anybody. If anything weird happens, call Jordan.” When she might have argued, he pointed toward the door. “Now.”

  Her forehead crumpled. “Geez, you guys are weird.” Then she disappeared out the door.

  Amanda moved toward his niece’s bedroom seconds before he did. They entered and repeated the process. “This will be quicker if we split up.”

  “Save it, Nettles. Think.”

  “He asked me if I was a football fan.”

  “And how about the incident with your car?”

  A sheen of sweat covered her body and made her clothes stick to her. “Things may be closer than they appear.” Wait. She froze with a stack of Ariana’s yearbooks in her hand and dropped them on the bed.

  You won’t have a pot to crap in.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “How many bathrooms do you have?”

  “Just one.” They headed for it at the same time. She ran into him, the motion sending her shin into the doorframe. A shock of pain radiated upward. He moved inside the bathroom and started in on the vanity.

  A shaky hand lifted the toilet bowl lid. Blue water stared back at her. No explosive device in sight. She felt around the basin. Came up empty.

  Robinson opened the shower curtain and continued his search.

  Something black stuck out against the toilet’s white surface, just under the tank lid. Would she blow them to unrecognizable bits if she opened it? Only one way to find out.

  Her heart thudded against her rib cage, vibrating her body as she lifted the porcelain and set it aside. Nothing happened. A pent up breath rushed from her lungs. She peered inside the tank. The water distorted the image of a plastic baggy, a string tied around it.

  “Bingo.” A stopwatch ticked off seconds, on top of a white rectangular shape. “We’ve got forty seconds.”

  Thirty-nine seconds.

  Robinson moved into her space, from the left side of the toilet. She used her body to throw him off balance. Then she shoved him away. This was her beef, not his.

  He caught himself on the shower curtain rod, seconds before plunging into the tub. “Mo
ve, Nettles.”

  Cool water rushed across her skin as she grabbed the baggie. Everything around her seemed to move in regular fashion, while she was stuck in slow motion.

  Her head pounded to the count of each digit falling from time. She’d brought this on him. Without her, he’d be spending a lazy Saturday with his niece.

  When his eyes met hers, they were the darkest green she’d ever seen and they didn’t convey one ounce of fear. “C-4?”

  Water had gotten inside the bag and the contents were moist when she reached for them. The smell of plastic and an earthy substance hit her. The rectangle squished between her fingers and broke away from the stopwatch, disintegrating into mushy clumps at her feet, the wires connected to the watch, exposed.

  “It’s artist’s clay.”

  “You’re sure?” he said on an exhale.

  “Yeah.” She took a breath and turned the watch over. Duct tape fastened the wires to the device. As the final seconds ticked down, she held it up for him to see. “After four semesters of art classes, you don’t forget the smell and feel of it. Plus, there’s no detonator.”

  The black, block lettering across the tape made her stomach lurch.

  Next time.

  A curse came from his mouth as he ran his hands through his hair. One hand formed a fist. He threw it into the wall next to the tub. The shower rod clanged to the floor, the black fabric of the curtain falling in a heap, underneath.

  And just like that, the shaking in her hands transferred to her whole body. Her legs lost the battle with gravity, her rear end meeting the hard toilet lid. One breath in, one breath out.

  This was real. And if she didn’t do something, more people would die.

  ***

  “You idiot.”

  Robinson wasn’t sure if he meant the comment for Amanda or himself. He removed his hand from the hole in his bathroom wall, then stared at it. He’d done that. Wound up and put his fist through it, without a lot of thought. And managed to knock his shower curtain from the wall.

  After taking a breath, he turned toward Amanda. “You could have been killed.”

  “My mistake.” Water dripped from the hands she had clasped in front of her, as if in prayer, her head bowed a little. Droplets conglomerated into a small pool at her feet, near the baggie.