“When is the last time you heard her talking about a cute guy?” he asked.
McKenna rolled her eyes. “That’s like asking when I last brushed my teeth.”
“So?”
“So, it’s been a while, but I don’t keep track of these things. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Right,” he said. “We should give them some privacy.”
“Forget that. The only thing that would make this better would be full audio and a bag of popcorn. She’s been in our business for as long as I can remember. Payback. Plus, Amanda lied to me. She is in trouble. I just wish she would be honest about it.”
Guilt hit him in the solar plexus. “I’m sure she has a good reason.”
McKenna shook her head. “I know hormones are making me unreasonable, but I’m not in the mood to listen to good reasons. Not when my best friend’s life is at stake.”
As if Jordan’s thoughts had conjured McKenna’s bodyguard, his phone buzzed. Kevin Gates’ message read, Rupert Dillon on the block. Intercept?
He typed in the negative one word response and flipped his phone shut.
McKenna’s brow rose. “Work?”
“Always.”
Seven months ago, they’d promised each other there would be no more secrets. Any way he looked at it, he’d broken the promise by hiding the fact that he’d hired Kevin Gates to protect her. At the time, he’d been fresh out of the hospital, barely able to take care of himself, let alone his wife, who was still healing from her own harrowing experience.
He'd promised himself, after he recovered, he would tell Kevin his services were no longer needed. Five months ago, therapy completed, he found another reason to keep the guy around. One reason turned into five, ten, and twenty, until here they stood. Paying for a bodyguard to run interference with Rupert.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“This conversation is over.” Amanda tore her hand, trapped in Robinson’s clutches, free.
It had been at an end before they’d begun. Not because of the fact that he’d whisked her into his vehicle. Refused to listen to her reasons for why they should drive separate and basically ignored her until they’d reached Jordan and McKenna’s house.
Even Ariana had noticed the awkward silence between them. The poor kid couldn’t get out of the vehicle fast enough.
The door had barely shut when he’d asked Amanda for the details of Wednesday’s explosion. And, God help her, she’d lied. Not outright, but by a tiny omission about the full details of her phone conversation. It could mean the difference between finding this guy and ending up dead.
She could reason that it wasn't a big deal all day long. Reality wouldn't get off her back long enough to let her enjoy it. Bottom line, every detail mattered. In her book, omission was a lie, the taste more bitter than a spoonful of battery acid.
It wasn’t how she operated. Not with Eric, Jordan, McKenna, or her parents. And never with Robinson. It felt wrong. On about eight-hundred different levels.
She blew out a strangled breath.
“Stop being irrational.” Annoyance enunciated each word.
If he was trying to get a rise out of her, it wouldn’t be a difficult feat. The clawing sat in the back of her throat, waiting for release. Waiting to let whatever words crept around in those dark places, free. It usually meant they didn't talk for a while afterward.
As the only other person who knew even a minute fraction of Wednesday’s details, she couldn’t afford to let that happen. And she already walked a fine line. The clench of his jaw, combined with the way he gripped the steering wheel and then released it, told her that much.
“It’s logical.” His gaze trapped her. “Unless this guy’s got several people helping him, it’s almost impossible for him to know your whereabouts every minute of every day.”
“He knew I was in that café. Knew every step I took. When I checked my messages. He timed the blast from my car just right. There was a message on my home phone. And then this morning.”
“You didn’t tell me about the message on your home phone.”
“It came in last night. I let it go to voicemail. Then I erased it.”
Daddy's got a secret. The words circled in her brain on repeat.
“Why?” Skepticism brought his brows together.
“I didn’t want Eric to hear it.”
An unreadable look crossed his face. One that made her want to squirm. Even though she knew what her noncompliance must appear as, she didn’t move. Didn't try to defend actions that must seem half-crazy with the minimal information he had.
Intense flecks of green lit the normal Caribbean blue of his irises. If she looked deep enough, she could probably convince herself she was at the beach, enjoying a sunny day and some fruity drink with an umbrella in it. His gaze lowered and then returned.
A bolt of excitement shot into her stomach as if she were a teenager waiting for her first kiss. Except she didn’t want anything like that from Robinson.
“A.J.” His voice was whisper soft, her initials running together so that it sounded like age instead. It warmed over her. Made her want to crawl over the center console, separating them, and find comfort in his embrace.
He leaned toward her, his face inches from hers. “I thought you were always honest and upfront. What’s changed?”
It wasn’t the question she had anticipated. “Nothing. How am I supposed to explain, ‘choosing your priorities is harder than it seems, isn’t it?’ to Eric? I can’t even…” Accept his ring. She broke eye contact then, shifted in her seat and watched the wind blow a few stray leaves across Jordan’s driveway. Those words couldn’t leave her mouth and hit Robinson’s ears.
“Explain it to me.”
She shook her head. Half-cooked lines sat on her tongue, begging for release, but she pressed her lips together. She knew the route they led. Had seen how lies could tangle around you until you weren’t sure what was true, with no escape in sight. She had to pick this information apart and find the truth first.
Which meant, talking with her Dad was number one priority.
From her peripheral vision, she watched Robinson shift in the seat and cross his arms. “So, you deleted the only evidence that this guy exists?” The skepticism in his voice wasn’t lost on her. “A sample we could have used to match anything else we pick up.”
Yes. Rule number one: Don’t mess with evidence. Except her brain had short-circuited as soon as the metallic voice had filled the kitchen. Eric had been in their bedroom preparing for bed. She’d frozen, her heart pounding a heavy beat in her ears. Eric had started whistling as the message hung in the air.
Daddy’s got a secret. That makes two.
His footsteps had sounded on the plush carpet, louder than a jackhammer. Amanda had never hit the delete button so fast in her life. How could he whistle as if everything in the world were perfect?
“I’m sticking with my earlier assessment.” Robinson’s voice brought her back to the present. “You’re bugged. The sooner we check, the sooner we can move on.”
“We? I don’t think so.”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s probably something small. Hidden in something you wear or carry every day. Give me your purse.”
“No.” The word slipped out, past the lump of fear lodged in her throat. If they found a bug, it meant that someone had slipped into her house. She was a cop. Things like that shouldn’t happen. But someone had already been in Robinson’s apartment.
Unless he’d placed the dud himself.
Amanda clutched the edge of her armrest. No, he’d been in the apartment for that call. No way it was pre-recorded. The call last night, however…
“I think I’m capable of looking for my own imaginary bugs.” She didn’t move.
Those beautiful eyes turned to slits, but trapped hers. “Are you this difficult with Eric?”
Heat filled the car until she couldn’t ignore the sensation tingling around her. “What does that mean?”
> “Nothing.” He glanced out the window. It dissipated like the sudden shift of a tornado. “Forget it.”
This wasn’t happening. Amidst everything, she refused to feel anything beyond friendship. She had Eric. He had somebody. He was a perpetual dater.
You're just over thinking everything, because some wacko pointed out his crazy musings. Nothing more.
Yeah, that was it. She’d sit Eric down tonight and they could talk—really talk. Maybe she’d make dinner, set out some wine and they could relax.
“Why you think the idea is so far-fetched that you won’t give it any thought, is beyond me.” Robinson’s voice held a bite. “You’re smarter than this.”
Whoa. “This isn’t some grocery store novel, where I hand over my purse and my clothes and you magically find a bug, then save the day.”
His mouth opened and he tucked his tongue near the corner of his lips, making one cheek bulge out for a second. One hand lifted in a quick wave above the arm it had rested on. “I didn’t say anything about your clothes. You jumped to that conclusion. I said we need to check for bugs.”
Her face heated. “I'm telling you there's no bug. He knew what I was wearing.”
“Maybe he saw you leave your condo that morning.”
“He knew I was spinning my water glass.”
“You always do that when you’re concentrating on something.”
She did? “He knew that I was looking around the café for him and when I'd stepped to the door.”
“Maybe you’re bugged and he was in the vicinity.”
“He knew I ate breakfast at your house this morning.”
Robinson sucked in a breath. A deep-rooted composure slid over his shock, so quick, she might have missed it if she wasn’t paying attention. “Either way, we need to know so we can start ruling things out.”
How was he so calm? “There you go again. There’s no we in this.”
The masculine jaw in front of her clenched again, tightening the muscles near his cheek. “You pretty much made it that way when you walked into my apartment this morning. Deal with it, Nettles.”
“You’re right.” She nodded. “I’m going to deal with it. My way.” Then she grabbed the door handle and exited the vehicle much the same way she had months ago. When she’d told him not to call her unless it had to do with official business.
Thinking about how he’d adhered to the decree for all of forty-eight hours, made her slam the door harder than she’d intended. While helping Jordan and McKenna lay their ghosts to rest had been worth it, her life had never been the same since.
Those forty-eight hours and consequential weeks, following their argument, had been rougher than she cared to admit. Gone was the easy banter they’d always shared, in its place a strange, quiet beast that begged for attention, but wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Robinson was easy to talk to. He really listened to someone when they talked, read between the lines and knew what to say in return almost one-hundred percent of the time. They’d bounced more ideas off of each other than she could count. He always seemed to give it to her straight, no malarkey muddying the waters.
Unlike a lot of the law enforcement officials she worked with, she honestly respected and liked him. Liked how he put all his effort into his job, while still managing to raise his niece. His sense of humor drove her crazy, but always managed to make her laugh.
Things were easier before his girlfriend’s death.
After reaching Jordan and McKenna’s front door, she hazarded a glance back toward Robinson’s truck. Even from here, she could tell his gaze centered on her. The fingers on one hand drummed against the steering wheel. His lips pinched together and he had his phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t move from the vehicle and didn’t bother looking away.
Amanda missed him.
No, she missed the way things used to be before last year. That was it. She shook her head. She didn’t have time for this nonsense.
Before she could knock on the door, Jordan opened it. A deep scowl covered his face. “Hey.”
Amanda hazarded a peek around him, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe male PMS was in the air. “Bad time?”
“No.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, his face relaxing. “Sorry.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“The lurker.”
Amanda stifled a laugh at the name Jordan had dubbed Rupert with, months ago. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Not you, too. If you take his side, I’m not letting you in.”
She held up her hand. “No argument here. I’m with you one-hundred percent.”
“Liar.”
“Okay. Maybe not on the nickname.”
Jordan threw his head back. “And?”
“He did save your life.” How could she not be thankful for that? They’d proved they could survive apart, but Jordan and McKenna were better together.
Jordan groaned. “Am I the only one who thinks this situation is strange?”
Amanda shrugged. “You could ask him not to come around.”
“Yeah.” He stepped aside and let her in. “Talk to McKenna about that, would you?”
“How is she?”
“I’m great.” McKenna’s voice carried from the table, located in the eat-in kitchen, to their left. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she hunched near the laptop at the table. “The wonder child is great, too.” She slung one arm over the back of her chair and turned. “The question is, how are you?” One of her brows rose higher than the other. “And don’t lie.”
Amanda looked from her best friend to her husband. “Why do I get the feeling we’re about to have an intervention?”
“It’s for your own good.” McKenna smiled as if she talked about eating broccoli. She patted the empty chair to her left.
“Really?” Amanda could only imagine what type her friends would host.
“Yes,” Jordan and McKenna said in unison. It reminded her of days past. The three of them hanging out as long as each day, in the summer, would allow.
“This isn’t about Sam Richardson again, is it? Because I’ve got to tell you, I set my sights a lot higher than that, nowadays.” The boy she’d had a crush on in high school had never noticed her, which was a good thing, in the end.
Jordan followed her into the kitchen, chuckling. “That’s a relief. That guy was a dick.”
McKenna wrinkled her nose. “You just can’t get over the fact that I was going to prom with him, junior year.”
Jordan shot his wife a smirk, then picked up the steaming cup near the computer.
Amanda sat at the table. The tight knots in her shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. “I remember being a little green with envy.”
“I won in the end.” Jordan sipped his coffee. “He showed up late and smelled like booze. And she ended up hanging out with me. We got some interesting looks when we walked into that convenience store for junk food. You in your dress, me in jeans and a t-shirt. Tell me you’ve still got that dress somewhere, Slick.”
McKenna clicked some keys on the laptop in front of her, a small smile forming on her lips. “That was our little secret, Jordan.”
“It wasn’t a secret, McKenna. I knew what happened, even though neither one of you would tell me the truth.”
“What?” They said in unison. The two of them needed to stop doing that in-tune thing all the time. It was cute. In a weird thank-goodness-you-two-are-together-or-I’d-have-to-vomit-way. Robinson’s words, not Amanda’s, but she agreed with the sentiment.
Okay, maybe Eric was right. They did spend way too much work-related time together.
McKenna’s eyes locked with Amanda’s.
“Your uncle and Jordan’s mom pulled me aside one day, the spring before she died, and were pretty blunt about the whole escapade.”
At the mention of the uncle who’d died trying to save Jordan and McKenna, over seven months ago, the other woman’s face pale
d. “That sounds like something they would do.”
“Guess I’m busted for spilling the beans on that one.” Jordan’s tight laugh filled the room, his hand tracing the scar on the right side of his skull. “What’s the deal with your wheels today?”
“What?” Amanda asked.
“I noticed Robinson gave you a ride.” He nodded toward the front door and the man probably still stewing in his vehicle, beyond that.
“Yup.”
“That's extremely explanatory.”
“I'm sure that it is.”
One of Jordan's brows rose higher than the other, on a face that said he didn't intend to drop the subject.
“She's not going to tell you what happened, so save your breath. Even if she did, it wouldn't be everything you need to know, would it?” McKenna glanced from her husband to Amanda and back again. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the other woman's exact thoughts.
Jordan raised his hands and clasped them behind his head, as if in surrender. “Fine.” He blew the word out on a sigh.
She wished everything was as easy as the two of them made it seem.
McKenna pushed the laptop in front of Amanda and hit play.
“What's this?”
“Just watch,” she said.
The screen lit up with a grainy shot of downtown Charlotte, her car at center stage. She watched herself park, and rush into the café. Two minutes of film passed, filled with citizens strolling the streets, shoppers hailing taxis and someone using the ATM before she saw herself exit the restaurant.
At least it looked like her. Same clothing, height and build. But she hadn’t left until the paramedics hauled her away on a stretcher. She watched herself unlock her car, sit inside for several minutes and then reenter the cafe. Ten minutes later, the feed snowballed.
None of this looked good. The expectant and worried faces of her friends, confirmed it. She didn’t remember seeing anyone who looked like her inside the cafe. No way would she have missed that.
Could she have left, the second time, and not remember?
She threaded her fingers through her hair and came into contact with the bruised remnants from Wednesday’s events.
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 11
