DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Do you have a spare set of keys?” McKenna asked.

  They were on the hook near the door, next to Eric’s. She tried to remember if she’d seen them hanging from the Las Vegas keychain she’d put them on. She didn’t know. She’d been in too much of a hurry to get out of the house before Eric woke up. “Yes.”

  “Somebody could have easily made a copy and replaced them.”

  “What about your phone? In order to program it, somebody had to have access.”

  “I’m never without it.” Which left her and Eric as the only suspects, if this guy hadn’t switched it, himself or—herself. Spouting that nonsense to McKenna, who’d already questioned her memory of the event, didn’t seem wise.

  Did Eric know anything about the technology used to place that kind of program? If so, why now? All the events required planning and pointed to someone who was either quite angry or delusional.

  She couldn’t be that naive about the people around her, could she?

  McKenna held out her hand. “Give me your house key. I’ll send someone to check it out. If the keys are still there, I’ll see if I can get any prints off of them.”

  “We both know that’s a slim possibility.”

  “It’s a start.” She wiggled her fingers. “Hand it over. While I’m there, I’ll talk to your doorman.”

  She removed the key from the ring and placed it in McKenna’s palm. “I’d enjoy the return to your bossy side, if it weren’t directed at me.”

  “You and Jordan can commiserate later.”

  “How’s his head?”

  McKenna blew out a breath. “If you ask him, it’s fine. But he gets these migraines that last for days, sometimes. He thinks he’s hiding the amount of pain he’s in, that he can barely see and is usually close to vomiting. I can tell. And I hate it, for him.”

  “Isn’t there medication he can take?”

  She nodded. “I had to bribe him to take it, yesterday. And even though he probably woke up without pain, I’ll have to make him take it the next time.”

  With nothing to soothe her friend or herself, Amanda nodded mutely.

  “We get to officially plan Matthew's memorial,” McKenna said.

  “Eric didn't tell me they cleared his name.”

  Her friend nodded. “Last week.”

  Why hadn't he mentioned it? “That's great, McKenna.”

  “A few of his old co-workers are going to be pallbearers. They're bringing out the Firing Party and doing a last radio call. CMPD offered more, but we declined. Jordan wanted to make sure he was given a proper burial, with full honors. It’s why we waited until the DA's office could expunge his records and it was recorded at the courthouse.”

  It had taken the penal system seven months to clear Matthew's name from the murder of Cassidy Bening. Seven months, in which her friends had dealt with an urn full of his ashes. “When is it?”

  “Two weeks from tomorrow.”

  Amanda squeezed McKenna’s arm for a moment. “It's going to be a rough day, but we will all be there to support you guys.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot to me. What does Eric think about the last few days?”

  A million responses flew through her brain, but she shook her head.

  “He doesn’t know about the phone calls.” Statement, not question. “You don’t think he’s involved, do you?”

  “I don’t know. No.” Amanda tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Things have been different between us lately. I’ve waited for a proposal, for the last five years. I’m not sure I could’ve said yes, even if Robinson didn’t ruin the moment by showing up.”

  Guilt swarmed around her and sat on her shoulders. The moment Robinson had opened the curtain and stepped through, relief had flooded her system. And then fear took over. Either man could have been the cause of her hospital stint. The fact had been insurmountable. “He didn’t ruin the moment. I did.”

  “The whole thing was kind of poorly timed, Amanda.”

  “That’s just it. It shouldn’t have mattered. I told myself I was upset, because I didn’t get to hear the rest of Eric’s speech. Those words might have made a big difference. But what else is there to say? If ‘will you marry me?’ doesn’t cut it, the other words aren’t going to change anything.”

  “You had a concussion.”

  When he asked you, you said yes because you wanted to. Now, you don’t know what you want.

  Was it possible that Eric knew something she didn’t?

  She had to figure it out and take her life back in the process. “Yeah, maybe. We haven’t talked about it since.”

  If McKenna had been in her shoes, with Jordan on the other end of things, nothing would’ve stopped her from saying yes.

  Even now, the future spread before her, a blank canvas. She had plenty of paint and brushes, but no ideas. No inspiration. All the talent in the world couldn’t save her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As it happened, something was defective inside Amanda’s head.

  “You said you’d drive me and I agreed.” She said to Robinson’s back.

  When hiding out was the sanest option, she followed him inside Trendy Tuesdays, on Tyron Street, six blocks north of what was left of the stadium.

  “So you did.” He flagged a hostess—go figure, a cute, blonde woman—who rushed right over and seated them at a table near the back. Still in clear view of the front door. The hostess placed menus in front of them, a small smile falling in Robinson’s general direction.

  “All I wanted was a ride to my rental car.” Amanda should have asked McKenna to drive her, but that route led to a lot more questions. What was the world coming to when Amanda opted to spend more time with Robinson and subject herself to his questions, over that of her best friend?

  Like he would have let her trot off without getting to the bottom of her mess, anyway. The meager non-apology she’d gotten from him thirty minutes earlier, shouted the fact.

  I’m a jerk. You like it. So, what’s next on the agenda?

  If she wouldn’t get a ton of wide-eyed stares, she’d bash her head on the table in front of her. Maybe it would reconnect the missing chuck of her brain.

  Robinson glanced at his menu and pointed to an item. “What do you think? Too early for steak?”

  The swirly script on the laminated list, blurred into a jumble of unrecognizable letters. She fingered the edge, but couldn’t bring herself to open it. “I assumed you knew that wasn’t an invitation to join us.”

  “Man’s gotta eat.” He didn’t look up. “Plus, this gives us a chance to chat while we wait for Beth.”

  “I’m not up for small talk.”

  He closed his menu. “Okay.”

  Amanda looked at him then. Something soft lingered in his gaze, a slight backward slouch in his posture. Muscular arms crossed over his chest, as if he were enjoying a leisurely lunch with an old friend. No way he’d keep his mouth shut until Beth got here. Not this man.

  He didn’t move.

  She could wait him out all day. The knots in her stomach could kiss off.

  As if they didn’t have a madman chasing her, via special message, he picked up his menu, again. “You’re right, too early for steak. A hamburger is much better. It’s still man-hear-me-roar, but not so much I-killed-the-still-kicking-beast myself.”

  Amanda placed one arm across her midsection, so that it balanced the palm, cupping her chin. “You’re disgusting.”

  A small smiled played at the corners of his mouth.

  “How can you even think about food, right now?”

  He flipped from one page to the next, then back. “It’s a gift.” Then he reached over and flicked her menu, which landed with the seafood section facing her. “Pick something. You’re alive. We’re gonna keep you that way. Starting with food.”

  Amanda sighed, looked at the menu, but couldn’t concentrate. She pulled out her phone. The bland, gray cover held no personalization. Not like the red one she’d purchased, at a mall kiosk,
on a whim.

  Her thumb hit a hitch. The edge of the case was askew at one rounded corner.

  She pushed down and removed the back. It was the same model as its predecessor. The battery came out next, then the front of the case. The processor lay nestled under two black screws and the faceplate, underneath where the camera was housed. How difficult would placing a tap beneath the plastic be?

  “I need a mini Phillips.”

  A rough laugh came from Robinson. “Let me get out my Boy Scouts tool box.”

  What if the tap wasn’t something physical, but another program? One that tracked her location via GPS coordinates. Not a program at all, but a standard piece of equipment in today’s technology. The military and the FBI used it. The public was only beginning to grasp it was a reality and not something borne of science fiction novels.

  Could a civilian have access to it?

  “A.J.” Again, her initials came out like a soothing Age. Robinson’s warm palm found her knee. It sent a zing of sensation up her thigh.

  She stopped, the pieces of her cell phone in her hand like a broken toy. The beat of her heart whooshed, too loud, in her ears. She moved her leg out of his reach.

  “Nervous?” His gaze flicked to her hands. A couple in the corner, to their left, gave each other a look, their glances darting from where Amanda sat.

  “No.” She reassembled the pieces and tucked it out of sight. “I just like this song.”

  A lopsided smile lit his face. “I’d say your beat is a little off.”

  “What?”

  He put his menu down. “To the song. Whatever you were tapping out sounded more like a rock tune than Nora Jones.”

  Was that what played over the speakers? “Like you even know who she is.”

  For a minute, he remained quiet. “I can’t help you, if you don’t give me all the details, A.J. You said this guy mentioned McKenna, your parents, Beth, Eric and I. How do we fit in?”

  You live with your boyfriend, Eric Dunham because when he asked you to move in three years ago, you wanted to. You’re unsure what you want now, but the arrangement is familiar so you say nothing. But that’s not what really eats you, is it?

  “Take yourself out of the equation—disconnect for a bit. Give it to me straight.”

  It was now or never. She spun her water glass on the table. Noted the expanding ring on the white tablecloth.

  His gaze flicked to that spot. “Talk to me.”

  The huskiness of his voice lulled her battling senses and she plunged ahead before she could change her mind. “The caller insinuated that I was unsure of my current position, in my personal life. That I wanted to be where I am, at one point, but I don’t anymore. That I stay with Eric, because it’s comfortable.”

  His blue-green gaze didn’t leave her face. “This guy could have been gaging your reactions and moving forward based on them.”

  “I already thought of that. The line was well rehearsed and didn't leave any time for reciprocal conversation.”

  “Nettles, neither you nor Eric are exactly low profile. Anyone could type your names into an internet search engine and come up with half a dozen hits connecting you.”

  “True.”

  “So, it’s not a big secret that the all-sovereign Judge Nettles’ daughter is dating the DA’s newest hotshot.”

  Oh, boy. “Please, tell me that’s some imaginative paraphrasing on your part?”

  Placing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward and braced his chin with his thumb and forefinger, in the shape of an L. “More or less. From the phone records, you were on that call for one minute and twenty-eight seconds. What else was said?”

  She licked her lips and bit the lower one. Saying it out loud could change everything between them. She hated to see the natural camaraderie they shared, become awkward. Then again, everything had been that way since Wednesday, anyway.

  “Just spit it out, Nettles.”

  “A direct quote, ‘You try not to think about Baker Jackson Robinson in more than a professional manner, but sometimes you don’t succeed. You’re ashamed that you were able to tell him you were meeting a woman named Beth Markel today when you couldn’t tell Lawyer Boy.’” She didn’t dare look in his direction—couldn’t have if someone had put a gun to her head. Her heart picked a rhythm better suited to a marathon runner, her hands developing a sudden clamminess.

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask her if any of it was true. Maybe he couldn’t stomach the answers she wouldn’t have. There should be one. Yes or no. Not this hazy in between where goblins hid, hoping for a tasty morsel to devour.

  Their waiter paused at the table and asked something Amanda couldn’t concentrate on. Robinson’s voice floated around her and the waiter left. Moments later, a glass of an amber-colored liquor, with three cubes of ice, appeared in front of her.

  “Drink it,” Robinson said.

  Normally, beer would have been her drink of choice. Without bothering to ask about the contents, she downed it in one gulp. It burned the whole way down and warmed her stomach on impact.

  “What does Eric think about all this?”

  What? She tented shaky fingers in front of her mouth and nose. Had he not heard anything she’d said? “That’s all you can say?”

  “Seems fitting. Lawyer Boy’s gonna shrug it off. You should, too.”

  Amanda released a breath. Sipped her water. “You do know he hates that nickname, right?”

  Robinson shrugged. “That’s half the fun.” He paused. “A.J., look at me.”

  When she should have grabbed her purse and hightailed it home, she complied. Those eyes centered on her, calm and collected. Because he already knew everything she’d told him?

  Somebody had given the carney permission to start the merry-go-round with only one rider, again.

  “I got it.” With middle and forefinger, Robinson tapped his head, near styled, jet-black hair, complimenting those clear eyes. “They’re words. Meant to throw you. Nothing more.”

  Sure. Thrown was accurate. Hit by the broad side of a one-hundred car train, full of coal, was more fitting.

  “Say it with me.” He leaned over his menu, his hands clasped in front of him. “They’re words.”

  No. They weren’t. This wasn’t some good-natured ribbing during recess. “Why did you call me on Wednesday?”

  His mouth opened and then closed. A gleam appeared in his eyes, mischievous and fitting for him. “Reconnecting with old friends is always a little nerve-racking.” His voice was soft. “I called to tell you good luck.”

  “Good luck for what?” A melodic voice said.

  Beth, in a pink maternity cardigan set, hung her Prada bag on the corner of her chair. A smile lit her face as she spread out her arms. The motion pulled the fabric across her baby bump and jangled the charm bracelet on her wrist. Before Amanda could stand, the other woman’s arms were around her shoulders, in an embrace. “It’s so good to see you. Sorry, I’m a little late.” She took the chair next to Amanda. “This must be—”

  “Baker Jackson Robinson.” He stuck out his hand. The white bandage she’d placed earlier, contrasted with his tanned arm. “Amanda and I are occasional colleagues.”

  Beth’s hazel eyes darted there and then back to Robinson’s face. Her free hand fussed with short, highlighted tresses. A cascade of reds, browns and blondes made her huge, hazel eyes pop. “Occasional? Are you with the police department too, Mr. Robinson?”

  “No.” He extracted his hand. “I’m with the FBI.”

  “Wow.” She fiddled with her hair some more. Manicured nails and tanned skin completed her whole ensemble.

  Beth was sitting beside her. She looked great, healthy and happy, as if no time had passed. Amanda resisted the urge to run a hand over her plain, brown hair and the healing cut, sure to be a scar, at the corner of her forehead.

  “I’ve always wondered how close T.V. comes to the real deal.”

  “About as close as CSI,” Amanda said before she thought
better of it.

  Beth’s smile fell as she glanced between her and Robinson.

  “Most of those shows have on-staff consultants, who are either experts or expert researchers.” Robinson jumped in, right on time, as usual.

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Beth’s full-fledged smile returned. She placed a hand on top of Amanda’s. “It’s so nice to be back here after all these years.” She turned to Robinson. “My husband, Guy Markel, is a NFL running back and we’ve moved around a little bit. We were with Seattle last season. I can’t tell you how much of an improvement the weather is here.”

  “I can imagine,” he said. Then he flagged down the waiter who came and took their orders. Amanda asked for the first entree she spotted.

  “Anyway, I’m glad to be back, reconnecting with old friends.” Beth squeezed her hand, before releasing it. “Although, after Wednesday’s accident at the stadium—y’all heard about that, right?”

  “Kind of hard not to, Mrs. Markel.” Robinson’s voice held the charming twang he used on some of his blonde bimbos.

  “Oh, just call me Beth.”

  “Well, Beth, with our jobs, we’re kind of in-the-know on these disasters,” he said kindly.

  Amanda resisted the sudden urge to roll her eyes and spout off a sassy comment.

  Beth leaned forward, all her attention on him. “They say it was a propane leak.”

  He nodded reassuringly. “It’s being investigated. Amanda got caught in the blast zone, but was lucky enough to escape without too much injury. Was your husband nearby when it happened?”

  The other woman sipped her water. “No. Thank God. I would have been down here with Amanda, but Guy and I started working on the nursery and we lost track of time. When I finally headed toward the café, I ended up stuck in traffic.” Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at Amanda. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Mandy.”

  Amanda’s mouth went dry and her tongue refused to work. Her mind couldn’t conjure up any sentences, while neither Robinson nor Beth had any issues. The toe of Robinson’s shoe found her calf with a light tap.

  She didn’t dare look at him, sure he’d throw the say-something gesture her way. Among other things.