One brow lifted higher than the other. “Really?”
“Yup.
“You know it’s December and only fifty-three degrees, right?”
“Sure do.” Although, he was discovering any time he spent near Amanda, his body temperature spiked five degrees.
She sighed. “What do you need, Robinson?
“That,” he sat forward, “is a loaded question.”
“Still valid. What kind of favor are we talking here?”
“Who said anything about a favor?” This territory was familiar and comforting to him. She called it a game—a little verbal sparring where no one ever got hurt. He didn’t have a name for it. “Can’t I chat with my favorite detective?”
A smirk covered her face, her lips hiked to one side. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we?”
“Me? Never.”
“I can spot that look a mile away.”
Her laughter warmed over him as a few rays of sun peaked through the leafless trees, in her parents’ yard. Eric would have to be stupid or insane to take what this woman was giving him and throw it away. He’d be an idiot to blow up a stadium and risk prison time when he had Amanda at home, waiting for him.
Then again, this guy seemed to believe she wasn’t completely sold on Eric anymore. And if he and Eric were one and the same…
It explained her odd behavior after the bombing. The way she avoided both himself and Eric.
A better man would chalk their perp’s words up to the craziness they were. A risky attempt to draw Amanda into a place he wanted her and nothing more.
“That look.” She pointed toward him. “Says you’ve got a project I can’t resist, for reasons you won’t name. And I’ll probably have to break some small laws, in order to accomplish the goal.”
“You like the challenge.”
“It’s futile to say no.” She shook her head, a lazy, half smile forming on lips he’d like to taste.
“Do you even know the meaning of the word?” She asked.
Oh, yes. Very well. “Relax, you’re off the hook. I’m the one who’s going to do some dirty work this time.”
“About time, slacker.” She nudged him with her elbow.
“I’ll have to break one of your rules first.”
The laughter disappeared. If he could snatch it back and settle it on her pretty face, forever, he would.
The world didn’t work with rose-colored glasses. Not for long.
“If I could wait a few days, I would. You have to know that, A.J. Every moment we hesitate...”
“I know.” White teeth nipped the corner of one lip as she looked away. “For a minute there, things seemed almost normal.”
There wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn't make him look like an idiot. And nothing would make his job easier. “Eric's had access to both your phone and car, Amanda. I’m not pointing any fingers. I just need to get to the bottom of this, before anyone else gets hurt.”
“You don’t have to sugar coat it.”
“With the evidence we’ve got, you two are pretty high on the list. I’ve got every official in Charlotte and quite a few in Washington breathing down my neck.”
Wariness stole into her amber eyes. “Do you think I’m involved, Robinson?”
His heart told him no, while the practical, law up-holding side of him screamed not to make promises he couldn’t keep. And right now, with the way her lips pressed together and her eyes shuttered, he’d promise to move heaven and earth to keep her out of this mess. “The techs didn’t find a tap inside your phone.”
A heavy sigh came from her lungs as she scrubbed her hands over her face. “I didn’t find any either. I checked everything.” She pulled her phone from her coat and ran her thumb over the surface.
“This guy is using the technology that’s already on the phone.”
“He told you that?”
One shake of the head came. “It makes sense.”
If that were true, this guy had her in a corner. Her job depended on having the device close by.
“You’re talking technology that isn’t used by the public.” The military used it. Newer cell phones had GPS functionality, which aided law enforcement from time to time. The phone needed to be powered on, to be of any use. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
She stood. “Do what you have to do. You know McKenna has my house key.”
“You don’t want to be there?”
“No. And to be safe, you better get a warrant.”
“I know.” Given the situation, the words were so inadequate.
“Thanks for the ride. And lunch.”
A repeat of last spring flashed in front of him. They’d been sitting in his vehicle, the rain coming down around them in a torrential wave. She’d been her normal energetic, where’s-the-action self and he’d ruined it by questioning her loyalty to Eric. All, because he’d been battling his own hurt pride over his ex-girlfriend’s affair. He’d needed Amanda to be as different as he believed.
Throwing caution to the wind, he’d all but accused her of cheating on Eric as she sat in his SUV. Then he’d added insult to injury by proceeding to tell her how to do her job. As if he couldn’t trust her. She’d left his vehicle angrier than he’d ever seen. A large part of him had been terrified—a fact he was only coming to admit now—their friendship was over.
“Hey.” He grabbed her wrist before she could reach the door and disappear inside. He stood, but didn’t release her. Her hand was warm and soft inside his. “I want you to know…”
“I get it, Robinson. You don’t have to explain.”
How could he make her understand? “I’m on your side.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“If this guy is following you physically, we’ll find him. It’s only a matter of time before he screws up.”
“Not soon enough.”
The harsh shoved she’d given him, inside his bathroom, replayed in his head. She’d been prepared to take the brunt of the explosion. It wouldn’t have saved either of them, but the act was awe-inspiring all the same. He didn’t know too many people who would do that for another human being. “Try not to put yourself in the way of any more explosive devices.”
Disappointment settled on her face, a mask so thick, he’d need a chainsaw to cut through to her real feelings.
“Keep your eyes open, okay?”
She gave him a mock salute and retreated into the house. The same helplessness he’d experienced all those months ago, washed over him.
The kind he had no right to assuage
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After the day she'd had, Amanda wanted to believe Eric had no part in this. The man she'd met five years ago, would go out of his way to help an old woman.
Following their initial meeting, they'd talked on the phone a dozen times before he'd asked her for a date. At the end of the night, he'd kissed her on the cheek and made plans with her for the following night. But he'd called within thirty minutes of leaving, to say goodnight.
Was he still the person who came with flowers on that second date? Or the man who dropped by her office and brought her lunch, because he knew she got so wrapped up in work, she sometimes forgot to eat?
She’d told Robinson to do what he had to, but it didn’t mean she planned on sitting around. Watching her name get dragged through the mud. And her life ruined.
So, he thought she was involved. No big deal. That sharp sensation in her chest? Indigestion from lunch. Not the idea that if the positions were reversed, she’d might be leery, but faith in the man she knew, would propel her to prove his innocence. Not just his lack of involvement.
Amanda shook her head, and then walked into the foyer. The hushed tones of her mother’s new nurse contrasted with the agitation in Eileen’s voice. Some days were better than others, but today wasn’t one of them. The sound of breaking glass echoed toward her.
She rushed into the living room and stopped.
Her mot
her stood near the stone fireplace, her back to Amanda and a frame at her feet. Chunks of glass scattered around her mom. Sara, her nurse, was right in front of her, not a note of distress on her face. A soft understanding lit her eyes. Blonde hair fell over one shoulder as she tilted her head.
“I don’t care who you think you are.” Her mother pointed an index finger at the other woman. “You can’t have my baby.”
Amanda stepped forward, but Sara shooed her away with a flick of her eyes.
“Mrs. Nettles, no one’s taking your baby anywhere, except you.”
“Damn right.” The accusing digit lowered and her posture relaxed.
“Why don’t we grab a cup of tea and you can tell me about it. So I can help.”
The older woman let out a huff. “Why would you do that?”
“Because, I like to help my friends.”
Silence reigned. Her mother didn’t move. “Do you have Green tea?”
“I’m sure that we can find some.” The nurse helped the older woman around the shards of glass.
Amanda let out a puff of air she hadn’t meant to hold.
As soon as their voices drifted into the kitchen, she headed toward the sharp mess, scattered in front of the fireplace and began cleaning it up. She lifted the family portrait from where it lay, haphazardly. She’d been about fourteen, all odd angles and growing pains with braces and out-of-control hair. Her parents had huge smiles on their faces, the kind that couldn’t be practiced or brought on with a photographer’s cheesy lines. They each had a hand on one of her shoulders, their gazes locked on one another as if they held the secret to what it took to make a marriage work.
They often joked that this photo was their Brady Bunch snap shot, because Amanda had been gazing upward with a look of awe on her face. Sometimes, she was still fourteen, watching them and wondering how they made it seems so easy.
“That’s one of my favorites.” Her dad’s deep baritone filled the room. The crunch of glass under his feet stopped as he neared. He bent to pick up a few pieces. “Rough day, huh?”
No argument there. Standing, she faced him. “Just your average, run-of-the-mill Saturday.” With bomb-scares and Alzheimer’s episodes. And a FBI agent witnessing it all.
Hands in his pockets, he stood in front of her. Even playing golf, he dressed up—dress pants and a polo shirt was as casual as her dad got. Flecks of silver highlighted hair, the same dark shade as hers.
“Did I see Agent Robinson’s SUV leave here?”
“We’re working on a case, together.” Sort of.
“When aren’t you?” He smiled. “Anything to do with the stadium incident?”
“Dad…”
He held up his hands. “Okay. You can’t say, I got it. We worry about you, you know.”
“There’s no need. Everything’s fine.” The lie slid from her tongue a little too easy for comfort.
“How’s Mom?”
“I assume with her new nurse, Sara, drinking tea, since there hasn’t been another outburst.” She glanced down at the photo. “When she’s like this, she almost always mentions fertility or the fear of someone taking her baby. What’s it about, Dad?”
Sadness crept over the lines of his face and into his brown eyes. He ran a hand over his face. “You’re the highlight of her life, but she always envisioned we’d have a houseful of kids. Sometimes, life doesn’t happen the way you plan it.”
“Is she remembering something real?”
A shadow of something—fear?—danced in her father’s eyes and then disappeared. “Hard to say, honey. I’m sure the fertility rants are something she’s remembering. As for the other…it’s anyone’s guess.”
Years as a cop indicated her father wasn’t being honest. Not out of malicious intent. Maybe self-preservation. Right now, she knew all about the need for secrecy. “How’s the campaign going?”
He took the photo from her grasp and set it on the fireplace mantel. “We’re coming along. You and Eric are attending the benefit, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Crap, she’d forgotten all about the event. She gathered the remaining pieces of glass. “Think Mom will be able to make it?”
“I hope so. I like having her by my side.”
In her coherent moments, her mother worried her disease would impair her father’s race and his work in general. She worried about becoming her family’s burden. Amanda didn’t like the thought of helping her mother sign a DNR form or picking out nursing homes.
Every time she begged, Amanda’s heart broke a little more. Eventually, she’d break down and do it, because it was something her mother wanted—needed even. Did her dad know about any of it? Did the media?
“The vultures haven’t been digging up skeletons again, have they?”
“Define skeletons. The media plays up everything.” He nodded toward the T.V. still playing the news, Jonas reporting on the same building fire she’d seen when they’d arrived earlier.
“They’ll find the smallest indiscretion—even one committed in one’s youth and pick it apart.”
She dumped the contents in her hands, in a nearby trashcan. Her dad did the same.
“Any you’re worried about?”
Daddy’s got a secret. Infidelity has ruined several presidents and the like, especially when there’s a child involved. As the words circled in her brain, Amanda held her breath. Asking her father about it seemed wrong and accusatory. She couldn’t see him being unfaithful.
A sad smile touch her father’s normally jovial face. “I’ve made mistakes, yes. I’m human. You shouldn’t worry, though.” He squeezed her shoulder. “How’s your head?”
She couldn’t help running her hand over the inch-long cut. “Fine. H-how’d you hear about that?”
One eyebrow moved higher than the other on his forehead, as if to say you’re-kidding-me. “Eric told me you were at the Rainbow Café when the stadium exploded.”
“He did?” Had he mentioned the second one? “He said you called. I was in and out of it.”
Worry distorted his features. “I stopped by on Thursday. You don’t remember?”
“No.” Scary. Anything could have happened and she’d never know.
“We had a conversation.”
What else had transpired in that time span? She rubbed her palm on her thigh. “How long were you there?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I stopped by around ten and stayed almost two hours. We had lunch together. Eric ordered soup and salad from a bistro down the street.”
Recalling Thursday brought up a hazy area, filled with images of a shower, some food she couldn’t eat and Eric. Not necessarily in that order. The puzzle pieces floated on a plane, which didn’t make sense. Her stomach clenched.
“Eric wouldn’t leave your side. I didn’t tell your mother,” he whispered. “She would have been upset and anxious. I was afraid it would set off…” He sighed. “You’re really okay?”
“Yeah.” Her head was, anyway. “Thanks. You know, for not telling Mom. I know that’s not easy.”
“I wouldn’t trade a moment with you or your mother. Even when her mind isn’t with us.”
Amanda swallowed back the tightness in her throat. Admitting she missed her mom—the one she’d grown up with, pre-Alzheimer’s, was wrong. Because her dad was right about trading moments. You took the good with the bad. It was the definition of family.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. Can you stay a while or do you have to be some place?”
“I’m free.” The alternative was watching Robinson rummage through her things as if she were a common criminal. Watching and waiting for him to find something incriminating. “What do you have in mind, Dad?”
***
Waking up from a dreamless sleep with the haze of a tragic nightmare hanging on the dregs, was Eileen Nettles’ least favorite way to come around.
Only she was never actually sleeping when it happened. Life went on around her, regardless of her state of mind. One time she’d arisen
from an Alzheimer’s episode to find herself in the middle of the grocery store with a cart full of milk. Just milk. Thirteen, assorted gallons, one broken at her feet. Wearing mismatched, half-buttoned clothes.
A store clerk was trying help. The frustration on his face revealed the length of time she’d probably been argumentative and disoriented. The looks she’d garnered had made shame a permanent imprint on her soul.
At that point, the diagnosis had been a week old, maybe less. The signs she’d been seeing for months, courtesy of her avid love for the human body and subsequent Biology degree, had forced her to see a neurologist.
After that, she’d made a point to leave the house less often. Hadn’t told Walter or Amanda. It wasn’t long before they figured it out. It was hard to hide confusion, agitation and difficulty with normal tasks, when she had no comprehension of the events occurring.
The devastation on their faces, when they’d discovered the truth, had been a sight she would never forget—or never mean to. Walter’s, a mix of fear, dread and barely concealed anger. At himself, at her, the disease. She’d beat a death sentence once. But this…
The sight of her daughter with tears in her eyes, her emotions sitting in the open… It had broken Eileen’s, already destroyed heart, into a million fragments. How could she ever forget either of them for a second?
But she’d already called her daughter several different names. Not recognized her husband’s touch. Hurt them in ways a wife and mother wouldn’t imagine.
So, she’d arranged to have a nurse come in. Begged her daughter to help her find care for the day when she didn’t come back from wandering with Alzheimer’s. Pushed her husband to pursue his personal goals.
From the entry of the living room, out of sight, she watched father and daughter. Amanda described a work-related incident, passion for her subject clear in her flushed cheeks and wide smile. Pride took over Walter’s face as he listened with his whole heart.
When the day came, they would be okay. They had to be.
Amanda was so much like Walter. Easy-going and open-hearted with enough sense to know her mind. Most of the time. Right now? Not so much. Dark shadows sat under her eyes. A gash on her forehead looked recent.
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 16
