DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  He wrapped her in an awkward hug. “I’m sorry.” His lips met the top of her head. The motion should have been comforting, but reminded her that everything in her life was a mess.

  “I assume it’s safe to say everybody’s okay?”

  She didn’t need any reports from the lab to know Eric wasn’t involved, but a gut feeling hadn’t ever satisfied the powers that be. The system didn’t work like that, for good reason.

  “Yeah.” Robinson and Ariana might be all right, but she was far from it. “It was a fake, but somebody has been inside his apartment.” She pulled away from him. “And somebody’s been in ours.”

  A resigned sigh came from deep in his chest. “Sometimes, I wish you could tell me more.”

  “I know.” A weighted silence settled between them. “Something’s not right over at Robinson’s, Eric. I’ve got to check it out.”

  “There’s nobody else?”

  Sure, she could ask Jordan or McKenna. The thought wasn’t settling. She’d started this, so she needed to see it through.

  Maybe he sensed she didn’t have an answer for that, because he said, “I’m coming with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Since Eric insisted on driving, Amanda didn’t bother to argue the finer points. Like, she drove a lot faster than him. Or she knew the location of their destination. And she was in a hurry to check on a friend.

  Instead of the beginning of another disagreement, she’d followed him to his Lexus, sure the seven minute trip would be fifteen.

  Fifteen minutes of wondering. As if Eric could sense her unease, he flicked a glance at her, then returned a watchful eye to the road.

  She took a breath.

  Lack of sleep and food, combined with too many energy drinks, was starting to take its toll. The roller-coaster of emotions racing through her blood stream, was the misshapen sprinkles on a melted brownie sundae.

  It was the only one she’d get. No redo. So she’d have to make do and pretend it wasn’t a liquefied heap of white and brown.

  A hot shower, take out and a beer, while cheering on the Pilots sounded like heaven. And not something she'd get anytime soon. Never mind that the NFL commissioner had suspended all games this week, in remembrance of the lives lost at the Wright stadium. How would they be able to watch another game, in that venue, without remembering?

  Eric pulled his Lexus into a parking spot outside of Robinson's apartment building and cut the engine.

  Silence yawned through the vehicle.

  “You still think this is a good idea?” He didn’t move from the driver’s seat, two fingers resting on the bottom edge of the steering wheel.

  All the good and bad ideas had merged inside her mind, converging into a central theme. Save the most lives, by any means necessary. Starting with her friends. “Tell me you would do things differently.”

  Eric’s deep brown eyes met hers. He didn’t argue, but opened his door. The dome light illuminated the space between them. Eric’s mouth opened and closed. Then he exited the car without a word.

  Even though her stomach was in a giant, tangled knot, Amanda followed suit. A crime scene van sat in front of the entrance to Robinson’s building. A tech in a Tyvek suit emerged from it as she and Eric approached.

  The echo of her footsteps faltered for half a second.

  Robinson hadn’t mentioned anything about CSU being onsite. Not that he’d said much of anything, in their brief conversation.

  Wouldn’t he have called them earlier in the day?

  “Hey, Detective Nettles.” The tech wiped a hand across his dimpled face and then pulled a glove over it.

  Amanda was sure she’d seen him a few times, but couldn’t remember his name. Matt? Monte? “Hey…Mark.”

  He grinned. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  “Oh?” Something solid hit her gut. What did that mean? “Agent Robinson around?”

  In the glow of the street lamps, she could see the kid’s face turning red as he glanced from her to Eric. “I, uh, I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “Agent Bening is over there.” He pointed toward the entry.

  Weird. “Thanks.” She headed around the van.

  Eric followed. “Are they always this helpful?”

  “Something’s up.”

  He glanced over his shoulder as they made their way to the entrance. “He made it seem like there’s some big secret we’re missing.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jordan spoke to another tech before the man headed inside. Then he spotted her and gave a wave.

  “What’s all this?” she asked.

  “Hey, Amanda, Eric.” Jordan nodded. “I was about to call you. I was sort of hoping you could tell me.”

  Okay. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, let’s go in.” He opened the door and she followed him inside. A glance back told her Eric still followed, his hands in his pants pockets. If this was truly a crime scene of some sort, she didn’t need to tell him not to touch anything. He knew the drill.

  “Where’s Robinson?” Her voice came out calm and steady, while scorpions tangoed through her body.

  “He’s inside.”

  “Okay.” She licked suddenly dry lips. “Should we be concerned?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  Feet from Robinson’s door, she stopped. Panic settled in her chest, gripping it in a firm vice. It took everything she had not to grab Jordan’s jacket and shake him, until he abandoned the cloak and dagger act. Eric came to stand next to her, worry covering his brow.

  “What’s going on, Jordan?” she asked.

  As Jordan donned a pair of gloves, he turned to face her. “Nothing.”

  “You have a crime scene van here for nothing?” Her heartbeat whooshed in her ear drums. Her hands developed a healthy layer of sweat. If Robinson were dead, there would be a somber air amongst the crew.

  Straight up homicide wasn’t this guy’s M.O.

  How many times would she have to repeat the phrase before her heart slowed, even a fraction?

  An elderly woman poked her white head out of an apartment, down the hall from where they stood. She squinted through her round glasses, saw the three of them in the hallway, Jordan in his FBI jacket, and ducked back inside.

  “Not exactly. Come on.” Then he opened the door and ushered them both through it. She expected to see a few techs collecting something—fingerprints, saliva, tracing bullet trajectory or blood splatter. An image of Robinson, face down in a pool of his own blood, flashed in front of her. Sweat dotted her upper lip. She shook the image away.

  Instead of the nightmare in her head, Robinson sat at the bar in his kitchen, a phone pressed to his ear. He had his back toward them. Two techs, in Tyvek suits, milled near the living room, deep in conversation.

  Amanda released a breath of air. It didn’t settle her stomach. Would anyone notice if she threw up in a corner?

  The place looked a lot better than the last time she’d seen it. And Robinson seemed fine.

  “What is he doing?” She asked Jordan.

  “He’s been on his phone since I got here. Paused long enough to tell me to call the techs. I’d point them in the direction of a crime, if I could spot one.” He gestured to the immaculate living space around them. “Anything happen this morning before you guys stopped by the house?”

  Good grief. “What has he told you?”

  Eric’s eyes shot in her direction.

  Jordan crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Nettles, but I’m super good at this game. I don’t want to play it, if I don’t have to, but I’m more than willing.”

  “How’s McKenna?”

  His lips pressed together, a moment, before he answered. “Still pregnant and in the same state of mind as this morning.”

  Which meant her friend was still worried about this whole thing. She was probably detailing some ten-step plan for how to keep Amanda out of danger.

&nbs
p; “The cure for that is a treadmill, chocolate and time at the shooting range. Maybe not in that order. Of course, the treadmill could be interchanged with any activity that say, gets one’s heart rate up.”

  A shocked, half-strangled sound came from Eric.

  Jordan cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, clear everyone out of here for a minute. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Sure.” He herded the techs out of the room.

  Eric lingered next to her, his arms across his chest. “Mandy?”

  “I need a minute, okay?” She didn’t dare look in his direction for fear of what she’d see. Disappointment, rejection, anger, confusion. Maybe more. Handling any of those emotions wasn’t on her list of qualifications right now.

  Silence.

  Propriety won out and she turned in his direction.

  He didn’t say anything. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes were guarded. After a minute, he turned away. The click of the closing door said more than words could.

  She was messing up her life, irrevocably. The power to change things sat in her hands. The choice lay before her, a fork in the road. Walk out, catch Eric and let Robinson deal with whatever this mess was, himself. Or stay and finish something she’d started, without meaning to.

  It all came back to one hasty decision this morning. So, she stepped up to the counter, in front of Robinson. He had a list of names on a notepad. His bandaged hand used the pen, within it, as a drumstick. That dark head stayed bent, neither acknowledging nor dismissing her.

  “You’re sure?” he said. “I need the names of anyone with access.” He paused. Those eyes made contact with her then. The blue-green inside them never ceased to catch her off guard. A shaky hand caught the edge of his counter and used it for support. She refused to let her new-found weak-kneed reaction take effect.

  He looked back at his notes. “Uh, huh. Thanks.” Then he hung up. “What are you doing here?”

  “You called me, remember?”

  As he stood, his gaze found something of bigger interest in the living room behind him. “I didn’t ask you to come over.”

  “Yet, here I am.” She followed. He wasn’t getting off that easy. “What’s going on, Robbie? You’ve got a crew big enough to search a three bedroom house for evidence.”

  The phone disappeared into his pocket. “Just three guys.”

  “Who have been waiting around for instruction.”

  “Bening’s here.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  Defeat lined the edges of his eyes and the grim set of his mouth. “You swear you weren’t here. You didn’t clean this place up?”

  “Believe me, I’d own up to a favor this huge.” She looked at the pristine arrangement of his books and DVDs. “It’s immaculate in here.”

  More so than seemed his style. She turned in a circle and surveyed his belongings. The only things askew were the pen and note pad on the counter. And the stool he’d sat on.

  “It’s gone.”

  The words jerked her attention back to him. “What?”

  “I came home and this place was cleaned up, the hole in bathroom patched and the baggie with the artist’s clay and stopwatch, gone.”

  No. “There’s an explanation.”

  He glanced at her. The look of desperation on his face broke her heart. The urge to wrap her arms around him was so strong, she could taste it.

  Resisting cost her a small chunk of her sanity.

  Ruining her life. Fifty percent complete.

  “I’m kicking myself for not following protocol this morning. I should have called crime scene then. I should have taken the bag with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I should never have come over.”

  “Why did you?”

  The truth sat like a heavy brick on her shoulders.

  “I’d just like to hear you say it.”

  “Deep down, I already knew you weren’t behind everything. I figured my actions might bring him out and help me get more information. I didn’t think past that.”

  A risk worth dismissing.

  “The device was in my bathroom regardless, A.J.” Her name came out sounding like age again and soothed her frayed nerves. Comforting him should have been her first move, not his.

  “I contaminated it, anyway.”

  One shoulder lifted, in a half shrug. “It would have been something to go on.”

  Yeah, she doubted Robinson routinely dismissed lost evidence with very little thought. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to concentrate. “What time did you get back here?”

  “Eight-thirty.” He rubbed his neck. “What time did you pick up your rental?”

  “Around five. I didn’t see anything out of the norm. Anybody on the maintenance crew have access today?”

  “They say no, but are going to check. And, anyway, when is the last time you’ve heard of a maintenance crew cleaning?”

  Never.

  “I’ll run background checks on all the names I’ve got so far. Someone could have easily given the key out.”

  “I’m sorry.” Would saying that a thousand times help?

  “This isn’t your fault.” His hand found her cheek.

  Warmth tingled through her, for the first time all evening. The callouses on his palms glided across her skin, as his hand moved across her jaw. The urge to turn her face into his palm and place her lips there, washed over her.

  She pulled away. His arm fell back to his side. What was wrong with her? A whoosh of air came from her lungs. The day’s events connected them with this strange emotional string, nothing more.

  He had to know that, too.

  “This person knows you, A.J.”

  “It’s not Eric.” It couldn’t be.

  “No, it’s not. Lawyer Boy’s too nice for this. Plus, all of your belongings came back clean.”

  “I told you they would.”

  “I still have a job to do.” He turned and moved toward the windows facing the parking lot, his arms across his chest. “I tried to be as discrete as possible about it.”

  “Thanks.” She stepped next to him, taking in the sight. The tangy smell of his cologne filled the air as their arms bumped. “You... This had me worried.”

  “Why?” His gaze lit on her as if he could see deeper inside her than anybody and understood all the craziness stored there.

  Somebody should. It wasn’t her.

  Butterflies found her stomach and tried to reach her esophagus. She squelched the feeling. “Really, Agent Robinson? Without you, I’d have to work with Bening and Moore. It’d be an improvement, but a lot less amusing.”

  Something indistinct flitted across his features before disappearing. He took a bow. “Side show, Robinson, at your service, Detective.”

  “As if you could be anything other than the main event, Robbie.” The words slipped out, full of truth. She cleared her throat. “Let’s get the techs in here and see if we can get any prints that aren’t yours or Ariana’s.”

  “Or yours,” he said after a minute. “I’ve already got a list.” He handed her a zip lock bag. “Found that on my counter.”

  You’re Welcome.

  The thin plastic seared her hands. The neat scrawl mocked her. Amanda looked up at him. “You’re sure Renee wouldn’t do something like this?”

  “Already thought of that. She doesn’t watch Ariana on Saturdays, unless I ask in advance. A little cleaning, maybe, but picking up the disaster it was this morning and puttying a wall? I don’t think so. And please don’t give me that, a-woman-in-love-would-do-something-like-this speech. I’d like to think said woman would also take credit.”

  “It doesn’t fit our guy’s M.O. He seems more the destructive type.” Amanda fingered the edge of the Ziploc bag before handing it back to him. “We’ve got to start so
mewhere, so call her, Robbie.” She turned to leave the room, but stopped. “And clue Jordan in already. He’s not as good as I am at reading you, and anticipating your professional needs with little to no information.”

  ***

  Working with friends had its perks. Late for a meeting? No problem. They had your back. Need extra hands? They’re available with a ready affirmative. Coworker issues? You’ve got a handful of people chomping at the bit.

  Tonight, as she sat in the passenger’s seat of Jordan’s vehicle, didn’t have the same camaraderie as normal. It couldn’t be worse than sitting next to McKenna. Or Robinson.

  “Eric seemed…different tonight.” Jordan accelerated through a yellow light as they made their way to the house Robinson’s nanny shared with college friends.

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something.” She fiddled with her seatbelt. “Do you want to take the lead with Renee or should I?”

  “Robinson was pretty adamant about you not even coming.”

  Glad to discuss something other than her jumbled relationship, she would welcome talk about the other man's dictation that she stay on the sidelines, even. Except, she knew Jordan well enough to know most everything he said had intent.

  “I'm here like any other day.” Except, this time she was using herself as bait. Playing a dangerous game of hide and seek, sans any of the former. “If Robinson has a problem, he should have come himself.”

  “So, does he have anything to do with that thing you and Eric are ‘in the middle of’?”

  She sighed. “I’m sure you’re aware of the scrutiny he’s under with our things being confiscated.”

  Jordan flicked on his blinker and turned left, onto a quiet side street. “I’ve never seen him so withdrawn.”

  Neither had she. The list of unwitnessed attributes was growing in steady increments. “It’s been a long day.”

  Jordan nodded as if he understood. He fiddled with the radio, switching to a rock station. Alice in Chains came through the speakers.

  Amanda released a burst of air. Finally.

  “Your day has been perfect, though, right?” His voice carried over the notes of Rooster. “None of your stuff was taken in for investigation, so no problem.”