DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Maybe the city is out of homicides?”

  She shot him a get-real glance. “I've gone from lead detective to in the way rookie. I’m starting to think I was demoted and nobody bothered to tell me.”

  Those amber eyes held one heck of a storm. In three years, he'd witnessed excitement, sassiness, caring, anger and frustration. Whatever type of emotional tornado raged inside her mind, was new to him. And, like a curious little bunny smelling food, he wanted to go for the carrot, even though the metal trap above it was visible.

  “Dentzen wouldn’t—”

  “Not just demoted professionally, but personally. This is the first conversation I've had in a week, where I didn’t over think everything I say.”

  For the first time, he took in the dark circles under her eyes and the way she kept gnawing on her bottom lip. It was a little red and swollen. The cream shirt hung off her frame, as if she'd lost weight. “Do I need to have a talk with Lawyer Boy?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her fists clenched tight. “I sound crazy. I know I do. I'm like the battered wife who finally had the guts to kill her husband, after years of abuse, only to prove her craziness with a long winded rant about the dirt bag.”

  He held back a smirk. “Have you killed anyone?”

  A hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth, but didn't outlast the tornado.

  There had never been a time he’d wanted to comfort her more. He'd end up hugging her, which would lead to something else, if his imaginations came true. He wouldn't mean to kiss her, but he would. Even now, the urge stood right there, ready for release. To make dreams a reality. Hug, touch, feel, taste and comfort.

  Who needed it more? Her or him?

  He settled for resting a hand on her shoulder. “That's good, because, I need a crazy-type favor.” The words slipped past his lips. “The press conference is at noon.”

  Say no, A.J. Tell me to crawl back into the hole I came from.

  Again, she chewed her lip as she searched his face. The need he saw there almost brought him to his knees. What did she want most? The last year back? A quick fix with Eric? A shoulder to lean on?

  If he could figure it out, he wouldn’t be standing here.

  “You’re trying to draw him out. Using me.”

  The words sent a nails-on-chalkboard shiver down his spine. “I'd like an extra set of eyes. With everything we've got, I'm still not convinced this is a random stalker-type situation. This guy knows you well enough to anticipate your thoughts. And he’s smart enough to get you thinking about everything else. In my opinion, he’s leading you.”

  A slight flex of her facial muscles pulled her face into a mask of confusion.

  “The game isn’t about what he can do to you. It’s about guiding you to the end and watching your reactions. Even changing the strategy based on your response.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, each hand clasping the opposite bicep as if she were cold. “When you put it like that, it sounds even creepier than it is.”

  “Things are going to get worse before we catch this guy.”

  “You think?” A scoff followed her words.

  “Something happen I should know about?”

  “No.”

  Okay, then. He exhaled. “Somebody that's willing to blow up a stadium, take down the city's monitoring system and tamper with our homes, is willing to take big risks. All the contact has been during the day.”

  “Gutsy.”

  “We need to catch him before he hurts anyone else.”

  “I'll do whatever needs to be done. You should know that by now.”

  “I meant what I said the other day. If you're running all over trying to stop a ghost, it won't end well. When's the last time you ate? Or slept?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Which meant she had a few bites and maybe two hours of sleep. “Do me a favor. After the press conference, eat an entire meal. Go to bed early.”

  “All these favors are adding up, Robbie. I might have to cash them in, sometime.” The smile on her face caught him off guard. It was sincere and touched a place inside him, he didn't know existed anymore.

  “Don't make me sic team love triangle on you.”

  “Why triangle—oh.” Her face crinkled in disgust. “You’re perception is disturbing. Jordan, McKenna and Rupert aren't a packaged deal.”

  Maybe not in the sense that made books sell, but Rupert never left the couple alone. And whatever kept Amanda in good humor was worth discussing.

  “Besides, they're a little busy with Matthew's memorial.”

  The idea of attending another funeral this year made his stomach sour. One too many, and the last a doozy he couldn't forget. He couldn't even visit his dad's grave without tightness in his chest. To see his mother and father’s gravestones, black marble with white inscriptions detailing their lives, in the most basic form. Beloved mother. Beloved father. There should be more.

  “You're going, right?” Amanda's voice caught him off guard.

  “I can't.”

  Both fists found her hips. “You're that busy?”

  “Not sure you noticed the manhunt going on.”

  One slender eyebrow lifted skyward on her forehead.

  He rubbed the back of his head, wanting to do anything but remind her of his dad's recent death. “It's too...”

  Understanding flared in her eyes. “Oh, Robbie.”

  “I know it seems ridiculous.”

  “No.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. The warmth from her palm seeped into his soul, like an antacid restoring peace to the digestive system. “If you change your mind, you know you've got support. Jordan, McKenna, me.”

  That nonexistent organ inside him got a hard, swift kick, the dust stirring as the engine whirred to life. A dangerous place to be, with a woman he couldn't have, for more than one obvious reason. The most important being his professional objectivity.

  Yeah, that was definitely it.

  “And if you need a shoulder to cry on, I'll have tissues.” She smirk and dropped his hand.

  “I'm sure Eric would love that.”

  The teasing light left her eyes as she glanced away, watching the parking lot. “He'll have to get over it.”

  Robinson didn't have time to decipher her words, because Renee neared the entrance to the gym. Her pace suggested she had already started her workout.

  “Something has her spooked.” Amanda nodded toward the younger woman.

  Renee glanced around before entering the fitness center.

  “We need to start from square one. Put me on the task force.”

  He’d love nothing better.

  “Don't give me that line about being involved. You are, too.”

  “Not on the same level. If we end up catching this guy, a judge might end up throwing out any evidence you collect.”

  She crossed her arms. “I am fully aware of how the justice system works. You don't grow up with a judge and live with a lawyer and learn nothing.”

  “This is different. If I go against HQ, I can kiss my job goodbye. There won't be any appeals.”

  “And I could lose my life.”

  The thought of Amanda dying, made a sickening swirl start in his stomach. It launched upward, toward the newly firing beast. That wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it.

  “I've watched the original stadium tapes so many times. I could tell you how many steps every person in that video takes, what they’re wearing or driving. I can't prove you didn't come out of the café a second time.”

  If he thought the light had left her face earlier, he was wrong. Now, it was completely closed. Professionalism pasted a mask of indifference across her mouth, drawing it into a half frown, half smile that said, do-what-you-want-I-could-care-less. Usually expressive amber eyes looked back at him without an ounce of warmth.

  “Thanks for stopping by, Agent Robinson.” She started for the entrance.

  He caught up to her in two strides. “A.J., give me something to prove it
.”

  “That's Detective Nettles, to you.” She didn’t stop. Just stared at the closing gap between herself and the building. “And we're done talking.”

  Ouch. “Don't you think you're acting like—”

  She stopped and turned so abruptly, he ran into her. Out of reflex, his hands met her shoulders and steadied them both.

  She shrugged off his touch. Those brown orbs weren't devoid of emotion anymore. They cracked fire, a hint of a dare swirling in the depths. “Acting. Like. What?”

  “A child.”

  “No more than you're acting like a blockhead.”

  Robinson placed his hands on his hips. “Because I’m doing my job?”

  A scoff passed through her lips as she spun toward the entrance. “Forget this.”

  After walking a few steps, she turned back, spanning the gap toward him, in two angry strides. The index finger on one hand extended toward him, the rest of her fingers curled inward, in a tight fist.

  “Maybe, if you weren't a complete idiot, you'd realize, in the three years we've known each other, I have never been anything except professional. So, you'd know I don't just bare my soul to anyone. And I always do my job to the best of my ability. I have nothing to prove. Go back to whatever it is that Jordan pulled you away from.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “If you're smart, you'll leave me alone.” Then she crossed the lot, opened the door to the gym and disappeared inside.

  Moron that he was, he followed, because no matter what she thought he should do, he couldn't let her go into the unknown, alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  As she entered Snap Fitness, Amanda tried to shake the clenching of her stomach. She may have told Robinson off for good. So, where was the sense of rightness? Something telling her cutting ties with her favorite FBI agent was something that required swift follow through.

  Would it solve anything? Until this guy was caught, her life and her job would still be on the line. She drew in a breath.

  The front desk was empty, so she slipped past and scanned the area for Renee. A few buff men used the heavy weight machines, earbuds lodged in their ears. A man and a woman used two of the treadmills to her right, while a young girl worked a fast pace on the stair climber, a row behind them.

  An in-session class occupied a spacious room beyond that. Amanda headed there and peaked inside. A group of gray-haired ladies danced to Ricky Martin. An instructor pointed out how to complete each move correctly. Okay. She shook her head.

  No Renee in sight.

  The club didn't appear to have a pool, so she headed toward the locker rooms, at the back of the gym. A man exited as she neared.

  “Detective Nettles.”

  She stopped.

  Scott Jonas gave a wave as he came to stand in front of her. He clutched the white gym towel around his neck, in one hand. Gone was the polo and slacks. Black athletic shorts and a Pilots shirt, sat in their place. “I didn't know you worked out here.”

  What was with this guy? “I guess it never came up.”

  “Have you ever tried the juice bar here? It's awesome.”

  A gray-haired woman went into the women's locker room. Amanda tried to catch a glimpse inside, before the door closed.

  “So what do you say? Want to grab one after your workout? My treat.”

  “I'm sorry. I can't.”

  “Shot down twice in one day. That's rough. Any tips you'd give me on stepping up my game?”

  What? She focused on him then. He wore the same smile as outside Java Joe's, earlier. Full of charisma. No way this guy had any game problems. “No. I’m—it’s not... I’m seeing someone.”

  “Oh.” His smile fell, but he nodded as if he should have seen that coming.

  Another gray-haired woman entered the locker room, followed by two more. It revealed no more than a scale and two posters about Body Mass and fruits and veggies.

  “I'm right, aren't I?” He said as if he had spouted off a laundry list of items and then asked if he had everything. “It makes sense.”

  “I'm sorry. What?”

  “You and Robinson.”

  “You've lost me, Jonas.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “He's the guy you're seeing.”

  “What? No.” She shook her head, hoping to shake the weird feeling, swirling in her chest. “We work together.”

  “That's not what it looks like.”

  That got her full attention. Before this latest string of crime, she'd never so much as touched Robinson in any way that could seem romantic. “What does that mean?”

  Jonas ran a hand over his dark, curly hair and then nodded to something behind her. “It means, he looks like he wants to punch me for talking to you.”

  When she glanced behind her, Robinson ate up the path between the stationary cycles and the space they stood. A menacing look crossed his face, his strides purposeful. His suit jacket had come undone, revealing the white button up beneath. It gave her a clear view of pectorals that obviously saw some type of daily workout. But not at the gym. Too many germs for him.

  When she would have told Jonas it was likely the agent wanted to duke it out with Amanda and not him, she noticed Robinson's gaze centered right on the other man.

  Interesting.

  She turned back. “He's got a burr up his butt. I gotta run. Peas work great for bruises, Jonas.” Then she ducked into the ladies locker room. And leaned against the cool wall, to the right of the door, out of sight. A group of ladies exited, one of them shooting her a kind, all-will-be-well smile, full of warmth.

  It didn’t erase the look of possession, with a hint of some indiscernible emotion, plastered on Robinson’s face, in her mind.

  There was only one explanation for the butterflies in her stomach and the hurt still sitting beneath it. She'd lost it. Seeking professional help wouldn't remedy the situation. Somewhere in the process of working with Robinson, she'd grown accustom to being mad at him and respecting him, at the same time. And when she thought she could cut him out of her life, something always reeled her back in.

  Maybe she had the word sucker written across her forehead. And maybe she needed to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with herself.

  “Hey, Amanda,” Renee said from a bench in the corner. She had one knee up on it, her arms hugging the appendage closer to her body. “Thanks for coming.”

  Amanda thought she heard a sniffle.

  Pushing off the wall, she approached slowly and then sat next to the younger girl. Red-rimmed eyes glanced up and then refocused on hot pink tennis shoes.

  “What's going on, Renee?”

  She blew out a breath. “I've been picking apart every moment of the last few months. Trying to figure out if I put Baker Jackson and Ariana in danger, somehow.”

  An invisible fist found her gut and took aim. The last time they’d talked, in person, Amanda had been less than cordial. “What makes you think they’re in any danger?”

  Renee’s head jerked up. “Does everyone think I’m some stupid kid? I know something is going on. Otherwise you wouldn’t have questioned me at all. You wouldn’t have mentioned that I should give back his key.” Her lips pressed together. “I watch the news. I know it has to be related to the Pilots bombing.”

  If Renee was waiting for information, she’d be sitting around a long time and have to get in line. “Have you been worrying about this since Agent Bening and I questioned you?”

  “You were doing your job.”

  Some of the things she'd said to Renee, came back to her. “Perhaps, a little more harshly than I needed to.”

  “I know it's my fault.”

  “You're going to have to be more specific. I'm not following you.”

  She wiped the tear away and took a breath. Then she wound her hands around her leg, her grip so tight, her knuckles turned white. “Two months ago, I lost my key to Baker Jackson's house—I lost my whole key chain down a storm drain, walking home from a party. At first, I thought ma
ybe someone had gotten a hold of it that way, but it happened at night and there would be no way for anyone to identify those keys with mine or Robinson's homes.

  “I asked him to make me a new key. You know how he is. During a case, he’d forget to eat if someone didn’t remind him or send him with food.”

  That type of dedication, Amanda understood. Robinson had it in spades. She’d discovered it the first time they’d ever worked together. And if McKenna hadn’t been on the task force with them that time, they both would have starved.

  “After a couple of days of having to track him down, to get his key, he told me to make a copy. So, I did. At the time, I didn't think much of it. When I went to Home Depot, the guy making the key couldn't get the machine to work. Then he had to redo it, because the first one wasn't right. That's what he claimed, anyway.”

  Amanda shook her head, even though optimism wasn’t one of her strong attributes, right now. “It could have been an honest mistake.”

  “I tried to tell myself that, but the whole encounter seemed strange. He kept flirting with me, but didn't really seem interested, at the same time. One minute he’d smile at me and say something to get my attention. The next his focus would switch to a man checking out, at one of the registers.”

  Amanda wanted this to be the break they needed, but didn't have much hope.

  “He knew my name.” Renee rubbed a hand under her nose. “I've always been the smart girl. I don't get asked out that often or at all, really.” She let out a soft laugh. “I guess I sort of soaked up the attention and took him at face value. We talked for a while. I told him about how I lost my keys. When he finished, he gave me the key and said, ‘until next time, Renee.’ I didn't remember telling him my name, but shrugged it off and went on my way.”

  “Describe him.” If this was their guy, any detail the other woman could give would help.

  “He had dark, curly hair, brown eyes and a smile that kind of sucks a person in to what he's saying.”

  She was pretty sure a sketch artist couldn't do much with that. “How tall? What type of build? Any distinctive marks?”

  “I'd say he was your height or a little taller. Medium build. Maybe one hundred and seventy pounds.” Renee was silent a moment. “Nothing on his face that I recall. But I do remember there was a small star-shaped tattoo between his thumb and forefinger.”