After Robinson complied, Jordan grabbed the mouse and started clicking on the details he'd entered and rearranging them like a puzzle. “You've got one possible non-triggered event and some miscellaneous leads. The cleanup of your apartment.” He held up his index finger. “Doesn’t fit the M.O. Then you’ve got Willow Stanley’s account, which led us nowhere. And Renee discovering she might be the reason this guy got inside your house...”
“He would have gotten the key sometime before Halloween. I think his planning goes back farther than that. The dynamite was hidden quite well, within the stadium. That requires unrestricted access and every player, coach and staff member was thoroughly reviewed. Nothing in any of the files or the interviews came across as suspicious. All the facts were checked.”
“What about Guy?” The other man pointed to Beth's name and the line he'd connected to the woman's husband.
“Not so much as a speeding ticket. Comes from a family of football legends.” He pulled both Beth and Guy's folders from the pile and tossed them toward Jordan. They fell in a haphazard lump of papers, some peeking out of the folders.
Jordan picked up the one on top, flipped through the pages.
“Beth spent time in foster care, but she doesn't have any of the negative records that can come from that life. No shoplifting or arson. Two counts of truancy, but who hasn’t skipped school? Ran away from home twice.” He tapped the edge of his desk with a forefinger. “Looks like she turned herself around after living with the Nettles’ family. Became a paramedic before she married her husband. Hasn’t worked since.”
“Must be nice.” Jordan straightened. “I'd kill to make millions.”
“Like you'd be able to convince McKenna to stay home even if you didn't need the money.”
“I can be persuasive, if I need to. We still have a body guard, don’t we?”
“Mm-hmm. Not buying it.” The sound of pages coming from the printer, to his left, caught his attention. He scooped them up and flipped past the cover page. A clear copy of Amanda's birth certificate sat in his hands. This time the mother's name was clear. Sandra Porterville.
“Anything interesting?” Jordan asked.
“Only if you need a loan for a body enhancement.”
Not like he could tell the other man he might hold the key to solving this thing. Not at the cost of shattering Amanda's happy childhood. Not without warning her, first.
Skepticism crossed the other man’s face. “So, what's up with you and Amanda? Usually, she'd be in here busting your balls a few times a week.”
He shrugged and tried for an air of nonchalance. “She's your friend. I just collaborate with her, in a professional manner, from time to time.”
Jordan made a low sound in his throat. “Am I supposed to buy that?”
Robinson made eye contact then. “Do you?”
“No.”
He stood and gathered his things, including the fax he'd received. “Well, too bad. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”
“Whatever's going on, just make sure nothing happens to her, Robinson.” Jordan blocked his exit, his gaze flicking to the papers in Robinson’s hand. “Promise me.”
He made it a habit to stay away from binding words he couldn't take back, but they slid out anyway. “That's the goal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Amanda pasted a smile on her face as she descended the stairs of the banquet hall, one hand in the crook of her dad’s elbow. Blocking the phone call she'd received from Eric earlier in the afternoon took more willpower than she had.
I won’t be there.
No real explanation. No apologies. Not even well-wishes for the evening. She’d expected it, so why did it bother her?
Because, she should have just ended things. Arranged a move out date and freed them both from their current limbo prison.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, Amanda.” Her dad covered her hand with his. “Thanks for coming, anyway.”
“I wouldn't miss this, Dad.”
“I thought Eric planned to attend with you tonight?”
“He, uh, got stuck at work.”
A soft chuckle came from her father. “I remember those days. Make sure you take some time for yourselves. It’s easy to get lost in this rat race.”
“I think we already have.” The truth tumbled from her lips. “Gotten lost, I mean.”
The night would have been awkward, had he actually come. They hadn’t had the talk they needed to have. They both had to face the facts. What they had was over and no amount of CPR could save the dying beast, if it didn't want to live.
Her dad's face softened, worry gathering in his eyes. “Oh, honey. Are you sure?”
She nodded past the growing lump in her throat.
He stopped, mid-step. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The mingling flash of color, on the dance floor, glided out of focus. What was she supposed to say? We don't love each other? “No. It's okay. I'll be fine, I promise.”
Concern still highlighted his normally smiling face. “Alright, but I'm here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I never liked him, anyway.”
Amanda gave a choked laugh. “What?”
Her dad winked. “That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?”
It wasn’t true, but absolutely perfect. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you.” At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped her. “You mother wants me to continue forward with this senatorial race.”
“What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted. My girls to be happy.”
“She’ll be okay. We just have to hold on to the good days and remind her we love her.” On the balls of her feet, she reached up and kissed her father’s whiskery cheek. “Knock ’em dead,” she whispered.
The flash of a camera flickered, probably catching another candidate in the usual smiling-handshake pose. Her dad waved to a gray-haired gentleman and the woman at his side, his wife, if Amanda remembered correctly.
How would his race fare, when news about the explosion made headlines with her name attached? Robinson could only keep her out of it for so long. And, if Scott Jonas had his way, the story would be plastered all over the evening news any day.
“Listen, I’ve got to go mingle with the Weston’s, but later I was hoping we could talk. Just the two of us.”
The quiet words had her heart racing. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“You’re not sick, are you?” She licked her lips, her saliva nonexistent. “Please, tell me you’re not sick.”
Her father laughed. “Relax. I’m healthy as a horse. Why don’t you get yourself something to drink at the bar?”
“Okay. Sure.”
He winked and then strode toward Mr. and Mrs. Weston. Amanda headed for refreshments. The bartender poured champagne and handed the glass to her. She sipped the bubbly substance, hoping it would calm her nerves. Hoping it would chase away the ache in her heart.
On the stage, a band played a soft tune. A few couples danced, in time with the melodic rift. The low-lighting in the room twirled off the chandelier above them. It mingled with each dazzling dress and piece of jewelry, worn by the women.
Men in tuxedos completed the vibrant picture, balancing the flash of color and glitz with subtle blacks and grays.
Then one of those tuxedo’s, attached to a tall, lean man, headed straight for her. Seeming completely at ease in this situation, Robinson maneuvered through the throng, a small champagne flute in his hands. Moving on before he could reach her, was paramount to survival. Her legs didn’t move.
Shamelessly, she drank in the sight of him. For once, she refused to shove aside the sensation of a healing balm, blanketing all the tattered places within her. In this moment, whatever he had to give, she'd claim.
Blue-green eyes crinkled at the corners, a smile lighting his face as he stopped in front of her. “Fancy meeting you
here, Detective. And may I say you look amazing?”
The words sent a thrill through her. Tell him thank you and make an excuse to leave.
“What?” She made a show of inspecting the strapless, royal blue Channel gown she’d purchased last weekend. She’d seen the sequined bodice, with heavy folds of fabric sweeping across the torso and flowing to the floor in an extravagance, of the softest silk, and had to have it. “This old thing?”
“The color suits you.”
She couldn’t stop the smile from blooming on her face. “You look nice too, Robbie.”
“About time somebody says something.”
“The Champagne flute throws off the picture, a little.”
He leaned toward her. His breath whispered across her bare shoulder. “I don’t know if you noticed, but this isn’t really a beer-type function.”
Very true. “Too cheap. Absolutely no pretentious conversation involved with breweries. Wineries? Different story. Champagne? Classy. Hard alcohol over the rocks? Takes you back to drawing rooms, cigars and segregation.”
He reached for her hand. “Dance with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Do you have something better to do?” He finished his champagne in one gulp and set it aside.
No. Yes. “Maybe.”
“It’s just one dance, A.J.” The way he said her name would have melted her strongest defenses. They’d up and run off a lifetime ago.
She held up a hand, her index finger pointed toward the ceiling. “One. And don’t complain later that I stepped on your toes. Remember, I'm a detective, not a dance instructor.” Another sip of her champagne and she set it aside.
“No complaining. Check.”
“I know it will be a hardship.”
After placing her hand in his, he led her to the dance floor and pulled her into his embrace. He brought her free hand to his shoulder, trailing his own along her arm, until his palm finally settled at her waist. He held the other captive near his heart as if they’d danced together a million times. Close. Intimate.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach. The light, clean scent of aftershave drifted over her with each movement. In his arms, she felt safe for the first time in weeks. This was her beach, her drink and the warm, salty air all rolled into one.
“You smell nice,” he said.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“That’s kind of conceited, isn’t it?” A flash of white teeth accompanied the words.
The laughter started deep in her stomach and took her by surprise. “What are you doing here? Really.”
“Rescuing you from complete boredom.”
“You knew I’d be here?”
“No, but it’s a pleasant surprise.” He spun her around and brought her back into his chest. “At least I hope so.”
“As long as you’re not here to drag me out on some clandestine mission.”
He tilted his head. “Come on. Am I really that bad?”
She tucked the corner of her bottom lip inward. “I plead the fifth.”
The smile on his face grew, mirroring the warmth inside his eyes. “Admit it,” he said softly. His breath brushed over her face and neck. Goosebumps rushed down her body. “You enjoy it.”
“That’s a secret I intend to keep.”
Another dip, then, “How are you, Amanda?”
So much better, now. “Holding it together.”
“There’s no one more talented at juggling everything than you.” His breath tickled her neck again. “I got your message about the video feed from the stadium bombing. You were right. The second time you come out of the café, the pin Matthew gave you is absent.”
“I had it in the hospital and it's listed as one my belongings when I was admitted. But we both know that, alone, is inconclusive.”
He nodded. “I have to admit, I came here to follow a lead.”
She tensed. “Oh?”
“Relax, A.J. I promise I have no intention of ruining your evening. After the—”
“Robbie?” She bit her lip. “Can we talk about something else, just for tonight? Please?”
He pulled her closer, bringing her torso and thighs in tighter contact with his. Their heads touched, her cheek to his and she could feel the smoothness of his skin. “You haven’t stepped on my toes yet. Should I consider myself in the clear?”
A breath she hadn’t intended to hold, whooshed from between her lips. “It’s probably best to be on guard.”
A comfortable silence lingered between them as he continued to twirl her around the dance floor. “See that woman to your left?”
She glanced around the crowd, but didn’t spot one woman in particular. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Black dress. Flashy makeup. Blonde hair. Big, giant rock on her right hand.”
The crowd parted and the woman he described came into view. She sipped from the drink in her hand, the rock in question blinking with each touch of light. Red lipstick covered lips, which turned into a frown. The definition of middle-age showed on one creamy cheek as those lips moved from one side of her mouth to the other, in what seemed like concentration—all of it aimed at Robinson’s back. A black dress accentuated flawless skin and a body that had obviously been well cared for.
A pang of jealousy hit Amanda before she pushed it aside. The woman was her polar opposite. “I think you should seek professional help. You always go for blondes. The flashier, the better. She’s got to be at least fifty.”
She felt the vibrations his laughter brought. The warmth of both the moment and his body seeped into her bones, like lip balm applied to severely chapped lips.
He pulled back. “Are you tracking my love life, Nettles?”
“Kind of hard to ignore the never ending parade of hair and boobs.”
“You make me sound like the ultimate bachelor.”
“Aren’t you?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Far from it.”
“So, this one.” She nodded toward the woman whose gaze still hadn’t left them. “She doesn’t seem shy. Should I be worried about rude words or something worse?”
His gaze held hers. “That seems to imply you’ve dealt with both in the past. Kara?”
“Kara’s dislike of me went well beyond you, Robbie, so don’t flatter yourself. We grew up together, remember? I’m not proud to admit it. While McKenna tried to befriend her, despite the mean things she could say, I enjoyed getting under her skin.”
“That sounds like you.”
“Old habits die hard. We both carried those roles into adulthood. You got caught in the crossfire.”
He chuckled again. “Thanks for that.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Rude words or something worse? I’d like to prepare myself for the challenge.”
“Neither, I hope. We were introduced when I arrived. If you asked me her name, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Liar.” Unable to hold it back, she smiled up at him, glad to have at least this small part of her life on even ground. “You never forget a name.”
“Does it matter? I’m dancing with you.”
How she wished it were more than that. “You got a favor from me without having to ask. I’m gonna have to watch myself.”
He shook his head, a serious expression covering his face. And just like that, the ground below her feet shifted. It took the banter they always shared and turned into something else. It charged the air around them in thick waves. Ignoring the sensation of falling wasn't possible. Like after a serious blow to the head, she couldn’t focus. Not on anything besides his clean-shaven face and those sea green eyes. Arms that held her as if she was all he ever needed there.
“Favors imply that you’re doing something you wouldn’t necessarily do, for someone important to you, either personally or professionally.” The warmth of his voice increased the tingling in each area of her body that touched his.
“I asked you to dance because I wanted to. And y
ou accepted because you wanted to. No favors involved, I hope.” He paused. A thoughtful expression covered his face. “You’ve been avoiding me, A.J.”
“I have.” The truth slipped out.
“Why?”
“Probably the same reason you’ve been avoiding me, too.” She spent enough time thinking about him, she didn't need to add to the guilt with daily encounters.
“I've never known an argument to scare you off.”
“Because it didn't. You were a jerk. I forgave you. See the pattern?”
A teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “I could have sworn that was the other way around.”
“Nice try.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth and lingered. The almost imperceptible dip of his head made her lips tingle and a shot of something heady zip through her bloodstream. The minty scent of his breath brushed across her face. He was so close she could stand on her tiptoes and ease her curiosity. Would the kiss be soft and slow? Or insistent with the need to make up for lost time?
Of their own volition, her calf muscles pushed upward as Robinson pulled her closer. Her heart leapt from her chest. She didn’t dare breathe. When was the last time anything made her this giddy? This breathless?
She closed her eyes and prepared for an onslaught of sensation she might never be able to erase. Feelings she’d never be able to replicate with another human being.
When was the last time she’d been kissed?
An image of Eric flashed in her mind. Oh, God. Tears sprung into her eyes as she jerked away from Robinson. Even if it seemed like centuries since she’d last allowed herself to feel the rush of desire, she couldn’t take it. It wasn’t hers. Not to give, nor take. Not at this moment in time. No matter how perfect being in his arms felt, she was not this girl. They both deserved to have more than a stolen embrace that could only be followed with regret.
“A.J.?” Confusion wrinkled his brow.
“I-I’m sorry.” She removed herself from his arms, the loss of contact like peeling off a thick layer of skin and leaving it with him. “Thanks for the dance.”
On rubbery legs, she turned and walked off the dance floor. That soothing, masculine voice called out to her.
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 28
