DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  The clouds that had lingered overhead all day, looked black and ominous against the night sky. The wind kicked up a chill, which rushed into the open spaces in his thin coat.

  “Hey, Eric,” he said on approach.

  The other man had his arms crossed as he leaned against the tree, his gaze locked on what was once his condo. “What? No nicknames?”

  No. Nicknames were things you gave friends, girlfriends and family. They definitely didn't belong on a coworker's boyfriend. The thought of that particular common decency had been far from his mind, in the beginning of his and Amanda’s working relationship.

  She’d known Kara and had an intense dislike for the woman, which stemmed from childhood. It seemed only natural for Robinson to join the ranks and poke some fun back.

  Eric hadn't ever done the same. It should have been his first clue to get lost. Stop entwining himself in Amanda's life. Ruining it, in all reality, at a point in time when she needed some type of solid rock to cling to.

  “I’m not in the mood for any platitudes, Robinson.”

  “Fresh out of them.” He cleared his throat. “This is a pretty crappy way to end the day.”

  The only response he got was a grunt.

  Yeah, okay, that was fair. “When’s the last time you were in the condo?”

  Eric straightened. “I’ve already answered the marshal’s questions.”

  “I’ve got some of my own.”

  “Fantastic for you. If it ever becomes official, let me know.”

  “Eric…”

  “They say hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

  Robinson tucked his hands in his coat pockets. Maybe he should have skipped this. “I guess they do.”

  “We never had a chance. When I look back, I know that day you saved her on the highway changed everything.” Eric looked at him then, a mix of regret and anguish on his face. “I wouldn't change a thing about the day for her, Robinson. Before that, and the weeks following it, she wasn't sure she still wanted to be in law enforcement.

  “I work with one agency or another all day long. After a while you can recognize the burn outs, the guys who are just waiting to retire and get a pension. The rookies who don't know what they're doing.

  “Then there's people like you and Amanda. The ones who give their entire lives to the cause, regardless of what it takes them away from, because they don't know how to do the job halfway. They don't know how they'd sleep at night if somebody died on their watch. I understand, because, while you gather the evidence and catch the right guy, I make sure all that evidence upholds in court. I make sure your work isn't for nothing.”

  “Then you know why my questions are important.”

  The other man ran a hand down his face. “You think this is related to the stadium bombing?”

  “It is.” Amanda stepped into the light coming from the street lamp. The pallor of her skin contrasted with the dark night. “You're going to want to see this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Amanda tried not to imagine the conversation she'd disturbed, as she walked back toward Robinson's SUV. If both Eric and Robinson's faces said anything, they weren't discussing the weather. The latter man fell into step next to her, while Eric brought in the rear.

  The words he'd spoken earlier, reverberated in her mind like a loud rock concert. He'd always taken the backseat. Maybe some of her actions had put him there, but he'd buckled himself inside.

  She blew out a breath as she weaved through a few cars, in the condo's parking lot.

  “I already called Jordan. He should be here any minute.”

  “I thought you were talking with the fire marshal?” Robinson slowed once he saw they were headed for his vehicle. Even ten feet back, the picture frame she'd found resting against his front, driver's side wheel, was obvious.

  “What are we looking at?” Eric asked.

  “A love note.” The other man's stride quickened and his fists clenched at his sides.

  That stance mirrored the storm brewing in her gut. Tense, on edge and ready to jump out of her skin, but desperate to appear calm and in control. She'd barely resisted the urge to throw the frame when she'd found it. Only the sight of the two men talking, on the outer edge of the building, had stopped her from touching it.

  Robinson hunched near the tire, facing her. He pulled gloves from his coat pocket, handed a pair to her, and then donned one pair himself. She followed suit. And tried to ignore the spider-web version of herself and Eric staring at her.

  “Where did that come from?” Hands in his pockets, Eric bent at the waist, to get a closer look.

  Something solid fell into her already swirling stomach. This was somebody else's crime scene. It had nothing to do with her.

  Distance, Nettles.

  “It was in my desk drawer, at work.”

  Eric straightened. “Why was it in your desk?” He held up a hand as he shook his head. “Forget I asked.”

  How had it gotten here? Not just anyone could walk inside the station and waltz up to her desk. “Do you have a copy of this picture?”

  “No.” Eric shoved his hands in his pockets. “I'd honestly forgotten it existed.”

  As if Robinson couldn't hear a word they said, he picked up the frame. A folded piece of paper fell to the ground. Like a moth attracted to light, she couldn't stop herself from picking it up and opening it. She stood, her heart launching into her throat.

  Headlights cut through where they stood. A silhouette exited the vehicle and rounded the car, toward them. “What have we got?” Jordan's voice echoed in the sudden silence.

  “A form of contact,” Robinson said. “You bring a team with you?”

  “Have a little faith.” The other man threw a hand up in the air and motioned toward himself, his eyes locked on his vehicle.

  Three more darkened figures exited his truck and stepped into the light from his headlights. They quickly started looking over every inch of the parking lot, near the vehicle. She only had so much time left with the evidence in her hands.

  Amanda glanced back at the paper. A birth certificate. At the top, her name stared back at her, black ink jumping off the page and coming to life. Below that, sat her birthplace and her parents’ names. Except, where Eileen Nettles' name should have been, another's rested.

  “Who is Sandra Porterville?” Something hot gathered around the brick of stone in her stomach. “This is wrong.”

  Robinson's head snapped up to her. “Let me see that.”

  When he reached for it, she pulled away. She knew the look in his eyes. Worry mixed with dread, because he had knowledge he wasn't willing to share. “Start talking, Robinson.”

  He stood. “She's your biological mother.”

  The cells in her brain stopped working. Instead of words coming from his lips, they moved in silence. The techs worked around them in slow motion. She shook her head. Eileen Nettles was her mother. The woman who had raised her to be honest, loving and carefree. The woman who loved her father with reckless abandon, until she could barely remember her own name.

  And her father. What did this mean?

  No. She refused to even think that. They would have told her.

  Infidelity has ruined several presidents and the like. Especially when there's a child involved.

  The paper caught her eye again. The raised North Carolina seal was beneath her fingers. Live birth flashed in her mind, but was out-shined by the word, twin.

  Twin?

  “No.” Even as she said the word, she knew nothing would make this information less true. It sat in her gut like raw, spoiled meat.

  They should have told her. How many lies was her childhood built on?

  The material slipped from her grasp and fluttered to the ground. The soft crinkle permeated the chaos around her.

  “You didn't know?” Eric asked. Surprise didn't cover his face, only confusion.

  Robinson stood, the frame still in one hand. “How long have you known, Eric?”

  Eric glance
d between her and Robinson as if he'd made a party foul instead of dropping a boulder on Amanda's head. “A few years.”

  Years? Amanda had a hard time drawing in breath. The organ in her chest had stopped a necessary function. Was it possible she’d been wrong about Eric this whole time?

  “How?”

  “Found that laying around in the apartment.” He pointed toward the article still lying near Robinson's feet. “I assumed you left it out.”

  And the neat freak that he was, demanded he put everything away. No clutter. Ever. And yet, she hadn’t seen it. Was it possible he was lying?

  “Didn't you think it was odd to see my birth certificate?”

  Eric shoved his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched. Silence.

  “You didn't think to ask about a sibling I'd never mentioned?” She would have asked. Would have needed to know.

  “Your family is pretty open about everything. Since it didn’t come up, I figured something bad had happened.”

  What if it had bothered her? What if she’d needed to talk about it and hadn’t known how to start the conversation? Something hot and grotesque boiled up her esophagus. She stepped toward Eric, one clenched fist, elevated. “It wasn't in a neat, attractive package so why bother, right?”

  His mouth opened and it stayed that way. He stepped back, both of his hands raised, palms facing her as if he didn't know if she'd physically attack him or not. Why would he? Prior to the last few months, they'd never so much as shouted at each other.

  “I'm not the enemy, here.” His gaze flicked to where Robinson stood, then back.

  Forget this. Amanda turned from the people in front of her and ripped off her gloves.

  “Amanda.” Robinson's voice did little to calm her.

  The urge to fling the latex material toward Robinson's vehicle, spread through her body like the fire that had taken over the condo. She closed her fist around them and then focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

  At a near jog, she exited the parking lot and hit Sonny Road as a few icy pelts of rain hit her face. Maybe if enough of it covered her body she'd go numb. Goodbye, heartache, thoughts, desires and function. Goodbye giant mess.

  Amanda swiped a spot of something wet near her cheek.

  The thought of her dad not being the person she knew, made bile rise in her throat. Where was the man who'd taught her to have faith in people?

  Had everyone known, but her? How had it never come up, in casual conversation between herself and Eric? She wrapped her arms around her torso.

  It wasn't true. It couldn't be.

  “A.J.” A hand found her arm and pulled her to a stop. The warmth from it seeped into her. “Wait a second, okay?” Robinson's voice came out gritty. “You can't let this guy win. You're better than that.”

  Oh, he was beyond winning. The contest was over. “Kind of hard to beat an invisible perp.”

  “He'll mess up. Maybe he already has. We've just got to figure out where. Anticipate his next moves.”

  She sighed, fatigue socking her in the face better than any solid jab. “In the meantime, I'm in the dark.”

  The rain started coming down a little heavier, the droplets trying to wiggle through her thin jacket.

  He help up his free hand, palm toward her. The other one still had a firm hold on her arm. His thumb rubbed her bicep, in a soothing rhythm. “Before you accuse me of keeping information from you, you should know I planned to tell you earlier, but we didn't get to finish our dance. Or our talk.”

  In the dim light, coming from the street lamp, she could make out Robinson's worried expression. The way his eyes searched her face and his lips sat in a half frown.

  The urge to place her mouth over his, nearly overtook every cell in her body. It was the only thing that made sense today.

  Could one kiss erase the last few weeks?

  Their dance came to mind. “That's why you pointed out the blonde woman? That's Sandra Porterville?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It's real?” She pointed toward the crew still working near his SUV. Toward the letters on a page, she wouldn’t ever forget. She had a sibling. And a birth mother she'd never met or known about.

  “It's what I asked Ken Johnson for.”

  “I need to talk to my parents.” It was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted her life to go back to normal, with her parents being who she thought they were, her job in order and her love life...

  “I'll come with you.” The bold scent of his cologne floated over her. “I need to go anyway, but I'd like to be there for you, if you'll let me.” The softness of his tone and intent gaze wrapped around her heart.

  His hand glided down her arm. His fingers threaded through hers, his palm against the top of her hand. The motion was so subtle, if every nerve in her arm wasn't buzzing in response, she might have missed the gentle squeeze of his hand.

  Because she was distracted by the soft look in his eyes. By something new that had been there all along.

  The fire engines and crew, still surrounding the condo, caught her eye. How long had she been like this? Unfocussed? Spread so thin, every effort she made was rendered worthless. “The fire was a diversion.”

  Robinson dropped her hand and followed her gaze. “From what? The placement of the picture could have occurred at any juncture, no cover required.”

  They were missing something.

  A flash of lights cut across them, then disappeared as a vehicle passed on the street. Seconds later, the squeal of metal on metal pierced the air before a van reversed in their direction.

  “We've got company.” She nodded toward the vehicle.

  An unreadable expression covered his face. “Looks like a Channel Six news van.”

  The passenger side window rolled down as the van came to a stop in front of them. “Just the pair I'm looking for.” Scott Jonas opened the door and stepped onto the wet pavement, a giant smile on his face. “Got wind of a condo fire.”

  “Why would you look for us here, Jonas?” Ice froze Robinson's words midair and made her shiver.

  “Well,” he said, glancing from her to Robinson. Gone was that cocky smile he always wore. “Because, if there's trouble, one of you is usually close by.”

  She thought back to the explosions. Jonas had been one of the first crews on site. Same with the incident at Robinson's apartment. She'd seen him on the street the day she'd been trying to find McKenna. The café. The gym. Here.

  A flash of fear hit her gut. She charged forward, grabbed the other man's hand and twisted it behind his back. Jonas tried to relieve the pressure by spinning away from her. With a forearm to the back of his neck, she pushed him against the vehicle, her heart pumping in her ears.

  His cameraman popped his head out the passenger window, noted what was happening and ducked back inside.

  “With you right behind us. Why is that, Jonas?”

  A groan came from between his lips. “You're breaking my arm.” He looked around as much as the pressure, she applied, would allow. “You just gonna let her do this, Agent Robinson?”

  The man in question crossed his arms and shrugged. A show of solidarity or something else? Amanda didn't dwell on it.

  She increased the force on the arm she had pinned behind his back. “Why?”

  “It's my job. If I don't write a story, I don't get paid.”

  “Ever had a dislocated shoulder, Jonas?”

  He went up on tiptoe to try and relieve the discomfort. “This is police brutality, Detective.”

  “Not even close,” Robinson said as he stepped closer. “Stop being obtuse and maybe I'll talk her into letting you go. Where are you getting your information?”

  “Police scanners, the usual sources.” He grunted and closed his eyes.

  “And before that?”

  Jonas' eyes snapped open, his glare aimed at Robinson. “Research.”

  Amanda was missing something big. She looked toward the interior of the van. The cameraman was on his cell phon
e. Robinson still had his hands across his chest and his jaw clenched, all of the discontent in his gaze aimed at the man in her hold.

  “I need your whereabouts for the day of the stadium bombing, December first from eight a.m. to ten p.m., December seventh from eleven a.m. to noon and today.” Amanda didn't budge.

  “Okay,” Jonas breathed through clenched teeth. “Think you could ease up?”

  Part of her wanted to do that, because their guy would have ambushed them, instead of stopping as if they were old buddies. Jonas was one step ahead of them for another reason. “Answers, Jonas. I'm getting impatient.”

  “Today I was at the gym, then lunch with Ricky.” He gave a backward tip of his head, toward the truck. “I worked at the station, on a few pieces, and then turned on my scanner and heard about the fire.”

  “And the other dates?”

  “Listen, whatever you're thinking, I'm not a crooked reporter. Not like the last broad.”

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Robinson's stance tighten. Since she didn't have time to read through the heavy muck, which classified their current relationship, she focused on the man in front of her.

  “I don't know where you're from, but here, we don't speak ill of the deceased.” She pushed his face farther into the van's shiny surface.

  “Okay, okay. I'm just saying that sometimes I get anonymous calls that seem sketchy, but all I do is follow up on the story.”

  “Did you get calls on those dates?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You're story isn't jiving, Jonas. You just told me you heard about tonight's fire on a scanner.”

  He shifted. “I did, but I got a call telling me to turn it on.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Thirty, forty minutes.”

  She released him then. He took a breath, turned and rubbed his arm.

  “Male or female,” Robinson asked.

  “Neither. Whoever called was using a voice synthesizer.”

  Robinson's eyes met hers before skipping back to Jonas. That information hadn't been released to the public. “Got any of the numbers on your cell?”