DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  The other man blinked. He glanced around the room as if the question were a test. “Uh, sure.”

  “Cream? Sugar?” Jordan pulled a cup from the cupboard and filled it.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Rupert’s face held so much confusion. Amanda gagged back a giggle. Most of his snobbish behavior had disappeared around the time he’d found out Jordan was his half-brother. For reasons she didn’t understand, and a convoluted history she couldn’t wade through with goulashes, Jordan kept him at arm’s length. Somehow, Rupert stayed there. On the sidelines. Looking at the warmth of the fire, while he stood in the cold.

  Even his son was sitting near the figurative heat.

  Had Beth ever felt like that? Even with the love Eileen and Walter showered on their foster children, it might not have been enough. Or maybe she’d known the truth.

  Wouldn’t she have said something? Amanda wouldn’t have been able to keep a secret that big. Not as a teenager.

  Jordan set a cup in front of Rupert.

  “Are you sick?” The other man asked as he sat. “Or dying?”

  “Just trying to be nice.” The words held an overly sweet ring.

  “He’s trying to confuse you.” Amanda shifted. Riley gave an audible squirm as if her coziness had been ruined. “Because he doesn’t want you to ask about Juliana.”

  McKenna covered a laugh with a cough.

  Jordan sent a glare in their direction. “Juliana is an ex-girlfriend.”

  “Ex-fiancé.” McKenna let the word out on another cough, the old teasing gleam in her eye.

  It erased the annoyed look on Jordan’s face.

  “When was this?” Rupert sipped his coffee.

  “Three years ago.” McKenna sent her husband a smile. “But, Jordan…”

  “Stop. You’re gonna be sorry, Slick.”

  McKenna took a swig of coffee and stood. The mischief in her eyes, bloomed. “He called the wedding off two weeks beforehand. Nice guy, huh?”

  “The nicest.” Jordan advanced toward his wife.

  McKenna walked backward. “I just gave birth to your child.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Just so we’re clear, that gives me a handicap.” Then she turned and ran down the hall and out of sight, Jordan right behind her.

  Rupert had the coffee cup halfway to his lips. “I never understand what’s going on around here.”

  “Get used to it. You hang around long enough and it won’t matter. You’re in JorKenna country.”

  Rupert blinked at her. “I must still be sleeping.”

  Amanda laughed.

  “Why the sudden lift of the cold shoulder?”

  “I’d call it a thawing. It’s all about perspective.”

  His face pinched together as he studied her, the look so much like Jordan’s.

  “Stop using your son as an in.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Sorta seems like it. You’re here right now, because you helped save Jordan’s life. You wanna stay? Prove you deserve to be here. Stop calling McKenna every time you need something.”

  “Jordan doesn't answer.” He opened his free hand, palm toward the ceiling.

  Amanda locked her gaze on him. “Is that the real reason or are you hoping for something more?”

  The coffee cup paused, midair, again. Rupert shook his head. “I can't imagine growing up with both you and McKenna. It's really amazing Jordan's still sane.”

  Love did really crazy things to people. “So?”

  He sipped his coffee. “I'm here for family. That's the only reason.”

  “No ulterior motives? Unrequited love? Revenge?”

  “No.” Rupert matched her gaze. “McKenna's right. You do read too many books.”

  The creak of a door came from one of the two bedrooms, in the house, moments before Ariana came into view. She had a yellow backpack slung across one shoulder and her hair in a ponytail.

  Amanda kissed the infant’s fingers and stood. Jordan would come around, eventually. “Take this little angel for me.”

  “Uh, okay.” With the ease of a well-practiced parent, he took Riley and sent a few soft coos in her direction.

  She hadn't heard anything from Robinson, so things must be progressing well. “Hey, kid, swipe me one of those cereal bars McKenna eats all the time, would ya?”

  “Okay.” Ariana opened a cupboard and dug inside.

  One more swallow of coffee and then she brought the cup to the sink and rinsed it. “I’m your driver today. Let’s hit the road.”

  Ariana handed her a wrapped bar, a mix of oats and chocolate, her expression filled with worry.

  “How did the art project go?”

  “Good. I got an A-plus.” Ariana’s expression became more severe as Amanda ushered her into Robinson's SUV.

  She tucked her backpack near her feet, in the front seat. “Where's Uncle Robbie?”

  “Seatbelt. Everything is fine. I promise.” She stuck the keys in the ignition and backed out of Jordan's driveway.

  Ariana buckled herself in. She fidgeted with the strap, her eyes on the road, ahead. “I'm not going to school, am I? Something happened.”

  The same blue-green eyes, as Robinson's, stared at her. “We’re skipping school, at least for right now. Your mom woke up this morning. Your uncle is with her.”

  Shock covered the girl's face. She licked her lips and swallowed. “Really?”

  Amanda could imagine the emotions this beautiful child must be dealing with. Excitement, anxiety, worry and plans for the future. “Yes, really.”

  “That’s…” Wonder turned to anxiety. “Does she remember anything? Can she talk?”

  Amanda turned onto the freeway. “I’m not sure how much she remembers from the accident. As for talking, it might take some time for all her words to sound normal. She hasn’t used those vocal cords, in over a year. Head injuries are always a wild card. She might need to relearn some things.”

  Ariana nodded. She pressed her hands together, in her lap, her gaze centered on the view outside her window.

  Amanda reached over and touched her shoulder, for a moment. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

  “In the beginning I kept a journal on all the things I’d tell her when she woke up.” The young girl looked at her hands. A tear escaped her eyelid and ran down her cheek. “Then I stopped, because, what’s the point of writing down all of the things you’ll never say to your mom, again?”

  Amanda knew that feeling. The grotesque fingers of it, slid through her heart every time her mom couldn’t remember her own name.

  “It’s okay to feel confused or angry or any of the emotions running through your mind. It’s what we do with those emotions—the choices we make based on them—that matters.”

  A small smiled tugged the corner of the kid’s mouth. “You sound just like Uncle Robbie.”

  Amanda stifled a laugh. She did.

  “So, are you two going to, like, get married and stuff or what?”

  An easy dismissal sat on her tongue. She bit it back. “Well…”

  “’Cause it would be really cool to have you for an aunt.”

  Yeah. Cool.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  By the time Amanda made it to work, a couple of her co-workers already had coffee, from the joint down the street. They stood in groups, chatting.

  Detective Catsky said something the others laughed at, always the center of attention with his snarky, all-in-fun attitude. Davis' gaze flicked to something on her desk as Amanda approached.

  The other woman flipped a newspaper over and laid her hand on top. Amanda didn't note anything of importance on it.

  “Captain's bent out of shape about you missing the meeting, Nettles. Hope you have a good excuse.”

  Amanda met the other woman's green gaze. “Any different than the last one?”

  She shook her head. “Same old bull. Different day. Minus the SBI visit.”

  “Are they still around?”

 
A commotion broke out behind Davis. Male voices came from the direction of the holding cells and interview rooms. A bulky man, in a black suit, came into sight, followed by Scott Jonas—a.k.a. Parker Williams. That would take some time to relearn. He wore the same polo shirt as last night.

  At least, she assumed it was from last night. Hard to know.

  Another agent brought in the rear, smaller than the first, but still well-conditioned. The room got quiet as every eye watched them move toward the exit. The man behind Jonas nudged him forward. He tripped, but righted himself. Davis buzzed them through the security door, taking in the exchange with quiet speculation, as usual.

  Jonas' hair looked like he'd run his hands through it, over and over. There was blood on the collar of his shirt and a purplish ring covered his right eye. He’d obviously spent the night in lockup.

  “What are you doing?” Amanda moved forward and blocked the first agent’s path. Even with more than a foot of height, to lord over her, and an extra one hundred pounds, he still pulled up short. The muscles in his shoulders looked as if they'd eaten his neck.

  His dark gaze locked on her. “What's it look like?” Ice shot toward her as if she’d somehow caused this mess. “Taking this guy off your hands.”

  “Where did the black eye come from?”

  “Better talk to one of your guys.” No Neck managed to jerk his head toward her coworkers, beyond the security door. “Wasn't us.”

  The group had dispersed, but Detective Catsky lingered. He looked away when Amanda met his eyes. Guilty. She'd save that for later.

  She speared the man in custody with a look. “Get any more tips, Jonas?”

  He jerked away from the grip the other SBI agent had on his bicep. “Kind of hard to know, when my cell phone has been in lockup since after midnight.”

  After the broadcast. What happened to their tail?

  “What are the charges?” Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't about to let them haul Jonas out of here without a good reason.

  She wanted to talk to him first.

  No Neck had the gall to look annoyed. “Stop wasting our time, Detective. We’ve already cleared this with Captain Dentzen. You want information, ask him. Otherwise, you’re obstructing my investigation.”

  They had her there. They could do whatever they wanted with Jonas, if he wasn't in CMPD custody any longer.

  No Neck knew it, too, judging by the smirk on his brawny face. They brushed past her as if she were a rotting banana peel, they didn’t want to touch.

  “Nettles.” Dentzen’s deep voice held annoyance. “In my office. Now.”

  Davis eyebrows lifted as she clicked the keys on her computer. Even though Amanda could have punched in her code, the other woman hit the button for the door.

  The menace on Dentzen's face didn’t leave much to the imagination. Thick arms folded across his chest as his steely gaze tracked her movements. Then he entered his office.

  Big trouble.

  Catsky hadn't left, choosing to stay in the same spot, his coffee in the grip of one hand. Brink rounded the corner and nodded, with a knowing smirk, as if to say, sucks-to-be-you. Whatever. She’d explain why she’d missed the meeting. Her boss might be short-tempered at times, but was usually fair.

  When she entered the office, Dentzen was already standing behind his desk. His gaze was centered out the window, the bustle of Third Street keeping his attention. “Close the door and sit.”

  She complied before walking toward the desk. A picture frame of his wife and grown children sat in one corner. Two stacks of papers filled the other. A computer, note pad and canister of pens, took up the rest of the space. “Sir, if this is about the meeting, I can explain.”

  He turned. A rolled newspaper was in the grip of one hand. He used it to point toward the chairs, in front of his desk. “Sit.” A bite laced the syllable and had her doing that.

  Those angry scorpions were back, attacking her stomach. They might as well take up permanent residence. Maybe she could charge them rent.

  “How long have you worked for CMPD?”

  She blinked. “Almost seven years, sir.”

  “In that time, how often have you been in this chair?”

  Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. “In a negative manner, once.”

  Dentzen hiked one hip on the corner of his workspace, the newspaper rolled tight in both hands, now. “I told you to stop taking risks, didn't I? It wasn't a request, Nettles.”

  The scorpions climbed their way up her esophagus. She tried for a deep breath. “Sir, I—”

  He let the paper fall to the desk. It unrolled, the front page in clear view. Robinson’s black tuxedo complimented the blue, floor-length gown she'd never wear again, thanks to the condo fire.

  The picture captured their embrace. The way he held her close, his gaze locked on her as if she held all the answers. To everything. One of her hands clutched his, near his heart, her head tilted upward.

  Another day, in another life, she would have smiled. Let herself remember the moment in warm retrospect.

  The caption caught her eye. The FBI gets up close and personal with number one suspect.

  A snapshot beneath it, captured her look-a-like on the news. One finger, in the position of a gun, pointed at the camera.

  She sucked in a breath and straightened.

  No. This made everything worse.

  Dentzen hadn't moved, his lips compressing into a tighter line than a machine could draw. “This.” He jabbed a finger over Robinson and herself. “This is why I needed you to toe the line, Nettles.” He stood. “You don't have any idea what you're up against.”

  “With all due respect, sir, neither do you.” She clamped her mouth shut.

  He tucked his tongue in the corner of one cheek and rubbed a hand across his face. The salt and pepper at his temples had spread over the last year. “Clean out your desk, Nettles.”

  What? “Sir.”

  His dark eyes met hers, arms crossed, in a stance a parent might take when dealing with an unruly child. “I need your gun and badge.”

  “That isn't me.” The heavy pound of her heart was the only thing filling her head. She stood. Stabbed her own finger into the second photo. “You can't believe that it is.”

  Dentzen turned back to the view. “It doesn't matter what I believe. Leave your things on the desk.”

  “There has to be something I can do.” If she wasn't a cop, what was she? How was she supposed to keep her city—her friends and family safe?

  Dentzen turned his head toward Amanda. “If I were you, I'd stay out of sight for a while. The only thing that's keeping you out of lockup is that guy.” He threw his fist toward the paper. “And your connections. So, if you've got answers, I'd find them. Fast. I imagine the Director of the FBI is chomping at the bit, over this.”

  Robinson couldn’t lose his job. She wouldn’t let it happen. Captain Dentzen was right. Robinson’s belief in her innocence, was the only thing keeping her out of jail right now.

  Amanda stood. She'd never used her connections, had never needed to. To do so gave her an advantage of birth. And she’d been taught to earn respect, promotions and an honest day’s pay. Not take them as if they belonged to her.

  Dentzen hadn't moved. His permanent dismissal clear.

  She removed her .45 from her holster, disengaged the clip and laid the pieces on the desk. The sound of metal hitting the shiny surface, bounced around the quiet room. The badge followed it, the worn leather thinned at one edge.

  Amanda might as well have been naked, standing there. Empty and leaving a child behind. An identifying piece of her sat on the desk, as if it didn't make one difference. As if she didn't make a difference.

  Her boss and mentor couldn't look her in the eye. Couldn't look at her at all. A large hot air balloon got stuck in her throat upon ascension. This was not the way her career should end. She should retire, years from now, maybe from inside this office. Not walk out with a casual dismissal.


  “You've got twenty minutes, Nettles. Don’t make me get an escort for you.”

  The sassy part of her wouldn't have allowed this wordless retreat to be her last stand. Amanda headed toward the door and took one last glance at her boss, his desk and her belongings on top of it.

  Miss Sass was silent. She stayed that way through the short walk to her desk. And gathering her belongings.

  The chair creaked as Amanda sat. For the last time.

  Disconnect, Nettles.

  Another day. Another adventure. She bit the edge of one fingernail. The pep talk wasn't working.

  “What's going on?” Catsky appeared in front of her. A dark stain marred the edge of his blue tie. One closed fist, tapped the edge of the desk as if knocking on a door. A fading redness and a few scrapes tracked across his knuckles.

  She met his gaze. “Why'd you punch Jonas?”

  Catsky shrugged, cracking those knuckles against his free palm. “The guys a smarmy piece of—”

  “Why?” Amanda met his steady gaze and didn't move.

  “Wouldn't you stick up for me, if some piece of trash was talking smack?”

  Was Jonas just doing his job? Or something else? “What makes him trash?”

  Catsky shifted from one foot to the other. “You don't act like you’re hot stuff and go around accusing innocent people of crimes they didn't commit. This guy thinks being a reporter qualifies him for our job.”

  Oh, man. Catsky had no idea. He stood there, silent and waiting for something. Outrage? Or declarations of her innocence? Neither, of which, she had time for.

  She shoved a few final items into a bag. Everything else could stay behind. Notes. Old case files. A drawer full of her favorite pens. A slot held two or three packs of Winterfresh gum. “So, he said some things you didn't agree with?”

  “No.” One bulbous finger waggled toward her, the other hand braced on his hip. “No,” he whispered. “He insinuated that you are behind our latest string of crime, Amanda. I'd bet my right lung he ran the article on the front page of the paper.”

  Amanda tried to lick her lips, lack of saliva complicating the task. So, Catsky had seen it. There probably wasn't a soul in Charlotte who hadn't. Was that Jonas' intent? Or had he simply turned?