LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  He crouched beside her, his shoulder pressing into hers, his warmth seeping into her, again. “I got that secondhand. I was more concerned about you.” He rubbed the gouge with his gloved hand. “I didn’t even know the body they pulled out was Kara until later, at the hospital.” Guilt rode on every syllable.

  She understood it. That guilt sat in the pit of her stomach like a piece of overcooked liver. “She walked in on something Ciamitaro was trying to conceal. Maybe it was Emily Gaidies’ murder. Maybe something else. She wasn’t really coherent at the end.”

  “They’ve released her body. I imagine the funeral will be early next week.”

  McKenna nodded. She wasn’t sure she could watch any casket make its way into the ground right now. “There was a lock and someone cut it.”

  “Think Ciamitaro did it to lure us off track?”

  “No.” The moment, complete with the sharp scent of nicotine washed over her. “You were right. He didn’t expect or want you to find me. He wanted you preoccupied so he could get away. He said it would be an encore to your mother’s death.” And something else. Something important that had made her feel sick.

  He was quiet a moment. “Good work with the message on the wall. I'm glad we didn't need to use it as evidence alone.” Jordan twisted the black dial left then right, left again, and yanked the lock open. He took a Maglite from his pocket. “I’m gonna make a quick sweep inside.”

  “Right now?” She clamped her lips tight. She could do this. Yup. No problems.

  “That was the plan.” Jordan scanned her face. “Want to call it quits?”

  Yes. No. Something eerie crawled over her skin as if what waited beyond that door had the power to suffocate her. The trees around them were too quiet. None of this was likely to change. Ever. “Gimme a minute.” Or ten. Embarrassment crawled up her neck.

  After setting the lock aside, he ran his thumb over the old scar on her wrist beneath the suit. The ugly, jagged mark she’d used to get him to call Birmingham in the hospital. The touch sent a zing through her arm.

  “Can’t let them win, right?” His lips met her cheek. “Remember to breathe. Be right back.” He opened the door and crawled inside, his light bouncing around the empty, small space. Cobwebs lined the upper corners, dirt and debris covering the rusting floor.

  The heavy odor of dried blood and decay wafted outward as he opened the second door leading to the lower chamber. She covered her nose and mouth with the back of her hand. Her stomach swirled a little.

  “Talk to me, Slick.” He lowered himself inside via a small ladder left behind by CSU.

  “Oh, sure. Talk, he says.”

  A chuckle met her ears. “I can still hear you.”

  “I, um, what are you going to do about Rupert?”

  “Next topic, please.” His voice drifted upward, bouncing toward where she sat, still outside the first door as if the hands of evil could suck her in if she got any closer.

  “I don’t think so.” There’s no such thing as the bogeyman. She ducked her head inside and located him below. “You want me talking, it’ll be on my terms.”

  He flashed the light in her direction. “You run a hard bargain.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not going to do anything about Rupert.” Jordan’s flashlight hit her blood-written message, then bounced across the area to the opposite side.

  She swallowed and kept her gaze on his light. “He apologized.”

  “So I heard.”

  She took a breath. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. “It bothers you that I can forgive him.”

  Silence, then his body appeared through the opening, his face inches from hers. “No.” His voice was soft. “It bothers me that you forgave him so easily, when you won’t forgive me.”

  “What?” She choked. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  His gaze was steady, his breath mingling with hers. “There is.”

  That was news. She waited.

  “I left. I didn’t write. I kept things from you. I didn’t protect you. I lost faith in people. That includes you, as much as I wish it didn’t.”

  Love swelled inside her heart at his honesty. “If anyone needs forgiveness, it’s me.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t take everyone’s sins on your shoulders.” Then, because she couldn’t resist, she put her lips over his. The instant he started kissing her back, she lost herself in him. His touch, the warm smell of sandalwood enveloping her. The soft groan that came from his mouth as he pulled away.

  He laid his forehead against hers. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be the death of me. You wanna shut that hatch for me?”

  Her heart started to pound, the rhythm intense and stuck in her ears. “Why?”

  “Just a theory I want to try.”

  A flicker of something caught her eye to her left. The wind kicked up around them, blowing twigs and old foliage in swirling patterns. The sun hid behind dark clouds. She couldn’t hold back a shiver. “It’s gonna rain.”

  He pulled the ladder out of sight. “Shut the door and turn the handle so it closes tightly.”

  “What’s it going to prove?” Her voice rose an octave. She clamped her eyes shut. Detachment, that’s what she needed. Work the case from the other side of the table.

  “Give me two minutes, Slick. Then you can take me home.”

  A laugh escaped her on a whoosh of exhaled breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to hear any complaining.” With shaking hands, she managed to close the hatch. She turned the handle, but instead of clicking into place as she’d expected, it swiveled three-hundred and sixty degrees.

  “It’s broken.”

  He pushed on the metal and it easily opened. “That’s what I thought.” He replaced the ladder and climbed up. “It’s not a recent break either.” He studied the outside of the door, noting, as she did, fresh scrapes across its surface. “Could you push on the door from inside?”

  “No, but when I wasn’t disorientated from the Ketamine, I felt weak from lack of proper oxygen.”

  Jordan shook his head as he exited the dumpster altogether and put the lock back in place. “Wouldn’t have mattered. He put something heavy on top of that door.” After tucking his Maglite back into his pocket, he grabbed her hand and tugged her around the structure.

  And she let him, because her legs had turned to Jell-O. The warmth of his fingers against hers, even through their gloves, lent a bit of safety.

  “We’re looking for something big and heavy enough to place over that opening. But something he would have been able to carry alone.”

  They circled the dumpster twice with no results. Big, fat drops of rain began landing all around them, slowly at first and then increasing.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait.” She scanned the area and came up empty. Then her eyes landed on a tree ten feet away. Something gray stuck out against its dark bark. They jogged over toward the gray mass of poured concrete, which could have been a flagpole anchor at one time.

  “This is the right size.” He picked it up for a beat, then set it back down. “Heavy enough, too.” He removed one latex glove, pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Hey, it’s Bening. We’re still at the site with an interesting theory. Can you send a crew?” A pause, then, “Thanks.”

  “Somebody cut the lock and removed that stone, but it wasn’t Ciamitaro.”

  “Maybe somebody heard me screaming and pounding on the walls?”

  “Out here? Don’t think so. Good Samaritans usually stick around. And they tend to call nine-one-one over a tip hotline.”

  A truth, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. This guy hadn’t stayed to chat for one of two reasons. He had a record. Or he was indirectly involved in this crime.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The hands were around McKenna.

  All around her. Grabbing her ankles, her wrists. Applying pressure—the kind that bordered on painful—under her arms and near her hips and shoulders. These fi
ve-fingered, near insects had minds of their own, it seemed. Crawling about in a blackness so murky, she couldn't see anything but the prodding, pinching beasts as if they had glow-in-the-dark veins.

  She tried to shake them off, but like cobwebs from a large spider web, each time she moved, it tangled around another part of her. And the half-insects multiplied like mosquitoes in a cesspool until they covered her from neck to foot.

  A glimmering set of eyes appeared above her, so like the Cheshire cat's from Alice in Wonderland, she expected to see the luminescent grin appear as well. A soft-spoken, male voice greeted her instead. The indistinct words echoed as the hands continued their way to covering her completely, making it difficult to breathe. She pinched her eyes shut. No.

  “It was a beautiful ceremony.” Ciamitaro's words, but again the soft-spoken voice. Then pain at her shoulders and the feeling of weightlessness. “This is Matthew's fault. We're even now.”

  She hit the ground with a thud that made her eyes spring open. The hands scattered and pain radiated up her side. The carpet of Jordan's bedroom pressed up against her face. The drawn shades bathed the room in darkness, minus a sliver of light coming from the doorway. Rain pelted the windows, creating a soothing tempo changed only by the wind. The overhead fan swirled air about the room.

  Her heart raced as if she'd finished a marathon.

  The hands were gone, but something still held fast to her leg.

  As she hobbled to a stand, the lights in the room flicked on, blinding her for a moment.

  Jordan barged through the door. “Everything okay? We heard a noise.”

  She shielded her eyes with a hand to her forehead, like a visor. When she glanced down, she noted the sheet tangled around her ankle. She tried to kick it off without success. Wait. “We?”

  He moved farther into the room, then put an arm around her waist, his fingers grazing an area of bare flesh above her hip. The touch remained feather light, sending tingles into her belly. She doubted he had any idea what it did her.

  How could he know, when she had never paid close attention before?

  With one nudge of his foot, he freed her. And then his touch was gone, taking the soft vibrations with it. The closest they’d come to any form of intimacy since she’d kissed him at the crime scene.

  A look of confusion must have covered her face, because he held up his hands. “Let me explain.”

  “Explain what?” Goosebumps raced up her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, aware that she stood in a tank top and tiny sleep shorts. If they had a visitor, she wanted more clothing, even though she was covered. She reached for her robe and slipped it on.

  His eyes caught hers and held. “I need you to be okay with this.”

  A heavy weight settled in her stomach. Unlike before her kidnapping, pushing it away didn't work very well. “Just tell me.”

  A shadow fell across the doorway.

  “Matthew had a routine dental appointment on Friday, after you visited him.”

  A sense of Deja vu came over her. “Okay.”

  The shadow materialized, as it stepped through the doorway, into the light. Matthew held a cup of coffee. A pair of baggy jeans and a wrinkled army green t-shirt hung from his tall frame. “Hey, kiddo. It’s good to see you.”

  Shock and excitement warred with each other inside her. Her stomach twisted around the weight, a tornado in full force. “You!” Her voice came out in a near yell before she quieted it to a whisper. “Ciamitaro told me you escaped. And that he planned to pin my death on you.” Her mind whirled.

  “Guy's a nit-wit.” Matthew sipped from his cup as if they talked about Ciamitaro’s academy scores. “Timing's all off.”

  Jordan leaned against the edge of the bed to her left, his arms across his chest in a leisurely manner. Both men’s eyes held the same sympathetic look, so close in expression they could have been mirror images.

  Those looks, both sensitive and caring, also filled with barely concealed fear. Fear that she might break, that she might not be able to handle any given situation. How many times had she thought the same thing about one of her witnesses? The job required that she be able to read when to push somebody and when to stop. Jordan had the same training. He’d know how to spot a witness about to disintegrate into a helpless pool. He’d know when to stop.

  The thought lodged another heavy anchor in her mind. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to handle things. Maybe she would break. She couldn’t stay here. With their anxiety twisting around hers, creating this safe, little, high-stung cocoon she could live in forever.

  “You guys are acting like this is another normal day,” McKenna said.

  “It kind of is.” Another sip of coffee from Matthew.

  “You're a fugitive.” She lowered her voice as if saying the word would summon the Marshals to their front door. “How is that normal?” She looked to Jordan for help, but he only shrugged. “We're harboring a fugitive.”

  “Not technically, Slick.” He stood and moved toward her.

  She moved out of his reach. He hadn’t touched her in days, she wasn’t going to let him distract her now.

  “We should have waited until after the funeral today,” Matthew said.

  “We’re not going.” The words came through Jordan’s tight lips. “Ciamitaro’s not stupid enough to show up and we’re not using McKenna as bait.”

  “I didn’t say I agreed with the idea, son.”

  They talked as if they’d spent the better part of a week hashing out these ideas. “How long have you been here?” She asked Matthew.

  Neither man said anything, but they glanced at each other, conveying something without words. Which said everything.

  McKenna blew a strand of hair from her eyes. “I’ve been out of the hospital for five days.”

  Still nothing.

  She didn’t want or need their pity. She didn’t want their protection. Getting back to normal wouldn’t happen that way. “You've ruined your chances for early parole.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Call it a sixth sense, but I knew I had to get here.” Before she could sidestep him, he pulled her into a hug. He smelled like Jordan’s laundry detergent. “I was right. And I’d do it again, damn the consequences.” The rough timbre to his voice touched something unsteady within her.

  The room got hot. The suffocating kind that sucked at all remaining air in the space, saving none for its victims. She pulled away. “If they catch this whole charade, we'll face time and we won't be able to help you clear your name.” Her voice sounded hollow. She swallowed back a fist of something foul.

  “I'm not going back.” Matthew scratched his chest. “Not yet.”

  No. She didn't want that. Ever. She couldn’t stomach the idea of him dying alone in prison. The time he’d spent there had been sufficient. For a crime he hadn’t committed.

  “I wouldn’t ever willingly jeopardize you or Jordan, which is why I haven’t been staying here. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been here and I probably won’t be back.”

  A scowl appeared on Jordan’s face.

  “You think I actually care about that?” she asked. Did she come across as that selfish?

  “The less you know, the safer you are.”

  What? How were they supposed to help him if they had no way to contact him? Tiny pinpricks started a war behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath. Two more seconds and she would flat-out cry like a baby.

  Can't happen. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

  Sympathy covered Jordan’s face as he stepped closer.

  No. She was still as infallible as before. As strong. As in control and ready for a challenge. As long as Jordan didn’t touch her, she wouldn’t break down. She wouldn’t curl into a ball of messy post-trauma hormones.

  She whirled around and headed for the master bathroom, where she slammed the door, then locked it. Seconds after starting the shower, she realized she'd shut herself in a small room for the first time since the hospital. And she didn’t care.

&nb
sp; The victory would have been enjoyable a moment longer, if the tears hadn't started to fall before she got under the spray of the water.

  ###

  1990

  Matthew had messed up.

  He wasn’t sure how, but knew it in his gut the way he knew when a suspect withheld information. Cassidy wasn’t censoring anything he needed to solve a murder, but that aggravating feeling still settled in the pit of his stomach. Years with CMPD had taught him to tame the itch to play bad cop and put it into action in other ways.

  Today, he couldn’t find that strength. Because she wasn’t a suspect, she was his ex-wife. The label left a foul taste in his mouth, assuaged a small amount by the fact that he could, once again, call her a friend. Any defining relationship discussion wouldn’t be soon in coming. The thought made the heaviness in his abdomen grow worse.

  “Cass.” Matthew said.

  She ignored him as she set up a target painted on a piece of plywood.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why not?” She bent to straighten the board against the tree on which it rested, her shorts riding higher on her legs and her tank top showing off muscular arms. That hair he loved was up in a loose ponytail. A pair of ear defenders rested around her neck. After standing, she jogged toward him and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m practicing.” She reached for the Glock in his hand.

  “For what?”

  A slight tremor shook her hands as she inserted a full magazine into the gun. “I can’t take an interest in this?”

  Before he could answer, she lifted her ear protection and turned toward the target, then fired off two ill-placed rounds.

  “Whoa.” He rested his hands on her shoulders a second.

  Cassidy tensed as if he’d been about to hit her. She could pretend the feel of the gun in her hands didn’t bother her. He knew better.

  Matthew removed her ear wear. “Hold it.” Then he took the gun and flipped the safety on. “If you’re going to do this, do it right. Relax.” Her muscles didn’t unclench. “Cass, breathe. Move your legs a little farther than hip width apart.”