Robinson pressed his teeth into the edge of his tongue. He hated that their lives were on public display, had been for coming on two years.
And Davis was adding a sloppy mess to an already bad painting. Because Eileen had somehow slipped the home today. Ended up near Paige’s school. And who was to say it hadn’t happened yesterday as well?
Why hadn’t the center alerted them to the problem?
Maybe they had. His gaze flicked to his wife. She stood with her arms across her chest, her attention zeroed in on the man in front of her.
He turned toward Robinson and Davis, the annoyance on his face dissolving the minute he spotted Amanda’s partner. “Vi?”
As if he’d slapped her, Davis paused for half a second. Then her face regained a business-like composure. “Killian.” Her sharp green gaze focused on Amanda. “Yesterday afternoon someone spotted a woman near the back of Gamegon’s building. Nettles was tending to other official matters, so I took the call.” Her slow perusal wandered to Paige, sitting in a row of chairs catty corner to the room Eileen Nettles paced.
Paige had a paper bag clutched in her grasp. An index finger worried the edge of the material, her focus stuck on the floor. A lock of dark hair—the same shade as Amanda’s—fell across her face like a curtain.
Amanda’s eyes met his as if this were news to her. As if Davis hadn’t shown up at their house last night, pictures in tow. Agitation in full force. Justification for the odd behavior at the ready. And then she’d excused herself and left them wondering if they’d imagined the whole thing.
Well, maybe left Amanda feeling that way.
Robinson wanted to know what she’d left out. Why she bothered to bring up the entire event, right now, as if it were information they hadn’t discussed. And what was behind Killian’s obvious familiarity with her.
While Robinson was at it, he might as well throw his misgivings right on the table. In the last two years, he’d been reminded trusting an unknown entity was downright stupid, but being blind to those closest even worse.
Even though a solid punch of a wide array of emotions hit his gut with the velocity of a semi-automatic weapon, none of it was the result of the anger bursting from Amanda’s scotch-colored orbs—as if she could read his mind.
At a glance, nothing in her tall, crossed-armed stance conveyed anything but her being in complete control of this situation. As if having her confused mother beyond the barrier meant very little. And her integrity in question, even less.
They both knew that wasn’t the case. He’d watched this city shred her career and even aided her in building it again, but there were some things they’d never erase. A person might be smart, but people were notoriously stupid. A crowd easily swayed.
The jury was still out.
And Amanda’s mother? Well, that was all on a disease doctors still struggled to understand.
No matter how much he wanted something different, this was their juncture. He extended his hand toward Killian. “Special Agent in Charge Robinson, FBI. And you are?”
A flash of irritation crossed the other man’s face. “Sergeant Killian Brink. I head the homicide unit here. And I don’t remember requesting FBI assistance.”
“I’m not here for assistance.” A complete takeover? Judging by the resounding panic in Amanda’s voice a few minutes ago, that’d be a yes.
Or had he imagined it?
“Fantastic. Then we’ll talk in a minute.” As if dealing with kindergarteners, the sergeant turned back to Amanda. “As I was saying, under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
No kidding.
“Thanks for the professional courtesy. I’ll be sure to note that.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.
Killian didn’t blink. “Her interview is already sending up red flags. She contradicted herself several times.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” The words came from Amanda in careful bursts. “You have nothing to hold her on, which leads me to believe you’re doing it out of some misguided notion.”
Killian shifted his upper body backward as if she’d brought up an asinine thought. Then he folded his hands across his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, Nettles.”
“Last time I checked, that wasn’t standard operating procedure. You can request that a person of interest answer your questions. They can invoke their constitutional rights and deny your request. And that’s reasonable as long as you don’t have—”
“Your point?”
“She can’t give consent, Brink. Not cognitively. Not legally.”
Killian eyed Amanda as if deciding if her words held any truth. “You have documentation, Nettles?”
Her jaw flexed. “You ever watch a family member hand their life over? Lay it down in front of you and tell you someday they won’t remember anything—not their favorite food, your birth—nothing. And that it’s okay. Take this legal document. Use it. Protect me when you can. Live as if I’m still around. Remember I love you when I can’t.”
Killian Brink remained silent. A murmur started. His gaze flicked around the area, then jumped back to Amanda.
At least the show was well played.
“So, give me the reason. And you better make it good or I’ll sue you for character defamation.”
“Seems like you’d be laughed right out of court, Nettles.”
Robinson counted to ten. Didn’t dare move.
A patch of red appeared over Davis’ cheeks and the ire of it blazed in her eyes. The same emotion swirled in his blood. The guy needed a fist to the side of his skull.
Davis opened her mouth. Robinson held up a hand. “What are you doing here, Vi?”
“My job.” Her gaze found his. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t call me that.”
Yeah. He’d get right on that. As soon as he figured out what she meant by her job, which could encompass anything. Protecting Charlotte. Her partner. Eileen Nettles. Or something far worse. A punch they might not see until the impact stole their breath.
Not happening. “Wanna explain the visit last night?”
“You’re losing your touch. It should have been obvious.” Davis moved away from him and around the growing crowd to the right side of the interview room. Her focus bounced from the heated discussion between Amanda and Brink, then to the woman beyond the window.
Almost as if the whole ordeal might be personal.
He moved toward the opposite end of the area at the pace of a lazy stroll through a park on a Sunday. Paige’s gaze remained on the tiled floor. Her slumped shoulders rounded toward her protruding abdomen.
Poor kid was a trooper. And much like her aunt, she couldn’t see it. That there was something she had to prove in order for life to open up and offer the pearl, for her to fully enjoy anything ever again.
He laid a hand on her shoulder.
For once, she didn’t flinch. She also didn’t acknowledge him, as if waiting for something far more sinister than simple contact. A vice twisted the gnarled and thorny brush nestled deep in his gut.
Could he combat that?
“How are you holding up, Paige?”
She sucked in a breath. And then her shoulders shook as if the dam had broken after years of holding the stress fractures at bay. In the four weeks she’d been in their custody, he’d seen little beyond stoic silence. Minus one incident, tears were new. And even though he didn’t know what to make of Amanda’s niece most days, he tabled the need to rush to Eileen’s immediate rescue and sat next to Paige. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. Ignored both Sergeant Brink’s voice droning on about procedure and his wife’s slightly sassy, but forced, replies.
The chamber still spun in the roulette game. One bullet. A lot of bad luck. It was time he made it stop. Reached out and kicked the gun from sight. Or better yet, he’d remove the bullet and disassemble the mechanism. End of story.
“Rough morning?”
Paige wiped a hand across her face and tucked it under one thigh. “S
he’s so mad. And Grandma’s locked up. And scared. Probably doesn’t even know what’s going on right now. And it’s my fault.”
The anger came from fear. And worry. It sat in his gut, too. Nestled in the thorns. And Eileen? The confusion was nothing new, but it stung all the same. “How is this your fault?”
“I couldn’t help her.” The words were a whisper. She gripped the brown bag. Released it. “It doesn’t make sense. Grandma was… She wouldn’t…” Another sob broke through, the gut-wrenching kind that came from knowing terrible tragedy and trying to erase it, instead of going through it, one day at a time.
Her anguish tugged at the dying thorns. Pulled them down until his heart was raw and surrounded by the heated edge of anger.
Eight months ago she’d been like any other teenager. And then she wasn’t. She’d survived when over a dozen others hadn’t. He couldn’t imagine the weight of it. Would never insult her by insinuating that he could.
“There was a knife. And blood.” The words were soft, but filled with agony.
What? No. He glanced around them. If they had a weapon, the overall buzz of the station would be different. Eileen would be in cuffs. Killian would have boasted about it. Would never have let Amanda one-up him in that department.
Robinson had heard wrong.
The younger version of Amanda glanced up at him, wet amber eyes begging him to do something to make the insanity stop. And then, like the first time he’d ever worked with his wife, and discovered how she looked at life and death often meant closed cases, he knew. Whatever Paige had said, was saying, was very, very real. Not imagined.
“I didn’t know what to do.”
This was not a byproduct of psychological issues stemming from events she refused to discuss.
Which meant… “You have it?” That panic rose above the destroyed thorny brush.
Please, say no.
“Under the passenger seat. In the Audi.”
Amanda’s car. His heart picked up speed. The erratic thump urged him to rush out to her vehicle and remove the weapon before someone misconstrued this entire situation. Put one more nail in his wife’s premature coffin.
Around them, everyone was focused on Amanda and Killian. Davis had stepped toward them, her eyes following the quick ping of conversation. Eileen still paced her room.
There was no taking the bullet from the chamber here.
If he produced the weapon they’d keep Eileen. He could see that on the sergeant’s face. He only needed one reason to do it. Case closed. Problem solved. A giant nana-nana-boo-boo in all their faces.
They’d destroy Amanda. Harm Paige. In another situation, Robinson would do the same. Minus the closed case and the broken family.
“Did you touch it with your bare hands?”
She gave a wordless shake of her head and wiped her face, again.
He blew out a breath of air. Hopefully, she hadn’t.
He rubbed a hand across his mouth, swallowed back a million questions the girl might not have answers to. And none she needed to verbalize this second. “Don’t move.” He kept his voice low. Hated the flare of anger in his gut, which didn’t have anywhere to go but right back down.
He pulled out his cell and sent a hasty text to his assistant SAC. Didn’t think about all the implications. Either Jordan would complete the task or tell him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine. “Don’t speak. We clear?”
“Y-yes.”
He stood. Then looked down at a girl who seemed all too young at times. A girl who’d had enough wherewithal to assist in saving his life last month when all she’d wanted to do was run as long and as far as possible. “Paige?”
Wide, blank eyes met his, her mouth pressed together as if she expected the biggest tongue-lashing ever and planned on taking it like an adult instead of a thirteen-year-old.
The sight squeezed at the core of him.
“We’re going to have a talk later. One you participate in.”
###
ROBINSON HAD PROBABLY been too hard on Paige.
The truth of it sat in his gut like day-old milk.
Under the circumstances, his choices were limited. Amanda was counting on him. So was Eileen, even if she didn’t know it.
He entered the interview room, not daring to look back at the teen for fear he’d crumple against the sight of tears. Cart every member of his family out of this precinct regardless of legal process and in spite of the consequences.
The door made a soft click as it closed behind him.
Eileen turned full circle. One hand rested near her throat as if he’d startled her, and the other clasped the opposite bent elbow. She eyed him as if he might attack her.
This had happened before. It wouldn’t end until she wasn’t with them any longer. As bad as the disease was, he didn’t wish for that. What he wanted, the whole ball of wax, was far out of reach.
“I’m Baker Jackson Robinson.” He held out his hand and waited for her to produce the name he knew or another he’d have to roll with.
Her mind was so mixed up these days, she thought Amanda was a stranger and Paige was Amanda. That Walter Nettles was some bizarre man trying to steal her nonexistent family fortune, instead of the man she’d chosen to spend her life with almost thirty years ago.
It was the most heartbreaking thing he’d ever witnessed. And in the rare moments she came back to them, they all worked hard to paint a rosy picture of her mental absence.
Amanda most, with Paige falling in a close second.
Eileen extended a hand toward him. She caught a glimpse of the red trailing across her palm and paused. Horror crossed her face.
The emotion knifed right through him.
What had she done?
She curled her fingers inward, then extended them again. “Is that blood?”
“I don’t know.” He checked the urge to inspect it. To order someone to bring him some medical supplies. He had to remain neutral or Sergeant Brink would probably fly through the door and remove him from the room. Under normal circumstances, he’d be within his right. “Looks like it.” How had the normally peaceful and monitored woman gotten the knife?
“Is it mine?”
Besides a print near her hip, he didn’t see any cause for panic. It didn’t ebb the concern swirling through him. With both his parents gone, he understood the kind of grief that type of loss would cause. He had no desire to see his wife go through it this early in the game.
Or ever.
He moved the chair on the opposite side of the table and placed it so both pieces of furniture faced the wall instead of the glass. Then he sat and motioned toward the seat opposite the one he’d taken. “Can we talk?”
She hesitated. “What happened to your head, young man?”
He touched the still-healing scar below his hairline. It barely registered in the mirror. “An accident added a little bit of charm to my dome cap.”
Eileen frowned, much like Amanda whenever he joked about it. “It looks like it was serious.” She placed a hand on either side of the scar, took her time inspecting it. “Head injuries aren’t anything to mess with. I assume you saw a doctor?” Her fingers left him and she sat. “Didn’t attempt to staple it yourself to impress the ladies?”
He covered his mouth on a half laugh, half cough. Though he’d never known the woman outside of the AD, he’d seen enough glimpses of her personality to know where Amanda got her spunk—biological or not. “I saw a professional.” Which was a complete understatement. He’d seen about twenty after the car accident. Was pretty sure he didn’t need to see another one ever again.
He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and rested his bent elbow on the table. Affected a calm his family needed to see from him.
His family.
Taking that sentiment lightly had never been an option, but lately he’d been pretty lax in lieu of rocking the boat. “Can you tell me your name?”
Her brow crinkled together. “What a ridiculous question. Of course I
can.” As if he’d said something profound, she paused. Then her eyes widened and her head shot up. “You don’t need my name. I should ask to see some ID. What kind of name is Baker…?”
He produced his wallet and handed over the removable ID area, including the photo he had on the opposite side with him, Amanda, Walter, and Eileen, taken on a rare day they’d found when she remembered who they were. Sometime before he’d married Amanda. “An old one.”
As if memorizing the driver’s license, she fingered the material. Her hands froze when she came to the picture. “That’s…” Her gaze snapped to his. “Why do you have a picture of her?” She pointed to herself standing next to her husband. “And who are these people?”
He leaned forward. Prepared for an epic outburst Amanda might ream him for. Rule number one: You never argued with Alzheimer’s. It didn’t answer back in any productive or predictable way. You treated it like an unruly toddler. Bribed it. Coddled it if you had to. Anything to avoid a tantrum in public that begot horrified stares. Or in this case, agitated the sleeping, befuddled beast. “Because I’m your son-in-law. And that’s your family.”
She flung the material from her hands as if it had flames attached. It skittered across the table and stopped near the edge opposite them. She stood, the scrape of her chair akin to the empty chamber of a gun when facing a heavily armed suspect.
“No. My family… My daughter is far too young to be married. A baby. And you’re, what, forty?”
Ouch. The age difference—less than a decade—had bothered him for all of two minutes before he’d gotten distracted by his wife all those years ago. The way she didn’t care what other people thought. Pushed through the madness to find the truth.
Something he needed to remind her of, if their early morning discussions were any indication. Or the lack of. Not that he was complaining entirely. “Your daughter is almost thirty, Eileen.”
Her dark head shook. Her eyebrows scrunched together. “No. She’s a teenager. Barely has her driver’s license.” She raised a fist, index finger out, bouncing it a bit before clenching her entire hand together. “And you are not her type.”
OBSESSION (The Bening Files (Novella) Book 4) Page 3