DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  The search parameters would change if they were looking for a woman. Until a clearer picture was drawn, emphasis on gender would remain neutral.

  Maybe this was a little reminiscent of Bonnie and Clyde. She shook her head. Like anyone would listen to her.

  That’s not me. It looks like me. And I know we have a lot of dead and injured people, with the possibility of another attack, but you have to believe me.

  From an outsider’s point of view, a second trip to her car could mean anything. Forgotten phone, wallet, sweater. Except, in most cases, that same person didn’t receive suspicious phone calls and have her car bombed later in the day.

  “A lot of people are analyzing this tape, including Captain Dentzen.” Jordan rested a hand on the back of McKenna’s chair. “It’s the closest shot we have to the blast.”

  He might as well have said it was the evidence they needed to cast suspicion where it belonged. On her. And her boss was reviewing this? No wonder he was hesitant to have her back at work.

  “We have something they don’t.” The stern voice came from behind her, as Robinson stepped into view. “They recovered the detonator for both blasts.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What?” Amanda turned toward Robinson, a ball of slimy snakes gathering in her esophagus and sinking lower, into her stomach.

  They’d recovered the detonator. Good news.

  It felt like a death sentence.

  Robinson’s gaze held hers, a challenge within them. “Anything you care to share?”

  Maybe she deserved the contempt laced in each of his words. “I’m all ears.”

  “It was your cell phone.” Before she could digest that, he continued. “Twenty-seven was the magic number for the first blast. My guess is, half those missed calls were from unknown numbers.”

  “I-I don’t know. I didn’t really get a chance to look at them.” Because she'd been too busy worrying about finding Beth and evading Robinson's questions. And not bringing up more of her nonexistent lunch.

  He stepped closer, his hands splayed on his hips. Her heart rate spiked into cardiac failure range. From pure outrage and not the bold scent of his cologne or the way he filled out a suit.

  Something was wrong with her. Broken, maybe. Robinson was trying to call her out and her first thought was how he looked and smelled?

  Therapy. STAT.

  “This guy’s given you a time frame each time he’s called, right?”

  “Wait.” Jordan held out a hand in Robinson’s direction. “There’s been more than one call?”

  Nobody said anything, not even the SAC. She tried to wrap her mind around the concept of her cell phone being the source of so much death and destruction. It was a huge risk for this guy to take. What if she hadn't left it in her car? Or forgotten it at home? What if someone had psycho-dialed her that day, speeding up the process?

  What if he’d switched it, altogether? Amanda glanced at the paused video on McKenna’s laptop. The empty car stared back at her. A stark possibility, but not the answer. Especially, since he was still following her.

  “Amanda?” Robinson tucked his hands into his pockets as if he had all the time in the world and planned to wait her out.

  “Yeah?” Her voice sounded like a little, old lady’s and distant.

  “What did he say? A minute, two, five?”

  What had he said? Her palms had a heavy layer of sweat attached. Static silence buzzed through the space in her head, which should have held all this information. It usually categorized everything with a ready recall.

  Her cell phone had ensured the death of so many. Irreplaceable lives.

  Robinson shifted on his feet. A frown deepened on his face as he, no doubt, took her silence for stubbornness. Why not? In the last couple of months, she’d given him no reason to expect any less. Same with this morning. What had she done, but turn her biggest ally against her?

  Think, she had to think. He’d asked her if she was a football fan. Recited details about her life, anybody could know, and some that had little basis beyond speculation.

  “This is important, Nettles.” Impatience laced each syllable.

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “Then you’re purposely evading the answer?”

  Like a caged animal, caught between the hunter and the net, she glanced at each of the three faces around her. Jordan and McKenna’s held concern, while Robinson’s was a mask of something she couldn’t read.

  This merry-go-round needed to end.

  “Have you ever thought maybe I can’t remember?” She sounded like a petulant teenager. Shame choked her.

  “I know you better than that.”

  “You only think you do.” She pressed her lips together.

  Robinson didn’t take a visible step back, but his posture became more rigid. “Maybe you’re right.”

  McKenna shot Jordan a look Amanda couldn’t interpret, something they’d done since childhood. Something she’d always envied. They always had each other. She’d never felt left out, she’d just never had the same camaraderie with another human being. Was something fundamental within her missing?

  “As enlightening as this has been, I’ve got to get to work.” She stood and adjusted her purse on her shoulder.

  Words formed on McKenna’s lips.

  “I’m not going to lie, there’s a little seed of doubt in my mind about you, Nettles.” Chief Extreme Concern had entered the building. “I’m going to go out on a limb, here, before you run off to parts unknown. Let’s just enter a fictitious number into this equation. Maybe he gave you thirty seconds. Too little time to accomplish an evacuation. Did you actually get thirty seconds or did the explosion occur sooner?”

  “Couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds.”

  He gave an approving nod, as if speaking to a child. It set her teeth on edge. A forced breath, inward, did little to calm her. She’d asked for it. He was simply delivering.

  “I had our techs examine what was left of your phone. They found a program, which made the twenty-seventh incoming call, that particular day, the remote detonator for the stadium.”

  A dry swallow scraped her throat together. “And my car?”

  “When you opened your voicemail, it triggered the countdown.”

  Any other day, she might have sat inside the vehicle and listened to those messages. The clamminess on her palms crawled up her arms and into her torso. A sea of salty bile climbed from her stomach, to her throat. The temperature in the room seemed to spike, perspiration popping up on her upper lip.

  “Wasn’t your minor at Duke, Computer Sciences and Technologies, Nettles?” He paused. “So you’d have enough knowledge to shut down the city’s monitoring system and program a cell phone to act as a detonator. You’d put yourself in both blast zones, because it would take suspicion off of you. Unless evidence was found.”

  And just like that her stomach sought to choke her. She ignored the upward surge and looked at Robinson. He should know her better than this. And maybe if he did, he’d know she’d never do something so selfish. Keeping evil off the streets, not joining their ranks, was her mission. “Why don’t you come out and say what you really mean?”

  “I think I just did.” His lips barely moved.

  “No, you drew speculation, in hopes I’d give you a truth you believe I have. That maybe I’d say this morning’s events were all orchestrated by me. Funny joke. No harm, no foul.”

  As if an invisible rope pulled her closer, she headed in Robinson’s direction. The need to shake him clawed at her. She didn’t have any right to do so, but that didn’t matter. A foot from him, the world narrowed so that only the two of them stood within Jordan’s house. “And for what? Some circumstantial evidence and information about my education, which could be obtained by anyone?”

  “Somebody knows a lot more about you, don’t they?” The harsh lines around his eyes softened. “Like the people who mean the most to you and the lengths you’d go to in order to protect them
.”

  He was right. Something about the way his words floated over her, calm and a little sad, opened the locks on her anger, deflating it by slow degrees.

  “I can believe one of two things.” Those blue-green eyes pierced her. “One, you’re the innocent bystander you appear to be. And this guy is following you for reasons we don’t fully understand, right now. Or…”

  “Don’t you think I know what the other scenario is?” She hated the sudden hitch in her voice. “That maybe I planned today’s incident to take suspicion off myself and ruin evidence.” That had been her only thought as she sat in his bathroom afterward. First the deleted message, then the ruined artist’s clay.

  In the moment, she hadn’t been thinking of evidence, just avoiding death. Her’s. Ariana’s. His. It brought a prick to her eyes, sending her already careening emotions out of orbit.

  Not now.

  “Excuse me.” Her voice came out with a warble. The first tear fell as she hurried toward the bathroom.

  After closing herself inside, she dropped her purse to the floor and wiped her eyes. Splashed water on her face. Then she braced herself on the edge of McKenna’s pedestal sink. Fighting with Robinson only kept the truth at bay for so long. What if that dud had been real? If she morphed the clay into C-4, it would have destroyed most of Robinson’s apartment and a good portion of the residences above and below. Death would have taken milliseconds to occur, their awareness of it such a tiny blip.

  She splashed her face, again, and dried it on the towel hanging near the sink. Splotches of red covered the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She’d almost gotten them killed. And for what? Playing hero and trying to catch this guy in under four days? The FBI had been looking for serial bombers much longer than that.

  You may have gotten the job done this time, Nettles, but watch yourself. You’re a great detective, but you take too many risks.

  Last spring, Captain Dentzen hadn’t been happy about her involvement in an unofficial case, but she’d brushed his words off. Because she’d closed a case no one at CMPD thought needed solving. Like a good reporter, she’d glimpsed the truth and could stop at nothing short of exposing it.

  With Robinson’s help.

  Amanda folded the towel and hung it back up. A small wet spot darkened the cloth, the only evidence she’d used it. She touched the misshapen circle. Did she take too many risks?

  The peel of her cell phone, inside her purse, filled the small space. She froze, her breath coming out in gasps. The shrill sound escaladed. Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom door, rushed. They stopped. Her phone didn’t. She dug it out and noted Eric’s number on the screen, before pressing the plastic to her ear.

  “Hey.” The word came out tight and breathless.

  “Hi.” Eric’s cheerful voice hit her ears. “You left early this morning.”

  “I know. I’m trying to get back into the swing of things.”

  Amanda leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, her purse clutched in her free hand. The rush of blood in her ears made it impossible to think, let alone talk.

  The leather slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. The contents scattered onto the tile. A badge and pink lip gloss mingled with her car keys. A tin of Altoids, half spilled, rested near the sink.

  Robinson was right, she needed to check for bugs. Not for the first time, she wondered how she could be angry with him and respect him at the same time. Every day, he made difficult decisions, but somehow, he managed to keep his cool and his dignity in place. He didn’t seem to have a problem separating his professional and personal life.

  Seven months ago, she’d been in the same category. Dealing with her personal life and the rigors of her job, was a one-footed dance she completed with efficiency. The division between the two, defined.

  The line between her and Robinson in place. He’d call. She’d answer, expecting a gruff demand. And get playful banter instead, as if he’d known the tactic would work far better. As a result, she’d done more undercover work for Robinson—for the FBI, than CMPD.

  They continued that way for over a year, until he’d asked her to keep important information from McKenna. Little details her friend had needed to move forward, after Jordan’s mother’s death. As a teenager, she’d watched McKenna nearly crumble over the event.

  Typical of Robinson, he’d kept pushing.

  Does Eric know where you are? That you’re here with me? The questions had sounded like a joke, but had been anything but. She may have had to leave a few dinners early, but she always told Eric where she was going, as long as secrecy wasn't needed.

  When the answer hadn’t been enough for Robinson, she’d tried for a professional conversation, related to their case. The same surly attitude, and more secrecy had forced her to call him on his nonsense. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she ordered him to lose her number.

  Robinson had seemed relieved by her words. Why?

  At the time, she’d blamed his terse attitude on his girlfriend’s unfaithfulness, but was that it? Robinson wasn’t stupid. Kara wasn’t the type to stick around with any one man, much less a busy SAC with an eleven, almost twelve-year-old in his charge.

  “So, what do you think?” Eric asked, hope in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  A brief hesitation filled the line. “You okay? You sound out of breath.”

  Resting an elbow on her bent knees, she cupped a palm to her forehead. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?” The groan of door hinges came over the line, followed by the click as it shut, she assumed. “Maybe you should take more time off.”

  The idea sounded nice. “I can’t.”

  “At least let me take you to dinner.”

  The gesture was sweet and made her smile. The thought of being in public more than necessary, did not. Agreeing to meet Beth for brunch today had made her break out in a cold sweat. Maybe she would cancel. Perhaps, that’s what this guy wanted. Her. Hiding like a scared girl.

  “Bel Cibo’s?”

  Garlicky pasta, mixed with flavorful sauces, and never-ending homemade bread in a dimly lit, romantic atmosphere—her favorite things, didn’t change her mind. “I’d have to spend the next week at the gym.”

  “Why does that sound like a no?” The squeak of his desk chair filled the silence. “Just say yes, Mandy,” he pleaded, his voice soft.

  Which yes did he want? Dinner? The ring? The rest of her life? The events of the last four days bottled up inside her, a cork sealing them off from release. What would he say if he knew everything?

  “What if I make dinner, instead?”

  A sigh filled the line. “If that’s what you want.”

  The soft rap of knuckles, on the door, snapped her attention away from Eric. She placed a hand over the receiver. “Give me a minute.” She returned to Eric. “I gotta go.”

  “Off to save the world?”

  “Something like that. I’ll see you after work, Eric.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” His voice held a note of skepticism before he hung up. Amanda held the phone in her palm, staring at the illuminated number pad. If she thought a return call would remedy the disappointment settling in her gut, she would do it.

  Another knock. “Can I come in?” McKenna’s voice floated through the door.

  Amanda stowed her phone and then dumped the rest of the contents from her purse. A few pens and a notepad hit the tiled surface. “It’s open.”

  McKenna peeked inside and noted the mess. “What are you doing?” She squeezed through the opening and shut the door behind her.

  “Couldn’t find my favorite lip gloss.” She checked the seams of her purse.

  Her childhood friend levered her pregnant body to the floor, next to Amanda. “I may never be able to get back up.” Her eyes scanned over the items on the tile. “Are you okay?”

  “No, but I will be. Eventually.”

  “I know the intentional provocation wasn’t one-sided out there, but it’s not like you to be so vague a
bout important issues. What’s going on?”

  The concern covering McKenna’s face squeezed her heart. Her friend had already been through so much in the last few months and was just regaining her footing. Amanda didn’t want to add unneeded stress to her shoulders. She couldn’t put her best friends at risk. She’d almost lost them once.

  Disappointment covered McKenna’s face as she placed a hand on Amanda’s arm. “If you can’t talk to me, talk to Robinson. You can trust him.”

  If everything were that simple, she'd be out of a job.

  “The fact that we’ve never had you booked for a conventional questioning session speaks for itself.”

  “I’ve been reminded of the fact already today.” She shoved the contents on the floor, back into her purse. “I didn’t leave the café the second time. I don’t know who that person is or if the video was tampered with, but it’s not me. I didn’t leave until the paramedics hauled me out. And I wasn’t back in the area until moments before the second blast.”

  “You took two hits to the head, in less than twenty-four hours. Are you sure you didn't leave the café?”

  A breath of air whooshed from her lungs. If she were McKenna, there's no way she would believe a word of this. It sounded like a child's attempt to cover up something they shouldn't have done. “Yes.”

  The other woman watched her closely. “The time signatures suggest no foul play.”

  “It’s legit?”

  “As far as I can tell. I ran it through our software.”

  Amanda nodded. If her closest friend was skeptical, what would a complete stranger or her boss think? Why hadn't Robinson detained her? Why let her roam free with the potential for mayhem floating in the air?

  Did he think she'd find a loop-hole? Amanda rubbed a hand across her forehead. Of course he did. Her father was a judge. Her boyfriend a lawyer. The odds weren't good. He'd watch and hope for irrefutable evidence versus tipping her off and risking a disappearance.

  If the positions were reversed, that's what she'd do. Compliance was her safest option, albeit a little risky. And then she’d have to pray someone in Washington didn’t get an unshakeable vision of her as the culprit.