Eileen leaned her head against the door frame.
They were keeping things from her. And she understood they were trying to spare her more heartache and worry. She was only trying to do the same.
If Walter knew she’d gone to see Sandra Porterville…
It couldn’t be helped. Today was a prime example of why she needed to try any avenue possible to save the remaining healthy neurons in her brain. Nothing would reverse the damage, but maybe, with the help of the medication, she could save the rest.
Perhaps, it was working. She’d remembered Agent Robinson, earlier. Recalled how he looked at her daughter as if she held the answers to everything.
Now, if she could remember other things. Like why she’d been in her car Wednesday morning—she never went anywhere without her nurse nowadays—and in downtown Charlotte.
With a picture of Amanda in her hands. Not just any picture. A photo taken when she was barely a week old, the edges yellowed from age. Admitting this new bout of confusion would make her sound crazier than she already was. And add needless worry to her family’s shoulders. It wouldn’t change anything.
But if she could go back…
There was always a little risk involved when housing foster children of various ages. The younger ones wanted to mimic the older children, who didn’t always have the best habits. Sometimes that worked in reverse with the teenagers acting worse than the colicky infant she’d spent the night soothing.
Eileen’s biggest concern was her fifteen-year-old daughter, who loved to paint, was passionate about sports—mostly the Pilot games she watched with Walter on Sundays—and understood a computer like a nerd on crack. The sweet little girl they’d raised was turning into a woman with ideas.
Crazy ideas. About life. About art. About love.
“You think every guy you see is cute.” The feminine voice filtered beyond the half-closed bedroom door and into the hall, where Eileen stood, a basket of folded clothes in hand. She paused.
Amanda gave a soft giggle. “I do not. I have standards.”
Careful to avoid the floorboards that would announce her presence, Eileen stepped forward. Amanda was on her stomach on one of the twin beds in the room, her feet crossed at the ankles and dangling above her rear end. One hand guided a charcoal pencil around the area of a sketch pad. Dark hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head. For once, it was out of her pretty face.
“Like Sam Richardson type standards?” Beth, their most recent foster child, flopped on the bed, beside Amanda, her torso spanning the width of the bed. Her head hung off one edge, so that she had clear view of the window on the far side of the room.
If she had anything to do with it, the girl would never leave their custody. Never go back to where she came from. The decision wasn’t entirely in their hands. And even Walter couldn’t do more than he already had.
The choice had been made. Lives had been changed. There wasn’t any going back for anyone.
Amanda shrugged and focused on her picture. “I said he was cute, not that I wanted to have his babies.”
Oh, Lord.
Beth sat up and faced her daughter, her legs crossed and her back resting on the sunset colored pillows on Amanda’s bed. She tucked hair the same shade as Amanda’s, behind one ear.
The two of them looked so alike at times, it was uncanny. But Amanda had Walter’s coloring, the same brown mop and soulful eyes. The same sense of humor. The same sweetness.
Beth was the product of a mother who was too busy to accommodate her. Eileen and Walter knew her. Knew she’d passed down her hazel eyes to her daughter. They were the same uncaring, cold shade, it was almost like looking at the woman, herself.
It made this situation so much harder. Because they’d always tried to see each child, placed in their home, as an individual. Separate of their circumstances.
Beth twirled a strand of her loose hair around her fingers. “I would.”
Eileen stifled a gasp. She gripped the basket.
Amanda dropped her pencil, sat up and discarded the items on the floor beside the bed. “What?”
Beth shrugged, a cocky grin covering her face as if she had secrets Amanda needed. “Come on, you haven’t had sex before?”
No. Please, say no, honey. Eileen closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe this conversation was a hallucination after a sleepless night. Amanda and Beth weren’t talking about things best left to two people in love and committed to one another in marriage.
Amanda stared at Beth. “Have you?”
The younger girl, by a month, pulled her legs into her body, the cocky expression falling. Something dark shadowed her face, her eyes focusing on the comforter beneath her body. “Nah.” She smiled, but it didn’t put the normal sparkle in her eyes. “I just wanted to see your reaction. You’re so gullible.”
Eileen let out a breath. It didn’t help the ball of lead gathered in her stomach. That despondent look would stay with her for a while. Someone had hurt an innocent child. Someone had hurt them all.
She clenched the plastic in her hands until the edges dug into her skin.
Amanda leaned back against the foot rail. “Don’t let my mom hear you talking about it. Unless you want to know more about the clinical side than anybody should care to know.”
Beth laughed, a glisten appearing in her eyes, before she turned her face toward the window. “I love your mom. She’s funny.”
Something cracked in Eileen’s heart.
“I hope I never have to go home.”
Eileen hoped that, too.
For Beth. For Amanda. For Walter. For herself.
Could they achieve it without losing the daughter they’d already raised?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was time Robinson remembered he was merely a sideshow in the life of Amanda Nettles.
Interesting, maybe, but not essential. In times of crisis, nonessential got the boot. Always. Standard Operating Procedure.
Late in the evening, after a day full of hunting for nonexistent clues, he returned to his apartment. Even exhausted, hungry and so jittery from caffeine, he looked like a junkie, he noticed Amanda’s rental car was gone.
Ignoring the pang of disappointment in his gut, took more willpower than he possessed.
What did he expect? That she’d be hanging around?
Hey, I know we had this ridiculously crappy day, together. Wanna grab a burger and a beer? Unwind a little?
An interested and available woman might do that. Amanda was neither. And even if she waltzed up to his door and offered those things, he’d have to turn her down. Dating a suspect wouldn’t do either of them any favors.
Unlocking the door, he let himself inside, kicked his shoes off and threw his keys on the counter. They skidded to the edge, kicking a piece of paper to the floor. He headed toward the shower.
The quiet hit him first. In the last year-and-a-half, silence had been so foreign a concept he’d forgotten what hearing himself think was like.
The hum of the refrigerator filled the kitchen. His niece usually rummaged through it, on her way to hog his phone line by calling all twenty-seven of her friends.
How many times had he asked her not to stand with the doors open? So many, it had become like a rite of passage.
He’d complained, but now, after twelve hours without her presence, he’d gladly take it to have his life back to normal and his niece under his roof.
Coupled with today’s events, his whole world was off kilter, the apartment surrounding him almost foreign.
Detouring to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, pulled a carton of Chinese food out and sniffed it. Since he didn’t feel like cooking and Amanda definitely wasn’t going to suggest burgers, he grabbed a fork and took several bites, too tired to put it in the microwave.
Kara hated the fact that he’d given up his high-rise condo for a two bedroom apartment, in order to better accommodate his niece. It kept her with her friends and in the same school. She couldn’t understand it wasn’t perm
anent. That he’d eventually buy a house and have a stable place where Ariana could run around the neighborhood, in safety.
At first, Kara had pretended to understand the amount of time and resources Robinson offered to his niece. In essence, the girl had lost both of her parents. He was it. So, she had to come first. On the outside, Kara agreed with the sentiment.
The façade had ended six months prior to her death. Small comments about Ariana and her things, being in the way, had cinched the deal. The fact that she’d slept with another man, was the final nail in Kara’s coffin.
Between that girl and work, I never see you, Baker Jackson. And don’t get me started on Amanda Nettles. She’s not even with the FBI, yet you’re always working with her.
The unvoiced accusation hadn’t been lost on him.
Lo Mein turned to congealed concrete, in his stomach. He discarded the container, still mostly full, in the trash. Put his fork in the sink. As he turned and surveyed his place, it hit him. Not one piece of furniture, book or dish seemed out of place. It didn’t resemble the catastrophe he’d left this morning.
Something hot gathered in his stomach. Between checking with the lab about Amanda’s cell phone and following up on leads, he’d forgotten to bring in a team to go over this place.
Rookie mistake. He ran his hands over his hair. The strands crunched between his fingers.
The place was spotless and he hadn’t had to lift a finger to see it accomplished. Stepping closer to the bar, he picked up the paper, sitting on the floor and flipped it over. A simple You’re Welcome stared back at him from standard, college-ruled notebook paper.
His heart kicked up ten notches.
He didn’t recognized the handwriting.
Amanda was the only person, besides Ariana, who knew what had transpired inside this apartment. Not even Jordan and McKenna had the details.
Renee wasn’t scheduled for work today. Plus, cleaning wasn’t in her job description. The girl could cook, but usually left a few dishes behind, afterward. She’d never rearrange his entire house.
If he’d gotten a little note, what had Amanda received?
He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. It rang several times and went to voicemail.
“You’ve reached Detective Amanda Nettles. Leave a message.”
“Nettles, this isn’t the time to be screening your calls. Call me back. This is important.”
Several minutes passed while he walked through each room, touching none of his things, finding nothing in which he could become panicked about. Even so, the hitch in his breathing wouldn’t go away.
In the bathroom, the lid to the toilet had been righted and the hole he’d put in the wall, near the shower, patched with putty. The rough area was the only sign anything had occurred here.
Goosebumps raced down his spine. Why bother to patch the area without painting over it?
His phone rang and he answered without looking at the caller ID. “Robinson.”
“You rang?” Through a sea of noise, he heard Amanda’s clipped voice.
“Where are you?”
A heavy rolling sound came over the line and then silence reigned. “No pleasantries. You must be between a rock and hard place.”
Even her teasing didn’t settled the knot in his stomach. “Have you been to my apartment?”
“I picked up my rental car.”
“Have you been inside?”
“Uh, no. One would require a key for that.” A pregnant pause filled the line. “What’s going on, Robinson?”
That same heavy rolling sound came again. “Mandy, I can’t believe you’d allow this to happen.” Each of Eric’s syllables held an edge of aggravation.
“Give me a second.” Her voice came through the line in a muffle, probably because she’d put her hand over the receiver.
He thought he heard a grunt and the slide of what had to be their balcony door.
“Everything okay, there?” He heard himself ask. He placed his forehead against the bathroom doorjamb.
“Fantastic. Are you going to tell me what’s got your underwear in a twist or not?” She huffed.
He could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose, the way she did when overly stressed. From the day’s events or something else? If there had been another form of contact, she would have told him. Right?
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a lot on your plate. It’s nothing.”
She hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. Just been a long day. Enjoy your night, A.J.” Then he hung up.
***
Amanda leaned on the railing of the balcony, her cell phone clutched in her hands. She sucked in her lower lip. Facing Eric and finishing their discussion had to be done, but she’d give anything to skip forward in time. Even without looking, she knew he paced their living room. He’d been doing it for the last fifteen minutes.
The DA’s unflappable council had not shown up for duty tonight. In his stead, a strange wildebeest resided. Irritation turned to full-blown anger, the second he’d realized Robinson had called. She’d added seventy-mile-an-hour wind gusts, to his personal hurricane, by pausing their argument to call him back.
Honestly, she got it. His neat, perfect life was on display for all to see. That got to a person. Numbness had already stolen her outrage.
Something wasn’t right. Robinson hadn’t sounded normal. After the day they’d had, the thought twisted her gut more than usual. If the positions were reversed, he’d be banging down her door.
It would take a lot of explaining for Eric to understand that. And she was tapped out of confessions for today.
Amanda rubbed her head. They should have been enjoying a gourmet meal and laughter. Not this gut-churning misery and division.
The roll of the sliding glass door, announced Eric’s presence. A breath caught in her throat. She didn’t move.
“I don’t want to fight, but they’ve confiscated our things, Amanda,” he whispered next to her. He gripped the railing and didn’t bother looking in her direction.
“I know.” How many times had they shared the view of the city’s skyline out here? They’d take their morning coffee and relax in each other’s arms. When had it stopped?
“It’s an invasion of privacy.”
If he only knew how little she had left. “I don’t have anything to hide. I agreed to a search.”
“Why? Tell me that at least.” He slammed his hand on the railing. The metal vibrated beneath her. “I think I deserve more than an ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the details’ answer from you.”
“Are you afraid they’ll find something?” She straightened and looked at him then. Even in the fading light of dusk, she could see the circles lining his eyes. His hair was a mess, again, and he’d tugged his tie, so the knot was half-way down his torso.
His eyebrows slammed together. “Don’t use that stupid detective tone on me. Do you have any idea how degrading it is to know someone in my office agreed to the search warrant? I could lose my job over this.”
“And I could lose mine.”
The muscles of his jaw worked as he looked toward their view of Charlotte.
“You didn’t answer the question, Eric.”
“Yeah?” He gave a harsh shake of his head. “Well, then we’re even, because you haven’t answered any of mine either.”
Frustration welled in her chest. “I don't think your grasping the gravity of the situation. Somebody has been in this condo.”
“Robinson's speculation?”
A scream bubbled at the surface. She didn’t need this. She had her own thoughts and ideas. And problems. Right now, a friend she’d put in danger needed her. “I gotta go.”
“Where?” Eric’s hands balled into fists. He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out a breath. “Please, don’t say anything that has to do with the jerk, right now, Mandy. I can’t take it.”
The plead
ing in his tone hit her heart. Eric was one of her best friends. Did they even have that, anymore? Maybe. Maybe not.
“There was another incident this morning.”
“What?” His eyes snapped open. “What do you mean by incident?” He stepped toward her, concern highlighting his features. “And why do I sense I’m the last to know about it?”
“I told you about the calls I received.” With the barest of details that had heaped guilt on her shoulders. “I got another one this morning, at Robinson’s.”
“Why were you there?” His voice came out sharp. The concern rapidly faded into something she couldn't read.
“I needed answers.”
“There's this nifty invention called a phone.”
She took another deep breath. It did little to dispel the growing aggravation spider-webbing through her system. “There’s a reason we have interview rooms.”
He didn’t move for a second, then his jaw worked. “You thought he was involved, which means…” His dark gaze rested on her, hurt and anger mixing. “Really, Mandy? Five years? Why would I wait five years to blow up a stadium and kill the same innocent people I try to keep safe by making sure your evidence sticks?” He turned, giving her his back, then ran his fingers through his hair. He braced his hands on his hips and turned back. “Do I even want to know who you’ve told about your suspicions?”
A slap to the face would have hurt less. “What do you think I do all day? Throw ideas around willy-nilly and hope one has merit?”
He took a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” His lips formed a firm line. “I’m listening.”
How did she make him understand? “The caller told me there was another explosive device, in his apartment. We trashed the place looking for it, Eric.” Emotion stuck in her throat when she thought about it. They could have died. “His niece lives there with him. She’s only twelve. It’s hard to see past that.”
An O shaped his lips. “Why didn’t you say something?”
The lump wouldn't dislodge, so she shook her head.
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 17