DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  Not by a long shot. “No big deal. Just an embarrassing bout of public fainting, coupled with overly worried friends. Waste of ER space.”

  Davis gave a slow nod, her gaze categorizing Amanda as if she couldn’t decide if that were the truth. Or if she had some other communicable disease.

  “Is Dentzen around?”

  “Left an hour ago.” Davis turned back toward her computer, half her body still facing Amanda. “Following up on a lead.”

  “Stadium related?”

  Davis nodded. “A witness that says they saw someone entering an office building, within viewing distance of the stadium, prior to the explosion.”

  Amanda remained still, while all the muscles in her body screamed for her to run out and catch up to her boss. “Is the witness male or female?”

  Davis crossed her slender arms over her chest. “A woman with kids, by the sound of it. Called here and requested to speak with Dentzen directly. Five minutes after the phone call came in, he left.”

  “Why wait so long to mention something?”

  Davis shrugged. “Guess we'll find out.”

  Maybe Davis would. If Amanda wanted to know something, she had to figure it out herself. Without Dentzen cluing her in. Or Robinson's arsenal of resources. Amanda turned toward the door leading to the interview rooms and their work area.

  “Your boyfriend was looking for you.”

  Eric had been here? Amanda turned back around. “When?”

  Davis cocked her head to one side, her eyes pointed toward something on the ceiling for a second. “Around eleven-thirty. Came in looking all GQ—you know, perfect hair, and dark suit with not a speck of lint on it. Smelled nice.”

  Yeah. She knew.

  “He seemed upset that he'd missed you.”

  She'd been headed downtown, to meet Beth, at the time. “Did he leave a message for me?”

  The blonde shook her head and turned back to her computer. Amanda headed toward her desk. The epic cold shoulder this morning hadn't hinted that he'd stop by at all. Ever again. She deposited her purse in one of her drawers and sat at her desk.

  So, why the sudden visit?

  The light filtering into her space dimmed. Detective Catsky leaned against the partition, his arms crossed. “Did you hear about the witness that came forward?”

  No rest for the weary.

  “Yeah. Davis told me. You know any specific details?”

  “Nope.” He moved farther into her space, picked a stray pencil off the desk and spun it between his fingers. “SBI was in here while you were out. Two jerks who think they know something we don't. Dentzen came looking for you after that.”

  Great.

  Catsky stopped toying with the pencil and set it back on her desk as if were glass, instead of wood. “Kind of hard to keep sticking my neck out for you when I have no idea where you are.” His brown eyes trapped her. “Makes me think maybe Dentzen is right. You take too many risks. I have a family to think about, Nettles.”

  What was this? All she needed was one more person jumping on the risky bandwagon. “First, I never asked you to stick your neck out for me. Second, I was in the ER. Third, most of my life is my business and doesn't affect you or your family. I've never done anything, on the job, that's compromised you, have I? Because if I have, if I've put you in danger, I'd like to know about it.”

  Catsky stood there, so still, she wasn't sure if she'd pissed him off or soothed his concerns. “We're good.”

  “Good.” Amanda booted up her computer.

  Catsky made it halfway out of her area before he turned around. “Davis said to tell you there's a call for you on line two.”

  The red light, on the phone in front of her, remained lit. Catsky left the area without another word. This guy wouldn't strike twice in one day, would he?

  She picked up the receiver and placed it against her ear. “Nettles.”

  “You're phone is off, isn't it?” The warm timbre of Robinson's voice held a slight bite. It made her heart rate increase, for half a second, before it settled into a rhythm she was coming to associate with him. Half out of sync—the other half doing a stellar job of faking normal.

  Would anyone notice if she started crying, right here and now?

  She sucked in a stuttered breath. “Call it an experiment.”

  “How about some pissed off friends? You know, the worst ones, you're lucky to have?”

  She rested an elbow on her desk and leaned her forehead into the palm of her hand. “This guy might be following me physically, but when he's not, I guarantee he's using my cell phone to locate me using GPS. So, I turned it off.”

  Silence ate the distance between her desk and wherever he was. “That might have been an important bit of information to have.”

  The decision had been last minute. Risky.

  The feel of Robinson's hand holding hers in the ER, popped into her mind. After wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder, she glided her thumb across the palm of her free hand—the one he'd held. The soothing sensation it had created, still coursed through her. One touch was like the first unlabored breath, after a severe asthma attack.

  Freeing in an I’m-going-to-survive way.

  She shook her head and dropped her hand. “You hear about a possible witness?”

  “Already been there and done that.”

  She let the silence hang, hoping for something more. A tidbit of information, on a case that could make or break her. The longer the quiet stretched, the more the pinching between her nose and eyes increased.

  “I didn't mean to worry you guys.”

  “It's gonna be okay, A.J.” The gentleness in his voice, made her wish for things she shouldn't. Like him, here. Right now. Would he tell her to man up, encourage a few tears or make her laugh? Probably all three, at the same time.

  “I gotta go.”

  “You should call Eric. He's been looking for you.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Got it. Talk to you later.” Then she hung up before she could do or say something stupid.

  ***

  Going home had never been so unknown. Would Amanda find the quiet, withdrawn Eric, of the last couple of weeks? Or his happy counterpart?

  Only one way to find out. She unlocked the door and opened it. Dimmed lights, soft music and the aroma of basil and tomato, hung heavy in the air.

  By route, she deposited her keys and purse in the foyer. She'd called Eric earlier to let him know her phone wasn't working, which was part truth. The conversation had been short, as if he’d been distracted. She certainly was. And she couldn't think of anything to say. Or dispel the guilt over not telling him about her short stint in the ER.

  A sudden case of nerves, had her shoving jittery hands into her pockets. It’s only food.

  Eric popped his head around the corner, leading to the kitchen. He had his sleeves rolled up, above his elbows. An unsure smile lit his face as he stepped closer. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” The worst case of butterflies had opened up in her stomach. They weren't flying around in beautiful swirls, but bashing into the lining. Trying to find death due to brain damage. “What are you up to?”

  “Dinner. It's supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come on.” With a hand on her elbow, he guided her toward the table, in their den. Two votive candles flickered in the minimal lighting. Dinner was set for two, complete with linen napkins and the china his parents had ordered for them, when they’d first moved in together.

  A bowl of mixed salad, another full of noodles and sauce, sat on the table's surface. A platter of homemade garlic bread, rested next to them. He’d placed a bottle of wine near his side of the table, their glasses already filled with the dark substance.

  Eric pulled out one chair and motioned for her to sit. Then he followed suit, opposite her. They dished up food in silence—the kind older couples inhabit with no problems. Except, it wasn't easy contentment hanging in the air. He focused on his plate.

&nb
sp; The butterflies turned into angry scorpions. She forced a forkful of salad into her mouth. The tangy flavor of spices, vinaigrette and olive oil, hit her tongue in a tasteless heap. She took her time chewing and then swallowed.

  “How was your day?” He asked between bites of pasta.

  Did he want the truth or a positive spin? “I've had better and worse, but today comes in a close second.”

  “What can I do to fix it?” Those brown eyes begged her to come up with something that would put them back on an even playing field. He reached for her hand, across the table. His thumb swiped across her knuckles. The motion should have lent some safety. Some I’ve-got-your-back-no-matter-what. Instead, there was nothing but skin on skin.

  Because, there wasn't anyone who could make this better. It was all on her. “I don't know.”

  “You know I adore you.”

  Amanda set her fork aside. The bites of salad threatened to climb out of her esophagus. She forced herself to remain still. Adoration and love were very different. And if you didn't love someone, what made you stay in the relationship? What made Eric stick around? Comfort? Familiarity?

  What made her stay?

  Shouldn’t it be about a deep commitment, shared and respected by both parties? A knowledge that if this ship sank, they were going down together?

  Eric couldn’t even handle one crazy dinner with her mother, who wouldn’t get better, only worse. Instead of hanging around, he’d bailed. Even if he’d done nothing, it would have been better than withdrawal.

  “I know we've had a crazy couple of weeks. And I haven't been as attentive as I should be.”

  “Neither of us has ever been the type to fawn over each other, twenty-four seven.”

  He abandoned his meal, those dark eyes watching her. “Maybe that should change.”

  Amanda stifled a laugh. “I vote no, on article fifty-seven. Allocating time and funds to complete kissy-faced mush and names such as Pookems is prohibited by the Dunham-Nettles code.” Miss Sass folded her arms and smirked, from her invisible perch, in Amanda’s brain.

  Hurt rushed over Eric’s features, a millisecond before the trace of a forced smile landed on his lips. Where was the laughter? The lawyer speak, right back in her face?

  “I’m not talking about passing love notes in class or anything.”

  Amanda placed a hand over her heart. “But Pookems, however will I read those poems you write?”

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had.

  “I’m botching this. Again.” Eric released her fingers and stood. A shaky hand pulled a felt-covered box out of one pocket. He moved in front of her and lowered to one knee.

  Not now. Please.

  “Marry me, Mandy.” He opened the box. The same beautiful, diamond solitaire stared at her. Where were the other words? The undying pledge of devotion? Promises of love and forever. All the stuff the couples around her said existed?

  Where was that giddy feeling, eliminating every objection, and painting everything in rose-colored hues? That I-might-die-tomorrow-but-I-could-care-less bubble of happiness?

  A zoo landed on her back and pushed her down, into a ball. Every gasp got shorter than the last. There was something wrong with her.

  “Silence wasn't what I expected.” Hurt curled into his brown eyes.

  The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him. It kept happening.

  Amanda brought one hand to her head and rubbed the throb starting at her temples. “I’m sorry. I can't do this right now.” Somewhere along the line, she'd stood. So had Eric.

  She moved around him and headed toward the foyer.

  “Where are you going?” His voice echoed in the small space. “This is the second time I've asked the biggest question of our lives, with no response.”

  That was fair. She turned toward him. “Tell me the last time we had a normal conversation, Eric.”

  The box was still in the grip of one masculine hand, the lid closed. He didn't move. Just blinked as if she'd asked a ridiculous question. That, she understood, because she couldn't remember either.

  “We can't co-exist in silence and then get married and expect everything will fall into place because we're picking out a gift registry. And sharing a last name. It's a recipe for disaster.”

  “This kind of thing happens sometimes.”

  Amanda shook her head and then reached for her keys. “Life isn't perfect. You're not perfect.” She pointed her key fob in his direction, then brought it to her chest. “I'm not perfect. What gets a couple through this, is the knowledge that love is more than a feeling. It's a choice. It's knowing all the things about the other person that drive you insane, and loving them more for it.”

  “Don't you think we have that?”

  Amanda clutched the keys in her hand. “Name one thing, about me, you can't stand and why you can't live without it.”

  Eric opened his mouth then closed it.

  She used to have a list. He was so neat, it bordered on ridiculous. Sometimes, she messed things up to see what he'd do. The almost crazy gleam in his eyes used to make her laugh. The one that said she'd pay, but in a way they'd both like.

  How long had that little game been gone?

  The silence turned thick with unsaid words.

  “You should think about why you don't have one response.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lack of punctuality was Amanda’s biggest pet peeve. If someone said they were going to be in a specific place, at a certain time, she expected it to happen. Until now, holding herself to the same standard had never been a problem.

  She parked her car—a used Audi she'd gotten a deal on, after her insurance had totaled the Camry—near Java Joe's, fed the meter and headed toward the door.

  Between her work load and McKenna's pregnancy, Amanda couldn't remember the last time she and her friend had gotten together for something as simple as coffee.

  It would be nice to put Captain Dentzen's voice out of her mind for ten minutes. To forget the accusation beaming from his eyes, like Superman's X-Ray vision.

  I need you to do your job, Detective. If I hear one more word about the stadium, you'll be cleaning out your desk. I'm sure you have enough work to follow up on. If not, Detective Catsky has more than enough, he'd be willing to lend you.

  Did he think she’d forgotten about her normal day-to-day responsibilities?

  His gaze had pierced her for all of two seconds, but had said so much. Annoyance. Distrust. Disappointment. All things she'd never had to deal with from her boss. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped taking her seriously.

  Loneliness pecked at her heart. Even Eric hadn't said more than the perfunctory words to her, in the last two days. Not since their impromptu dinner. After leaving, she spent a few hours tracking down the witness, of which, Davis had spoken.

  What Amanda found, was a scared twenty-three-year-old with three children. The family was living in a rundown apartment building, known for regular drug busts and gang activity. A woman without family didn’t have a lot of options when hiding from an abusive ex-boyfriend, it seemed.

  Willow Stanley wouldn’t let Amanda inside the home. And she refused to answer any questions about what she’d seen the day of the explosion. So, Amanda slipped a business card under the door. She’d written the names of several good social workers on the back. And the number to a women’s shelter, in town.

  Then she’d had time to think of the way she'd left things with Eric. Time to realize, bad day or not, she’d handled dinner poorly.

  Six months ago, she would have laid every thought on the table, secure in the fact that they could move forward from any situation.

  But she hadn’t, because those words were a jumbled mess, she was still sorting through. It wasn’t fair to change such a huge dynamic of their relationship and ask him to adapt overnight. Was it?

  If she could trade places with him, she wouldn’t have let him leave their condo. She would have made him talk to her.

/>   You wouldn’t have proposed marriage. Not now.

  A sigh came from somewhere deep inside. Only it didn’t expel the tight knot of clay stuck to her heart.

  Her attempts at conversation with Eric, the next morning, had failed. She might as well have been alone in their condo, for all the attention he gave her.

  She deserved a smidgen of it.

  Maybe he knew her words were right, but didn’t know how to tell her.

  And maybe he was hurt beyond belief.

  It didn’t mean they should spend their lives together, for all the wrong reasons. And he couldn’t seem to list any of the good ones.

  Neither could she. Did they even know each other, anymore?

  This morning, he watched her search the condo, for the pin McKenna's uncle had given her. He'd been halfway out the door, before ducking back in and asking if she needed help. Declining the offer, had sent him on his merry way. And out the door, as if the building had been on fire and she’d been the only thing holding him hostage.

  She had to find a way to talk to him. It was time to stop delaying the inevitable.

  “Detective Nettles.” A masculine voice brought her from her thoughts. Scott Jonas held the door to Java Joe's open, as if he were about to go inside. He wore another Channel Six polo—Amanda was convinced he probably slept in the thing. “Guess I should have looked for you here first.”

  Something ugly tumbled down her spine and landed in her stomach. It made her stop short. “Good morning to you, too, Jonas.”

  An old couple, the man with a cane and the woman in a sun hat, walked through the open door and thanked him. He let it close as they entered. Amanda spotted McKenna and, to her surprise, Beth, sitting nearby. Three cups of coffee sat at their table, already.

  Before she had a chance to digest any of that, Jonas stepped close enough to grab her in a hug. Amanda resisted the urge to back away.

  “Did you catch the news this morning?”

  “No.”

  The seriousness on his face, evaporated into a smile that produced a dimple in each cheek. It gave his face a boyish charm, the camera ate up. Amanda gave, what she hoped was a discreet, shuffle backward.