“Me either.”
Okay. “Glad we got that settled.”
“The FBI is set to give a press conference, at noon, regarding the Pilots bombing.” He scratched the back of his head. “You always seem to work closely with the FBI, so I was hoping I could get an early interview.”
Robinson had something he wanted their guy to know. Or he needed the citizens of Charlotte to keep their eyes open. Maybe he planned to ease fears and stave off panic, by providing tidbits any savvy person already knew. Probably, all three.
Well, he wasn't their guy, since Robinson wouldn't allow her on the task force. Dentzen didn’t want another word from her, on the subject. So, she'd been shut out from all law enforcement avenues.
Robinson's silence stung the most. She'd never been on the outside, desperate to get in. Never had both her personal and professional life headed in the worst downward spiral. At the same time. Or ever.
“What do you say?” Jonas' voice brought her back to their conversation. “Nothing big. Just a few little details.”
“Wish I could, Jonas. Truth is, I'm not working this case.”
Shock registered, his mouth opening a little. “I'm not sure I should believe that. You and Agent Robinson are as thick as thieves. And since he won't return my calls...”
“Sounds like a problem.” Not that she could relate, entirely. She hadn't called Robinson. He hadn't called her. End of story. Except, it felt like someone had ripped the stitches out of a wound, with rusty tweezers. Now, the skin festered with germs. Had someone declared radio silence without telling her?
No. She’d accomplished that with one disconnected cell phone. Fine. He was pissed. Message received, loud and clear.
“You're really not working this?”
Not in any official capacity. Not as long as both her boss and Robinson kept her in the dark. “Sorry, Jonas.”
He ran a hand across his cheek. “If you can't swim across, build a boat.”
“What?”
The smiling dimples were back on his face. “Just something my granddad used to say to me.” He shook his head. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Maybe another time.” As in, never. “I'm actually meeting friends.” She pointed toward where McKenna and Beth sat, watching their interchange. “Thanks for the invite, though.”
After giving McKenna a two finger wave, Jonas shrugged as if he'd offered Amanda the last bite of a decadent desert, he intended to eat himself, anyway.
“There's another story I'd like an exclusive on.” He nodded his head toward her friend. “Think Agent Moore would ever sit down and give me the details about her time in captivity? It would be an amazing story.”
Jonas wasn’t the first to try for an exclusive.
Amanda bit the inside of her lip and couldn’t stop from curling her hands into fists. This guy was worse than Kara.
A grin popped out and created a gleam in his eyes. “I’m kidding, Detective Nettles.”
Sure. It proved she might be quite easy to read. When had that happened?
She shook her head and stepped to the side. “Goodbye, Jonas.”
When she reached the door she could have sworn she heard him say, “For now, Amanda.” When she looked back, he was already a block down the sidewalk, an even stride carrying him farther from where she stood.
She shook it off and opened the door. As predicted, McKenna tracked her approach with a mixture of concern and skepticism. Beth’s face held a radiant smile, one hand on her abdomen.
“Hey, guys.” Amanda hugged McKenna before she could stand. “This is a nice surprise.” She gave Beth a squeeze. “I wasn't expecting to get to see you until next week, for lunch.”
“McKenna called and said you were meeting for coffee and suggested I come, too.” Beth held on to the embrace a second longer. “Ever since you ran out of the restaurant so abruptly, two days ago, I've been worried.” She pulled back. “Are you okay?”
Okay didn’t fit anywhere close to her, these days, but Amanda smiled and hoped she passed for happy-with-life. “I'm fine. Really. Except, I didn't have time for coffee at home.” She pointed toward the empty seat, and the steaming coffee, on top of the table. “Please tell me this is mine.”
“Five sugars and three creamers,” McKenna said. Concern still wrinkled her brow, as she scanned Amanda from head to toe.
“That's why I love you.” A sip of the steaming brew, hit her tongue. The zip of caffeine raced through her system—at least she would pretend she could feel the effects that quickly.
Beth laughed.
“What's with Jonas?” McKenna nodded toward where the pair had chatted.
Amanda shook her head. The trouble with having a long-term best friend was the lack of privacy. This woman knew almost everything there was to know. And she assumed she'd figure out the rest.
McKenna probably would.
“He's looking for his next breaking story, for Channel Six.”
Beth sipped her drink. “He's newer to the station, right?”
She fought against rolling her eyes. “Relatively. You wouldn’t know it by watching him on screen, or with his coworkers.”
“Are the rumors true? Guy said the last one was murdered.” Beth gave a slow shudder.
Did Beth remember Kara? The deceased woman hadn’t been a large part of their lives until junior year, so maybe not.
“Yeah.” McKenna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was pretty gruesome.”
Hopefully, Beth wasn't an avid news viewer, because Amanda doubted McKenna wanted to discuss the events. Especially with Matthew's memorial scheduled for later in the day.
“I'd steer clear of Jonas.” McKenna made eye contact in that don't-disobey-me way of hers. It had Amanda heeding advice she didn’t need. She glanced at her friend's large belly. Poor kid.
Don’t worry, kiddo, you’ll come hang with Auntie Amanda. Spoiling the little angel, rotten, would be the highlight of her life. Second to watching Jordan and McKenna deal with the aftermath of too much candy and presents.
“I'm serious.” McKenna's voice took on a stern quality.
“I know, but you are barking up the wrong tree. Boyfriend, remember?” At least for a little while longer.
She itched the bridge of her nose. “You think he’s cute?”
“Oh, boy,” Beth said.
Yuck. “No offense to Jonas, but he’s not my type.”
McKenna let her gaze linger, one dark brow lifting a fraction. “He's trouble. Sam Richardson type, trouble.”
She was never going to live the stupid high school crush down. Ever.
“It's nice to see that neither of you have changed much, since I lived here last.” Beth gave a small laugh. “You still bicker like true sisters.”
“Yeah, well, it wouldn't happen, if somebody wasn't so bossy all the time.” Amanda shot a wink and a half smile in their direction. At least her friend had, for the most part, returned to normal. For that, she'd deal with demands to juggle flying monkeys.
“You enjoy it, admit it.” McKenna sipped from her cup.
“Yeah, yeah.” She’d enjoy a hot bath, a glass of wine and a long nap. None of those things would happen, anytime soon. So, she’d take this time with her friends.
More patrons walked in, the line to the barista getting longer and the din of voices growing.
“Oh.” Beth pulled her purse from where it hung, on the back of her chair, and dug through it. “Before I forget, I wanted to invite both of you to the game next Sunday, against the Rams. They're sideline tickets. I think the Pilots’ organization is worried about their next few games, due to the change in venue.”
The terrorist attack, which had scarred the city, didn’t have anything to do with it. Not at all.
Beth passed them both a ticket, hope written all over her face.
“That's so nice,” McKenna said. “If I don’t pop this kid out by then, I’d love to go.”
Amanda scoffed. “Like Jordan will even let you out of
his sight that day.”
“We’ve come to an understanding.” McKenna turned to Beth. “Jordan’s a little overprotective.”
The corner of the other woman’s lips lifted. “That’s not new.”
“He hired a bodyguard without telling me. I found out. We discussed it.”
Amanda sat forward. It was nice to have to conversation off herself, for once. “Did you fire the guy or what?” Amanda scanned the crowd for the tall, lanky guy, who’d stood so quietly in her hospital room, a few days ago. She came up empty.
“No.”
Huh. She grabbed the ticket in front of her and tapped it against the table. “So, is he going to shadow you at the game? Lurk around corners? Freak out little kids?”
Beth let out a half scoff-giggle. “This is better than a soap opera. I think what Jordan did is sweet.”
McKenna nodded. “And creepy. Think about it. Somebody watching your every move.”
It didn’t take much imagination. “There is that.”
“How about a billion people?” Beth sipped her drink, again. “I always wonder how Guy does it. All those people in the stands. And then everyone watching on TV.
“Adrenaline.”
Beth fussed with a brownish-blonde lock of her own hair, before tucking it behind her ear. “I couldn’t do it. I love football, but sometimes I can't wait until the season is over, so there's a small break between five a.m. pre-workouts, practice and game schedules. Not that I'll be sleeping a ton after this one's here.” She rubbed the slight bulge of her abdomen. “Luckily, he or she will arrive right before next year's draft.”
Before Amanda could comment, her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and noted a Charlotte area code. Pressed the device to her ear. “Nettles.”
“This is Detective Nettles, right?” The soft tone, was so quiet, Amanda had to plug her free ear, to understand the words. Maybe Willow Stanley had changed her mind.
“Yes. Hold on.” Covering the end of the phone, she stood. “I'll be right back, guys.”
Beth gave a small smile, while the concern on McKenna's face turned into something worse. Amanda didn't have time to decipher it. When she reached the outdoors, she replaced the receiver to her ear again. “And you are?”
“It's Renee Zimmer. You know, Baker Jackson's nanny.” There was a slight tremor to the other woman's voice.
“Is everything okay, Renee?”
“Yeah. Um, do you think...?” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I'd like to meet somewhere.”
A couple weaved around her on the sidewalk, the woman shooting Amanda a nasty glare. She stepped closer to the door of the coffee shop. “In regards to what?”
“Please. This is important. Meet me in twenty minutes.”
The part of her, all about self-preservation, told her to do anything but agree. Nothing about Renee suggested she was behind the bombings, but plenty of serial killers seemed normal on the outside, too.
Hiding out hadn't helped her a ton. “Where?”
“The place I mentioned when we talked last.”
Before Amanda could ask any other questions, Renee hung up. What was this?
She didn't have a choice, she had to go. Amanda thought back to their conversation at Renee's house. They'd discussed Robinson's apartment, her home and the gym.
She thumbed over her contacts, landing on Robinson's number. That digit hovered over it. He would likely take the matter into his owns hands. She couldn’t blame him, but it was time to take her life back. She flicked past and hit dial. Going in without backup was stupid.
“Bening.”
“It's Amanda. You busy?”
“That depends,” he said on a chuckle. “Right now I'm not sure which end is up. Director Stotts waltzed in here this morning and blew the place up.” He paused. “Bad choice of words.”
“Nah. Just poor timing.” Amanda had only met Harlan Stotts once, but didn’t like anything about him. He held himself in a manner reserved for kings, spoke like it, too. The man dogged everyone as if they were his royal subjects. From what Amanda could tell, that jeweled scepter pointed squarely in Robinson’s direction, eighty percent of the time. The only thing missing was a throne and crown.
“Anyway, he demanded a press conference, which we were working on, anyway. Just not today. We’ve got the memorial later. Ariana has a cold that kept her up, coughing, half the night. And I had to force McKenna to get out of here for a little while. On top of that, Robinson’s been in a piss-poor mood for the last few days. Want to come kick his butt around some?”
Yeah, right. That would probably make it worse.
Jordan cleared his throat. “So, what's going on?”
“Renee Zimmer just called me. She was pretty cryptic. I'm supposed to meet her in twenty minutes.”
“Where?” He drew the word out.
“Snap Fitness on Cypress and First.”
The sound of shuffling papers filled the line and then a creak of an office chair. “I can be there in fifteen.”
“It's fine.” She hoped. “I just wanted to let you know that she called.” The lie slid off her tongue. If she asked, point blank, Jordan would drop everything to be there. Neither he nor McKenna knew how to operate in a different manner.
Was this guy waiting for that type of opportunity? Everyone she cared about in one place, like sitting ducks.
“You sure?”
“I'll give you any pertinent details after I talk with her.”
“Cypress and First?”
“Yup.”
“Call me when you're done.”
“Of course.”
If she wasn’t walking into a giant trap.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Amanda circled the parking lot twice and found a spot near the rear of the club. Robinson had purposely chosen to park his SUV on the northeast corner of the lot. Here, he could see every inch of real estate without being seen first, but still have quick access to the entrance.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
He should be back at the office, working on his press release and fine tuning all the details he had. Figuring out a way to bring this guy out in the open, which didn't involve using Amanda as bait as Director Stotts insisted.
If she’s not involved, prove it. Put her front and center. Today. Not the oldest trick in the book, nor the newest. It had some merit, but that didn’t mean he liked it. And he couldn’t help that bug-under-the-skin feeling, in the pit of his stomach, whenever Stotts contacted him.
The demands only increased Robinson’s dislike for the man who had spent a great deal of time running the FBI. This wouldn’t be the last time they butt heads over a case.
While his upbringing demanded respect be given, in appropriate situations, he had a hard time following through. Kissing butt wasn’t his idea of a good time. He’d earned his position. Fought for it through some pretty traumatic cases. And proved his worth.
The result was the tight-knit group of people working under him.
If Stotts didn’t get off his back, Robinson would have to remind him of those attributes.
The woman of the hour, exited her car and took in her surroundings. The dark coat she wore—a leather Moto zip up with a chunky and useless belt at the bottom, above her hips, flapped open in the breeze. The cream shirt beneath it had some type of lace attached, at the bottom, near the edge of hip-hugging jeans.
First pink toes. Now, frilly lace. Stupid jeans that caressed all the right places.
Should have made Jordan come.
Robinson rubbed a hand across his face, stopping at the bridge of his nose and applying pressure. Jordan’s strength lie in his steadfast determination and attention to detail. Everything was a puzzle he never stopped piecing together, no matter the cost.
Improvisation and risk was Robinson’s forte, something he shared with Amanda, above and beyond the call of duty. Want information fast, in less than stellar conditions? The attractive detective would deliver every time. She h
ad fine-tuned intuition that couldn’t be taught. And the ability to take a bad situation and come out on top.
All of that could change with one ill-fated set up.
Okay, he could do this. Focus.
He'd simply tell her this type of thing was a bad idea and she should...what? Lock herself in a fortress until this was over?
Not likely.
Robinson exited his vehicle, circled toward the south end of the lot and weaved between a few cars, so he ended up behind her. Even five feet back, he could smell the flowery scent she wore. See the shape of her toned backside in, what had to be, his favorite jeans to date.
Nope. Not true. He hated them.
Amanda’s pace slowed a fraction. Her hand went to her side, near the holster hidden under that jacket and lace.
Idiot that he was, he couldn't resist the need to touch her. So, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a row of cars, hidden from the front entrance, by a green truck. She swung at him with her free fist. He managed to duck a little, but her hook swiped the edge of his chin and jarred his teeth together.
“A.J., it’s me.” He blocked the knee headed toward his groin.
Her eyes went wide. She let out a puff of breath. “Geez, Robbie. What are you doing?”
“Meeting up with my favorite detective. Didn’t realize I’d have to defend myself against a full body assault.” He rubbed the area she'd tried to take out with a mean punch. It stung a little. He swiped his tongue over his teeth and didn't feel anything jagged.
She took a step back from him. “Jordan told you I was meeting Renee.”
“Rightfully, so.” He prepared for a small burst of attitude on the subject.
The wind kicked up a few stray strands of hair, which she tucked behind her ear. “I'm glad.”
Huh. “Really?”
She leaned against the green truck and covered her eyes with both hands. A frustrated groan filled the silence between them, before she dropped them back to her sides.
“Normally, I don't mind this type of thing, but lately...” Worry invaded the flawless face before him and pulled that plump mouth of hers into a slight frown. “I don't even feel like a cop. As far as Captain Dentzen's concerned, I’m the last resort.”
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 24