“Beth was always an emotional child. Easily upset over matters best forgotten. Tell me your experience with her was something different, dear Amanda.”
If this woman used the word dear in connection with her name one more time, they'd end up worse than Rupert and Jordan.
Blonde eyebrows rose on her porcelain face. “I didn't think so.” Sandra stood. “Now, if you've eased your curiosity, I have patients to see.”
Amanda stood and tracked the other woman's movements across the room, to a long cabinet. “Did you ever tell Beth?”
“No.” From a briefcase, she pulled a stack of letters and closed the wooden door. “She's too sensitive to handle it.”
Sandra sauntered over and placed the white envelopes in Amanda's hands. They were all addressed to Beth. Letters Amanda had written and never received responses to, over a decade ago. All unopened. Something hot gathered around her heart. “You never gave her one letter. Can she not handle the mail, either?”
No response.
Maybe Beth's problems had stemmed from all the adults in her life, unwilling to stick up for her. Walter Nettles wouldn't be exempt from that list, but at least the regret was palpable. Not dismissed as easy as a soggy piece of paper.
“She's a grown woman with a husband and child on the way.”
Sandra stopped mid-turn, her perfect brow, furrowed. “Beth can't have children. A nasty miscarriage, two years ago, solved that problem.”
***
There was an explanation.
And Amanda would get it from Beth.
After the weight of what Sandra said had sunk in, Amanda dashed from the clinic, pausing long enough to witness an awkward man-hug between Jordan and Rupert.
The directions to Beth and Guy's home were simple, take the freeway south to the Carmel neighborhood. For the second time, since getting in her vehicle, she dialed Robinson’s number. Got his voice mail and hung up. That never happened.
She took a breath.
Come on, Robbie. Call me back.
How could anyone be so cold toward their own flesh and blood? Did Beth mean that little to the woman?
In the cup holder, her phone vibrated. She wedged it between her ear and shoulder. “Nettles.”
“Amanda?” A female voice came over the line. “It's Kelsey. From the DA's office.”
She exited the freeway. The other woman had probably heard about the condo fire and her breakup with Eric. “I'm a little busy, Kelsey. What's up?”
“Is Eric with you?”
“No.” It was Monday morning, probably the busiest of the week. A load of bricks landed in her stomach. Eric never missed work. Not even when he was sick enough to warrant an urgent care visit. “He's not there?”
“No. He didn't show or call. He's got a court hearing in twenty minutes.” A nervous laugh came from the other woman. “I'm a little worried.”
They should all be more than that.
“I talked to him last night,” she said.
Amanda exited the freeway and zipped through a yellow light, at the end of the ramp. “What time was this?”
“I called him sometime after I saw the news of your condo.” Silence. Then, “I’m so sorry, Amanda. If you guys need a place to stay—”
“Thanks, Kelsey. I appreciate the offer. I’ll let you know if I hear from Eric.”
“He told me you broke things off.” The voice was quiet. Calm.
No big deal. Her heart didn’t get the message. It started a crazy beat that vibrated through her body, in a sickening swirl.
“Don’t you think you should work things out? You’ve been together for a long time. That should be worth saving.”
Amanda gripped the steering wheel as she turned left. She’d always called Eric’s coworker their friend, but she and Amanda had never hung out together. Kelsey was Eric’s friend, much like Robinson was Amanda’s.
Oh, wow.
Kelsey had been working with the DA’s office for what? Two—three years, max? Eric might have told her personal things about their relationship. Might have, unknowingly, given her ammunition against Amanda. Only one way to find out if this thing went back that far.
“We both agreed that it’s over.” She bit the corner of her cheek. “And…there’s someone else.” Amanda sucked in a breath and held it.
Silence reigned for a few beats. They could have spanned a lifetime. A splat of rain hit her windshield, the gray sky turning darker with each mile she traveled.
“What?” Incredulity lined Kelsey’s raised voice.
Amanda let out a breath. If only she could trust her gut, here. “I’m in love with Baker Jackson Robinson.”
“Robinson? As in the guy who barges into our offices, demands paperwork as if he owns the place—usually at the last minute—has more hair product than a beautician and annoying eating habits?”
She tucked away the warm glow in her heart, for later. Right now, they needed to catch this guy. With only thirty six hours left. “Sounds about right.”
“What are you thinking? How can you do this to Eric?”
Something released in her chest. The Assistant DA hadn’t stopped talking, her voice rising with each word.
“Goodbye, Kelsey.”
She hung up and dialed Eric's number. Full voice mail. She tapped her thumb on the steering wheel. Eric never let a message go unanswered for long.
She hit Robinson’s number.
One ring. Two.
Come on.
Another buzz filled the line, its replica not far behind.
“What's going on?” Robinson's voice came out in a rush.
Amanda released a breath of air. “Eric's missing. No one has seen him since last night. His voicemail is full. And, I’m pretty sure Kelsey, from the DA’s office, just chewed me up one side and down the other.”
“I'll put out an APB for his vehicle. Jonas and I are headed toward the stadium to check out an anonymous tip of suspicious activity.”
Something squeezed the air from her lungs. How did Jordan and McKenna do this? Only the lack of oxygen stopped her from begging him to stay as far from the stadium as possible. “Where'd the tip come from?”
“Does it matter if it came from the hotline or another avenue?” His voice softened as the sound of a closing car door came over the line. “We still have to check it out.”
“You're right.” The truth didn't help. She used a shaky hand to hit her windshield wipers.
“Since when do we know Jonas isn't part of this?”
“We don't. Not one-hundred percent. He’s in the same boat.”
Touché.
“Right now, he's our best shot of catching this guy.”
It would have to do. “I'm headed to Beth's. Sandra said there's no way she could be pregnant. She had a miscarriage two years ago that cinched the deal.”
“And you believe her?”
Yeah. She did. Her parents were right, Sandra was a lot of things, but not a liar. A skewed perception of reality? Maybe. No rose colored glasses. Check.
Could Sandra be wrong? Could Amanda have missed the most obvious evidence? Wouldn't Guy know if Beth faked pregnancy?
Maybe he already did. Amanda relayed their exchange.
“Wait. You said two years ago?”
“Yes.”
A rustle of papers came over the line. “Jonas ran that story in the paper this morning. He's been following this guy—been convinced we're dealing with a woman—for two-and-a-half-years. Each time the method is different, but one variable stays the same. You. Your picture shows up on the news or in the newspaper and within days there's an explosion. For a little over a year it was every few months. Then nothing for two years.”
Something cold and hollow landed at the base of her spine. “You're sure it's related?”
The sound of an engine starting, filled the background. “As sure as I know that Eric didn’t disappear to parts unknown to cool off for a bit.”
“What cities have been hit?”
“Hickory, Greensboro, Durham and Fayetteville.”
“In that order?”
“Like a circle.”
“Except Boone. Jonas believes the area is ground zero.”
“Never been. You?”
“Nope. I’ve got Jordan checking to see if any of our suspects were in the area around that time.”
Getting that information could take all day.
“Agent Rogge’s onsite, at Beth’s. I’ll let him know you’re coming. I'm gonna send someone over to Sandra's office. Do not go in alone, Amanda.”
A chunk of something got stuck in her throat. “I have done this before.”
“So have I. And I don’t want to have to identify a picture of your dead body, A.J.”
There wouldn’t be one to recognize.
Not with the game their perp was playing.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Amanda checked the safety on her personal weapon—a Glock .45 she used to keep in a locked safe, next to the bed—and tucked it inside her shoulder holster. Then she wrapped her leather jacket closer to her body, to stave off the blustery winds.
She’d parked two blocks down the road from Beth’s house, but had spotted Agent Rogge’s vehicle long before she’d gotten out of her car.
The Crown Victoria was an eyesore, in a neighborhood filled with mature landscape and lawns more like golf courses than grass. Regal houses filled the quiet surroundings. The colder weather must have pushed the occupants inside. Not one person was in the vicinity.
Beth’s two story house stood out with crisp, red brick, surrounded by perfect white trim, large windows and a matching set of French doors in the front. A black security fence lined the perimeter and acted as deterrent to unwanted intruders. Or it would, if the thing was closed tight. Instead, a gap big enough for a person to fit through, led to the circular drive and a three car garage. One of the stalls appeared to be open.
Amanda approached Rogge’s vehicle as if she were out for a stroll, careful to stay on the sidewalk, when she’d rather make a beeline for the Agent. And get a move on this thing.
No exhaust came from the tailpipe. The passenger side window was cracked a hair, the wind creating a faint whistle between the space.
Stillness permeated the area around her. No birds. Or squirrels.
A round hole in the upper portion of the window caught her eye. The glass around it spider-webbed into a million zig-zagged lines, fanning out to reach the edges.
She withdrew her weapon. Scanned the perimeter and came up empty-handed.
Amanda used her coat to lift the handle on the door and yanked it open. Rogge sat inside, a gray, wool coat covering his frame. A cell phone hung at the edge of one hand. Bright red oozed down his neck. Wide, lifeless eyes stared forward.
No. Amanda fought to keep air moving through her lungs. Maybe…
“Rogge. Come on, buddy.” She jumped inside and felt for a pulse. Nothing. This guy was somebody’s son, brother, nephew. The biggest brown-noser the Charlotte field office had.
Something warm oozed between her fingers. She brought back a hand full of blood. Her stomach shot upward. She scrambled to get outside. Knocked her head on the corner of the door frame.
The coffee she’d had for breakfast landed on her shoes. Her body didn’t give up there. Wedged between the car, the door and the curb, her stomach tried to choke every last drop from her. Like a rookie at their first crime scene.
Breathe.
Shaky hands—where they hers?—holstered her gun, pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
“Third Precinct, Davis speaking.”
“It’s Nettles.” Her voice came out with a jitter. “Send backup to sixteen-ninety-two Terrace Street.”
Silence.
“Davis.” Her voice came out steadier. She stood. The muscles in her legs vibrated as if hooked to a Tens unit. “I need a squad. Now.”
“I can’t do that, Nettles. You’ll have to call nine-one-one for any emergencies.”
She circled the car. The driver’s side window had a similar circular shape and the same design. The first bullet had come from the trees surrounding Beth’s house and had missed. The second one, from a completely different angle, and the opposite side of the street, hadn’t.
Amanda took a breath. “I’ve got an Agent down. I need support, now. Sixteen-ninety-two Terrace.” She hung up. The phone slipped in her hands and shot toward the ground. She lunged for it and missed. It hit the asphalt and shattered. The faceplate flew under the car.
A string of curses flew through her mind.
The open cell phone in Rogge’s hand caught her attention. A thumb rested over the buttons, a text message in progress. She tried to ignore the fingers and body as she hunched closer to the car.
You’ll have to make a choice. Choose wisely, dear Amanda.
She backed up. Only Sandra had ever called her that.
Oh, she’d choose, all right. Amanda clenched her fists. Sandra would be even more sorry she’d given birth to a girl who’d become a cop. With morals and determinations. The inability to know when she should give up.
Things she’d forgotten, lately. Robinson was right. There was a choice. And she was done sitting on the fence between.
Judging from the warmth she’d felt on Rogge’s skin, the death was recent. Could Sandra have beat her here?
The sound of a slamming car door caught her attention. Robinson’s SUV was now parked in the empty space that had been behind her car.
Relief flooded through her.
His lean figure ate up the path between them. “Change of plan—whoa.” For half a second, he stopped, noted the bullet hole in Rogge’s car, his gaze going between the vehicle and her person quicker than a computer relayed information between circuits. And then he closed the gap, his hands running over her arms. “Where are you hit?”
What was he talking about? She tried to pull away. They had to check Beth’s house and make sure she was okay.
“Hold still.” He patted her upper torso. Concern and something deeper, highlighted his face.
“Robbie.”
He bent to inspect her legs. “Tell me where.”
“Robinson.” She touched his shoulder, noted the half-dried blood on her fingers. The hand print on one leg, where she’d propped herself during her purge. She probably had a splash of it across her face. Maybe a cut where she’d hit her head on the door.
“I don’t see anything. Any idea where the bullet came from?” Panic enveloped his words. He stood. His face had turned a pale shade. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He spun her around.
Because he thought the bullet had been meant for her. Had hit her. The organ in her chest swelled. Another moment she’d have to relive later. When they weren’t in the middle of a crisis.
She turned.
Amanda placed a hand on either side of his face, the feel of his prickly skin against hers, better than any anti-anxiety medication. Everything made sense when she was with him. Even the stuff that shouldn’t.
“I love you, too.” Whoa. Had she said that out loud?
Robinson didn’t move.
Maybe not. She took a breath. Either way, she couldn’t take the truth back. “Do me a favor. Breathe.”
At first, he only stared at her, one slow blink melding into another. Then a small puff of breath left his lips.
“I’m not hurt. Rogge is dead, but it’s recent. Someone—maybe Sandra—left a little note on his phone for me. The gate to Beth’s house is open. He or she could be inside. I need my super spy.”
Another burst of air came before he removed her hands from his face. His warm grip lingered a second, before he gave her cold fingers a squeeze.
It sent a zap into her heart.
He peered inside the car. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he turned from the view. A string of curses came from his lips.
He headed for the metal gate, his steps angry and quick.
She couldn't blame him.
“Did you notic
e anything suspicious when you pulled up?”
She hurried to catch up. The crunch of bits of gravel on the asphalt, beneath their feet, competed with the howling wind and the fat drops of water pelting her face. “Other than a lack of people, no.”
“We found Eric's Lexus outside a bar in the Hidden Valley area.” He didn’t look at her, his voice neutral.
So, that’s why he was here. Did he expect her to crumble? It wouldn’t do them any good.
Robinson bypassed the call box and glided through the opening in the gate. He waved her through. “The owner was about to have it towed, but called nine-one-one after he noted the windshield had a circular, concave shape with remnants of blood evident in the cracks.”
Her heart kicked up a notch. She shook her head. “No way he'd go to a bar there. Maybe it was stolen and the rift-raft in the area caused the damage.”
His lips formed a thin line. “I’ve got a team headed over there now. I’ll get you the address and you can meet them.”
What? She stopped. He still hadn’t met her eyes. Either he was leaving something out—big news he didn’t know how to deliver—or…
Choose wisely, dear Amanda.
“What would you expect me to do?”
The sure steps faltered and he stopped, mid-stride. Those blue-green eyes met hers, softness and worry lingering there. “You mean, if I were this guy? And I’d kidnapped what I thought was your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Assuming that’s happened and Eric isn’t sleeping off a hangover.”
“There’s too many variables to play that game. Too many choices to prepare for. Not enough evidence to back it up.”
They didn’t have the luxury of time to sort out this mess. “I’m not leaving. The best thing I can do for everyone is see this through.”
He shook his head as he scanned the house looming before them.
The front doors stood wide open. Robinson pulled his weapon. Amanda followed suit. A trail of leaves moved into the foyer with each gust of wind. The trees surrounding the house moved in a swaying rhythm, droplets turning to globs and sailing between the branches, toward the ground.
DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 40