DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Everyone else would talk to me. Your mom, Eric, that stupid reporter, Jonas—even McKenna. But not you.” The words came through an echoing tunnel. “You are just like her. And I am nothing more than a minor inconvenience.”

  Something wet splashed down her cheek. Beth’s face disappeared. The pressure on her throat increased, then nothing.

  The world above her came into a view, a blurry haze of yellow. No sound. No pain. No air. No need for it.

  The yellow faded to a bright white, encompassed by harsh orange tones. Robinson appeared above her, a haze moving around his body. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. The crook of one elbow covered his face. He gave what looked like a harsh cough. Maybe Hollywood had it right. You could see beyond your own death.

  Man, she was going to miss those blue-green eyes.

  “Somebody get a paramedic in here.” Robinson's voice faded in, a crackle raising like the static of a radio, in her ears. “Breathe, A.J.”

  Sharp pain knifed through her neck and into her throat. She grabbed the nearest object and met the stiff collar of Robinson's dress shirt, the other flying to the tender skin on her throat.

  Alive.

  The room gave a shudder. The floor rumbled.

  “One breath in. One out.” Robinson's gaze stayed locked on her, concern radiating in every pore.

  The action burned her lungs. She coughed, tried again.

  Jordan, in a Kevlar vest and gun in hand, crouched next to them. He exchanged a look with Robinson. “We gotta go. Now. Before this room closes in on us. A group of SWAT guys fashioned a stretcher out of blankets they found and already took Eric out. CMFD is on their way. ETA, two minutes.”

  Robinson swooped an arm under her legs and around her shoulders and stood. “Let's go.”

  In the same Kevlar vest, a walkie-talkie strapped near the shoulder, Jonas hauled Beth forward. Handcuffs circled her wrists and a patch of red blossomed on her left shoulder. The other woman kicked out toward her captor. Jonas sidestepped the blow. Then he shoved her onto the floor, face down. The vibrations met the place Robinson stood with Amanda, five feet away.

  Every movement set her nerve endings on fire.

  “Try that again.” Jonas said between clenched teeth.

  Another wooden groan filled the room. The floor shifted beneath them. Robinson set her on her feet. Then shoved her toward the door. She stumbled forward, caught herself on the fiery frame. Hot licks of electrified pain went through her already burnt palm. She fell to her knees.

  Jonas jumped backward, taking Beth with him. The floor beneath Robinson’s feet broke open. He scrambled to reach the place she stood, but missed purchase on the now jagged flooring.

  Amanda dove toward him. She hit the floor with a thud, her wrists and forearms scraping on the hardwood. She caught the edge of one masculine hand in her injured palm. An unrecognizable rasp-scream bounced around the room—her own—as white-hot pain flashed through every cell. She clenched her teeth. And tightened her hold with both hands around his.

  The sight below his dangling feet was a mass of pipes and splintered wood, followed by the hard concrete of the garage. Flames leapt from where they hung, to the packing boxes below, an inferno blazing in seconds. The heat radiated. Sweat clung to Robinson’s forehead.

  “Climb.” The word came out on an unrecognizable heap of letters that tore through her vocal cords. Robinson swung toward a protruding two-by-four to his left. Another shift of the floorboards sent her sliding forward. She kicked out for purchase, her ankle hooking around something solid.

  “There’s not enough support left to hold us both. Just let go, A.J. It’s not that long of a fall.” A cough shook through him.

  The house had vaulted ceilings, making the nursery a good ten feet above the garage floor. Not a fall to death, by any means. Injury, yes.

  She met his gaze. The flames consumed everything around them, scrambling to meet in the middle of the two rooms. It wouldn’t be long before they were both gone. And the bike caught fire. How much gas was in the tank?

  “Grow a pair. Get. Up. Here.”

  His jaw clenched. A slight kick brought him closer to the two-by-four. His fingertips grazed the edge. The grip she had on his hand was slipping. He swung forward again. This time, he grabbed the floorboards and held on.

  A long, wooden groan rose to meet the crescendo of the flames. Nothing happened. Amanda released a breath.

  Robinson pulled himself upward and onto the landing. Scrambling into a crouched position, she took another deep breath. A cough caught her by surprise.

  A loud crack split the area. Then they were both going down. Like before, Robinson shoved her toward the door. Amanda caught a chunk of his suit in her fist.

  A feminine scream split the air.

  A flash of something behind Robinson caught her eye before an object—someone—plowed into them both.

  With a hard thump, she landed on the floor outside the room. Robinson’s weight fell on top of her, kicking the air from her lungs.

  The rapid beat of his heart vibrated against her own. Comforting and perfect, despite the pain rushing through her body.

  “I thought I lost you there, for a minute.” His breath hit her cheek.

  “That’s my line, pal. Get your own.”

  A trace of a smile met his lips and then faded. He sat up and offered her a hand.

  Amanda met his gaze and placed her palm inside his. “All that stuff Beth said about Lilly…”

  He shook his head, sadness drawing his mouth downward.

  “Wrap it up, kids. I’ll take gratitude later.” From the corner, near the stairs, Jonas stood and brushed debris from his hands. Beth struggled to rise, a few feet from him.

  Jordan yanked her into a standing position. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Relief should have been rushing through her system. The nightmare was over.

  “Wait.” Amanda climbed into a standing position. She beat Jordan and Beth to the landing of the stairs. Blocked their descend. “Where are the other explosives?”

  A bored look covered Beth’s face, laced with undertones of pain. She clamped her lips shut, raised her chin toward the ceiling. “I’m a little busy.”

  Without this information, more people would die. Anger consumed Amanda’s insides faster than the fire still raging inside the house. The faceless people who’d died over Beth’s insane anger washed over her.

  Jonas’ wife, young and vibrant, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Robinson’s sister wasting away for no reason. Missing her child’s life and losing her husband in the process.

  Eric’s face, a mass of charred, unrecognizable flesh that revealed more internal tissue than should be seen. Ever.

  “You’ve taken so many innocent lives. For what? Some hurt feelings?”

  Beth lunged forward. Jordan restrained her. “You’ve never walked in someone’s shadow. Never known what it’s like to have no identity. Always being judged by someone else’s standards. A few years ago, I discovered the truth—courtesy of a dying Grandfather who always resented the fact that I’d slowed down his daughter’s medical career.”

  Hatred burned in Beth’s eyes. “He requested my presence at the end. I’d hoped to share a warm moment with someone in my family. His last words? We should have insisted upon an abortion.”

  Amanda refused to give the pity, churning in her gut, a permanent home. “You said there’s three buildings targeted. Java Joe's is one. What are the others?”

  “We’ve got everything under control, Nettles.” Jordan said.

  Then he hauled the woman who would never be her sister, down the stairs.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The worst case of nerves she’d ever had, attacked Amanda as she climbed the steps to the worn down, rambler-style home her parents owned. They’d bought it for the land it resided on, a decade ago. Never got around to removing the house.

  Boarded up windows lent to the appearance of true abandonment, the ov
ergrowth aiding in the disguise as it crawled over the porch railings. Weeds broke through the cracks in the sidewalk. A sapling grew through a missing section of the deck.

  The open front door and light spilling from it, was one indication someone had been here in the last ten years. The crime scene van parked in front was another.

  Amanda rubbed her tender neck. Her mother had found a colorful scarf for her. The bruises had already turned into an ugly purple, from last night’s attack. After seven and a half hours in the ER and another five in questioning, she’d gone to her parents’ house to shower and sleep.

  The images of all the damaged lives Beth’s hatred had caused—the explosives she’d had set for Java Joe’s, the Third Precinct and Robinson’s SUV—hadn’t let her get more than a snippet here and there. Once the sun had peaked over the horizon, she’d given up trying. Decided to take a shower and then she’d been in her car. And pulling into the rutted driveway, here.

  Where Beth had planned everything.

  A tech in a Tyvek suit filled the doorway. Mark. He had the same smile on his face every time. “Hey, Nettles. Heard the governor called for your immediate reinstatement with CMPD.”

  “Sure did.” Due to his belief in her innocence or the fact that her father was the well-liked, respected and often revered Judge Nettles? Not knowing didn’t sit well. “But I’m taking some time off.”

  Mark smiled. “Good for you. We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Maybe you could convince the grouch to do the same.” He nodded toward the interior of the house. Robinson crouched near a wall filled with photographs and writing. “I don’t think he’s been home to sleep.”

  The same dark suit he’d worn the previous day, sat beneath the Tyvek suit. Matching booties covered his feet. A layer of stubble rested on the cheek she could see. A bandage covered his ear and neck. The memory of the skin there—red, blistered and bleeding, the edges blacker than his now gel-less hair—caused her bandaged hand to throb.

  “There’s some gloves and booties over there.” Mark pointed toward a box next to the entry. Then he stepped out of the way. Amanda donned both items and took the place the tech had vacated.

  A thread bare, green couch sat to his right, a blanket and pillow wadded near one end. An old, hand woven rug was folded back from the original wooden floor, a hatch opened and leading downward. Light flowed upward, jarred only by the movement of someone below.

  How many nights had Beth spent here? And Catsky?

  What had made him risk his family and his job for this?

  She stepped farther into the room, the pictures becoming clear on the wall. Newspaper clippings from all over the state. Some of them held her face or Robinson’s. An article about McKenna’s ordeal the previous spring connected to another picture of her and Robinson. Amanda was circled in red as if Beth had repeated the motion until the marker was empty. And kept going.

  A state map hung on the opposite wall, stick pins pushed into each city that had been hit. Charlotte held more than one.

  “This place is pretty much the nail in her coffin.” Robinson stepped up next to her. Dark circles rested under his eyes. The bandage on his head turned his normally olive complexion a paler shade.

  “Probably looking at lethal injection, once it’s all said and done.” His words didn’t hold the bite of anger, but a bone-weary sadness. “I never like proving guilt. I do it to save lives.”

  The hot sting of tears caught her off guard, a heaviness in her heart she hadn’t expected. A woman who caused this much mayhem and destruction didn’t deserve empathy, did she? Apparently, her heart hadn’t gotten the memo.

  “Unless, the council comes up with an insanity plea.” Robinson removed one glove. He ran the knuckle of his index finger beneath her eye, brought back something wet. “Catsky picked Beth up the first couple of times she ran away from home.”

  Amanda shifted and ran her sleeve over her face.

  With his still gloved hand, he held up a green book. The edges of the cover were worn, the binding beneath, showing.

  “It’s a journal we found in the cellar beneath enough explosives to take down three-quarters of Charlotte. It dates back to her ninth birthday. I scanned through it. She went from talking about her favorite color and what she wanted to be when she grew up, to darker prose. In the span of a year. Some of it suggests…molestation. Or an age-inappropriate relationship.”

  The cop who picked her up was gracious…

  A sour taste charged from her stomach to her mouth. She’d assumed Sandra had paid the non-existent debt. Not Beth. “A ten-year-old?”

  Robinson rubbed his fingers over his chin. They both knew it happened. They just had to keep fighting against it. Fighting to protect what was right and good.

  “When questioned, Sandra denied knowing anything about either possibility.”

  “No real way for us to prove it, anyway. It’s a he-said, she-said battle.”

  “Sadly, yes. Beth was blackmailing Catsky, because of it. We took a statement from his wife this morning and she admitted he’d received some suspicious phone calls, in the last few weeks. She couldn’t verify his whereabouts for any of the dates. Neither could CMPD.”

  “He was at work when I left for lunch at the Rainbow Café.”

  Robinson shook his head. “We found tracing software inside his home. Early this morning, Beth admitted to using his resources. It was how she knew where you were all the time. I don’t think he knew the entirety of her plot. And by the time he had an inkling, it was too late.”

  A choice that had left him dead. His words made sense. Of course he’d thought of his family. Of what the truth of his actions would do to them. How had she not sensed that level of depravity? From either party?

  “The fire department found Guy’s body in the guest house. The scene suggested a struggle. He’d stumbled across her duplicity.”

  And Beth had ended his life over it.

  “How’s Eric?”

  “In a good amount of pain, but it sounds like the doctors are confident he’ll heal quickly and only need a few skin grafts. Plus, he has his own Florence Nightingale.”

  A chuckle erupted from his mouth. “The woman from the DA’s office?”

  She nodded. “How’s Lilly?”

  “Determined to start walking already.” Sadness crept over his features. “Asking questions about the accident. And her husband.”

  Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. “Robbie, I’m so sorry. If I had known… Everything could be different.”

  “Hey, we’ve got some things to work through.” Robinson’s palm brushed across her cheek. The tingling warmth elicited a sigh from between her lips.

  “What you did last night—all of it, was brave. Stupid, but brave.” His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her lips. Heat spiked through her for the first time in twenty-four hours. “Seeing that gun under your jaw.” His fingers traveled lower, to the scarf covering ugly bruises. He tugged at it, pulling the silk from around her. A warm palm replaced the fabric. “And her fingers around your neck…”

  “You did some stupid things, yourself.”

  He shook his head, his lips pursed together. A playful gleam entered his eyes. “I saw an opportunity. I made a choice. Nothing I wouldn’t do for a stranger. Or the woman I’m in love with.”

  A smile came all the way from her toes. “I said it first. Just so we’re on the same page.”

  The full laugh she’d never get enough of, filled the room. “Another thing I’ll never be able to live down.”

  “Like your blonde bimbos and—”

  His lips crashed against hers, moving in a slow rhythm. Heat flooded through her. He pulled her closer. The feel of his body against her was such a sweet gift of rightness. One they’d almost overlooked. And lost.

  He broke away. “How about we try an actual date. You know, one without care centers, dead people, cases…”

  “Explosions?”

  He nodded. “You might find I’m terribl
y boring.”

  Or she might discover what had been in front of her all along. “Is The Jerk coming?”

  He grinned. Mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Package deal, right?”

  Right. Amanda loved the sound of it.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for taking this journey with Amanda and Robinson. I hope you enjoyed reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it. All of my characters are my favorite, but these two hold a special place in my heart. Their story is one of overcoming obstacles, to achieve dreams. A beautiful tale about making choices—not always the right ones—and dealing with the consequences. Or lack, thereof.

  I have to admit, these two gave me a bit of grief. One is sassy. The other doesn’t know how to quit, when ahead. Right from the start of The Bening Files, these two liked to pick at each other. A fun ride to watch—from a safe distance, of course.

  If you would like more information on what my characters are up to, feel free to sign up for my newsletter, Like me on Facebook, Follow Me on Twitter, or pin some of my novels on Pinterest.

  As always, please feel free to leave a review wherever you purchased the novel from. Reviews are greatly appreciated and help me understand what readers like or dislike. They also help others decide if my book is a good fit for them. Your thoughts and opinions matter to me. Until next time.

  God Bless,

  Rachel Trautmiller

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A long time ago, writing used to be considered a solitary event. When you heard of someone who wrote novels—or anything of length, you most often thought of a man or woman, sitting in a horribly uncomfortable chair, in front of a typewriter. Day after day, they’d plot their story, hardly stopping to eat or socialize or—eek, shower.

  Some of this might still be true. I’m thinking more the day-after-day and the skipping meals to meet deadlines. Most of them are personal goals now, instead of set by and editor or publisher. I, for one, am thankful.

  I enjoy having my own schedule. Don’t get me wrong, amidst work and family, it is difficult, but it’s fun. Which is why I must first thank my family. My husband has listened to countless hours of plotting and marketing strategy, advertising dos and don’ts. You name it, he’s heard it. You are always what I need. You are my hero—and the man who routinely fixes my laptop (or buys me a new one)! You are my voice of reason in the chaos.