LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  “Isn’t that why you’re standing in my foyer?”

  If this guy had any idea the type of fight Jordan was spoiling for, he’d run in the opposite direction. Jordan took a breath. “How many of your fingerprints are my techs going to find on this?”

  Rupert shifted from one foot to the other. “I used a pair of utility gloves to open it.”

  “And did you use those gloves to take it out of the mailbox?”

  A hard glint formed in Rupert’s eyes.

  “How do I even know you actually took it from the mailbox? You’ve contaminated this scene.” Even as Jordan insinuated that they might have found some evidence as to who sent the box had the other man not touched it, he knew it wasn’t true. The guy they were dealing with wouldn’t have come all this way to screw up over a mailbox. And if Rupert’s story checked out, there should be at least one set of his prints on the box.

  Logic didn’t win the battle over the anger boiling under Jordan’s skin. “But maybe that’s what you wanted.”

  Rupert pushed off the wall. “I don’t like where you’re going.”

  “How do I know you don’t have a skeleton hidden somewhere in these walls? In your backyard?”

  “Am I supposed to call you every time someone sneezes funny?”

  Jordan wanted to pummel the snarky expression off his face. “I don’t want you scratching your crotch without me knowing about it.” Someone grabbed the mailing box from him. “Outside. Now.”

  Rupert headed through the kitchen and out the back door as if he knew what was coming and the idea made him happy. Jordan counted to ten as he followed. Rope it in, buddy. Don’t let this guy get to you.

  Rupert turned on him the moment the door closed. “If you two put half the energy you spend on each other toward this case, it would be solved by now.”

  “I think you want to try that again.”

  “You heard me.” His voice was low.

  “If you used half your energy on telling us the truth, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. This isn’t CSI: Miami. We can’t pull information out of our rear ends and have our guy behind bars by dinnertime. Where were you Tuesday night? Where were you when your step-mother died?”

  “Emily Gaidies was my real mother in every way that counts.”

  Jordan clenched his fists until his fingers went numb. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  “Same place I was last time you asked. Driving across town.”

  Jordan was done being nice. Done with idiots that ran around accusing him of negligence. “Maybe it bothered you that your mother had an affair?”

  Rupert didn’t even have the decency to look shocked. “That’s between my parents.”

  “It bothered you. Still bothers you. Hit home a little. Reminded you of what happened with your wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Your father’s a good man. You tried to reason with your mother. Maybe she wanted to leave your father. Perfect little family image right out the door, huh?”

  Rupert clenched his fists, his face turning a reddish-purple as if he held his breath. “You don’t know anything.”

  “Or maybe, unlike how you handled the situation with your wife, you didn’t want to reason with her.” Part of his brain told him to stop, but he couldn’t. Let the other man hit him. The return punch would be so rewarding. “Things got out of control. She didn’t want to listen to what you had to say and you killed her. You put your fingers around her neck and squeezed until she stopped breathing. And then, you panicked.”

  ###

  McKenna got outside in time to witness Rupert’s punch connect with Jordan’s face.

  He sidestepped the second as if his nose weren’t bleeding and caught Rupert off guard with a hit to the stomach.

  It took her a moment to grasp what was happening and know that it was partially her fault. “What is going on?”

  Neither man acknowledged her presence. They continued fighting like a bunch of prepubescent boys. And, she had a feeling like in a cartoon, if she got too close to them, she’d be sucked into the wild roll of flying arms and flailing legs and find herself on the other side wondering what had happened.

  Chelsea and one of the other techs littered the doorway she had vacated.

  Gretchen came into view, a hand on her rounded stomach, her eyes matching the bulge. She pushed her way around the techs.

  “Rupert?” Gretchen watched both men tumble past and had to sidestep them as they came closer. “This isn’t like him. You know it’s not.” Each man got in another punch. “Do something, McKenna.”

  She might have let them play out their personal vendettas against one another a while longer if Gretchen’s face hadn’t looked so pale and drawn.

  She didn’t even try to get Jordan’s attention, she grabbed the edge of his jacket and pushed her way in between the two men and made eye contact with Jordan first. “Stop.”

  Jordan blinked as if didn’t recognize her. Then, he took in their surroundings and the people watching from the house.

  She turned toward Rupert.

  His arm was mid-swing, headed for Jordan, that same focused look across his features.

  In one fluid motion, Jordan grabbed Rupert’s fist, stepped around McKenna, twisted it behind his back and shoved him up against the house. Jordan had him handcuffed before she could blink. He ran a hand across his face as he heaved in gulps of air two steps from where Rupert stood. She could feel the anger coming off her childhood-friend-turned-husband in waves.

  If Rupert didn’t have good cause to have them removed from the case before, he certainly did now.

  She turned to Chelsea, who hadn’t moved. “Run a DNA test on those bones and run it through CODIS. See if we get a hit on a cold case or missing persons.”

  “If these bones or the potential case is older than 1990, we won’t find squat. A lot of that data is still being inputted.”

  McKenna shot the tech a glare.

  “I’ll run it through our federal and local databases. I’ll give it my best.” Chelsea disappeared inside, without a backward glance, taking her co-worker with her.

  McKenna wanted to pull Jordan aside to give him a moment to take a breath and clean the blood off his face. And then she’d give him a piece of her mind, too. What happened to professionalism?

  “Those bones belong to somebody, who may be missing, you entitled little prick.” Jordan’s voice sounded as if he’d screamed for twenty-four hours straight. “They may be sitting exactly where you are, wondering and waiting, hoping for something—some evidence to come to light so they can have closure. Think about that next time you try to play investigator. The next time you give me a half-cocked answer.”

  Rupert didn’t say anything and, to his credit, didn’t asked to be released either.

  Gretchen didn’t move. “I met him once. My—our mother’s, boyfriend. We were shopping.”

  “Gretch, stop.” Rupert shook his head, a bruise already forming under his left eye.

  “I know you want everything to be perfect, Rupert, but the truth is, it’s not and hasn’t been for a really long time.”

  Rupert moved to sit on the steps in what looked to be an awkward position because of the handcuffs. He wiped his fat lip on the shoulder of his shirt, leaving a small trail of red behind. “I know. We can talk about it later.”

  “Can you get those cuffs off of him, please?” Gretchen pointed the question at both Jordan and McKenna.

  Jordan dug into his holster, pulled out a set of keys and threw them to McKenna. “Have at it.”

  Part of her didn’t want to free Rupert until they got to the bottom of whatever he held back. One look at Gretchen made her change her mind. Despite her bravado, her face was still pale and her breaths were coming out a little erratic. McKenna jerked Rupert’s hands around before sticking the key in the slot.

  “Why don’t you think of someone else besides yourself, for once?” She lowered her voice. “Like your sist
er.” Then she pulled the cuffs from his hands.

  He rubbed his wrists, his eyes jumping toward the pregnant woman beside them. “Gretchen, sit down. You shouldn’t have even flown out here in your condition.”

  “I’m fine.” She sat next to him anyway. “I-I had to come. I knew dad would be useless. He’s already back at work. That’s just how he copes.”

  “Could you identify your mother’s boyfriend, if you saw him again?” Jordan brought the subject back around.

  “How did you even know mom was having an affair?” Rupert ran a hand over his face.

  “She admitted it.”

  “When?”

  “Last year.”

  “That’s when you—is that why you moved across the country?”

  “I took a job out there, Rupert. I had more of a choice then I let on, but I couldn’t stand the lies here. Dad knew about the affair and turned a blind eye. I couldn’t.” She glanced at Jordan and McKenna.

  “You should have told me.” Rupert’s voice came out gruff.

  “It wasn’t the first time. I loved her, but I know it wouldn’t have been the last time either.”

  “You still could have told me instead of moving across the country.”

  “I tried a few times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’ve always wanted that perfect family, from our parents, your wife. You forget to look at what’s really there. We’re all just people. We make mistakes.”

  Rupert stood, seeming to forget she and Jordan were even present. “A mistake is spelling a word wrong in second grade. Or forgetting to put the meat you’ve purchased at the store in the freezer until it’s too late. Not remembering your son has a soccer game until five minutes prior. Those are mistakes.”

  “I’m not sticking up for her.”

  “Don’t tell me you shrugged it off when you found out and don’t expect me to either.”

  Gretchen nodded. “I get it,” she whispered. There were tears rimming her eyes. “I lost my mom, the mom who raised me to know right from wrong, over a year ago and you’re losing her now. I’m sorry. I just assumed that nothing good would come from you knowing about it.”

  Rupert cleared his throat unable or unwilling to do anything to comfort Gretchen, McKenna wasn’t sure which.

  “Who was this guy mom was seeing?”

  Gretchen dashed a fallen tear away and sniffed. “Vincent Ciamitaro. He works at Balm Corp with dad.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They hadn’t talked about what happened at Rupert’s house.

  Or about the vase, but they would, because McKenna refused to let either subject die without proper burial. Instead, she offered to track down Ciamitaro and ordered Jordan to have her dad look at his nose. She could tell he hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but hadn’t bulked when she dropped him off at his truck.

  When he’d called her thirty minutes later and asked her to meet him at Starbucks, she could tell by his voice he hadn’t followed through. And something was wrong.

  “You said this was important, Jordan. Now, where are you?” McKenna glanced around at the people that milled about with laptops, newspapers, and coffee at the cafe. She shifted in her seat at a table near the back.

  A half-graying blond-haired man approached her table and pointed to the vacant seat in front of her. He took a few deep breaths. “Okay if I sit here?”

  McKenna looked around the nearly packed building. Her table held the only empty seat. And Jordan was almost twenty minutes late. “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” He sat down hard and wiped a hand across his brow.

  Her phone vibrated at her hip. She picked it up. “Moore.”

  “McKenna?”

  “Hey, Kelly. What’s up?”

  The man across from her grabbed a pair of glasses from his dark Hugo Boss suit pocket and picked up his newspaper. Recognition fluttered through her brain, but she couldn’t connect the dots.

  “I’m glad I caught you.” Desperation lined the words. “You’re my last hope.”

  “That sounds promising.” McKenna sipped her coffee.

  “The band we hired to play at our reception just canceled.”

  With her coffee cup in hand, she pressed her wrist to her mouth and worked to swallow, instead of shooting the hot liquid in the direction of her table-mate. “You’re kidding? Your wedding is thirty-six hours away.”

  “I know. Two of the members were in a skiing accident. Is it too much to hope—?”

  “That I know of a band willing to play at your reception?”

  The man’s newspaper lowered a bit as he turned to the next page.

  “Please say you know someone, McKenna,” Kelly begged. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. I’d take any band at this point. Except a polka band,” she amended. “Does Jordan still play guitar? Do you think he might know someone?”

  “It’s possible.” Not that she wanted to ask him for any favors right now.

  “Would you ask him? Please? He can’t resist you.”

  “Okay. He’s not a robot, bound to fulfill my commands.”

  “That’s not the way I meant it, but you know what I mean. I ask, he says no. You ask, he crumbles at your feet and thanks you for the opportunity.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “I think planning this wedding has warped your brain.” Just like having Jordan around turned hers to mush. “I can’t promise anything.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best. Oh, and I’m apologizing in advance.”

  “For?”

  As if Kelly had pressed the palm of her hand against the phone, her voice became muffled as she said something to someone on that end. “Sorry about that. Handling last minute details.”

  “So, you were apologizing?”

  “Oh, yeah. For your wedding partner.”

  Oh, boy. “Do I even want to know?”

  “I’m sorry. You know Rupert’s one of Noah’s friends and, well, all my bridesmaids are pretty tall. You’re the only one who’s shorter than him.”

  McKenna rolled her eyes. “Well, this day can’t get any worse, right?”

  “Oh, boy, that doesn’t sound good. You want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. Oh—hey, I invited Jordan when he was here the other day, I hope that’s okay.”

  “Perfect.” She managed to keep the sarcasm from her voice. After today, Jordan and Rupert needed to stay as far from each other as possible. They’d be lucky if Rupert didn’t try to press charges. Of course they could always slap assaulting a federal agent on the table.

  “I gotta go, the caterer is calling.” Kelly disconnected the call. McKenna clipped her phone to her belt.

  She searched the area for Jordan. The tall, blonde-hair boy, who’d turned into a handsome man over the last ten years, was nowhere in sight. Not that she needed any reminding of the exact extend to which he’d grown up. Beautiful eyes, check. A smile that made her melt, even when she didn’t want to, check. A body that wrapped those two things up in the best package she’d ever seen, check. Mind, heart, humor, caring. What else did she need?

  “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about needing a band.” The man in front of her laid down his paper and extended his hand. “I’m Garrett Birmingham.”

  McKenna shook his outstretched appendage. It was cold and clammy.

  Mr. Birmingham pounded his chest with his fist and cleared his throat. “Coffee gives me indigestion, but I’m addicted.”

  “I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

  He shook his head. “I’d remember a pretty face like yours. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I own Club Italia so I know some of the local bands. I could get you a list, if you want.” He dabbed his forehead with a napkin. “What kind of band are you looking for? Rock? Reggae? Country? A cover band?”

  The man’s face turned a shade of white. “Mr. Birmingham, you look pale. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He rubbed his left arm. “The more popular bands—” He grabbed his ch
est. “Are…” He gulped for air, then fell to the floor.

  ###

  Jordan’s nose was bleeding for the fourth time since his fight with Rupert.

  Tired of changing his shirt, he jammed tissue into each nostril and regretted his existence. Pain radiated up into his forehead, like a knife slicing into his brain. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to breathe out of his nose again and having Raphael Moore fix it was out of the question now.

  If the call he received an hour ago was any indication, his life, as he knew it, was at an end. McKenna’s parents had finally figured out the truth. They’d pieced it together as he did when solving a case. Taking what he knew, filling in the blanks, then wrenching a confession from the suspect.

  Raphael wanted an explanation Jordan wasn’t ready to give. Ever.

  He glanced at his watch as he strode toward his truck. He should have been at Starbucks thirty minutes ago. He could already see the irritated look on McKenna’s face. She’d have her arms folded across her chest. Her legs crossed. Her foot tapping to a hasty nonexistent beat. She’d probably give him one of those you-are-so-dead smirks she’d perfected during their childhood.

  Jordan inserted his key into the driver’s side door of his vehicle. A dark SUV rounded the corner, then screeched to a halt beside him. The passenger side mirror sat centimeters away from his chest.

  Robinson rolled down the window. “Get in.”

  Jordan’s heart sank to his knees. A slide show of horrific scenarios flipped through his head. He should have gone with McKenna to question Ciamitaro. He jumped inside the vehicle and managed to close the door before Robinson took off.

  “We’ve got a problem.” Robinson made a sharp left. His gaze flicked to Jordan’s face. “What happened to you?”

  “Small fight.” Jordan grabbed the handle on the SUV’s ceiling. He took a deep breath.

  “Tell me it didn’t have to do with Moore.”

  “No.” Not on a conscious level.

  “McKenna’s parents find out about Vegas?” Robinson swerved in and out of traffic on I-77. A car honked. One man gave him the finger.

  “Raphael Moore chewed me a new one not too long ago. There would have been more, but Alexis grabbed the phone from him.”