LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  ###

  Thanks to GPS coordinates, they picked Shawn up on I-77 just outside of Charlotte.

  Jordan knew after two questions, Shawn didn’t know any more than what he’d told him on the phone. He ordered one of the squad cars to take Rupert and Shawn to the station while CMPD roped off a section of I-77 and searched the area for clues.

  He absolutely refused to think about what he was doing. He told himself this was another day in the field. Another crime that needed his complete attention. Except no one was calling it a crime scene, given the fact that the evidence didn’t point in that direction.

  Jordan knew better.

  “Shawn Dillon is not Agent Moore’s child, correct?” One of the detectives asked him, notepad in hand. The remaining April sun beat down on his shiny, bald head, almost turning the surface into a reflecting pool of sweat.

  Jordan shook his head, trying to picture what had happened in this exact spot. McKenna was fixing a tire. Had she completed the task? What had caused her to drop her gun?

  “Is it possible Agent Moore simply left the kid behind? Maybe an accident? We’ve seen this kind of—”

  “No.” He watched Robinson bend over and inspect the spot where they found her gun, five feet from the interstate. “It’s not possible.”

  “How long have you and Agent Moore been partners?”

  “Long enough to know that she wouldn’t forget one small detail. Not a kid, and certainly not her gun.” He strode past the semi-overweight detective, slipped under the yellow caution tape and stopped near Robinson.

  “Something is off.” Robinson said.

  Jordan kept the curt reply begging for release, back. “FBI have jurisdiction?”

  “Not yet.” Robinson stood. “This is a political nightmare. If we can’t find something out here to prove that something happened to McKenna—that she didn’t just walk off—this is all we’ll get on this case. We’ll lose twenty-four hours while we wait to file a missing persons report.”

  His stomach was so tight with worry he couldn’t think. He didn’t know why he was still standing here instead of doing something else. Finding some other clue. His mind simply wouldn’t follow any logical thought process. Because, well, McKenna wasn’t missing. She was fine and at home. Without her gun or cell phone.

  “Will you say something, already?” Robinson shifted and scratched the skin under his eye.

  “Who’s heading up the task force?”

  “There isn’t one yet. Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

  Jordan ignored him. “How far do you figure she pulled off the road?” He walked up to the shoulder of the interstate, careful to avoid any nearby markings. Tire tracks, which could have been from anybody, marked the packed gravel at the edge.

  “You can see the patterns of where she might have kneeled.” Robinson pointed to two small ovals in the sandy shoulder. Closer to the grassy ditch, he noted the half-moon shape from the toe of a shoe.

  “She was done putting the spare on. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Otherwise, we would have the tire and tire iron.” The thought of why they might not have that item rushed into Jordan’s brain.

  Robinson shook his head. “There’s no blood or blood splatter.”

  His heart kicked up a notch. “Right. So, she’s done fixing the tire, puts everything back into the trunk, minus the flat, then loses her gun and forgets Shawn?”

  Jordan’s phone vibrated at his hip. He picked it up. “Bening.”

  “It’s Amanda. There haven’t been any hits on the Lumina yet, but several 9-1-1 calls came through about five minutes before Shawn called you. I traced three of them back to that section of I-77. All the callers reported the same scene. A woman, five-six, dark hair, holding a man at gunpoint next to a Chevy.”

  “Any description of the man?”

  “Tall, blond—older. That’s the only description I have.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jordan was about to disconnect when she said, “I already called Mercy Hospital. Birmingham was discharged earlier this afternoon under the care of his son.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The constant throb in her side brought McKenna from the dark abyss.

  Her chest felt tight. A wheezing sound filled the air. It took her a moment to realize that the sound came from her, each time she inhaled or exhaled. She struggled to open her eyes more than a crack. She couldn’t see anything. Blackness surrounded her. Her stomach cringed as it stabbed upward, toward her throat.

  Her senses struggled to regain control. Her head was heavy and her arms ached. When she tried to pull them forward, she discovered a sticky, yet unrelenting substance restrained them behind her back. Her lower half was heavy—almost like dead weight, but she could tell that one leg crossed over the other, tied with the same thing as her hands. Her left cheek pressed against something hard. It smelled like metal. Cold, dry, rusted metal. The acid in her stomach lurched forward, enhancing the bitterness of her senses for a moment.

  McKenna struggled to remember how she’d ended up here. Wherever here, was. Jordan’s image popped into her mind, then Shawn’s, but they quickly faded. She pushed off the floor with her shoulder. Pain shot through the right side of her upper body.

  “Don’t move and it won’t hurt.” The voice bounced around the room. She couldn’t place the sound, her brain replaced with a bowl of soggy cheerios left in the sink too long.

  The flick of a lighter caught her attention. The brief glow illuminated her attacker. She caught a glimpse of blond hair and black goggles before the light disappeared, and a circular, red glow replaced it.

  “Things went better than I expected.” McKenna heard him exhale. The smell of smoke rushed toward her. The putrid odor burned her nostrils. She couldn’t hold back a cough. It sent pain shooting through her chest and up to her collarbone.

  “You have any idea where you are, Moore?” It was Ciamitaro’s voice, but Ciamitaro had brown hair, not blond.

  The red glow seemed to move closer. Awareness started setting in, like the numbness ebbing from her legs. She had finished changing the tire and had put the jack and iron in the trunk. Before she could grab the flat, something stung her deltoid.

  The rest was fuzzy.

  She was fuzzy, because the SOB had drugged her.

  And what else?

  A bead of sweat dripped down her hairline, onto her back, like icy fingers bringing a chill straight to her bones.

  She still had clothing and her ribs and shoulders were the only parts of her starting to come alive with pain. Okay, good. Breathe. If he was going to assault you sexually, he would have already done it. Unless he was that twisted kind of sick that pissed her off.

  Did anybody else know she was missing? Where was Shawn? Trying to focus on the number of hours that might have passed made her head spin.

  Don’t panic. Squeezing air into her lungs took all the brainpower she had. She wiggled her hands. They didn’t move.

  “It’s an old fallout shelter, Moore. Actually, it’s a tin can that some hobo thought was a fallout shelter. Too many drugs in the seventies had warped his mind. He thought the world was gonna end and locked his kid in here.” Something clanged against the metal walls. The sound reverberated in her ears. “This might hold out in the event of a nuclear disaster. He just forgot one thing. Once this baby’s sealed tight, there’s no air supply. His poor kid ended up suffocating, while he went for more supplies. That’s love, huh?”

  She forced her tongue out of her mouth and licked her dry lips. The motion reminded her of the time Jordan had dared her to eat a whole bottle of glue when she was six. Luckily, she hadn’t made it very far, but her lips and mouth felt just as sticky then as now. “Where’s Shawn?”

  No answer. Two loud, consecutive beeps filled the air followed by the glow of red numbers in the far corner.

  “He’s not your kid, so why do you care?”

  Her head spun, a thick pounding beginning at her temples. “What did you do w
ith him?”

  “Relax. He's safe and sound thanks to your husband. Beautiful ceremony by the way.”

  A thousand bad vibes sank into her already nauseated stomach.

  The shuffle of shoes across metal echoed in the dark. She could smell the nicotine on his breath as it slapped her in the face. She wanted to move away, but wouldn’t dare even if her back hadn’t already been plastered up against the wall.

  “Once I seal both of you in here, I’ll take my money and have myself a nice time out of the country. Should be enough to live on until I die. I took a leave of absence. Had that planned for a long time. You are the only variable in this game.” He laughed then. “You and Agent Bening. You’re disappearance should keep him busy. Sort of like an encore to his mother’s death. When or if they find you, you’ll have died of Carbon Monoxide poisoning. Blaney gave me the perfect cover.”

  McKenna sat up straighter. What was he talking about?

  “What else would you expect an escaped convict to do? He’s already killed one woman he loved, why not his precious niece?”

  No. McKenna stamped down panic. She did the first thing that came to mind. She rammed her head near where she thought his might be and connected with the solid surface. Knife-like pain split into her head. If it hadn’t already been dark, she was sure little patches of black would have been dancing in front of her eyes.

  A string of male cursing followed. “You’re gonna regret that.”

  Something hard met her cheek, causing pain to radiate across her face and into her eye. She tested her jaw, feeling every fiber of it scream from open to close.

  A loud grinding filled the air and dim light spilled into her cell, which was when she noticed they were not alone. There was a blonde-haired woman in the corner, silver tape across her mouth. McKenna was unsure if her pallor was a trick of the light.

  She tried to stand, but the tie on her legs and the remaining numbness left little room for maneuvering and she ended up losing her balance. She crashed back to the hard metal floor, landing in an awkward heap, on her right elbow.

  Pain exploded up her arm, so swift it brought tears to her eyes. Ciamitaro stood with the light at his back, the goggles gone and a stream of blood running down his forehead and into his eyes.

  “Have fun, Moore. That C02 detector should be the last sound you ever hear.”

  Before she could get to her feet again, the door clanged shut, taking the light with it.

  ###

  Jordan didn’t care if CMPD started an official task force when they found circumstantial evidence or a missing persons report was filed, he didn’t intend on waiting that long.

  They wanted evidence, he’d find it.

  And when he did, he wouldn’t wait for them to get their rear ends in gear, either.

  Hours ago, he’d jumped into his truck and started driving. He had driven to his house, hoping beyond hope that she would be there. He spent all of five minutes looking for something inside that might give him insight into what he should do next.

  Insight had deserted him at the same time he tried to ignore the ways McKenna had settled into his house in one day. Her toothbrush sat in a cup near the sink in his bathroom, the toothpaste she preferred sitting next to it, neatly rolled at the end instead of squished in the middle, like his. The shampoo she’d used that morning sat in his shower, the light scent of sunshine and flowers lingering. Her clothes, folded and resting on top of her suitcase. A pair of ear buds connected to an iPod that sat on top of a book on his nightstand.

  It had taken every ounce of will he possessed to get out of the house without throwing up. She’d put her trust in him and he’d failed to protect her.

  He’d canvassed every gas station and rest stop on the remaining exits heading into Charlotte. Nobody had seen anyone that resembled her.

  He’d driven past her parent’s house, her townhome, even the cemetery without luck. Sugar Creek Road’s quiet neighborhood had mocked him, another reminder that at least two people were not where they ought to be.

  One long since gone, the other…

  He wanted to dial the number Amanda had retrieved for him. Instead, he pulled up to Birmingham’s two story monstrosity. The outdoor security lights above the two-car garage popped on immediately. It illuminated pale gray siding with spotless windows encased by white shutters.

  A normal house for an abnormal family that existed only in Birmingham’s dreams.

  He rang the buzzer three times before he heard some shuffling and the loud squeak of the heavy front door opening.

  Rupert came into view, one hand covering a yawn, the other reaching for the front screen-door and pushing it outward. “Jordan?”

  Jordan gripped his cell phone in his pocket, digging deep for a calm he didn’t feel. He counted to ten. “How long have you known, Rupert?” He refused to feel like the fool they must see him as.

  Rupert glanced at the watch on his left wrist. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “Did you know about Birmingham the entire time you and McKenna dated?”

  “What do you mean?” The grogginess was gone now. “That he’s my biological father? Or that he’s also yours?”

  Was he stuck in a Star Wars epic? “Both.”

  “Six months. My mother told me before all of this. I didn’t know what to do with the information.”

  That explained so much. Rupert’s actions mirrored Birmingham’s in many ways. That still didn’t explain why he had chosen tonight to get to know Birmingham a little better.

  As if Rupert knew his thoughts, he said, “He’s sick. I couldn’t leave him at the hospital by himself.”

  “Jordan?” Birmingham came into view, a robe covering his silk pajamas, a slight hobble in his step.

  Rupert looked over his shoulder. “You should be resting.”

  Birmingham didn’t take his eyes from where Jordan stood. “What’s wrong?”

  He wanted to vomit all over this false family scene. It mocked every good memory his mother had created for the two of them. He glared at Rupert. “You’ve been with him since taking him home from the hospital?”

  “All, but an hour, when I was with you.” Rupert cleared his throat. “Did, uh, McKenna show up?”

  It took everything he had not to push Rupert out of his way and beat the information out of Birmingham.

  Their sperm donor stepped into the doorway next to Rupert, what seemed to be real concern etching his features. “McKenna’s missing?”

  “She’s probably fine. When we were dating, there would be times I couldn’t reach her for days at a time.” He said the last as if they were swapping headache remedies.

  Jordan could hear the plastic in his phone groan with the increased pressure from his hand. “I’m transferring your parents’ cases to someone else. Stay away from me, Rupert. Stay away from my wife.”

  Birmingham rushed forward. “Now, Jordan, wait a minute.”

  Wait. Not happening. He ignored them both, strode toward his truck and got inside. He didn’t spare a second glance at the place as he resisted the urge to lay tire tracks in the driveway.

  He never should have come. How many times would it take for him to learn the same lesson? Birmingham would never be on his side, nor did he want him there.

  Catching him in the act of something sinister involving either McKenna or his mother’s death always eluded him. As if he always arrived a second too late.

  The obvious reason smacked him in the face like a hard, cold slap. Birmingham wasn’t involved, at least not now, not with McKenna’s disappearance. In this moment, there wasn’t anything else. No cases. No old murders. Just the woman he loved, missing.

  It didn’t change anything. Not with Birmingham. Not with Rupert.

  The possibility that he was not his only bastard child wasn’t a new concept, but one he preferred to avoid. He didn’t want to claim Birmingham and he sure wasn’t going to claim Rupert or anybody else that came out of the woodwork.

  He tried to work the kin
ks out of his back and neck and focus on the road.

  The sun had dipped behind the horizon hours ago and was about to make its way back up. His eyes ached, the white and yellow lines of the road permanently etched into his corneas.

  Numb. That was the only word he could think of to describe it. Just like ten years ago. Other than the 9-1-1 calls, he had nothing to go on. Robinson had urged him to go home and rest during their last phone conversation.

  Not happening.

  He went to the only place he hadn’t been. His mother’s house. The countless times she’d given sometimes unwanted advice about McKenna, came to mind.

  As a kid he heard his fair share of, “Honey, McKenna beat you fair and square.” As a pre-teen, “I know you said she took your bike, but what did you do to her first?” As a teenager, “Does somebody have a bit of a crush?” Then as a nineteen-year-old who considered himself a man, “Take my ring, honey, when you’re ready, give it to someone special.”

  What would she say now?

  “Don’t worry, honey, McKenna can take care of herself. I’m sure she’ll show up.”

  He couldn’t help hoping that would happen. She would have some lame excuse as to where she’d been for over twelve hours. He could see it now. She’d glare at him with a slight smile like he should have known the plan all along. That stupid cockiness always got to him. One minute he wanted to strangle some sense into her and the next, abscond to some remote island.

  Those feelings, in constant war with each other, scared him, then and now.

  He’d been so deep in those thoughts that he almost didn’t hear his phone ringing.

  “Bening.” His voice held more desperation that he intended to convey to anybody.

  “Is this Jordan Bening?” A husky male voice asked.

  For a second he couldn’t breathe. “One and only.”

  “Mr. Bening, this is Avery Wilkins from the Federal Bureau of Prisons. I’m sorry to bother you so early, but we, here at the Sussex State Prison, wanted to inform you of a situation that might be vital to your safety.”