The buzz of phones and blur of people stepping past her, toward the curved, glass staircase and pristine marble elevator banks, reverberated in her head. The receptionist, a few feet in front of her, fielded several calls at once. She never glanced up.
McKenna turned around to head out the doors. The Cowboy stood, hat and all, a silhouette against the midday sun, as if he'd come straight out of an old western. He held something in his hands. Instinctively, she ran for the staircase, taking the steps as fast as her pregnant body would let her.
Cowboy-man followed, his long gait bounding upward twice as fast. Sweat clung to her forehead and her armpits, the stench of raw fear hanging in the air around her, suffocating. She hit the top of the landing and collided with the unmistakable, solid wall of human flesh.
A scream erupted around her, resounding in a voice that sounded like her own. The force of it sent her backward, the heel of one shoe losing grip with the landing and finding only air. The other foot was quick to follow.
Yes, she should have called Jordan.
CHAPTER TWO
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“No.” Guilt swamped through Amanda Nettles’ system at the lie. She readjusted the phone pressed to her ear. Noted the time on the computer at her desk, inside her office of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department. Twelve-fifteen.
Late. Again.
“You’re such a bad liar.” Eric Dunham's soft-spoken voice floated across the waves. The soft crinkle of shuffled papers came from his end of the phone. That voice had drawn her to him nearly five years ago. It was filled with genuine concern and easygoing warmth. The type that swayed his courtroom juries.
And, usually, her. Today, it grated on nerves already stretched to the max. “I’m sorry. Things have been crazy. Can we reschedule?” It was lunch. Not like they had to postpone a wedding or anything.
A distracted chuckled met her ears. “Sure, but you owe me, babe.”
“You pick the time and place and I’m there.” She could do that. No problem. Anyway, they lived together. Not like she never saw him.
Except…
Amanda gathered her belongings. Gun, badge, purse. Check. She was forgetting something. She knew it. Whatever it was, would come to her eventually.
She moved toward the exit. In the process, her knee grazed the corner of her desk. A framed picture of Eric and herself wobbled. She reached out to catch it and missed. It crashed to the tiled floor, the glass cracking into a spider web design.
“What was that?” he asked.
She threw her bag over her shoulder and picked up the mangled eight-by-ten frame. In the picture, both she and Eric smiled as if they were teenagers with the secret to longevity.
They’d been at the Grand Canyon on vacation when a stranger offered to snap the shot. Amanda sat on a railing along the cliff, Eric resting next to her. He had an arm draped casually over her bare knee, and a smile that said he knew what he had next to him was his. The wind had been out of control that day and, as a result, several strands of her dark hair escaped her ponytail and were across her smiling face.
The scene, although unspectacular, brought up memories of the trip and how he’d asked her to move in with him. There had been no hesitation when she’d agreed. Just a bright future, stretching before them.
The shattered glass covered their happy reflections. It distorted the memory and dredged up something she wasn’t ready to voice, after five years together. Maybe, because she couldn’t pinpoint the problem. When was the last time either of them had looked that happy?
“Mandy?” His voice brought her back to the present.
She opened a drawer and shoved the photo inside. She’d deal with it later. Like everything else. “Just dropping things. I gotta go. Talk to you soon, Lawyer Boy.”
Amanda snapped her eyes closed. So not good.
Silence blared through the other end of the phone. The sound of shuffled papers had ceased. “You know I hate that nickname.”
“I know.” Maybe he’d like it better if she’d actually come up with it instead of FBI Agent B.J. Robinson. “Sorry, it slipped out.”
“Uh-huh.” A hint of annoyance shoved its way through his words. “You’re not ditching me for some case of his, are you?”
“When have I ever been less than honest?” If she collaborated with Robinson on a case, Eric was always the first to know.
A chuckle filled her ear, short and tight. “Right. Forget I asked.”
“Eric…”
“Try not to work too hard. Talk to you later.” Then he hung up. The fist of unease clamped on her stomach. She should call him back and... What? Prod him into a discussion with no clear path?
The light filtering into her cube of space disappeared as her partner, Detective Catsky, crossed his arms over a slight beer belly, which he tried to remove with occasional workouts. One hand held half a ham sandwich, a glob of mayonnaise dangling toward the carpet. Times like today, she wondered if Captain Dentzen got a good laugh out of partnering the two of them.
Catsky’s bulbous, graying head shook back and forth as he scratched his chest. “Yo, Nettles, Agent Robinson’s on line two. You wanna tell him I’m a homicide detective, not a freakin’ secretary?”
Speak of the devil.
“Any chance you’d tell him I’ve already left for the day? I’m kind of in a hurry.”
His lips scrunched together as if he were giving it serious thought. “Again, I repeat...”
“Yeah.” She held up her free hand. All she needed was another speech about how the FBI sat around and did nothing while people like herself and Catsky attended to the dirty work. The words should have been a good-natured barb between agencies, but never hit the mark coming from the older detective. “Got it. You’re not a secretary.”
“Make sure you reiterate that.” He bit into his sandwich, the glob of mayonnaise now headed for his gut. “These G-men have notoriously hard heads.”
She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “You know I will.”
With some grumbling, the older detective left. Amanda let a puff of air pass between her lips. Maybe she’d skip lunch.
The cell phone, still in her grasp, vibrated, alerting her that she was still late. Amanda closed the reminder and picked up her office phone. “Detective Nettles.”
“So formal.” A hint of warm laughter mocked her.
Irritation hummed down her spine. “To what, do I owe the pleasure, Special Agent in Charge, Baker Jackson Robinson?”
“Whoa, whoa, watch the titles and full names. Stings the ears.” The crunch of something came over the line. Probably those apples he loved to eat to torture whomever was on the other end of the phone.
She should hang up. “Can I help you with something?”
“Aren’t we testy?” He said around another bite. “I’m surprised you took my call.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” That, right there, was the crux of the problem. She should consider seeking professional help. Did they have a class on how to say no to one FBI agent who’d figured out all the areas, in which, she couldn’t resist, professionally?
“A really long list comes to mind,” he said as if he’d reached into her brain and snatched her thoughts.
Figures. The man stole just about everything else.
Amanda tapped the edge of her desk with her forefinger. Catsky passed by her cubicle, Officer Davis, a short blonde and woman, the precinct know-it-all, at his side. She said something to the older detective.
“Is the reason you called somewhere in there?” Amanda said. The sooner they got to the point, the sooner she could hang up.
“In a hurry?” Another crunch.
She ground her molars together. “Yes.”
“Where’s the fire?”
An aggravated moan escaped before she could stop it. “Seriously? I’m hanging up.”
“I’ll call back.”
“I won’t be here.”
“I have your cell number.”
> The tug of a smile started at the corner of her mouth. She forced it into submission. “I have caller ID.”
“I’ll come to your house.”
A genuine laugh erupted from her mouth. “I think that’s crossing the line, Robbie. Even for you.”
“That’s better.” A tapping sound filled her ear now. “Lawyer Boy wouldn’t let me in?”
At the mention of the nickname Robinson had given Eric from almost day one of their working partnership, her stomach soured. “I gotta go. I’m late for a meeting.”
“With your former foster sister?”
She clenched her eyes shut. In a moment of pure idiocy, she’d told Robinson about that particular chunk of her childhood and how the two women planned to reconnect. The memory, and the fact that he acknowledged it, threw their precarious professional relationship into rocky territory, uncharted.
“Color me shocked.” She tried for nonchalance. “You were actually listening.”
“Nope, sorry, doll.” He picked up the bobbling conversation and righted it with a few words.
If he’d been in the room, she might have kissed him. She shook her head. That was a bit much.
“Happened to swipe the dashboard monitor from your cruiser that particular evening. You know, you talk too much. I can never keep up. But, hey, have fun. I gotta run. Thanks for calling.” Then he hung up.
If her cell phone hadn’t buzzed for a second time, she might have stood like that for a few minutes, receiver in hand. Managed to dial his number to set him straight. To make sure he hadn’t called to wish her well, as if he cared. Instead, she replaced the phone to its cradle, jammed a few more items into her purse and rushed out of the office.
After getting in her car, throwing the old Camry into gear and merging into traffic, she dialed her former foster sister’s number. It rang several times and switched over to voicemail.
“This is Beth, leave a message and I’ll return your call.”
“Hey, Beth, it’s Amanda.” She weaved through busy downtown traffic. “I’m running a little bit late, but I’m on my way. See you soon.” She tossed her phone on the passenger seat, sped through two yellow lights and found a parking spot near the Rainbow Café.
As she exited her car, she fished in her purse for meter change and came up with a few quarters. She jammed them inside the metal machine. It ticked down from forty-five minutes.
“Seriously?” Amanda dug around in her purse for more change, but came up with lint and a forgotten piece of Winterfresh gum. She’d break her cash in a minute. She rushed inside the restaurant expecting to see Beth’s nose in a book, her dark hair pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. There’d be an awkward moment or two, and then they’d hug and move on as if time hadn’t separated them.
Winged creatures took flight in her stomach. This meeting had the potential to remain awkward. She’d be naïve to ignore that. Their emails had been polite, and while excitement buzzed through her fingers with each typed response, Amanda couldn’t gauge all of Beth’s answers. But that wasn’t new.
She talked of how she’d married an NFL running back who’d been traded to the Carolina Pilots last season, after playing for the Seahawks for four years. They now shared a home here, in Charlotte, with a baby on the way.
Amanda had shared the abbreviated and less exciting details of her life. She lived with her boyfriend, had a job she loved. No kids or pets.
She sounded like a nerd. With no life.
They hadn’t discussed the two years Beth had spent in their home, courtesy of the foster system, or how it had ended.
Amanda had no idea how the other woman felt about that time in their lives. Opening the subject, online, hadn’t seemed wise. Maybe, in time, they could talk about those events. And why the younger woman had never responded to any of the letters she’d written.
When her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the café, Beth was nowhere in sight. She released a burst of air and searched for a table near the door. At least, she wasn’t the only one running behind.
A young college-aged server with shaggy brown hair and a tie-dye shirt, the café’s logo in one corner, seated her. Then he handed her a menu. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Water, please. And another menu. I’m meeting someone.”
He nodded, then laid a second colorful menu on the table, across from her. She opened hers and tried to concentrate on the meal options. What if Beth didn’t show? What if she took one look at Amanda and decided reconnecting wasn’t a great idea?
The Nettles family had always kept one foster child or another, throughout the years. At an early age, she’d come to understand that, while, she could befriend these temporary siblings, they all eventually moved on. Some to other homes, to college, or to adoption.
Temporary blessings, her mother called them.
Beth’s stay had been the longest. Her departure a little harder, but expected.
“Ma’am.” The server appeared and placed a glass of water in front of her. “Is your name Amanda?”
“Yes. Why?”
“There’s a call for you.” He held out a cordless phone, irritation sliding across his face.
She patted her pockets for her cell phone, and then checked her purse. Came up empty. In her mind, she could see it on the worn fabric of her car seat.
Only two people knew she was here. Her heart started to hammer out a funny tune.
“Thanks.” She accepted it and pressed it to her ear. “Nettles.” She half expected to hear Robinson’s voice on the other end of the line. Half expected the warmth in the pit of her stomach, hearing the soft southern drawl brought. A feeling she would deny and ignore. Forever.
“Amanda Nettles.” The metallic voice assailed her ear. “Are you a football fan?”
She lifted the phone away from her ear, looked at it, then replaced it. “Excuse me?”
The metallic pitch permeated everything, even the silence. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
This was the worst joke on the planet. Kids these days needed some different outlets. She’d play along. “And you are?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Impatience laced the synthesized voice.
“Do me a favor. Go do your homework. Stay off drugs.” Then she hung up. Two seconds later, the phone rang again.
Some of the patrons glanced in her direction.
She answered, but didn’t say anything.
“There’s something you should know.” The voice bounced to her, quiet and calm. “You’ll have to make a decision. Life is filled with them, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Something cold settled on the edge of her spine and zipped lower with each syllable. “If you’re trying to be funny, it’s time to quit while you’re ahead.”
“None of that, here. Ironic, maybe. And deep down you know that or you wouldn’t have answered. You wouldn’t be spinning your water glass as if life depended on it.”
Stilling her hands on her glass, Amanda glanced around the café without moving her head. Everyone had gone back to their conversations. A couple ate their salads in silence. The younger server flirted with a group of college girls, to her right. A man with a laptop sipped on coffee while his fingers flew over his keyboard, on the left.
“I wouldn’t make it that easy, Nettles.”
What? Like a rat drawn to poison, disguised as cheese, she got up and walked toward the entrance.
“Perfect.” Giddiness fell from the word, as if they were in a Walt Disney movie, with an evil witch hoping to lure the princess into a trap. The culpability of this situation wasn’t lost on Amanda. Like those beautiful princesses, what could she expect from easy acquiescence? A sleeping death, wicked step-sisters, dwarfs.
“Tell me what you see.”
People strolled the sidewalk like any other day in Charlotte. Cars whizzed by. A taxi stopped to pick up a woman with three shopping bags. The fingers gripping the phone at her ear, slipped a tiny bit, her palm dampened by
moisture.
“You’re messing with the wrong person,” she whispered. “I’m a detective with the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department.”
A metallic laugh hit her ears and lingered. “I know, Amanda Nettles. I know everything about you. Your birthday’s August twentieth.”
When she would have protested the easy information, the voice continued, “You graduated from Duke University with your friend, McKenna Moore. You started as a beat cop and worked your way up, earning your detective shield almost three years ago. Your parents are Eileen and Walter Nettles. Your father’s a judge and currently on the ballot for U.S. Senator. You live with your boyfriend, Eric Dunham, because when he asked you to move in three years ago, you wanted to. You’re unsure what you want now, but the arrangement is familiar, so you say nothing. But that’s not what really eats you, is it?”
A pause stretched the seconds into hours, her heart racing to make up the difference. Her stomach climbed the ladder of her esophagus, hanging onto her uvula as a lifeline.
This was a dream. A horrible nightmare. And soon she’d wake up.
“You try not to think about Baker Jackson Robinson in more than a professional manner, but sometimes you don’t succeed. You’re ashamed that you were able to tell him you were meeting a woman named Beth Markel there, today, when you couldn’t tell Lawyer Boy.”
A skittering of panic rushed into her blood stream. Sweat developed on her upper lip. Hearing her intimate thoughts, so close to the truth, made her dizzy. An unsteady hand met the glass of the window. The radiating heat fogged the clear surface and left faint traces of the shape of her fingers behind.
Not a nightmare, then.
She swallowed the nothingness in her mouth, the action causing pain. “What do you want?”
“Your unyielding attention.”
Her mouth wouldn’t work, proving this guy had that and more.
“Speechless. Even better. There’s only sixty seconds left.”
“Before what?” She tried for a deep breath. Her chest refused to expand to accommodate her.
“Before the Carolina Pilots have to rebuild their stadium. You’re in the blast zone, dear Amanda.”
LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 38