DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 10

  Rage and fear mingled in Robinson’s veins, but relief had him sinking in front of her shaking hands. Sweat dotted her upper lip and her face was whiter than a piece of paper.

  “Hey, breathe,” he tried in a softer tone. Even as his brain told him not touch her, he reached out and grabbed her cold, wet fingers. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but the feel of her skin, against his, sent a bigger zing through his system.

  “Breathing. Check.”

  “I see sarcasm hasn’t left you.”

  Once she got herself together they could sit down, get the whole story out in the open. Then he could find somewhere to stash her until this was really over. He rubbed her still freezing fingers.

  She shook her head, those expressive eyes connecting with his. “It’s not over, so save it for someone not in law enforcement.”

  “When you’re ready, we should talk.” His voice came out soft and patient, as if he had all the time in the world, his apartment wasn’t a war zone and he hadn’t rushed Ariana out of here as if the devil were on their heels.

  “Please, don’t patronize me with your Chief Extreme Concern act.”

  Robinson opened his mouth, then closed it. “I see Bening and Moore filled you in on the nickname.”

  Color slowly returned to her face as she let out a burst of air, resembling a scoff. “Who do you think made it up? I’ve watched you use your tactics so many times, we started taking bets on which persona you’d use with which suspect.”

  Oh, boy. “I sincerely hope there aren’t any others.”

  “None as interesting to witness. Anyone can intimidate somebody. It takes real skill to take a suspicious person and make them believe you’re on their side, before they realize they’ve given themselves away.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Her face became unreadable. “It’s not going to work, here, Robinson.”

  “Do you have something to hide?”

  A quick intake of breath came before she shook her head. “I shouldn’t have come. I put you and Ariana in danger. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “That sometimes comes with our job.”

  “Not like this.” She moved her fingers, still within his grasp, then twisted his right hand, so the top of it faced up. “You're bleeding.”

  A horizontal gash slashed across his knuckles from forefinger to middle finger. Traces of blood dripped downward. She grabbed for the toilet paper, next to them, and pressed a few squares to the area.

  “Are your walls made of steel?” She lifted the paper, then pressed it back down. A hum of pain trickled down his fingers. “That's probably going to hurt every time you use your gun. Might need stitches.”

  “What are you? A doctor, now?”

  A strand of shorter hair hung in front of her eyes, when she looked up. She blew air upward and it flung to the side. “You got any antiseptic and bandages?”

  “In the medicine cabinet,” he heard himself say. Well, they used to be in the cabinet. Now, the items were scattered across his vanity.

  “Hold this.” She released his hand and the makeshift bandage, then stood. It forced him to do the same or crowd her space. After washing her hands, she found the supplies.

  Before he could tell her she didn't need to play Florence Nightingale with him, he found himself standing next to her at the sink, a cotton ball filled with peroxide on top of his wound.

  Stinging replaced the hum in his fingers, but was easily drown out by her feather-light ministrations. A guy could get used to this.

  No, those thoughts got him into trouble. He tried to move his hand from her grip. “I can get it.”

  “Hold still.” She dabbed at it some more with a dry one, then started placing steri-strips across the cut. “My mom used to go into detail about gangrene and infections every time I got hurt.”

  “I guess that sounds typical.”

  A slight smile graced her face as she glanced up. “Really? Gangrene is something most moms talk about?”

  The smile overtaking his face shouldn't have been there, but he couldn't help it. Maybe they'd come close to death too many times in one week for him to think straight. “Good point.”

  “Sometimes, the foster kids we had would ask questions and she would go on for twenty minutes about a health related topic.”

  “Like gangrene?”

  “Yeah. One time another kid we had living with us dared Beth to ask my mom how sex worked. I think they thought maybe the question would fluster her, but it didn't. She explained it very scientifically and in as few words as I'd ever heard from her.”

  The thought of sitting Ariana down and having that talk scared the crap out of him. With any luck, Lilly would come back to them and complete the task, herself. He shook his head. He could pray, but hope had deserted him there. “Maybe I'll borrow your mom for Ariana.”

  Amanda gave a slow nod, her smile fading. After wrapping a piece of gauze around the strips, she taped it closed. Then she dropped his hand. “We had a colicky infant at the time. She made them take turns watching him, until they both agreed they were never doing anything that led to having children.”

  “Speaking of Beth, have you talked to her?” Nothing in her intel file had suggested anything sinister in nature, but neither had Eric's. Robinson couldn’t let either person fade until he’d crossed all bridges. And then repeated the actions.

  Gone was the lighter mood of a few moments before. “Yesterday. Why?”

  “Just curious.” He flexed his bandaged hand, a lick of pain rushing across his fingers. Amanda was right. Shooting a gun would sting for a while. “Give me the details of that call on Wednesday.”

  She tried to move past him, but he held his ground. They stood nose to nose, so close, if he shifted toward her, he could have brushed his lips across hers. Stealing a kiss should have been the last thing on his mind.

  “We’re not playing this game again, Nettles. I’m going to change. You’re going to wait in the kitchen. In a minute, you’re going to join my niece in my truck, like it or not.”

  “Then, what? Hide me away like some scared witness? Dictate my life for the next six months?” Disgust distorted her features.

  “No.” The conviction in his own voice surprised him. What did he plan to do with her?

  Relief flashed across her face. “For her safety, Ariana can’t stay with you, Robbie.”

  “There’s nowhere else for her to go. I’m all she’s got.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

  Instead of the sympathy he expected and hated to see, she nodded. “You could protect her, if you were here twenty-four seven, but you’re not. And that’s not going to change.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The hushed sound of voices floated to where Jordan lay in the bedroom he and McKenna shared, in what was once his home, but now theirs.

  The last dregs of drug-induced sleep clung to his mind like glued cotton on a kid’s art project. He strained to listen anyway.

  “That’s weird, but cool.” The tones of a young girl’s voice carried as if they stood nearby. Most likely in the kitchen, which was a short hallway from their bedroom. “Does she move like that all the time?”

  “She’s pretty active,” McKenna said, probably referring to their unborn child. “I swear, she’s a one-man band in there, with my bladder as her drum set.”

  He pushed the covers back and sat up, expecting the constant, dull throb at his temples to color everything. Other than a little lingering grogginess, his mind was clear, no pain in sight.

  If McKenna had been in the room, he’d have kissed her until he convinced her to come back to bed. As it was, he brushed his teeth in the adjourning bathroom, dressed and padded to the kitchen. Checked his phone for messages. Noted the time. Nine-fifteen. He hadn’t slept that late in forever.

  One missed call from Robinson appeared in his call log. No message. Huh.

  The aromatic blend of coffee hit his nostrils. The woman made a mean pot of coffee. She knew
her way around an espresso machine that would have Starbucks begging her to give up her secrets, if they knew.

  McKenna had her back to him and Ariana had her hand on his wife’s swollen abdomen, a look of wonder on her face. He stayed just out of their sight.

  Ariana giggled, a look of sheer happiness taking over her features before she lowered her arm. In the last year, the kid had been dealt a rough hand.

  “Mom let me touch her belly sometimes, too. Before the accident.” Sadness crept over the girls perfect features.

  McKenna tilted her head to one side. He could imagine the sweet concern rolling over her features. The kind that let the receiver know they had her complete attention without fear of judgment or rebuttal. “Have you been to visit her lately?”

  The girl nodded, then tucked her dark hair behind one ear and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Uncle Robbie took me yesterday. Sometimes…sometimes, I wonder if she can hear me or if I’m talking to an empty room, you know?”

  “She can hear you, kiddo.” McKenna drew the younger girl into as much of a hug as her pregnant body would allow. “And I promise she loves hearing whatever you have to say.”

  “You think so?” The two women broke apart. “It’s been a year and a half. I thought she’d be better by now.”

  “I know. Sometimes we have to be patient, keep praying and let faith and hope carry us through. It’s not always easy.”

  Jordan stepped into view then. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Hey, Mr. Jordan.” The younger girl’s face flushed and she looked at the floor.

  “Hey.” McKenna turned, a radiant smile on her face. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”

  “I needed to get up anyway.” Would he ever get tired of seeing her first thing in the morning? He pulled her closer and placed a kiss on her lips, reigning in the urge to deepen it. “Did Robinson drop you off?” He asked Ariana.

  “Sort of.” She still hadn’t met his eyes.

  McKenna shook her head in a silent let’s-talk-about-this-later.

  “How long have you been up?”

  “Since seven, when Rupert called.”

  Jordan didn’t even want to know.

  “There’s fresh coffee,” she rushed on. “Ari, I still have that sketch pad from your last visit, if you want it. Otherwise, help yourself to anything.”

  “Cool.” Then she hurried out of the kitchen. Seconds later, they heard the telltale click of the door leading to the basement, which had served as a sound room for Jordan’s band, once upon a time.

  “What’s going on, McKenna?” He resisted the urge to find the nearest hard surface and bang his head against it. “Why did Rupert call you at seven?”

  She grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it to the brim, then placed it in his hands. “He’s dropping Shawn off for a few hours.”

  Great. “Doesn’t he pay a nanny for these types of things?”

  Shrugging, she turned and headed toward the picture window looking out into their front yard. He followed.

  “I guess working today was last minute and his nanny had a conflict.” She crossed her arms above her stomach. “How’s your head?”

  “Perfect.” Sidetracking him wouldn’t be that easy.

  She smiled. “Good. Try not to stress yourself out and maybe we can keep those migraines away.”

  “I’ll be fine once Rupert realizes we’re not a daycare service.”

  McKenna glanced at him, skepticism raising one brow on her forehead. “Shawn is your nephew.”

  La-la-la. If he put his hands over his ears, would she laugh at him? Probably. “What I don't get, is why you encourage this type of thing with Rupert. It's weird.”

  “I’m not doing anything a normal family member wouldn’t.”

  Now, Jordan wanted to cover more than his ears.

  “He saved your life.”

  “I'm pretty sure I thanked him, profusely.” When would he ever hear the end of it?

  “This is my way of thanking him. Watching Shawn is easy.”

  If that's all it was, he wouldn't care so much. “You're forgetting all the times he hangs out. This is my house. You're my wife.”

  She turned toward him, placed a hand over his heart. “I love you.”

  Her touch did crazy things to his system. Always had. “There’s a huge but coming. I can feel it.”

  “You sound like a jealous idiot, Jordan. Maybe it's time to give up the ghost. Besides, you like Shawn. Admit it. I’ve heard you laughing with him.”

  The eight-year-old boy, who was the mirror image of Rupert, was bright, liked to laugh and tell jokes, but listened when you told him something. “Shawn isn't the problem here.”

  When in his company, Jordan could forget the bloodlines connecting them. That wasn’t as easy to do with Rupert, no matter how many times his wife urged him to put aside their differences. He wasn’t ready to forget that Rupert had chosen the wrong side—their biological father’s. It didn’t matter that, in the end, he’d done the right thing and helped put said man in prison.

  “I know you don’t trust him.”

  He placed his hand over hers and held his tongue. Maybe he was wrong for refusing to see past the hurt Rupert had caused McKenna, a long time ago. Perhaps, he still couldn't forgive himself for not being there. For choosing to run across the country, instead of fighting for what was in front of him, when he'd been barely old enough to make those life-changing decisions.

  “I’m trying to stay out of this feud between you two, but Shawn’s innocent. He sees you as a hero.”

  “I’m not.” The thought made him uneasy. He was and always would be an average man doing average things. He’d never wanted to be in anyone’s spotlight, high up on a pedestal.

  “The reality isn’t relevant. To him, you are.” She stepped closer and looked up at him from under her lashes. “To me, you are, too.”

  A warm glow of pride charged up his spine as a hot lick of desire shot into his body. Knowing that this newfound optimism and warmth could come crashing down at any minute, squashed some of his happiness. They’d both dealt with multiple setbacks mentally and physically, in the last few months. Just because she’d had a string of days where she seemed better, didn’t make it true.

  Even though this wasn't how he had imagined their future, he held on to hope. These moments—their marriage and soon-to-be parenthood shouldn't be tinged with uncertainty. Because he didn't know what he would do if either of them stepped off the tight-rope they walked.

  As if she could read his mind, she dropped her hands.

  Way to ruin the moment, Bening. “I'll try to be nicer to him.”

  “I know you will, but he might say something to piss you off. Instead of punching him, you’ll have to walk away.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, then squeezed. A small smile curved her lips. “It's okay,” she whispered. “Sometimes, I want to do the same thing.”

  He set his coffee on the coffee table, nearby. “I knew there was a reason I love you.” Then he yanked her close and placed a kiss on her lips. “Wanna disappear for a while?”

  Pink tinged her cheeks as her eyes got the look he couldn't resist. The one that said he was all she ever thought about. “I'd love to, but we’re a little short on time.” She pointed toward Robinson's dark SUV sitting in the driveway, Robinson and Amanda in the front seats. She waved her arms in disgust, while his jaw clenched and unclenched.

  “What are they doing?” Jordan released his wife and picked up his coffee. He stepped closer to the window.

  “Arguing. They showed up about twenty minutes ago. Robinson asked if Ariana could stay here for a while and then went back to the vehicle, where they’ve been ever since.”

  The other man turned in his seat and pointed his finger in Amanda’s direction. Jordan had been on the end of that menacing stare and pointed digit a few times, in the last six months. Their boss could be tough when he had to be, but was always fair. Robinson and Amanda were a little like oil and water with a
twist of salt adding friction in between. They needed a referee at all times.

  Amanda held up a hand and shook her head, then she jabbed her index finger right into Robinson’s chest. Robinson watched the repeated offense with pinched lips. Then he caught her hand and held.

  Maybe they were more like peanut butter and jelly. Really good together, but didn’t belong in the same jar.

  One needed refrigeration, the other had a long shelf life.

  “And I thought he was riding everyone so hard because of Kara’s death.”

  “Wait. What’s that supposed to mean?” McKenna’s brow wrinkled and her mouth sat agape as she watched the pair even closer. “You think Robinson has a thing for Amanda?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I could be way off base, here, but it makes sense. Every time I’ve tried to get him to open up about Kara’s death, he brushes it off as if it’s just a case we’ve worked on and not personal.”

  “That’s…”

  “A recipe for disaster?” At least, right now, with Amanda being in the middle of a crime the bureau was investigating.

  “Amanda’s completely committed to Eric.”

  “Then why didn’t she say yes to his proposal?” Jordan asked.

  McKenna put her hands on her hips and faced him. “Maybe, because she’d just been in an explosion. And just because she didn’t agree to marriage, doesn’t mean she’s not faithful.”

  “I never said that. Retract the claws, Slick. She’s my friend, too.”

  He didn’t voice the thought circling in his brain. She hadn’t said yes, because she didn’t want to. Growing up together, he and McKenna had watched enough of her dating escapades to know a little bit about how she worked. For whatever reason, Amanda chose to stall, instead of giving an answer.

  It counted as a response. It just wasn’t one Eric—or any guy ever wanted to hear. They’d either work through it or they wouldn’t. And in the meantime, Jordan might have to corner their boss about the situation.