LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 21

  Work-loving-guard rattled on about the prison’s reconstruction process along the north wall, just outside the barbed-wire and gridiron gates.

  Sandra smiled at him and then turned to watch CNN. A dark-haired newscaster gave them a brilliant smile. She switched from business news to national headlines. A live feed appeared on a split screen, obviously taken from the CNN news helicopter. A large twenty car pile-up, with several ambulances and law enforcement officers came into view.

  In Charlotte, they tallied the known death and injury count. Had McKenna made it home safely?

  It hit him then, like a solid brick to the gut. Jordan and McKenna might be digging up a sleeping bomb. He couldn’t let them do it alone. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew he had to get to Charlotte. What he’d do once he got there, he didn’t know.

  Years had been wasted while he let the law punish him, for a crime he hadn’t committed. It was time he did whatever needed to be done to clear his name and finally put Cassidy to rest.

  Sandra’s focus remained on the television. Both guards still discussed work-related topics, their backs to him.

  He stole a long probe-like instrument from the tray in front of him and hid it beneath the long protective drape they placed on him earlier. She turned and smiled at him and he swore she would be able to read the guilt written all over his face.

  Lying hadn’t ever been his strong suit.

  Telling the truth hadn’t gotten him anywhere special, either.

  “Are you starting to feel the anesthetic?” she asked.

  The instrument dug into his skin as he gripped it. “Yeah. A little.”

  Just drop it and pretend this never happened.

  Cassidy popped into his mind, the way she had been the first time he’d ever seen her. She had a camera around her neck in the park near Alexis’s house.

  She was absorbed in her work. Taking shot after shot of kids in the park, the small duck pond at the park’s center, birds swooping in and out as the patrons fed them leftover crumbs from their lunches. An old couple, hand in hand on a nearby bench, another shot she couldn’t resist, it seemed.

  He couldn’t remember exactly why he’d walked in that direction—or walked at all. He’d been on duty. Had his police cruiser parked not far away. One minute he’d been scanning the area for trouble, the next his feet carried him in her direction.

  She had her hair tied up in an unruly ponytail, as if she’d pulled it up on the spur of the moment. Loose strands blew around her face and neck with each gust of wind. Pale blonde against pale skin. She was hunkered down trying to catch a shot of something near the pond’s surface.

  Matthew stopped directly behind her. He could hear the click of her shutter. Then she stopped, lowered her camera and looked over her shoulder. No grin. No worry echoed in her deep blue eyes.

  “You mind? You’re blocking my light.” She picked up her camera once again.

  He didn’t say anything. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say to a member of the opposite sex. He stood there like a lost puppy waiting for a handout.

  She had the prettiest face he’d ever seen. Delicate bones, fair skin, big flashy blue eyes surrounded by that hair and those pouty lips.

  Those lips were made to smile. He was made to make her smile.

  She huffed, then stood and faced him. She took in his attire. His uniform and the gun holstered at his hip. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

  “Yeah. There’s a law against your kind of beauty.” Lame. So, lame. He wanted to take it back the moment it left his mouth. Where was his ease in these situations?

  She started walking away.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm.

  She glared at his hand. “You mind letting me go?”

  “Uh, I…” Matthew dropped his hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. I meant it, you are pretty, but I shouldn’t have come out and said it. Not yet.” He was making a mess of things fast. “Not until we’ve had a first date.”

  One of her brows rose.

  “Or a second.”

  No response.

  “Maybe a third.” Or never at this rate.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to pass.”

  “You married?” He hadn’t seen a ring. Hadn’t even looked.

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fiancée?”

  She shook her head.

  “Girlfriend?” Hey, times had changed.

  There was a hint of a smile. “Are you always this way?”

  “I hope not. This is embarrassing.”

  The smile came in full bloom. If asked, he would never admit it, but his knees had gone weak seeing it. “I’ll spare you more. I’m not available.”

  “Don’t say that, honey.”

  “Have a nice day, Officer.”

  She walked away with his heart that day.

  It took him a month to track her down. He’d been working up the nerve to face her when an opportunity presented itself. Someone had vandalized her home. He offered to follow up on the complaint she filed.

  When he found her, she was two stories up on scaffolding, painting the outside of her house a beige color. The other half was still a chipped and fading white color, some of the black words filled with hate, still evident. The moment she spotted him, she climbed down the scaffolding.

  She wiped her hands on her overalls. Over the slight bulge of her stomach. “Officer.”

  “Ms. Bening.” He glanced at her house and tried to keep his eyes from the child growing within her. It explained a lot about their first encounter. “Should you be doing that in your condition?” That condition should make him want to run, but his feet stayed firmly planted.

  “I’m pregnant, not terminally ill. And it needs to be done.” She ran her hand across a paint-smeared check. “I can hardly breast-feed and paint at the same time, can I?”

  “What if you fell? There’s no one around for a half mile in any direction.”

  The smile he’d dreamt about appeared. “Thanks for the concern, but I won’t fall. I like heights and I’ve got good reflexes.”

  “There are no guarantees in life, Ms. Bening.”

  She bit her lower lip and offered her hand. “Call me Cassidy.”

  He took it. It was soft and covered with little dots of paint. “Matthew Blaney. You need a hand?”

  She’d looked up at the house, then back to him. “Doesn’t that go above and beyond the call of duty?”

  “Depends on how you look at it.”

  Silence. “You’ll probably fall. And they’ll have to scrape you off my property.”

  He grinned. “Better me than you.”

  “That would be a lovely selling point. ‘Folks, this house comes complete with several ghosts, including one nosy, privacy invading police officer. Let’s start the bidding at five hundred.’”

  He ignored her barb. “You selling?”

  “Not on your life. This place has been in my family for generations.” When she looked up at the old house, pride etched her features. “What’s in it for you? Painting my house, I mean.”

  “It’s pretty hot out here. I figure if I take my shirt off, you’ll fall madly in love with me.”

  Cassidy didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you find these lines out of a how to repel women book?”

  Matthew shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll have to burn it when I get home.”

  She laughed, a musical sound that made him tingle all over. “I guess I could use some help.” She pointed a paintbrush at him, a splotch of paint narrowly missing his black shoe. “Try anything funny and you’ll regret it.”

  “Scouts honor.”

  “That’s just terrible.” Sandra’s voice brought Matthew back to the present. The drama unfolding on the TV had all her attention.

  He hadn’t moved. His hand ached from clenching the instrument.

  What a cowardly waste of space he’d become. Cassidy deserv
ed better.

  He took a breath.

  Rule number one: Act like whatever you’re doing is, in fact, the way it should be done. Rule number two: If you’re going to do something, do it all the way. In or out, no in between.

  He repeated the words that had gotten him through the academy until he could move his right hand. Until that hand had worked one and then the other cuff from his wrists.

  Luck must not have deserted him, because he managed to grab the girl, use her as a hostage and his ticket out of the building. They’d gotten to her car, him in the driver’s seat, and she in the passengers. While steering with his knee, he tied a scarf he found in the backseat, around her hands. They hit the highway before she started crying.

  Before the adrenaline started to wear off.

  He kidnapped an innocent girl. Now, he really was a criminal.

  “Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” He took the I-64 ramp, heading toward VA Beach. So far, he didn’t have anyone on his tail. Yet. A miracle, for sure.

  Sandra continued to sob. “I-I have kids. Please, just let me go.”

  A throb started in his temples and his empty stomach tried to climb out of his body. What was he doing? “You’ll see your kids again, I promise.”

  “You can have my car, my money, w-whatever you want, just let me go.”

  He pulled off onto a secluded side street in shady looking part of Virginia Beach, seconds away from the strip stores along the ocean.

  “Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Tears dribbled down her chin as she began to hyperventilate.

  “Just breathe.” He unlocked both leg shackles. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m gonna leave you here, with your car.” He cuffed one shackle to her left ankle, the other to her right arm.

  He could hear siren’s in the distance. Maybe they were after him. Maybe not. He glanced around, and seeing no one about, he got out of the car and peeled off the orange jumper that had been his only wardrobe choice for the past ten years. Without it, he felt naked, his white t-shirt and boxers the only thing remaining.

  The noisy sirens got closer.

  Rule number one: Act like whatever you’re doing is, in fact, the way it should be done. Case in point, walking around in a pair of boxers.

  He threw the jumper in the backseat of her car. “Give me ten minutes, then you can drive yourself wherever you would like.”

  She was still crying, not hearing a word he said.

  “On second thought, maybe you shouldn't drive. Just wait here.” He shut the door before he could waste more time with trying to make her feel better, when it was an impossible feat.

  ###

  “She’s always late.”

  Alexis Moore roll her eyes in good-natured exasperation as they stood inside the First Presbyterian Church, in a foyer located behind the sanctuary. Jordan stood to the side, near the entrance, in clear view of the parking lot.

  Come on, McKenna.

  “I told Kelly she was already here, just so she wouldn’t start worrying.” The group, including Raphael, McKenna’s brother, Alex, Amanda, Rupert and some of the bridesmaids, chuckled.

  He didn’t. Maybe he would once she was here. Safe.

  That gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach was back, stronger than ten years ago.

  Kelly rushed around the corner. She grabbed the white veil on her head and checked, he presumed, to make sure Noah was nowhere in sight. She picked up her long white dress, scanned the group, spotted him and zeroed in. “She’s not here, is she?” A bright smile looked permanently affixed to her face.

  He did the same, both hands stuck in his pants pockets. “No. Don’t worry, she will be.” Even as he said the words, they felt wrong in his mouth. McKenna could be late, but not for this. It was already six p.m.

  He’d waited long enough.

  As if McKenna had heard his thoughts, his phone began vibrating. McKenna's number appeared on the ID. The tightness in his chest loosened. “Where are you?”

  Sniffling was the only reply he got. That hadn’t been what he expected. He checked the caller ID again. It was McKenna’s number, but the crier on the other end was much younger.

  “Shawn?” He stepped away from the gathering.

  Rupert, who had been talking to one of the bridesmaids, perked up when he heard his son’s name.

  The crying didn’t stop.

  “Where’s McKenna?”

  “N-not here.”

  “Buddy, this is Jordan, remember me? Can you tell me where you are?”

  A sharp inhale and them a cough met his ear. “I don’t know.” More tears.

  By now Rupert had reached his side and was pacing, the look on his face showing how much he wanted to yank the phone from Jordan’s grasp. Amanda threw him a questioning look.

  He moved further away from everyone. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “S-she was fixing the car.” A hiccup. “I had to go to the bathroom, so she told me go by the woods.” He started crying, in earnest then. “When, I came back out, she, she was g-gone.”

  Okay. Breathe. He couldn’t think. “Is the car still there, buddy?” He forced the words to come out in a gentle manner versus using the panic rising in his chest.

  “N-no.”

  “Tell me where you are? A big highway or small? Are you near home?”

  Rupert ground out through clenched teeth, “Let me talk to my son.”

  Jordan held up a hand.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. There’s lots of cars going by.”

  He could hear the rapid thud of tires on pavement now that he was paying attention. “Is there anything around you that you recognize?”

  “A tire. And a gun.”

  “Don’t touch it. I’m going to hang up with you—”

  “No!” A giant sob escaped his mouth.

  “Okay, buddy. It’s okay. You’re dad’s going to call you. You’ll hear a beep and all you have to do is hit the green button on the phone. I want you to talk to him until I can find you.”

  Rupert whipped out his cell phone and dialed McKenna’s number.

  He sniffed. “Did Kenna forget me?”

  His heart sank to his feet and a grapefruit lodged in his throat. “I don’t think so, buddy. She wouldn’t ever do that.” His voice came out hoarse.

  “Why isn’t she here?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”

  When he was sure Rupert had him on the line, he hung up. He was moving toward the doors of the church before he realized it and halfway in his truck before Amanda caught up to him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Put an APB out for a Chevy Lumina. Call whatever rental company McKenna used and get the plate number.” He jammed the keys into the ignition and the truck roared to life.

  “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. Get Robinson to get me a GPS location for her cell phone.”

  Rupert jumped into the passenger’s seat of his truck. Jordan didn’t bother to kick him out. He had to focus.

  Raphael and Alexis stood on the Church’s front steps. Worry covered both of their faces.

  “What am I supposed to tell them?” Amanda asked.

  “Do whatever you have to do to get them to stay here, Amanda.” Then he put the truck in gear. He could not fail another woman he loved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  By the time Matthew reached the outskirts of Charlotte, he’d stolen four cars, scared a girl, an old woman and a very fat man.

  He'd called 9-1-1 from a pay phone near the beach to report spotting Sandra's car, then he'd hit the road headed toward Williamsburg where he again called 9-1-1 and reported himself being spotted in the area. Then he doubled back using the less traveled roads.

  He also wore the most ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and straw hat, he’d ever seen, completed with swim shorts so tight, he couldn’t breathe.

  Stealers couldn’t be choosy. And his list of actual crimes was rising.

&nbs
p; All Matthew wanted was a cheeseburger, a long, hot shower and a way to approach Jordan in a manner than wouldn’t get him thrown into a maximum security solitary within the hour.

  First, he needed to ditch his current ride, a rusty blue Geo Metro. Then he needed a real pair of clothes. He figured he could borrow a suit from Raphael’s closet. They would be at the wedding by now, anyhow, and he probably wouldn’t miss it.

  Then again, maybe he had something in the attic at Cassidy’s.

  Going back to the scene of the crime was probably unwise at best, but he promised himself he wouldn’t be there long. And until he figured out who had really killed her, he wouldn’t be back.

  Matthew found an abandoned shed a mile from Cassidy’s house. He pulled the car in and discovered he wasn’t the only person using it. A Chevy Lumina sat near the back, the tracks in the dirt suggesting a recent placement. Not an ounce of dust rested on its surface.

  It smacked of something sinister. Cop instincts he’d thought long dead, surfaced. He scanned the inside of the shed, seeing nothing more than wooden planks, old farm tools and rotting rope. Using his shirt, he tried the door handle. It opened, a constant dinging alerting him to the fact that the keys remained in the ignition.

  He couldn’t help it, his heart kicked up. All his senses urged him to get as far from the area as he could. His legs wouldn’t move. The cop and the man in him wouldn’t let him give up that easily.

  That, coupled with blinding rage had sent him to prison in the first place.

  The inside of the car was empty and appeared as any other Chevy Lumina might. He hit the button for the trunk release. He took his time making it toward that area of the car. In his experience, trunks of abandon cars didn’t always have the nicest things inside.

  He didn’t stop to think what he would do if that held true.

  Again, using his shirt, he lifted the trunk. Even in the semi-darkness of the rotting structure, he could tell the trunk was empty. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The relief was short lived. It took him a moment to register what was wrong.

  The odor. It assaulted him.

  If he lived to be one hundred, he would never forget the smell of fresh blood.