DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Read online

  He gathered McKenna closer as something sharp cut into the side of his right arm. A piercing silence permeated everything.

  “You okay?” He coughed and waved a fine layer of sediment from the air in front of them.

  “Yeah. You?” Her eyes zeroed in on his bicep and the torn portion of his sleeve. Then they floated upward, to something above him. “Don’t move, Jordan.”

  A ragged row of stadium seating hung, suspended above them. The metal footings punched through the windshield and dangled downward, stopping an inch above the leather of his center console.

  Right above where they sat.

  The only thing holding it from falling into the vehicle was the spider-webbed glass of the windshield, which was giving way in the corner closest to her. The chairs formed a prison around him, making it impossible for him to scoot out from under it. Not with McKenna under him.

  “Move closer to your door, Slick.”

  Her gaze flicked from the object to him, and then back before she scooted out from under him and huddled near the door. The windshield shifted downward. She curled her body around their unborn child and turned away from the glass starting to fall. Jordan took up the space she’d left and flatted himself on the floor.

  The footings dug into the leather of his vehicle, trapping him in between the seat and dashboard. McKenna moved closer, her hands raised.

  “Don’t even think about lifting that. It’s four or five seats and probably fifty pounds.” He wiggled forward.

  McKenna tried to open the door, but it didn’t budge. She lowered her shoulder and pushed against the surface. It gave way. A shower of glass hit the pavement. She tumbled outside, but managed to land on her feet. Then she extended a hand toward him. “Looks like it’s my turn to rescue you for once.”

  He blew out a breath and slapped her hand. “You wish.” Then he continued his crawl forward, until he’d managed to get out from under the chairs. Once outside, he shook off the debris.

  McKenna caught his arm and ripped the torn material of his sleeve, wider. She inspected the two-inch slash. “Superficial.” Relief lined the words and her face relaxed. “You’re such a baby, Bening.”

  A smile fought for release. Given their surroundings, he tucked it away.

  The gray world around them held debris and broken windows. A man ten feet in front of them lay on his back on the asphalt, a large gash across his forehead. In the loose circle of his arms, a little girl cried, smudges covering her face and wreckage stuck in her dark hair.

  “Another terrorist attack?” McKenna asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Sirens howled in the distance as they reached the crying toddler. Others started emerging from their vehicles and buildings. Panic filled their vocal cords, the same question McKenna had voiced, evident in their cagey stances.

  America was at war, at home and abroad. Every American felt its weight. Jordan dialed SAC Robinson’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He hung up. Tried again with the same result.

  McKenna scooped up the child. “Hey, there, sweet thing.” She picked glass out of her hair and checked her over. “Shh, it’s all right. Is that your dad?”

  The girl stuck a dirty finger in her mouth, but continued to wail around it.

  “We’re going to take a look at your daddy.” McKenna talked in gentle tones, until the girl’s cries died down.

  Jordan ripped a strip of cloth from the inside of his jacket and pressed it to the man’s forehead. A pulse beat beneath his fingers. Breath circulated through his open mouth. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

  His eyes fluttered open and then he tried to sit up.

  Jordan rested one hand on his chest. “Lie still. There’s been an accident. You have a large gash on your head. Help is on the way.”

  “My-my daughter?”

  “My wife’s got her and she’s okay.” The sirens barreled closer, as an ambulance, a fire truck and two squad cars pulled up ten vehicles down the street. They couldn’t get any closer due to milling people and idle cars.

  The paramedics worked themselves and their gear through, closing in on them and then taking over. One of the paramedics coaxed the toddler into her arms.

  A sea of injured filled their line of view as people hobbled around broken objects and vehicles, away from the direction the blast had come. Jordan steered McKenna around an upturned garbage can.

  “Geez.” She stopped and stared. “Look at the stadium.”

  A large V-shaped hole cut into the side of the structure, giving a clear view to what remained of the rows of chairs and venues on the opposite side.

  “Bening! Moore!” A voice shouted. Robinson came into view as he raced toward them, hopping over what remained of an upturned stadium seat, a bent light post and swerving around the abandoned cars. An officer tried to stop him, but he flashed his badge and continued forward. He skidded to a stop in front of them and put his hands on his knees. His chest heaved as he gulped in air.

  “Bomb squad’s on their way. They suspect C-4 or TNT. We need to canvas the area before all these people disappear. Moore, have you heard from Nettles?”

  “No. Why?” Worry etched her brow.

  “She planned to meet someone at the Rainbow Café.”

  “I’ll go look for her,” McKenna said. She glanced around and spotted the street the restaurant sat on, three blocks ahead.

  “No.” The word came out like an order. Jordan shook his head. “Too close to the blast zone.”

  “What’s the bomb squad’s ETA?” She asked Robinson.

  “Should already be on scene.”

  McKenna’s blue eyes leveled on Jordan, then. “I’m going.”

  No. He couldn’t let her out of his sight. “WTC towers one and two were hit seventeen minutes apart.”

  “By planes.” She smacked the palm of one hand with the back of the other. “You can’t assume we’re dealing with Al Qaeda. Or that there will be a second incident.”

  Sometimes love sucked the big one. After a day like today, he didn’t care how he sounded. “I can assume anything I want when my wife’s involved.”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “Stop, please.”

  “What?”

  “You say the fact that I’m not at work isn’t in your hands. It’s a lie, Jordan. You see the same doctors I do. What we say in those sessions affects our careers—mine most right now.”

  He opened his mouth to argue.

  “I’m not blaming you for the fact that I’m still on the sidelines, but you can’t keep me here forever. I have to get back on the proverbial horse sometime and saying things like that, in front of our boss, isn’t helping.”

  No words came out of his mouth as he took in the sight of his childhood love, carrying his baby. He hated that she was right.

  She followed his gaze to her abdomen. “I know I’ve been a little crazy lately, but I’m not going to take a huge risk that will endanger my life or our child’s life.”

  “I know you're careful, but things happen. Things that are out of your control.”

  “Nothing is really in our control.” She took his hand, placed it on her abdomen, and laid her own on top. A slight jolt came against his palm. The first time he’d felt his daughter’s movements, he’d have sworn his heart climbed into his throat as all his thoughts jumbled together. Awe, excitement, anxiety, worry—all of it crashing together in the form of one tiny foot or fist beating against him.

  “Our daughter gives us her blessing.”

  He pulled his hand away. More people filed around them, some of them injured, all of them scared. He needed his wife with a clean bill of health, emotionally. So he could breathe again. Concentrate. Work. Have her by his side.

  “That’s low, Moore. The doctors could be wrong. This might be a boy.”

  A smile crossed her face as if she’d won. The most normal smile he’d seen in months. If they hadn’t been surrounded by wreckage, he might have kissed her.

  He wished her pro
verbial horse wasn’t this crime scene.

  “I’m not asking for your permission, however, I would like it. Amanda would come find me. I have to do the same.”

  “I swear, if you’re not careful...”

  Her lips met his for a moment and then she took off.

  ***

  The voice was nearby, the metallic sound bouncing around in her ears. Hot breath poured over her cheek. Amanda tried to force her eyes open, but they wouldn’t comply.

  “Daddy’s got a secret,” the voice said. “Like father, like daughter.”

  She tried to move her arms or open her mouth. Nothing happened.

  Was she in a coma? What was going on?

  The telltale beeps of monitors and strong smell of antiseptic and bleach was absent. The heavy scent of burning plastic hung around her nose. Her lungs itched.

  A puff of stale breath hit her cheek again, a mix of sour milk and rotten meat rushing into her nostrils. Her stomach heaved upward. She swallowed it back.

  “Infidelity has ruined several presidents and the like, especially when there’s a child involved.”

  Her mind raced with possibilities, but came up blank. Her father adored her mother. They’d been together since college, still talked like new lovers did. Held hands. Kissed.

  Something moved around her, a crunch accompanying each footfall. The soft tinkling of chimes broke into her mind.

  “You don’t believe me, but the media will. They’re always looking for dirt to advance their careers.” A dry hand clamped over her mouth and nose. Getting a breath through those roughened fingers was impossible. Her heart climbed into her throat. She willed her body to move, to fight, but nothing happened. Why couldn’t she move?

  This was it. She was going to die.

  “Breathe a word to anyone and the consequences will be dire.” Then the hand left her mouth. As she gulped in a breath of air that tasted of dirt, she waited for something more. Silence reigned. The lingering breath hitting her face had disappeared, the shadow she sensed nearby, gone. Had it had been a figment of her imagination?

  By slow degrees, she tested her fingers. The sound of wind chimes hit her again, but this time, she recognized it as falling glass.

  A siren howled in the distance. The heavy crunch of footsteps grew nearer. A throb settled on the right side of her skull as if a gnome with a mallet had it in for her. One soft groan came from nearby. A sharp object dug into her spine, pushing her stomach into something cold and solid, making it difficult to take a deep breath.

  The phone call. The explosion.

  “Amanda?” A voice called. McKenna.

  Her eyes still wouldn’t open.

  “Help me get this off her,” McKenna called to someone. Warm fingers gripped hers.

  No. No. McKenna couldn’t be here. Her childhood friend needed to get out of here. Fast.

  Wait. How long had she been lying here? Amanda needed to tell her about the phone call. Maybe they could trace it and catch this guy before he got away.

  Tell anyone and the consequences will be dire.

  What if the perp was still hanging around?

  “McKenna?” Her voice came out as if she’d screamed for hours on end.

  “Yeah. I’m here.” Fingers touched her forehead. “Don’t move, okay?”

  “Leave.” The glue keeping her eyelids together, loosened, allowing a small sliver of the hazy world to come into view. McKenna’s worried expression floated above her, blurry. A large piece of metal rest on top of her body, inches from her face.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “No.” Amanda shook her head, but the motion sent searing pain through her skull and upended her stomach. She clamped her eyes shut and tried to swallow.

  Fingers dug into her shoulders and rolled the upper portion of her body. Pain shot through her lower torso. Something hot spewed from her mouth, making it difficult to breathe for a moment.

  Fingers brush across her temple again. “Breathe.”

  She complied, the smell of charred plastic heavy in the air. “Jordan’ll kick m’butt if you get hurt.”

  “Shh, don’t try to talk.”

  Darkness stole what little light crept under the slits of her eyelids.

  Danger. So much danger...

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Baker Jackson Robinson didn’t know what he expected to find when he flung the curtain of ER bed two open, within Mercy Hospital.

  It wasn’t the sight of Amanda’s boyfriend, Eric, holding a felt-covered, black box in front of her. Nor a diamond the size of a penny nestled inside. Amanda sat propped in front of it. Panic covered her face, before shock took its place. The same shock socked him up-side-the-head before he could duck out of sight.

  Those emotions shouldn’t have been anywhere nearby for this moment. One he was interrupting.

  Too bad.

  Bloodshot, amber-colored eyes landed on Robinson before bouncing back to the box still within Eric's hand. Something wild—akin to that of an unbroken horse—hid in those depths. A white bandage covered a portion of her forehead. A bruise already formed on her cheek.

  Smudges of dirt covered her face and arms. Her dark hair still hung from a knot at the base of her neck, in all its shining glory, as if she hadn’t been thrown five feet and trapped beneath the metal frame of a door. Or tossed her cookies all over McKenna.

  Amanda had one heck of a guardian angel. Two people inside that café hadn’t been so lucky. One impaled by debris, the other smashed beneath a row of stadium seating. Instant deaths in need of retribution.

  An invisible punch landed somewhere in the vicinity of Robinson’s stomach. After hearing and confirming the location of the explosion, Amanda had been his first thought.

  Concentrate. He was here for official reasons, not personal.

  “What are you doing here?” She fired the question at him.

  Robinson dared a glance in Eric’s direction, sure he’d find annoyance covering the other man’s face. The guy closed the box with a thud and tucked it in his pristine suit pocket, his face a neutral mask of goodwill. Not one crease lined the other man’s clothing. His tie was still tight against his neck. His dark hair as perfect as if he’d stepped out of GQ Magazine.

  Robinson ought to ask the guy how he did it. The sour monster in his stomach wouldn’t stop creating havoc over the sight in front of him.

  And all the alternative scenarios.

  Get it together, buddy. You’ve just had a long morning, full of gruesome carnage.

  “Sorry to ruin your moment here, but I need to borrow your girlfriend.”

  “Don’t you always?” The rhetorical question elicited a small, sad smile from the other man. Eric was too nice to be a lawyer. And Amanda was too bossy, with a bit too much sass to find herself trapped in the world of civilized dinner parties and biannual all-inclusive vacations. The same old hum-drum each year.

  Another punch startled Robinson. He needed a vacation, one far from this extremely unavailable female.

  You have issues, dude.

  “He can stay.” Anxiety laced every feminine syllable. “He’s staying.” She turned to her soon-to-be fiancé as her fingers curled around the sheets covering her. Sheets that seemed a bold white in comparison to Amanda's dirty, scratched hands.

  “You’re staying,” she said again. Her hands tightened in a grip that looked painful.

  “Okay. Nobody asked me to leave.” Eric placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Concern tightened his features.

  A yelp came from her mouth as she lurched away from Lawyer Boy’s touch.

  “Geez, let me look at that.”

  “No!” She closed her eyes as if talking hurt. “Don’t.” Her voice came out quieter than before. “It’s okay.” Her eyes snapped open then. “Maybe you could just see when they’ll release me.”

  “They’re not keeping you for observation?” Worry crowded Eric’s face and pulled his dark eyebrows, together, over his forehead.

 
The same questions raced through Robinson's mind, but he stayed silent. Not his girl, not his problem.

  But she was his friend.

  Amanda shook her head, then brought the palm of one hand to the bandage resting there. “It’s just a slight concussion.”

  Eric chewed on the corner of his lip, then nodded and left the room. Leaving them alone. All of Robinson’s meticulous questions flew from his mind.

  Amanda swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her gaze searched the room until it landed on plastic bag in a chair, near her bed. One hand held the back of her hospital gown closed, as the other reached for it.

  “What are you doing?” Robinson moved one step toward her.

  “Blowing this popsicle stand.”

  “Have they even run any tests? You could have internal bleeding, ruptured organs or any number of injuries.”

  “Try to sound a little less like a mother hen, Robinson.” She tried to stand, but the moment she put weight on her left knee, a wince crossed her face. Her leg buckled and she started to fall.

  He caught her seconds before her tailbone would have connected with the unforgiving tile below. Those eyes, the color of an aged scotch, twin pools of honey in which he could get lost, trapped his and held. An awareness stretched between them, taut and familiar and so tangible he could have grabbed hold of it like a lifeline. She chewed her bottom lip.

  The thought of putting his mouth there sent an electrifying jolt through his system. Would she kiss him back?

  Voices outside the curtain sent his thoughts scattering. Unavailable. Boyfriend.

  Get a grip.

  Before he could do something idiotic, he lifted her into a standing position.

  Vacation. Girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order. Both would need to wait until he straightened out this current mess.

  “We need to talk, Nettles.”

  She lifted one of the shoulders still within his grasp. “You can let me go, now.”

  “Right.” He released her arms. “Sorry.”

  “Be a gentleman, for once in your life, and get out so I can change.”