DISCONNECT (The Bening Files Book 2) Page 5

  Not anymore. “Stop trying to sidetrack me.”

  “You?” She shook her head. “Not possible.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Difficult described his entire day. Why would this discussion with a sassy detective be any different? Except this was Amanda and she didn’t put up a fuss over nothing. Not on a normal day. A little light-hearted banter, sure.

  “Who was the caller, Amanda?”

  Those warm eyes met his and then searched the area around them, before landing on the Camry. The color drained from her face as the phone dropped from her hand. It hit the pavement, pieces of the red device flying in all directions.

  “Run.” She pushed him away from the vehicle.

  He stumbled backward a step. “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  And then, because he’d never seen fear etched so deeply on her face, in all the years they’d worked together, he listened, keeping pace with her as she ran.

  A boom sent him flying forward, into her. His chin connected with her skull. Upper jaw met the lower, in a jarring scrape of enamel against flesh. Bright spots of light filled his vision, until he met the concrete below him, Amanda cradled in the circle of his arms. Debris floated around them and a plume of smoke made it difficult to breathe. She curled into a tight ball, beneath him.

  A loud buzzing filled his ears as if a swarm of insects hovered above. Instinct had him rising and pulling Amanda along with him, farther away from what was once a car parked outside of a café. Smoke wafted around the charred metal and demolished storefronts.

  She could have been in the car. They could have been closer.

  He swallowed all his thoughts. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Siren’s punctuated the air as she glanced from the remains to him. Her face hadn’t regained color. One of her dirt smudged fingers extended toward him and landed on his chin. “You’re bleeding, Robbie.”

  The area started to throb, as if the act of pointing it out had made his nerve endings aware. He dabbed it and brought back a bit of red. “You’ve got one hard head, woman.”

  Not even a hint of a smile. He hated that he even cared.

  “Pretty sure that was C-4. Remote detonator.”

  Before he could ask any of the questions swirling in his mind, several CMPD and State Bureau of Investigation agents burst upon them, followed by four of his agents and two paramedics. Amanda’s serious expression followed the small group, centering on her boss.

  “Don’t move, Nettles,” he said. “I don’t want to hunt you down a second time.”

  Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t respond in word or body language. Captain Dentzen waved a hand in her direction, motioning her over. Without a backward glance in Robinson’s direction, Amanda maneuvered through the lingering personnel and debris.

  She wouldn’t get off that easy.

  He moved in her direction, but a paramedic appeared in front of him, her gaze on his chin. “Better take a look at that.”

  “I’m fine.” He ground out.

  Amanda reached Captain Dentzen.

  “This will only take a second.” The short woman donned a pair of gloves and dug some supplies out of the bag she carried. Her chin barely met his shoulders, her neat, brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Makeup made her green eyes pop, on a face like porcelain. She smiled at him, her eyes running over his body before returning to his wound.

  Nothing. No zing. What was the matter with him?

  “We’ve canvased the neighborhood, sir.” Agent Rogge came up beside him. The younger agent smiled at the woman still trying to bandage Robinson’s chin. The kind of smile that let a girl know he was interested without crossing into creepy.

  If Rogge managed to get her number, he’d destroy his chances by the second date. The guy was great with a gun, knew how to file the proper paperwork and when to follow certain leads, but didn’t have a clue how to leave any of it on the job.

  “Nobody reports seeing anything out of the norm. The bomb squad confirms Dynamite with the use of a remote detonator. Probably something with a range of three blocks.”

  Amanda had her back toward him as she talked with Captain Dentzen. From the older man’s severe frown, it didn’t look good. She pointed to the high-rises around them.

  The paramedic paused, her hands moving away from his face. “Am I hurting you?”

  “What?” Robinson glanced at her gloved hands. A few splotches of red covered the tips of her fingers. “No. It’s fine.” He shoved them aside and took a step in Amanda’s direction, then turned back to his agent. “Search all the buildings within a three block radius, touched or untouched.”

  “We've done that, sir.”

  “Do it again. And this time start the radius from that Camry.” He pointed toward Amanda’s car. “And close off all the major intersections up to Tyron Street.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You’re injured. Go home, Detective.”

  Captain Dentzen shot an annoyed glance in Amanda’s direction, then turned to face Detective Brink, giving her his back.

  A blatant dismissal. That was new. Could she blame him? In his shoes, she’d do the same. Especially if he’d just told her an explosion had been rigged to her car.

  Of course she’d suspect the bearer of bad news, too. She rubbed a hand over one temple and applied pressure. The throbbing didn’t ease.

  Giving up easily, wasn’t her style, either. Lives depended on it.

  “You have to search the buildings within a three block radius.” Amanda got back in his line of view. “Three blocks starting from my car, not the restaurant. Not the stadium.”

  Dentzen’s stark brown eyes flashed something akin to anger. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Nettles.”

  “No, sir.”

  An aggravated sigh came from his lips. “There’s a but after that, isn’t there, Nettles?”

  “Our perp could be lurking around somewhere.” She pointed to the buildings around them, broken windows on most, some unharmed.

  Look around you. I see everything.

  The words sent a prickle throughout her system, but instead of giving in to the goosebumps coursing up her arms, she held still. This was a game. Otherwise, why warn her about the bomb in her car? When had it been placed? Why hadn’t anybody seen it happening?

  It hadn’t been present before her trip downtown. No way she would have missed it. But she’d been in a hurry, induced by her own tardiness and advanced by the length of Robinson’s phone call.

  A sickening spiral landed in her stomach. Every bit of oxygen flew from her lungs. Someone had access to her car and they'd all but run her life off the road.

  Dentzen squinted at her, his jaw flexing. “You’re homicide, Nettles. We’ve got our protocol in place.”

  Hadn’t they had a meeting about this just a short week ago? “I assumed we were operating in all hands on deck mode, sir.”

  One succinct shake of his head came as he folded his arms across his chest. “Go home, Detective. That’s an order. I don’t want to see your face for at least forty-eight hours. We’ve still got a city to protect and I need healthy officers and detectives to do so.”

  Like she could just while the hours away with a bubble bath and dinner with Eric as if today’s events hadn’t happened. “What about surveillance tapes? Are any of them still intact?”

  “Nettles!” His voice rose two octaves and garnered attention from her peers. Next to her, Brink, a detective with the Computer Crimes Division, sent a smarmy smirk in her direction. As if they were kids. For reasons she didn't understand or care to divulge into, he didn't like her or Catsky. A fact she'd accepted a long time ago, but still got under her partner’s skin.

  “If you aren’t out of this crime scene in five minutes, I’ll suspend you.” He lowered his voice, but the stern quality stayed. “Without pay. You’re a wreck. I can’t have you running around here, half-cocked.”

  The harsh feel of eyes on her, shot a prickling sensation into the bac
ks of her eyelids. She resisted the urge to smooth a hand over her hair.

  Crap. “Y-yes, sir.”

  What was the matter with her? She pulled in a deep breath.

  He turned his attention back to Brink and her coworkers. Then started shouting orders. She stole a glance at Charlotte’s skyline and zeroed in on a warehouse, one block north. She could backtrack and check it out without Dentzen ever knowing.

  Robinson stepped into her peripheral view, his furious stride eating up the path between them. He, no doubt, had questions she didn’t have willing answers for. Not yet.

  What if he didn't need the answers she had? What if that’s all his early phone call had been about? A stall tactic and reconnaissance, wrapped into a few nice words.

  Something in the region of her heart gave a downward pull. If he were behind all this, then…

  No.

  The private building search would have to wait. Running made her look guilty, cowardly or a combination of both. She allowed her legs to carry her beyond the police barrier, five blocks south and into a taxi, anyway.

  Fifteen minutes later, when she arrived at the condo she shared with Eric, she expected to find him waiting. During their first year living together, he’d wait up when a case kept her out later than she expected. He knew better than to call.

  The relief evident in his stance, the minute she entered the condo, always squashed guilt on her shoulders. While she’d been tracking down one lead after another, he’d been adding gray hair to his collection. So, they’d come to a no-news-is-good-news agreement. He didn’t wait around so much anymore.

  Today was different.

  When she opened the door, all the lights remained off and the spacious, two bedroom living quarters silent. Huh.

  “Eric?”

  No response. Just like any other day. Did he even worry about her anymore? Maybe he didn’t need to, because he knew where she was. Knew things about her that had the potential to damage their relationship.

  Too late. It was already there, for reasons beyond the ones the caller had pinpointed.

  She dropped her keys into a dish in the foyer, the loud clink reverberating in her skull and the small area. The decorative mirror above it, showed the image of tangled hair and soot-smudged cheeks.

  The black shirt she wore had torn in two separate places at her shoulder, revealing angry, red scrapes from her fall. It hung from her arm like a fashion statement gone wrong. Debris covered the surface, the once sequined top, unraveling and most of the design lost. Her light-colored jeans hadn’t fared any better. Dirt scuffed her knees and the entire left side of her, ankle to hip.

  No wonder Dentzen wouldn’t let her work. She looked like a locomotive had run her down twice.

  Combing through her hair, her fingers grazed a goose egg at the back of her skull, where Robinson’s chin had met it.

  She couldn’t avoid him forever, but she needed to think and assess before she saw him again.

  Could Robinson have detonated the C-4 in her car? Would he have taken the chance of being injured? And if he was the culprit, what was his motive? Because he had the means. They didn’t work in law enforcement without knowing how to get into the evidence locker. Or jimmying a car lock. The ins and outs of C4 and TNT.

  And what about Beth? The only thing pointing in her direction was the fact that she’d known where Amanda would be and when. The fact, alone, didn’t necessarily incriminate either party as this guy knew stuff she’d never said aloud. Stuff she couldn't even admit to herself.

  Was any of it true?

  She shook her head, the motion sending her brain into a painful spasm. Amanda placed a palm to her forehead.

  The thought of Eric, Robinson or Beth being behind today’s events made her skin crawl and her chest ache.

  All at once, exhaustion crept over her, making her body as heavy as the proverbial locomotive that had run her down. The chirp of the phone, sitting on Eric’s pristine countertop, broke through her fog. She should answer it. One step forward felt as if she were moving the weight of the earth.

  The buzz of a familiar female voice filled the condo. “Hey, Amanda, it’s Beth. I, uh, I’m worried about you. You haven’t answered any of my calls and I heard about some accident near the restaurant. I know I’m probably being silly, worrying, but…” A lengthy sigh filled Amanda’s head and then a sniff. “Just call me, okay?”

  All right, not Beth.

  You need proof, Nettles.

  Her mind urged her to pick up the phone, but her body wouldn’t listen. Instead, she headed toward the Italian leather couch they’d purchased last spring and slumped into its buttery softness.

  Such an expensive piece of furniture had never been something she’d desired, but Eric had talked her into it with a mere demo on how luxurious it could be. The cold leather warmed to her skin temperature and invited her for a short nap.

  Short, because, she was pretty sure if Eric saw her sitting on their couch, dirty clothes and all, he’d have a fit. A minute to close her eyes should do it. Then she’d shower and figure out the sudden mess her life had become.

  ***

  Robinson was here for professional reasons. Nothing more.

  “Don’t you have an investigation to conduct?”

  Robinson ignored Eric Dunham’s snide remark as he followed the other man to the condo he shared with Amanda. “You’re getting close to obstructing said investigation, Counselor. I just need a minute of her time, then I’ll be gone. Quick like a Band-Aid. Then you can resume your glorified ambulance chasing.”

  The other man jangled the keys, in his hand, as they approached the starch-white entrance to their living quarters. “Don’t you think the name calling and slandering is getting old?”

  “Never.” He strived for a lighthearted tone. One he couldn’t truly embody without making sure Amanda was safe. And not the culprit behind this string of crime. “Keeps me entertained.”

  Eric shook his head as if he pitied Robinson. “Who says she’s even here?” The other man inserted the key in the lock. “If I know her, she’s out working this thing.”

  He held his knowledge on the matter back. Unless she’d skipped town, she had to be here. He’d looked everywhere else. Unless…he refused to let his mind wander down that tragic route. Refused to acknowledge the churning in his stomach.

  “For a man who just proposed a few hours ago, you don’t seem overly concerned that you haven’t touched base with her since the hospital.”

  The other man opened the door and invited him inside, his eyes flashing fire. “And maybe you’re a little too concerned.” He tossed his keys in a dish near the door. “Mandy?”

  No response. The dim interior shouted its emptiness.

  Eric moved past the elegant leather couch and matching chair, then down the long hall. Robinson tucked his hands into his pockets. The furniture, coupled with the fifty-inch flat screen T.V. and sound system, had to cost more than everything in his tiny, two-bedroom apartment.

  He heard Amanda’s boyfriend call out again, the name like nails on a chalkboard. Mandy? Geez, nobody called her that. It was like someone calling him B.J.

  It didn’t sound right.

  He stepped farther into the living space. The sound of his shoes clunked on the marble floor and then disappeared when they hit the cream-colored, Berber carpet.

  Fresh vacuum lines graced the plush flooring, evidence of a recent clean. Or an unused space.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s here.” Eric called from one of the rooms in the condo, light spilling from it, into the hallway. “I’m going to check my email. Give me a second.”

  “Roger, Lawyer Boy.” His mind hit a wall. If she wasn’t here, where could she be and how much trouble was she in?

  Was he the only person who’d noticed how strange she’d been acting? A mere side effect from a concussion or something more, he didn’t know. He intended to find out.

  The chair in front of him had his name written all over it, the plush
leather worn from use. The thought of actually sitting made his heart start a frantic rhythm, as if he’d had too much coffee. He placed a hand there. Probably had.

  He hadn’t been this keyed up since last spring.

  Taking a breath, he tried to calm his nerves.

  The paintings on the walls around him pointed toward an eclectic taste, each piece abstract in its subject, but able to bring color and vibrancy the space lacked. Eric or Amanda’s style? He’d bet Amanda had picked these out of some art gallery.

  Robinson stepped around the rustic, wooden coffee table to peer closer. A swirl of orange, red and yellow reminded him of fall. As if he got within reach of the painting, he’d walk right into the scene. Into another life, where he didn’t think about a woman out of his league. Or cases that were so far-reaching, he could flush his career down the toilet with a tiny misstep. More lives he couldn’t save.

  The signature in the right hand corner melded with the fall colors.

  A.J. Nettles.

  Wow. No kidding.

  He glanced at the other walls around him. They were all hers. Every. Single. One. All so vivid, it changed his mental picture of Amanda. The detective with the right combination of brains and sass to figure out any problem, had another world she could hide out in. Full of surprises. Vibrant. Earthy. Fantasy with a hint of realism.

  Get a life, dude.

  Maybe it was time to heed that inner voice. He spun on his heel. The sight on the couch stopped him short.

  There, in the fetal position, lay the woman in question. Her mouth hung open and her dark hair fanned out around her head, having escaped its imprisoning hair tie. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks. Both of her hands came together beneath the right one, as if in prayer.

  A bruise covered part of her forehead, five thin strips of tape holding the cut above her eyebrow together.

  The clothes she had on earlier, still hung off her frame. Her shoe-clad feet burrowed into the leather of the couch. Every square inch of him longed to pick her up, make sure she was okay, remove her shoes and dirty clothes and tuck her into bed.

  Would Eric do any of those things? The question made him cringe. He didn’t want to know. What they did wasn’t any of his business.