Aftermath (26 page)

A laugh-snort took her by surprise.
Wholehearted?
“Have you been under a rock for the last two years?”

He didn’t say anything. A masculine thumb tapped against the surface of his clasped fingers as if he were weighing his words. “You’ve already been sentenced for your crimes. I’m not here for another trial. Not even interested in your lack of self-recrimination or guilt. Don’t mind if you want to spend your last days in complete silence. My job is to make sure you have every opportunity to repent should you feel the need, before you meet your maker.”

And there it was. The truth. Stark. Menacing. And right on target. Had to respect him there, too, because he wasn’t plying her with the standard
come to Jesus
talk. “And if I don’t?”

He pressed his lips together and gave one shake of his head. As if he expected something far better from her. Or any convict.

“That will be between you and God.”

Ten more minutes. Fifteen seconds.
Beth clenched her hands in her lap. “What if I decide I’m through with the shrink sessions?” One sentence. No more Dexter bothering her for fifteen minutes. It was one of few rights she had remaining.

“You’re not through, but by all means, go ahead.” He waved toward the door. A flicker of something sparked to life in his eyes. “Make my life a little bit easier.”

Early on, she’d almost given in to the urge. And then the silence had become a game. The only highlight between her small cell and the two hours she had outside of it. Who would speak first? What would the words entail?

And now she knew. Except, the winner wasn’t clear, the game far from over. Sure, it had changed and the box didn’t come with rules. It hardly ever did.

“This isn’t Monopoly.” His voice was stern. “Once the money’s gone, there won’t be a loan from the bank. No mortgaging houses or properties.”

No free ride. Easy escape. Second chance. She’d understood that mantra long before her eleventh birthday. Had he?

A caption on the TV caught her attention. The male and female anchors shared the screen with a large picture of Jonas during one of his interviews with Channel Six, in Charlotte.

The SBI agent will be missed.
Smiling Blonde Anchor had a sympathetic look on her face, while her counterpart nodded in agreement.
In Charlotte, the investigation is on-going, but officials have declined comment. There is speculation on if the Agent’s death was related to the recent discovery of Kimberly Rose’s body. The fifteen-year-old went missing from the Agent’s hometown of Boone, last month. He was rumored to have been assisting authorities with the teen’s disappearance.

Kimberly Rose had been found dead. The remaining part of Beth’s heart sank. She’d wondered if either Kimberly or Denise would be discovered alive. Or at all. If Baker Jackson and Jonas would know what to do with the information she’d stumbled upon. Limited Internet access and overbearing prison guards made the research difficult, but she’d managed. Had been driven by an invisible task master.

And the memories.

With Jonas...with him gone, it seemed unlikely.

He used to come into the care center where Lilly Gabriel resided during her convalescence. Not too often, just once every few weeks. Always after one of Baker Jackson’s visits.

At first, she’d thought there was a bit of a torrid backstory she was missing. Maybe Saint Lilly’d had a man on the side. Perhaps she’d given into temptation. Maybe she hadn’t and had been leading Jonas on. And perhaps he was one of those creeps. Got off on the near-vegetable status of women.

Either way, the poor guy couldn’t even grieve in public. At the time, it explained why he never gave Beth the time of day. Not even a second glance. The tiny bit of the romantic left in her soul had conjured quite the story. True, unrequited love. Never to be equaled.

Beth could have sworn she’d seen it in the way the man watched the sleeping woman as if she held the answers to everything. The way he’d reach out to touch her, only to stop. Instead, he’d tuck his hands in his pockets, adjust her blankets or whistle some awful tune that grated on everyone’s nerves.

It was all a sham.

Beth should hate him for being anything other than what he’d portrayed. Should be glad his sorry butt was dead. Disappointed that he’d failed to come through for those girls. Vindicated that she’d been right about his existence—he couldn’t hack it when the burning anger of his wife’s death was behind him.

Instead, all she had was a giant chasm where her heart should be.

And Dexter watching her with his invisible microscope.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HE WAS LOSING his edge.

Everything about Robinson’s morning had proved the fact. From his near-frantic drive to the Third Precinct, earlier in the day, right down to the hospital bed he couldn’t get to work, inside the Bening estate.

He tightened a bolt and scooted from under the bed. Rubbed an arm over his forehead. And then pulled his damp t-shirt away from his body as if waving a flag.

Frustration hummed along the edges of his nerves.

“No air?” The sound of Amanda’s voice had him turning. A soft smiled crossed her face as she leaned against the door jamb. One hand pressed the edge of a small pizza box against her side. The other held a six pack of beer. She had a silk scarf tied around her hair like a bandanna. Add some big hoop earrings, a flowing dress and she’d look a little like a gypsy.

“The ghosts keep messing with it. I turn the air on. They shut it off.”

One of her eyebrows rose higher than the other on her forehead. She shifted. “Or you turned it on an hour ago and, in its disuse, the poor thing can’t catch up with the size of the house. If you let a little air in, it might cool down in here.” She nodded toward the black, custom shutters encasing the large projection screen, centered on the far side of the main floor media room. “Instead of becoming a sauna.”

He crossed the space, to the panel of push-switches, near where she stood. Pushed one without result. Then another. “If you get one of these to work, let me know.”

“Here.” She handed over the pizza and beer, a small smirk appearing on her lips.
The smell of melted cheese and sizzling meat surrounded him. His stomach let out a growl befitting a monster.

“Let the master show you how it’s done.” As if warming herself, she rubbed her hands together. Then pushed three of the buttons, simultaneously. A second later, the shutters climbed toward the ceiling.

Figures.

A full-blown grin covered her mouth, now, as she leaned toward him. “It’s magic.” She swiped the beer from where it sat, on top of the pizza box he held. Then she placed it on the dusty, movie-theatre-worthy candy display case, adjacent to the seating area.

He chuckled. “Hello, Miss Sass, where have you been?”

“In a cave, apparently.”

He opened the pizza, his gaze snapping from the meat and cheese to her. “What?”

She shook her head. Tossed him a beer and then uncapped one for herself. “Mostly hiding out from the press.”

Robinson crossed to her side of the room and set the items in his hands aside. “Now, this makes sense.” He tugged on the scarf still hiding her hair and then grabbed a slice of pizza.

Amanda took her time undoing the fabric and set it on the glass case. “I figure they’ll get bored in a day or two when they realize there’s no story.”

Eighteen months ago, the swell of reporters had been so constant, they’d both started feeling like first-rate movie stars. It had taken months for the coverage to die down. “Until then?”

She shrugged. “Deal with it. It isn’t as bad as last time. And it isn’t like I’m not going to be in the spotlight with this case.” She paused. “Brink is ticked he’s not leading this with you. He cornered me after our meeting. Said he’s put in all sorts of time already.”

Right. The guy was as helpful as a piece of sausage in cereal. “Only if you count searching the Internet for chat rooms and sites that might lure young kids. I have my own team for that. He’s got some expertise I used a time or two. That’s it.”

“I know.” She licked her lips. “He sort of insinuated he could get whatever he wanted, too, if he had boobs and well, you know, spread his legs for any higher-ranking official.”

What? Robinson paused mid-sip, his bottle hanging halfway from his lips. “Come again?”

She sipped her beer as if they debated a Carolina Pilots game. “After this morning, with Camelia, we aren’t on the best of terms.”

He’d heard wrong. Had to be it.

“I may have made it worse when I told him if he wanted a pat on back, he’d have to go see his momma. That’s about the point a few of the other detectives walked by and started laughing at him and making
yo momma
jokes.”

Oh, man. The detective had a short fuse, in the best of situations and all the humor of a piece of chalk. And now they could add a foul outlook on the woman who was Robinson’s wif—

Okay, he couldn’t think in terms like that. Not right now.

A sharp gleam entered her eyes. “The rage on his face made his feelings pretty clear. If I were a man, I’d be standing here with a black eye. So, if I turn up dead in the next few days, you know where to start.”

“If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not working.” He lowered his beer and tried to drown out the sudden urge to beat the snot out of Brink. Apparently, his
momma
had never taught him that some things shouldn’t ever be said. The urge rested on top of a strong desire to laugh, good and hard, because Amanda had managed to get the upper hand, by being herself.

Didn’t mean the words hadn’t met an invisible bullseye.

She fished out a slice of pizza and took a bite. As if she couldn’t bring herself to swallow, she took her time chewing. Replaced the slice and dusted crumbs from her hands. “To be fair, he’s been handling operations between agencies for a few months. Probably seemed like a slap in the face to be cut out of the front lines, in this instance.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You did a fine job of it before he ever came on board. He’s not level-headed enough for the long term. And it still doesn’t warrant the things he said.”

She shrugged. “What’s with the hospital bed?”

He could feel twitching at the corner of one eye. “That’s it?”

Her brow crinkled. “What?”

“You’re just gonna lay Brink’s little harassment on me and then shrug it off? No big deal?”

“I’d call it temporary loss of sanity and terrible word choices.” She leaned her free palm on the glass counter behind her. “I know what I’m doing. And what I’m not doing. So, yeah, I’m going to shrug it off. And so will you.”

He’d call it Brink being a typical hard-nosed dick, but didn’t want to argue the finer points. “If you say so.”

She shot him a smile.

It doused any semblance of anger burning in his gut faster than a bucket of water on a campfire. Put a bunch of not-so-crazy ideas in his head. Like the fact that they were alone. In a house. For the first time, maybe ever.

Down boy.

They might be talking and exhibiting signs signifying relationship renewal on the horizon, but they still had a lot of ground to cover before moving forward completely.

“So.” She pointed to their surroundings with the tip of her beer. “What’s with the setup?”

Robinson set his beer aside and approached the bed. Hit the panel that would raise and lower the head of it. Like the last eight times, the motor gave a low whine, but nothing happened. “Not much, if I can’t get it working.”

Moving Jonas here, once he was more stable, would ensure some safety. The announcement of his death on the news should take care of the rest. Between shift changes, at the hospital, he’d spent the better part of the afternoon moving Jonas to another room. Had ditched the obvious guards and gone incognito with members of his team placed throughout the building.

The rest was all up to the other man’s body. He grabbed a wrench and scooted back beneath the bed.

As if she knew his thoughts, she moved toward him and huddled near where he worked. Eyed the contraption as if she had X-ray vision. “Director Stotts shoot down the idea of witness protection?”

“He reminded me that the government is allocating most of its funds and resources to our troops and ops in Iraq and Afghanistan. Insinuated that I take my little games elsewhere.” He gave the bolt a hard tug.

“A normal conversation, then.”

He eyed her. “Don’t get me wrong. I am behind our guys one-hundred percent. That doesn’t mean we don’t have fires brewing back home.”

What if, as Stotts had put it, Robinson was wrong about everything? That the information he’d received was one more scheming byproduct of a person so vindictive the normal world had ceased to exist a long time ago.

Had both himself and Jonas been blindsided by the need to help a child, they’d overlooked where the information had come from? Who it had come from. What if he’d dragged Amanda here, to this case, only to let her down?

“It’s only a matter of time before these guys try to take care of business. Jonas dies. Ariana is hurt. And someone sticks their nose where it doesn’t belong.” Like Lilly.