Aftermath (18 page)

Or what they might seem like to another person.

Amanda could feel Robinson’s eyes boring holes into her back. Not in an uncomfortable way, just a wisp of we-need-to-talk aimed like a rubber, suction-cup dart. All he had to do was reel in the attached line.

And she’d find herself trapped. In maybe the best possible way.

“You didn’t change that,” he said.

“Nope.” She held her breath. Anticipated some embarrassing questions. Or an angry outburst from the woman two steps behind them both. Prepared to slap her I’m-cool-with-it face in place.

“Still just as creepy as this morning,” he muttered.

A wisp of breath slipped past her lips. “Says the guy who refuses to enter a gym for fear of
germs
.”

Amanda moved toward her bedroom. Fumbled toward the bed, in the near darkness. Turned on one of the bedside lamps. Her wedding dress stared at her from the corner. The picture of her embrace with Robinson, and the empty ring box, mocked her from the other side of the bed.

Reminding her the last twenty-four hours had happened.

She grabbed the garment and shoved it in the back of her closet. Took a pair of slacks, a blazer and shirt from their hangers and shut the doors. Went to the other side of the bed. With her free hand, she closed the ring box and tucked it in her nightstand along with the picture of her and Robinson.

Then she pulled her comforter back. When she turned, Robinson was right behind her. Those captivating eyes zeroed in on her as if he could garner information by waiting long enough. Her heart picked up speed.

It might have worked on the younger version of herself. The naive twenty-year old who would have taken one look at his handsome face, broad shoulders and dark hair and been willing to brave the storm gathering in his eyes.

For a little challenge. For the end reward.

Good thing the twenty-nine-year-old, that she was, seemed a little smarter. Not as ready to jump into every provocation with wild abandon. Didn’t feel the need to pick at a wound until it bled every last drop.

She hoped.

Lilly shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway. The bag in her right hand rustled as it came into contact with the frame. Her gaze flicked from the bed to Amanda, but didn’t reveal more than a hint of skeptical curiosity.

Amanda moved out of Robinson’s way and headed toward his sister. “The remote for the TV is next to the alarm clock.”

The other woman didn’t move. “We shouldn’t put you out of your own bed.” Up close, exhaustion hung on her body like an ill-fitting dress. Circles lined her beautiful eyes. Did she ever sleep? Or spend all her time thinking? Rehashing events with no new ending.

“Guests don’t sleep on the couch. Nettles law. Tough break.” The words slipped past her lips before she could think of something better. Before she could remember this woman didn’t like much of what she had to say.

Lilly didn’t smile. Just nodded.

What did Amanda expect? “Help yourself to anything.”

“I want Mom.” Ariana’s voice drifted toward them, panic lacing the words.

“She’s right here, kiddo.” Robinson’s voice was soft and soothing. He removed her sneakers and tucked her beneath the blankets.

Lilly walked toward the bed, dropped her bag on the floor and climbed toward her daughter. Drew her into her arms, her cheek resting on top of the teen’s head. “I’m here, baby.” Her voice cracked.

Ariana snuggled against Lilly, her eyes drifting shut. “Please, don’t go anywhere, Mom.”

Lilly whispered words that were incoherent. A jagged emotion lodged in the back of Amanda’s throat. At least one family had their precious cargo. That, she’d guard with her own life.

Promise to avenge. To end anyone who dared to mess with it.

Amanda turned and grabbed some items from her dresser and slipped from the room. The hall light she’d turned on illuminated the front door, filtering into the kitchen and open living room. A piece of folded paper near the door caught her eye.

It hadn’t been present earlier.

Apprehension slithered up her spine and zipped into her stomach. Those shaded shadows crept back into her body and sucked out any color.

Robinson’s earlier words swirled in her brain. A glance at Addie’s panel confirmed it was operational. Even from the bedroom, she would have heard the monotonous chirp announcing company. She laid the clothing in her arms on the counter, and went to pick up the paper. Unfolded it with hands that moved in slow motion.

Neat handwriting lined the page as if care had been taken with each word.

Parker Scott Williams (Jonas),

I have written this letter fifty-seven times in trite rehashing. My life is already spoken for. What you want to hear is that I repent. That I see your wife’s face every day and think of her in agony.

But I don’t. I have no idea what she looked like. If she was pretty. Or funny. Or sweet. What I do know is that she experienced no agony. She died in milliseconds. Without any idea that she would not see your face again.

Considering all the ways she might have died, I guess you could say I did her a favor.

I understand this isn’t what either of you wanted. I can appreciate that life did not unfold within your scope of reality. In admitting this, I can also vouch that I did, indeed, take something from you.

For that, an apology will never do, will it?

Bethany Markel

___

AMANDA’S HEART HAMMERED an out-of-sync tune. Saliva was nonexistent in her mouth. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Managed to set the note on the counter, without dropping it as if it had flames attached. Even facedown, the black lettering was still evident. As if Beth had pressed her pen into the page with force.

Where had it come from? The door was closed and locked.

She opened her laptop and loaded Addie’s software. Then found the monitored feed of her front door and rewound it.

The four of them entered her apartment. Not a soul lined the hallway at that time or afterward. She went farther back.

Maybe she’d missed it. Someone had slipped the note under the front entry and—

The click of the bedroom door brought her attention from the computer. She turned toward it.

“A.J.” Robinson held a purple book between his thumb and forefinger. Away from his body as if it smelled bad. As if it might contaminate him. Or he it.

She hopped from the stool. “What is that?”

“You got a large ziploc?”

Smudges of red splattered the cover like abstract art.

“Not that it matters.” Agitation lined his words. “Any prints are probably long gone.”

She went to her pantry and grabbed a large baggie and opened it. Robinson lowered the item into it without touching the edges. Then zipped the top closed and took it from her. Threw the whole thing on the counter.

It skidded to a stop in the middle of the island.

She swallowed. In all their years working together, she’d never seen him handle evidence with so much abandon. Seen him mad plenty, but always professional. Put together. In control. At least on scene and with a crime’s integral elements.

“What’s going on?”

“Jonas had it on him.” The words came out tight and terse. He braced himself on the edge of the counter, arms out and face toward the floor. His jaw clenched. Then he pushed off the surface. “Ariana says it belongs to a girl who used to go to her school. She’s in the same grade. There’s an inscription in the front.”

The note had to have been lodged between the pages. And fluttered out when Robinson had shifted his niece. The muscles in her body relaxed by slow degrees.

She let out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold. Eyed the paper sitting next to her laptop as if it might grow legs and crawl off. Then she fished the book from where he’d tossed it. Opened the cover as far as the plastic would allow. Enough to make out a name. “Paige Jurik. Ring a bell?”

He blew out a breath. Then sucked in another. “No. Ariana said she had brown hair. Taller than most of the boys. Quiet.”

Poor girl. In high school, Amanda could’ve related. “Had?”

“Rumor is the family moved last year. The girl—Paige was getting into trouble.”

So, why would Jonas carry around a diary of a girl that had moved? Or a diary at all? Not unless it was related to a case. Or held special meaning to him. “Was he working another case with ICAC?”

As if the whole situation stunk worse than a rotting animal corpse, left in a closed up dumpster, he shook his head. “Don’t know. Jonas isn’t exactly Mr. Chatty when it comes to work.”

“I’m sure case progression on Internet Crimes Against Children is a perfect dinner piece.” And, really, it wasn’t like they sat around socializing. Ever.

So, why were Robinson and Jonas buddy-buddy all of the sudden?

Robinson crossed his arms as if awaiting some revelation from her. A whiff of his scent floated to her nose, warm and enveloping, with a hint of the clean laundry soap he used. His gaze rested on her laptop. “What’s up with the Addie software?”

They could easily fall into the same routine that had dictated their entire relationship. Denying that was stupid. And a colossal waste of energy when she could grasp the truth like a lifeline. Hold on tight.

Robinson art one-oh-one. Taking a simple request and turning it into an elaborate conversation where the person on the other end couldn’t help feeling special. And wanting to prove themselves worthy of the faith he bestowed.

She’d always enjoyed hedging those advances with verbal chess. Giving him a little grief to make him smile. Or make him frustrated. Like a favorite pair of jeans, the routine was well-worn and perfect.

And eventually, they always came to suitable terms. Unless she denied them both the chance to get that far in negotiations. Like New Year’s Eve, when she’d been desperate for him not to talk.

Words were a band-aid without any glue to hold it down. And the wound was too raw.

Instead of walking away, she’d moved into his space. And he’d kissed her. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t resist kissing him back. Or wrapping her arms around him and enjoying the play of his muscles beneath her fingers.

For a few minutes, everything had been okay.

More than that. She’d been lost in a place where nothing bad ever happened. And like
Alice in Wonderland
, she’d been desperate for the curious swell of emotions racing through her to be the magic potion that would make her bigger or smaller or—in this case—pull her back to a time when there was hope for them.

When he came up for air, they’d both been breathing as if they’d run a marathon.

Every emotion had been open, on his face. Need, desire, sadness and anger. Had it not been for the latter half, she might have pulled him back to her. Taken another taste of his mouth. Instead, an ache weighed her down. He’d opened his mouth to say something, but his phone had interrupted.

And like returning to a dirty house after a vacation, the truth was still there. Hiding out under the cobwebs and dust bunnies. Next to the dirty dishes left in a haste.

“A.J.” He waved a hand in front of the laptop. “Addie?”

The software was still up, a still-frame of her front door in view. “I panicked a little.”

His eyebrows slammed together. Alertness filled eyes etched with exhaustion and something else. “About what?”

“Grab another ziplock.”

He didn’t hesitate, but went to her pantry and withdrew another piece of plastic. Brought it to her as if this happened all the time. She picked up the note and slipped it inside. The letters stood out, sickening non-repentance a huge slap in the face.

That swirl of dread was back in her stomach. “I’m guessing this was stuck between the pages of the book.”

Robinson took the bag from her and zipped it close. Scanned the contents, his face shadowing more with each word. Both hands gripped the packaging in stern control. As if he didn’t trust himself not to crumple the whole thing and light it on fire.

That, she understood. If he asked her to help, she’d tear this place apart looking for a lighter. Would even arrange a homemade fire pit right in the living room. Sing campfire songs and roast marshmallows.

Roll out a sleeping bag for them to share.

But the strongest, most professional, funny and caring man she knew was laying the letter facedown with the care an old lady might give a precious love note. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t make eye contact. Simply marched to the opposite end of her apartment and through the door leading to the rooftop access, granted only from her living quarters.

She blew out a breath.

What had she expected? That they’d pick up Lilly and Ariana and have a night of family games and laughter?

Not at this juncture. Or ever.

Amanda picked up her phone and opened the monitoring software for Addie. The entire house came into view, broken into little windows. By tapping on any of them, she could make them bigger and enhance as needed. After a final glance, she shoved it in her back pocket and followed the route Robinson had taken.