OBSESSION (The Bening Files (Novella) Book 4) (3 page)

Around the clock surveillance isn’t warranted, A.J. It’s unhealthy.

“I’m not scared.” Paige’s jaw moved as if she had more to say. She didn’t make eye contact.

Those middle-of-the-night screams said something else. So did Amanda’s increased caffeine intake and Robinson’s over-the-table glances. Every choice was no longer about what was best, but also what would harm Paige less. The two didn’t always jibe.

In fact, they almost never did. “It’s okay to be mad.”

The girl’s gaze swung back. A flash of resentment surfaced. “Fourteen girls died. I saw it. Am I supposed to be happy?”

Maybe that was why she’d chosen today for their chat. She’d progressed beyond shock. Gone straight to the swimming emotion Amanda could feel in her gut. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

“I tried.” Her voice broke. Her eyes moved to the ground. “Sometimes, I’m still trying. Still begging them to fight. Sleep. Hunger. Sadness.” She looked up. Pressed her lips together. “Not one of them ever does.” She brushed at her nose. “So, yeah. I’m pretty mad.”

Survivor’s guilt.
That
she understood. “Paige.”

The girl shook her head and sucked a portion of her bottom lip inward. “I don’t expect anyone to get it. And you can’t tell me a woman with a fancy degree can magically make everything better.”

Injecting a line about healing would be the ultimate slap in the face. “Sometimes anger can be productive. And sometimes it’s dangerous.”

A flash of irritation flitted over Paige’s features. “I’m not planning to hurt anybody.”

The biggest person she could do damage to was herself. “That’s a relief. I was starting to get a little worried. Now if only the men and women breaking the law were so honest.” Amanda choked down another swallow of coffee. Tried to convince her swirling stomach it needed the contents. “Anyway, I taught you the basics of self-defense.”

“We both know how much that does in a life or death situation.”

Almost nothing. But that little scrap was better than its counterpart. Better than admitting there were situations a person found herself in where training didn’t do squat. Where instinct and
fight or flight
took over. It either saved your life.

Or it didn’t.

She didn’t have to
tell
Paige any of it. She’d lived it. She’d spend the rest of her life getting over the six months she’d been prisoner to a narcissistic serial killer. “That’s something you could discuss with the rabbit-pulling magician later today. Maybe
start
the conversation. It might give you a little control over it.”

She swung toward Amanda. “Or you could tell her and save us both the trouble. There’s nothing to say that she hasn’t read in the paper.”

Amanda licked her lips. The media could never depict the open wounds only Paige knew. “Or
you
could go to school. Finish your homework. Make a friend.”

“You mean be normal?” The sentence came on the edge of disgust. Her upper lip curled.

“You
are
.”

“I look like a retired linebacker who drinks too much beer.” Her arms flung wide. “Don’t know if you missed this giant kangaroo jumping on my bladder. How is that normal?” Paige refocused on the building. “And I have a friend. Ariana.”

“More than one is good.” A flash of movement caught her eye near the still slumped figure on the sidewalk.

A sarcastic burst of air left the girl’s lips and pulled Amanda’s attention back to her.

“You know I’m, like, a pariah, right? These kids are here for legitimate reasons. I’m just…”

“Here for the same thing.” The thought of anyone contradicting that sent a boil into Amanda’s bloodstream. She stamped it down. Recalled all the times she’d noted potential. It was there. Ready to spring to life like a withered plant with a bare speck of green left in its leaves.

They just had to help Paige survive.

“You’re here to finish out some courses so you can continue with the rest of your classes in the fall.”

One dark eyebrow rose above the other, a look Amanda bet money she could see in a mirror if she tried hard enough. “In that school I’m not attending, you mean?”

If Robinson could hear this conversation he’d probably laugh at Paige’s sass. Remind Amanda who the girl took after. Maybe even joke that this was Amanda’s fault.

“We don’t live in Hershel Junior High’s district.” Or they wouldn’t come fall, because while every busybody in Charlotte knew Paige’s story—and Amanda’s too—she refused to subject her niece to direct contact with anyone who’d been remotely involved in that case.

Paige rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It’s not going to matter where I go—unless it’s Switzerland. A fancy private school won’t change anything.”

Amanda knew the feeling too well. Of history and wagging tongues preceding her, erasing every good thing she’d ever done. Erasing her entirely. “You’re not going to Switzerland. You and Ariana will go to school at Marks Academy. It’s a great place. You’ll be together.”

The security was top of the line, because Robinson was right.
That guy—
a.k.a, Kevin Gates—couldn’t hang around forever. Much like the home security system Amanda had insisted on keeping in her home for the last year and a half had gotten the boot. At least the near big-brother version.

“But I’m supposed to make other friends.” A giant eye roll had Amanda convinced the teen might flop backward due to its excessive nature. “Because Ariana is not good enough or something.”

Robinson’s niece was not the problem.

Amanda ground her molars together. Next chance she got, she’d thank her mom for helping her survive her teenage years. That is, if the Alzheimer’s gave them a break in the weather and her mom could remember who she was for a change.

“Let me rephrase. Make
another
friend, someone to help the time go by, and show these idiotic Neanderthals—” she flung an arm at the building, “—they don’t know squat.”

Paige blinked at her. “Neanderthals?” The edge of a smile crept up her face.

Amanda couldn’t help staring. Was pretty sure her jaw might be hanging open. She willed the slight upturn to move into a full-blown grin.

It faded. “Real nice parenting choice, Amanda.”

Somebody seriously needed to shoot her. “It’s a figure of speech. I’m sure they’re not really—

“I’m sure they are all very smart.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Okay. Score one, Paige. The game was far from over. She shook her head. Not a game. “Bottom line. This isn’t forever.”

Even if it seemed that way.

Paige made a low sound in her throat and turned her attention back to the school building. A flash of something to her left had Amanda glancing toward the unmoving person still sitting on the ground.

A short woman with dark hair closed the distance. A familiar flowery kimono-type dress covered her frame and a stylish, black purse hung from one arm as if she was on the biggest mission of her life.

No. Was that…?

“Grandma?” Paige shuffled closer.

Amanda’s heart dropped to her shoes. It tried to dig its way to the center of the earth, even as her brain registered the solid and easy connection the girl had made with Amanda’s ailing mother.

What was she doing here?

In her peripheral vision, she noted Kevin’s approach. “Have a good day at school, Paige.”

The teen shook her head. “Why isn’t she at the care center? Don’t they have one of those alarm bracelets on her?”

They did. They should. It was the pinnacle of the reason Amanda and her dad had chosen the state-of-the-art facility. That and its specialty Alzheimer’s unit, as well as the caring staff and stellar references.

In the six months her mom had been with the center, there had never been a problem, even as her Alzheimer’s disease worsened.

Eileen Nettles hunched in front of the prone figure. Amanda headed toward her. She tried to keep panic from climbing her esophagus.

The older woman pulled a package from her purse, lifted the other woman’s stiff-looking hand and placed the item inside. Stiff and colorless, minus the patch of red across the tips of her fingers.

What in the world?

“We’ve got an issue here.” Kevin’s voice filtered through the gong of her heart. He had his phone pressed to his ear.

Paige kept pace with Amanda as she crossed the street. “I want to help.”

A scan of the area produced nothing. No lingering witnesses. Nor the quick escape of a guilty party. Maybe her gut was off. “Get to class.”

As if she meant to run right to her grandmother and intervene before Amanda could, the teen moved forward. “Let me help. She listens to me.”

Amanda stepped in her path. Placed both hands on Paige’s upper arms. She tried to center Paige’s attention away from the scene without a happy ending. She’d seen enough death in her short life. They didn’t need to add to the nightmares.

“Class.” Amanda pointed toward the building. Hated the harsh and foreign sound of her voice. Couldn’t stop it. “Now. Kevin will escort you.”

“What?” Her eyebrows slammed together. “No.”

“For once in your life, listen. Inside the school. Now.”

And just like that Paige’s face closed. Her gaze flicked to the scene twenty feet in front of them, and then back to Amanda. Paige’s features returned to the stoic mask she and Robinson had been working on chiseling away.

The despondency hiding in her eyes froze the organ still beating at Amanda’s feet. Cracked right through the center. Before she could say anything to alleviate the tension swirling around them, her mother’s scream split the air.

All of the fine hairs on her body stood at attention.

And then Paige ran straight for Eileen Nettles.

CHAPTER THREE

LIFE WASN’T MORE than a long series of damage control.

The thought circled like a never-ending stream of dirty water headed for the drain. Except, it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t let it be. They just happened to be stuck in a particularly crappy round of Russian roulette.

I need you.

The words had never surged such pride and anxiety through him all at once. And as SAC Baker Jackson Robinson shuffled through over a dozen of Char-Meck’s milling police detectives, he worked to get the latter under firm control. It had as much place in his life as a cockroach at Thanksgiving dinner.

A few members of Charlotte’s Fifth Precinct nodded at him in passing. The others ignored him on the long-standing and often over-dramatized war between state and federal law enforcement. They all watched his progress as he and Detective Charleen Davis followed a lanky detective toward the interview rooms. To Robinson’s wife. Paige. Amanda’s mother.

And a show they were hoping to witness, from him or Amanda.

They’d have to get in line, because it wasn’t happening.

Beside him, Davis’ face was carefully blank. It had been that way since she’d met him at the front door of the precinct, as if Amanda had called her right after their brief conversation.

She hadn’t offered an explanation for her appearance.

He didn’t figure he’d like whatever she had to say anyway.

He kept all the things Amanda had told him in check. The random sickness. Quick and resourceful knowledge without a reliable source. The distance she kept unless it was convenient.

And even though Amanda might not admit to reading between those lines, he could see the magic ink pretty clearly. Ignoring it wasn’t an option he should entertain.

Davis had secrets. Not the kind you kept from a friend until you knew they were trustworthy, but the kind you took to the grave and hoped no one ever discovered.

With any luck, they were locked away in a file with her name back at the office. One he should open and dissemble. Make Amanda sit beside him while he did it.

If she weren’t involved, he might find contentment in the thought of Davis imploding right along with any possible schemes. Right now, the woman was another wild card nobody needed. Least of all his wife.

“She has Alzheimer’s.” Amanda’s voice carried toward them as they rounded the corner. An undercurrent of sheer panic flowed with the words. It kicked up his anxiety a notch. “You can’t question her and expect normal results.”

“With all due respect—if there is any left to give, Detective Nettles—this isn’t your precinct. And I’ve got a crime to solve.” A brown-haired man stood in front of Amanda, hands on his hips. A dark suit covered his tall frame. “You’re obstructing my investigation.”

Davis’ step faltered before she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve got another victim, downtown. Discovered yesterday. Blunt force to the abdomen. Same as what Nettles came across. You gonna tell us an Alzheimer’s patient, in a locked facility, committed these murders? Two days in a row? I bet the injuries are consistent, which suggests a cognitive process Mrs. Nettles lacks due to her disease.”