OBSESSION (The Bening Files (Novella) Book 4) (5 page)

It was the most heartbreaking thing he’d ever witnessed. And in the rare moments she came back to them, they all worked hard to paint a rosy picture of her mental absence.

Amanda most, with Paige falling in a close second.

Eileen extended a hand toward him. She caught a glimpse of the red trailing across her palm and paused. Horror crossed her face.

The emotion knifed right through him.

What had she done?

She curled her fingers inward, then extended them again. “Is that blood?”

“I don’t know.” He checked the urge to inspect it. To order someone to bring him some medical supplies. He had to remain neutral or Sergeant Brink would probably fly through the door and remove him from the room. Under normal circumstances, he’d be within his right. “Looks like it.” How had the normally peaceful and monitored woman gotten the knife?

“Is it mine?”

Besides a print near her hip, he didn’t see any cause for panic. It didn’t ebb the concern swirling through him. With both his parents gone, he understood the kind of grief that type of loss would cause. He had no desire to see his wife go through it this early in the game.

Or ever.

He moved the chair on the opposite side of the table and placed it so both pieces of furniture faced the wall instead of the glass. Then he sat and motioned toward the seat opposite the one he’d taken. “Can we talk?”

She hesitated. “What happened to your head, young man?”

He touched the still-healing scar below his hairline. It barely registered in the mirror. “An accident added a little bit of charm to my dome cap.”

Eileen frowned, much like Amanda whenever he joked about it. “It looks like it was serious.” She placed a hand on either side of the scar, took her time inspecting it. “Head injuries aren’t anything to mess with. I assume you saw a doctor?” Her fingers left him and she sat. “Didn’t attempt to staple it yourself to impress the ladies?”

He covered his mouth on a half laugh, half cough. Though he’d never known the woman outside of the AD, he’d seen enough glimpses of her personality to know where Amanda got her spunk—biological or not. “I saw a professional.” Which was a complete understatement. He’d seen about twenty after the car accident. Was pretty sure he didn’t need to see another one ever again.

He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and rested his bent elbow on the table. Affected a calm his family needed to see from him.

His family.

Taking that sentiment lightly had never been an option, but lately he’d been pretty lax in lieu of rocking the boat. “Can you tell me your name?”

Her brow crinkled together. “What a ridiculous question. Of course I can.” As if he’d said something profound, she paused. Then her eyes widened and her head shot up. “You don’t need my name. I should ask to see some ID. What kind of name is Baker…?”

He produced his wallet and handed over the removable ID area, including the photo he had on the opposite side with him, Amanda, Walter, and Eileen, taken on a rare day they’d found when she remembered who they were. Sometime before he’d married Amanda. “An old one.”

As if memorizing the driver’s license, she fingered the material. Her hands froze when she came to the picture. “That’s…” Her gaze snapped to his. “Why do you have a picture of her?” She pointed to herself standing next to her husband. “And who are these people?”

He leaned forward. Prepared for an epic outburst Amanda might ream him for. Rule number one: You never argued with Alzheimer’s. It didn’t answer back in any productive or predictable way. You treated it like an unruly toddler. Bribed it. Coddled it if you had to. Anything to avoid a tantrum in public that begot horrified stares. Or in this case, agitated the sleeping, befuddled beast. “Because I’m your son-in-law. And that’s your family.”

She flung the material from her hands as if it had flames attached. It skittered across the table and stopped near the edge opposite them. She stood, the scrape of her chair akin to the empty chamber of a gun when facing a heavily armed suspect.

“No. My family… My daughter is far too young to be married. A baby. And you’re, what, forty?”

Ouch. The age difference—less than a decade—had bothered him for all of two minutes before he’d gotten distracted by his wife all those years ago. The way she didn’t care what other people thought. Pushed through the madness to find the truth.

Something he needed to remind her of, if their early morning discussions were any indication. Or the lack of. Not that he was complaining entirely. “Your daughter is almost thirty, Eileen.”

Her dark head shook. Her eyebrows scrunched together. “No. She’s a teenager. Barely has her driver’s license.” She raised a fist, index finger out, bouncing it a bit before clenching her entire hand together. “And you are not her type.”

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS DOING it on purpose. Amanda knew it and understood where his actions would lead.

That didn’t mean she liked it.

Robinson aimed to back Eileen Nettles into a corner she couldn’t escape. To prove she was crazy, nonviolent, or the opposite. That Alzheimer’s ruined the brain to the point where a person had no logical thought process whatsoever.

Or maybe something else altogether, because while he emanated an air of complete relaxation, the glare he’d shot Amanda’s way moments earlier was anything but calm.

Something had his back against the wall.

It had paused her conversation with Sergeant Brink and made her step closer to the window as if drawn by an invisible string. Anxiety and admiration warred inside her heart. The latter should have been second nature after all the time she’d spent around Robinson.

Making tough calls without remorse should have been somewhere in his mile-long name.

Instead, all she could think about was what might be going on inside her mother’s mind and praying this struggle with reality wouldn’t cause her harm. Even so, Amanda couldn’t move. Not to tell Robinson to stop, nor to leave her mom to fend for herself.

Especially not to give Sergeant Brink what he wanted; her mother behind bars and Amanda removed from any involvement.

To Amanda’s left, Paige sat in the same place she’d been when Robinson had gone to talk to her.

You never listen. You don’t think.

The harsh words came back to Amanda in a voice that was part hers and part foreign. All aimed at her niece. Mixed up with a terrible gnawing sensation and a lot of accusation. Spewed from her mouth as if she were a fire-breathing dragon, as they made their way to the precinct.

It had never happened before. And there’d been plenty of times she’d been angrier.

How did Amanda know the girl never listened? They’d only been a family of three for one short month.

“The two of you think you can barge into any investigation you want without precedent.” Killian Brink folded his arms across his chest and continued to stare through the mirror. “There are rules for a reason.”

And sometimes there were situations outside the scope of those rules.

“You’re lying.” Her mom’s voice came out in a shriek that made Amanda want to cover her ears. She stood still, powerless to do anything as Eileen flung the chair she’d been sitting on toward the mirror. Amanda felt the rattle of the wall as if the building materials were nothing more than papier-mâché.

Brink flinched. He stepped back as if the older woman might spin her head three hundred and sixty degrees and walk through the wood, sheetrock and glass. While Amanda wanted to do the same, she didn’t move.

And neither did Robinson. He acted as if he knew every step the other woman would make and planned to outmaneuver her.

Surviving death had made him cocky. Or brave. Or invincible. As if all the scars on his body were merely proof of the latter two. A little extra
charm
that made him irresistible.

And made her remember those close calls with too much clarity.

Instead of insisting they talk about it, she was grateful he was still around. It had happened. End of story. No point in rehashing the details.

And yet, you want Paige to open up.

“Somewhere inside your mind—your heart—you know I’m right.” His voice was smooth. Reminded her of all the times he’d backed
her
into a corner and refused to walk away without the best she could offer. “You have a disease called Alzheimer’s. It’s a type of dementia that causes problems with—”

“I know what dementia is.”

He wet his bottom lip, tucking it inward a second. “I know you used to.”

Her mom’s back went ramrod straight. She swung an open palm toward him. Robinson caught her wrist and stood before Amanda could take two full steps.

Eileen tugged her arm, then glanced at it as if she didn’t understand how or why it had come to be in his grasp.

“I don’t have it.” Another tug. “I know who I am. Who my family is. And you aren’t part of it. Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s right outside.”

Eileen’s hands clenched. She shook her head.

And if Amanda went inside the room at this juncture, her mother wouldn’t recognize her. Would call her a liar, too.

“She’s worried about you. We all are.” He released her. Gave the older woman a wide berth and righted the chair.

“If my daughter is outside this room, then you know my name. And you know…”

He nodded as if he were talking to a preschooler who’d finally counted to ten. “I know all about you. That you love health-related topics. And you wanted to be a doctor, but life threw you a curveball, so you did the next best thing. You became a teacher, professionally and personally.

“You always thought you’d have a ton of children, but there’s just Amanda. And it bothers you that most days you can’t remember what she looks like. Because you can’t remember her at all. No matter how hard you try.”

Amanda swallowed past the lump in her throat. Managed to avoid thinking about all the important events and moments that no longer existed. And what might fill that space.

Her mom shuffled backward a step. One hand flew toward her throat. “That’s not true.”

“What’s her name?” He picked up his wallet and pointed to the picture he kept there. “Who are these people?”

“You left her to die.” The glitter of sudden, unshed tears welled in her mother’s eyes. She advanced toward Robinson, fury etched across her face. “You convinced her it was the only way to survive. And when it didn’t work, you left her. Alone.”

A strangled noise came from beside Amanda. Davis turned and retreated through the thinning crowd of onlookers, her pace quick and panicked.

Almost as if she needed air.

A grunt brought her focus back to Robinson, who had her mother in a hold reserved for psychiatric patients. A layer of sweat popped up across his upper lip as if he were in pain, but desperate to move forward. It took everything she had not to rush inside. This, much like everything else lately, was a test she needed to pass.

And if she stepped inside that room, they’d all fail.

Sergeant Brink brushed past her, but stopped before he was out of earshot. “If someone gets hurt, it’ll be on your head, Nettles.”

###

SO MUCH FOR damage control.

Robinson wasn’t sure jumping into the fray with Eileen Nettles had done any good. He’d only known he couldn’t sit around doing nothing, with his thumb up his rear, while everybody in that precinct hung around for the next bit of Nettles gossip.

He wedged his phone between his shoulder and cheek, then rooted around in his desk for the over-the-counter medication he kept on hand. Tried to stave off the irritation flaring through his chest with every breath he took. It hadn’t happened in a while, but he’d been warned about how stretching wrong, push-ups, a hit—even minor—could cause some discomfort.

The scar on his head hadn’t been the only result of his near brush with death. Every day he got a nifty reminder that someone had used a little too much zest with a solid fifteen minutes of CPR.

Far be it from him to complain.

“What’s up, buddy?” The voice of Robinson’s childhood friend floated over the line. The sound of rubber accelerating against asphalt took up the rest of the airwaves. It derailed the careful list of questions he had for the chaplain, regarding a certain detective and any secrets she may or may not have.

Amanda might have chosen rose-colored glasses, but he hadn’t.

“Headed somewhere, Dexter?”

“Just hit the outskirts of Charlotte, actually.”

“Oh?” He located the container of pain relievers, popped the cap off and downed four with the coffee he’d snagged from the pot in the break room. Then he sat down and leaned backward with careful movements. “What’s the occasion?”

“One pesky sister.”

The intermittent sound of a blinker seemed to point like a beacon to the youngest Knight child. Always in a scrape and at the ready for some cause. “What’s Juliana done this time?”

“Nothing. That I know of. I just haven’t heard from her in a couple of weeks.”