OBSESSION (The Bening Files (Novella) Book 4) (14 page)

So, yeah, he didn’t have any idea what he was getting into. And maybe that was okay, even if the words had come from a woman who saw life differently than they did.

He shifted the remnants of the business card in his hand.

Weren’t doctors supposed to present options? Not sway a patient in a specific direction. They were supposed to offer support if able, not rip it from under a person. Had she never experienced life this way?

He shook his head. It was abstract to her. She either saved an existence or she didn’t, with no sleep lost over the alternative. The way she’d flippantly announced Eileen Nettles was part of her clinical trial and the card she’d produced as if she carried it around for that exact purpose said as much.

Women’s Health North.

She’d read Paige’s file; knew she was well past the gestation the law allowed for abortion. So why suggest it at all? Unless she knew someone who practiced outside of those legalities.

It didn’t make sense. What did it matter to her?

Amanda grabbed the stationery from his palm. She fit the pieces together until the address was visible. “This clinic is about a half mile from the school. From where we found Nora Flemming and my mom.”

He’d noted that too. Did it mean anything?

“Mark found a copy of a consent form from the clinic.” She stood. “It was dated the day before yesterday. And North Carolina has a waiting period between consenting to services for…” Her gaze hit Paige, who was focused on every word.

Sometimes it was hard to remember she was thirteen, and didn’t need to be hearing these details regardless of age. Or be a party to anything so sinister.

“Hey, you started talking in front of me.” She eyed them both. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m sort of attached to this bed.” Paige pointed to the tubes and wires.

Amanda stuck her tongue in her cheek as if she held back laughter. “Cover your ears.”

Her eyebrows merged together. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Amanda nodded.

The girl let out a huff and placed her hands on either side of her head anyway. “I’ll still be able to hear everything you say.”

“Pretend that you can’t. Maybe hum a little song.”

Paige rolled her eyes.

Robinson bit back a laugh. He tried to focus on his wife and not the teenager making faces at them like a three-year-old in time out. He cleared his throat. “You were saying?”

Amanda blinked. “The state has a waiting period between the consent and the actual rendering of services.”

It explained the mild vaginal irritation, but did it go any farther than that? Could this guy be targeting unsuspecting and susceptible mothers? “Did Davis’ victim have anything similar on her?”

“No. Not even an ID.”

He shook his head. “Not that you’re aware of. I’ll have Jordan run her prints.”

“The clinic opens pretty early. I could talk to some of the staff. Maybe see if they’ve seen either woman. Or…”

Eileen Nettles.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, her gaze hit his. She chewed on her bottom lip. The question was there, crystal clear with the promise of an answer.

What if my mom is behind all of this?

“Only one way to find out, A.J. What are you waiting for? Paige and I aren’t going anywhere.”

She straightened. “I can find someone else to track down the information.”

“It has to be you.” Paige lowered her hands, her voice resolute.

“She’s right.” He knew his wife better than that. “You’d hate not having it firsthand. These women deserve your best.
Their
families deserve that.” And it was nice to see that spark back in her eyes again.

“Don’t forget Grandma.”

###

THE MATERNITY FLOOR was quiet, save for the occasional cry of a baby, when Robinson escorted her outside of Paige’s room. As if she’d been a figment of Amanda’s imagination, Sandra was nowhere in sight. And if the harsh look on Robinson’s face was any indication, he planned to keep it that way.

“You have impeccable timing, Robbie.” Amanda leaned against the wall. “Thank you.”

“You had it covered.”

“Debatable.” She shifted. “It’s one thing when our paths happen to cross, but she purposely sought us—or Paige—out today. I can’t help but wonder why.”

“If I thought you’d get an honest answer to that, I’d hunt her down and ask.”

“Honesty is not the problem.” Never had been. Amanda sensed she could ask the other woman for the deepest, darkest secret she had and she’d hand it over point-blank. “She called Paige her granddaughter. She doesn’t even claim me as her daughter, not that I want that.” Eileen Nettles was—would forever be—her mother.

Nothing could change that. Not even a guilty verdict.

“I thought you were getting coffee?”

“Got a call from Dexter.” He scratched the scruff on his cheek. “He dug up some interesting information on Davis.”

The emotional roller-coaster was in full swing with a swift drop. “I’d like some good news every now and then. Pretty sure that was somewhere in the marital fine print.”

A laugh burst from him. “Maybe I should have read the contract a little closer. You didn’t add any clauses when I wasn’t looking, did you?”

“Hang around and find out.” She shook her head. “So, how bad is it?”

“Around her eighth birthday, Davis was slated to join a new foster family.” He leveled serious blue-green eyes on her. “Yours.”

Amanda sucked in a slow breath, glanced at the area around them. “I would have been about twelve.” She wouldn’t have missed Davis. No way. She wasn’t that blind. Not twice.

An exhale sent a stray piece of hair flying upward. It settled in front of her eyes. She tucked it behind one ear. “So what happened?”

“One of those altercations. Davis broke the other girl’s nose. Since both of them were minors, you won’t find official reports anywhere. Not after all this time.”

“So how’d Dexter end up with the information?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Firsthand recounting.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What?”

“The prison routinely catalogs each inmate’s previous injuries upon initial intake. Sort of as a safety precaution.”

“The only person in the Central Prison in Raleigh that you would make this big a stink about is dead.”

Executed for her crimes last month, after she’d inadvertently saved his life and that of her biological daughter currently sitting beyond where they stood.

The one Paige assumed Amanda felt beholden to when that wasn’t close to the case. Beth was part of their history—a sister Amanda had been informed of much too late in life. They couldn’t erase it, couldn’t forget. That meant moving forward was the only course possible. They’d made as much peace as a person on death row could make.

“You know, if you say Beth’s name, the Boogieman isn’t gonna jump out of nowhere and eat you. Unless, maybe you say it in front of Sandra. In fact, maybe you should. Might be her weak spot. Sort of like garlic and vampires.”

She choked back a laugh-snort. “
Garlic and vampires
? Should I hold up a cross and sprinkle holy water on her as well? Think she’ll melt?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re stalling. Out with it.”

“When asked about it, Beth reported the event as a lesson in underestimation. Even dropped Davis’ name. Of course she called her Vi, which is why Dexter didn’t immediately put the two together.”

“The name doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

But didn’t it? Every time someone used it lately, they did so with a good amount of familiarity, which didn’t jibe with the often aloof detective persona Davis portrayed.

“It’s interesting Davis never mentioned kicking Beth’s butt when we took her into custody two years ago.”

Amanda shook her head. “That would have required opening up. And that isn’t Davis’ specialty.”

Starting that conversation would have results similar to beginning one with Amanda’s deceased sister. She’d have kept her answers close to the vest, expecting the worst from everyone, because life hadn’t shown her any different and she’d been too scared to latch on to the truth. And Davis…

Robinson pulled his bottom lip inward. “Davis cuffed Dexter to the iron banister in our entryway sometime before he called me this morning.”

“What?” Whoa. “How did that happen?
Why
did it happen?”

Robinson worked his jaw. “Dex didn’t elaborate. I got the feeling the only reason he told me about it at all was because he pulled one of the rungs away from the wood in order to free himself. He didn’t seem real happy about it. In fact, he sounded more annoyed than ever before. Like he couldn’t wrap his mind around something big.”

It meant Davis hadn’t straight-up cuffed him and walked out. Something significant had happened beforehand.

“What was she thinking?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you track her down and find out? Once she cuffed him, she took the keys to his car and left.”

“Are we talking about the same person? Because the Davis I’ve known for the last few years is the biggest rule follower.” Although that hadn’t been the case as of late.

He sent her a maybe-now-you-see-the-issue look. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? If you ask two unrelated people what kind of person Detective Davis is, the only thing they will agree on is that she’s distant. Wears sarcasm like a badge. Doesn’t have many friends.”

Yet, a select few referred to her by a nickname, Vi, which indicated a level of closeness no one ever saw her display.

“You didn’t push Dexter for information?”

“With him, the more you dig, the less you know. I assume if it was sinister in nature he would have alerted me.”

Maybe. Dexter played by a different set of rules. They were better in some ways—allowed for second chances a chaplain would believe in more than most. Dangerous in others—leaving him vulnerable.

Robinson stepped away from the wall. “I know I’ve been driving the point home pretty hard core. Just be careful. Do what you do best, but watch yourself. That’s it.”

CHAPTER TEN

BY THE TIME Amanda reached the clinic on the north side of Charlotte, its doors had been open for all of ten minutes and the skies had decided to open up and drench everything. She shook droplets off the edges of her hooded rain jacket as she entered.

Two women sat in the waiting room, on opposite ends, as if that helped with anonymity. They both looked up. The redhead to her right paused long enough to shoot Amanda a look of disgust. Then she went back to flipping through a magazine. The swell of her stomach was barely visible through the baggy shirt she wore. It could have easily been mistaken for one too many beers on the weekends.

The blonde on Amanda’s left took more time scanning her entry, as if she were interested in a story Amanda might have. She wore a yellow maternity top that added flair to her pregnant state instead of hiding it.

She’d always assumed she wouldn’t miss the unknown world of pregnancy, except feeling the life inside Paige, even from the outside…

Amanda rubbed the moisture from her face with the inside edge of her sleeve and moved to the front desk. A woman in cheery blue scrubs fielded a call on her headset. She held up a chubby index finger, the bangle bracelets on her wrist a fashion statement gone wrong.

A short blonde woman in a white lab coat filed charts several feet behind her at the pace of a snail.

Amanda pulled out the pictures she’d grabbed at work before heading this way. One was taken of Nora Flemming three weeks before her death. Robinson had managed to identify their Jane Doe as Erin McCormick and forwarded Amanda the photo on her driver’s license. It depicted a cute twenty-two-year-old on the cusp of everything important.

Neither woman’s background indicated homelessness. And yet they’d both been in rags, dirty and pregnant. Alone.

Knowing Robinson, he was already well on his way to sitting Erin’s parents down and asking difficult questions. Well,
he
wasn’t, but somebody within the FBI was.

Amanda flipped to the picture of her mother that she kept in her wallet. It had been taken last summer when Eileen Nettles still had more good than bad days. A stab of guilt hit her in the solar plexus. She should be happy her mother was still alive to make memories with, however small, and not the opposite. Be thankful she’d had time with her mom instead of being stuck with the cold and distant Sandra Porterville.

Like Beth. Robinson was right. Uttering her name didn’t mean anything one way or the other.

Amanda glanced out the office’s picture window. A few cars passed down Carmichael Avenue. The redhead still had the magazine, but the blonde was nowhere in sight.

Had she left? Amanda didn’t see anyone walking the street directly in front of the clinic. Hadn’t heard the chime of the front door.

The clack of plastic on plastic brought her attention back to the receptionist. “Do you have an appointment?”