Read Aftermath for Free Online Page B
Authors: Rachel Trautmiller
organs.
As if she knew the way of his thoughts, she tucked her bottom lip inward for a second. “Thanks for breaking our fall.”
“Anytime, A.J.” He’d spent the better part of his career stuck in less than stellar situations with this woman. Been injured. Rescued victims. Arrested criminals. Trading moments wasn’t his style. He wouldn’t change a thing.
Except...
“So, you need a favor? Official or unofficial?” She shifted one of the stools and then sat at the island. As if the last two years hadn’t happened. And he was still one pesky G-man she couldn’t shake. Not the love of her life she’d found during a stressful and life-altering period in time.
He sucked in a slow breath.
Sudden nervousness had him fumbling for words. And a place to put his hands. So, he trudged to her side and sat next to her. Close enough to touch her. Breathe in a hint of wild flowers. Press his lips to hers.
He cleared his throat.
When it came to Amanda, he was insane. He’d proved that on several occasions and kept trying to outdo himself. One of these days he’d get it right.
Or fail in the most miserable way possible.
“Official.” Once upon a time he could have expected her to leap at either chance. Saving a life trumped everything for this woman. “Or it will be soon.”
Thanks to Internal Affairs, she was already shaking her head. Didn’t matter that she’d come out of the ordeal squeaky-clean. That there’d never been a solid reason to move forward with it, but rules were there for a reason. And as a formality, the state had elected to cross-check Amanda ten ways to Sunday.
For all the world to see.
The well of frustration was back in his gut as fresh as when the investigation into a string of bombings had started. While she’d aided them in catching the serial bomber two Christmases ago, she hadn’t been the same since.
He hadn’t been the same either.
There was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Couldn’t hit a magical revert button, talk sense into the government or even his—Amanda. It scared the spit out of him. Had served as a giant monster in the room between them, at times.
“Three little girls need our help. All I need is an extra set of hands. Detective Brink is useless. And Jonas seems to think—”
“Jonas?” At the mention of the SBI agent who’d helped them with several cases, her eyebrows slammed together. “I thought he went back to Boone.”
“He did. A fourteen-year-old went missing from her home in broad daylight. One minute she was in her room, the next vanished. Local law enforcement brought in search teams. The family has a creek in their backyard. They scoured it with no results. None of the girl’s friends report talking to or seeing her in the twenty-four hours prior to her disappearance.”
Amanda flicked a glance at Riley, still jabbering into a colorful depiction of a cat. “Let me guess. This happened in Boone.”
He nodded.
“What’s her name?”
Every other investigator he’d presented with the details asked a million questions about the facts. Rapid fire. Forced entry. Internet contacts. Club interests. It was the only way to figure out if what Robinson and Jonas had was worthy of more attention.
Connected to the letter, in his jacket that only two people knew about.
They were all important. Every face.
Besides himself, Amanda was the only one who’d asked for a name before everything else. Like him, she wanted more than bland facts. A picture of who this girl was, beyond her victimized status.
And, like every time they’d ever worked together, he couldn’t help the swell of pride.
“Kimberly Rose. Red hair. Five-six. One-hundred-twenty pounds. Likes horses, gymnastics and dance. Honor roll student. Never been in any trouble. She’s the oldest of three girls.”
Amanda grabbed a notepad and pen from the other end of the counter. Jotted something in the neat script he’d seen innumerous times over the years. In case notes, amongst
As if she knew the way of his thoughts, she tucked her bottom lip inward for a second. “Thanks for breaking our fall.”
“Anytime, A.J.” He’d spent the better part of his career stuck in less than stellar situations with this woman. Been injured. Rescued victims. Arrested criminals. Trading moments wasn’t his style. He wouldn’t change a thing.
Except...
“So, you need a favor? Official or unofficial?” She shifted one of the stools and then sat at the island. As if the last two years hadn’t happened. And he was still one pesky G-man she couldn’t shake. Not the love of her life she’d found during a stressful and life-altering period in time.
He sucked in a slow breath.
Sudden nervousness had him fumbling for words. And a place to put his hands. So, he trudged to her side and sat next to her. Close enough to touch her. Breathe in a hint of wild flowers. Press his lips to hers.
He cleared his throat.
When it came to Amanda, he was insane. He’d proved that on several occasions and kept trying to outdo himself. One of these days he’d get it right.
Or fail in the most miserable way possible.
“Official.” Once upon a time he could have expected her to leap at either chance. Saving a life trumped everything for this woman. “Or it will be soon.”
Thanks to Internal Affairs, she was already shaking her head. Didn’t matter that she’d come out of the ordeal squeaky-clean. That there’d never been a solid reason to move forward with it, but rules were there for a reason. And as a formality, the state had elected to cross-check Amanda ten ways to Sunday.
For all the world to see.
The well of frustration was back in his gut as fresh as when the investigation into a string of bombings had started. While she’d aided them in catching the serial bomber two Christmases ago, she hadn’t been the same since.
He hadn’t been the same either.
There was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Couldn’t hit a magical revert button, talk sense into the government or even his—Amanda. It scared the spit out of him. Had served as a giant monster in the room between them, at times.
“Three little girls need our help. All I need is an extra set of hands. Detective Brink is useless. And Jonas seems to think—”
“Jonas?” At the mention of the SBI agent who’d helped them with several cases, her eyebrows slammed together. “I thought he went back to Boone.”
“He did. A fourteen-year-old went missing from her home in broad daylight. One minute she was in her room, the next vanished. Local law enforcement brought in search teams. The family has a creek in their backyard. They scoured it with no results. None of the girl’s friends report talking to or seeing her in the twenty-four hours prior to her disappearance.”
Amanda flicked a glance at Riley, still jabbering into a colorful depiction of a cat. “Let me guess. This happened in Boone.”
He nodded.
“What’s her name?”
Every other investigator he’d presented with the details asked a million questions about the facts. Rapid fire. Forced entry. Internet contacts. Club interests. It was the only way to figure out if what Robinson and Jonas had was worthy of more attention.
Connected to the letter, in his jacket that only two people knew about.
They were all important. Every face.
Besides himself, Amanda was the only one who’d asked for a name before everything else. Like him, she wanted more than bland facts. A picture of who this girl was, beyond her victimized status.
And, like every time they’d ever worked together, he couldn’t help the swell of pride.
“Kimberly Rose. Red hair. Five-six. One-hundred-twenty pounds. Likes horses, gymnastics and dance. Honor roll student. Never been in any trouble. She’s the oldest of three girls.”
Amanda grabbed a notepad and pen from the other end of the counter. Jotted something in the neat script he’d seen innumerous times over the years. In case notes, amongst
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