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“It’s enough to assign you police protection,” Ryan said.
“Minimal protection,” Marc corrected. “Our team can provide a whole lot more.” He cleared his throat. “Tom, based on Claire’s tip, which led to your finding the body, along with the threats that were made against Casey—could you speak to your captain about Forensic Instincts working together with your precinct on solving this one? Our skills and resources can complement each other’s.”
“While working within the boundaries of the law?” Tom asked pointedly.
“That’s always our intention,” Marc responded. “We’re not interested in being at odds with law enforcement. Just understand that we’re protecting one of our own. Anything we do that falls into the gray area will be our responsibility and will in no way implicate the police.”
“Fair enough,” Tom agreed. “Let me finish the paperwork, including all the information you just gave me. We’re in the process of checking for latent fingerprints on the tarp. We could get lucky. This bastard might be in the system. But first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll take your request to my captain.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Claire said.
She disconnected the call. She didn’t need to look around the table to see what was reflected on her teammates’ faces.
With or without police assistance, they’d already taken on the case.
* * *
Claire remained in the conference room long after the rest of the team had taken off and even Casey had gone upstairs to make the attempt to catch some sleep.
No matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t get the crime images out of her mind. They flashed through her head, one image after the other, like some old horror movie.
The visualizations had begun in sequence as Tom elaborated on what he’d found at the crime scene. Claire could see it all—Kendra’s wrapped body, her hair, even the red satin ribbon tied around her throat. Worse, Claire could feel what Kendra had been feeling—everything from the panic to the blinding pain to the sense of futility, and then the moment when she’d given up.
The whole horrifying event had grabbed hold of Claire and wouldn’t let go.
She dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes, as if by doing that she could make it all go away.
It didn’t work.
Shoving back her chair, Claire left the conference room, heading down the stairs, looking for escape. She had no desire to go home or to be alone in her apartment. She was totally freaked out and trembling, consumed by a sense of death.
She didn’t remember passing the ground floor and continuing downstairs to the basement. But once she’d done so... She had no idea how she knew Ryan would be there. She just did.
The door to his lair was half-closed. Claire stepped inside, glancing at his usual spot behind the computer. He wasn’t there. Instead, he was across the room, sitting on his bench and lifting weights. He was definitely a man with a mission, pumping iron with a vengeance, perspiration glistening on his bare chest.
He spotted Claire the minute she came in. Slowly, he lowered his weights to the floor and stood up.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She shook her head.
He crossed over to her, studying her drawn expression and wide, frightened eyes.
Neither of them said a word.
Claire reached behind her and shoved the door closed, turning the lock with a loud click. Then she took the few steps that separated her from Ryan and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Make it go away,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. Make the pictures stop.”
He tilted back her head, kissed her once, hard, and then lifted her off the floor and flush against him. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist and they stumbled across the room, dropping onto the futon they’d used more than a few times for this.
Claire let her body take over, let the feel, taste and smell of Ryan permeate her senses. Making love with him was an all-encompassing experience, leaving no room for anything else. Which was exactly what she needed right now.
They drew it out as long as they could—blocking out the world, losing themselves in sensation. Claire’s climax was explosive, and she cried out, feeling Ryan’s body jolt with his own release.
Afterward, they were quiet, both of them loath to let go of the moment and allow reality to creep back in.
When Ryan spoke, it was in a rough, gravelly tone. “Don’t cry.”
Claire blinked. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. But her cheeks and lashes were wet, as was Ryan’s shoulder where her face had been.
“I’m sorry.” She ran her palm across his shoulder, then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “It’s the emotional energy.”
Ryan nodded, his chin pressed against the crown of her head.
Another moment passed, and Claire could feel the ugly ghosts threatening to crowd their way into her mind. Unconsciously, her nails dug into Ryan’s back.
Ryan picked up on her panic.
“It’s after three in the morning,” he said. “We have to be upstairs in a couple of hours. For you to go home now would be ridiculous. Stay here.”
Now that was unprecedented.
What Claire and Ryan had was very complicated. They were polar opposites in so many ways. They debated hard, they bickered constantly and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Ryan was gorgeous and charismatic, with those smoldering Black Irish looks and the charm to match—all of which meant he attracted women like a magnet.
None of that impressed Claire. She was very much her own person, gentle and ethereal, yet strong and honest, unwilling to back down when she thought Ryan was wrong. They were, without a doubt, each other’s weak spot, and despite their best intentions to the contrary and the fact that the two of them were like day and night, they continued to wind up in bed together.
They’d fast become a habit each of them was finding impossible to break.
After months of being involved, they’d relegated their sexual relationship to its own inexplicable but inescapable niche.
That niche didn’t include spending the night together.
Still, what Ryan was saying now made complete pragmatic sense. It was hardly a romantic step forward. Just a time-saver and a few extra hours of comfort—hours Claire badly needed. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t have the energy to move. And she didn’t have the mental strength to battle her demons.
Ryan didn’t wait for Claire’s reply. He rolled onto his side and reached for the fleece throw he kept at the foot of the futon. He settled Claire against him and covered them both.
“Go to sleep, Claire-voyant,” he murmured. “Shut down that out-of-control mind of yours. You can pick up where you left off tomorrow.”
Claire would never admit how relieved Ryan’s words made her feel, or how grateful she was not to be alone. She commanded her mind and her body to release the negative energy, and they complied. “I’m so drained,” she heard herself whisper aloud.
“I know.” Ryan lay down beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist, pausing only long enough to set the alarm on his watch.
By the time he put down his head, Claire was fast asleep.
* * *
Upstairs in her apartment, Casey was having no such luck.
She’d taken a hot shower to relax the tension from her body, plumped her pillows about twelve times and now lay on her back, one arm folded beneath her head.
She wished that damned voice on the phone hadn’t been disguised. But the fact that it was—did that mean she knew the person at the other end? He wasn’t threatening Forensic Instincts. Even if this was a personal vendetta against Casey’s entire company, he was zeroing in on her as his target. That in itself was unnerving. But what unnerved her most was how detailed the offender’s planning had been. He’d plugged into her current investigation and where she stood on it. That took time, patience and connections. He obviously had all three. And with regard to tonight’s rape and murder? He’d carefully chosen a victim whose description matched Casey’s.
All those things together added up to a systematic mind and strategic planning—a lethal combination.
Last, but far from least, he’d made sure to call Casey either right before or, even more macabre, sometime during his horrific crime.
That added a perverse twist....
What was his motive? Was it personal? Professional? And if Casey was designated as the final target, what killing rampage did he have planned in the interim?
The questions bombarded Casey, growing more and more numerous as she lay there.
She had an impressive team in Forensic Instincts. They’d drop everything to work this crime and keep her safe. But there was only one person who had the expertise—and, yes, the personal investment—to get a handle on this case and solve it quickly.
She picked up her phone and punched in a number on speed dial.
Two rings, and then a sleepy voice answered. “Hutchinson.”
“It’s me. I need you.”
Chapter Eight
The FI team was exhausted, but vigilantly gathered around the conference table at 6:30 a.m. No single-cup Keurig today—they’d pulled out the big guns. There were two pots of coffee, neither of them decaf, already half-consumed within the first half hour of their meeting.
“I called Hutch last night,” Casey informed the rest of the group. “Unfortunately, he can’t get away from Quantico right away. But he’ll consult with us by phone and arrange to get to New York as soon as possible.”
“Good move,” Marc said with a nod. “No one’s better at profiling than Hutch. Although he’ll probably be less objective than even we are.”
“Probably.” Casey didn’t dispute that. “But it won’t stop him from getting inside this psychopath’s head.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Let’s be blunt. We’ve been sitting here for almost an hour reviewing the details we know. We can continue ad nauseam, but we’re not going to come up with a concrete lead. There’s just not enough to go on.”
“We were invited in by the cops,” Marc said. “Or we will be once Tom speaks to his captain.”
“That’s not exactly the way it’s going to work,” Ryan corrected him. “We’ll be kept on a short leash, and told what they want us to know. This is still technically their investigation, not ours. And you know as well as I do that we can’t sit around waiting for them to toss us leads.”
“Which is why we’ll be making it our investigation.” Marc spoke for them all. “We’ll protect Casey. We’ll find the killer.”
“You can’t protect me around the clock,” Casey said.
“The hell we can’t.” Marc didn’t bat an eye. “I brought my stuff over this morning. I’ll be staying at the brownstone until we catch this son of a bitch. I’m the best qualified.”
No one argued with that decision. Marc was formidable with or without a gun. He had physical skills that scared the crap out of most people. He also had the hearing and dexterity of a cat.
“I put my stuff in the third-floor meeting room,” Marc informed Casey. “The couch in there is more comfortable than my bed. And I’ll be one floor below you. Not to mention that Hero will be in your room. Between us and the alarm system, this place will be like Fort Knox.”
“I’ll program Yoda to respond to the slightest noise,” Ryan said. “I’ll start poking into Casey’s cell phone records. And during the day, we’ll take shifts watching her.”
“That’s not necessary,” Patrick intervened. “Our efforts are needed in a proactive way. You know from our last case that I’ve got access to the best security guards in the business, all of whom are licensed to carry a gun. They’ll go everywhere Casey goes, and watch the outside of the brownstone at night. She’ll have 24/7 coverage. Ryan, that’ll free you up to run the technology and strategic end of things, and Claire to focus on her psychic connections.”
“I really appreciate all this.” Casey set down her coffee mug. “And I’d be lying if I said I won’t feel infinitely safer with all those plans set in motion.” She stroked Hero’s head. “But Patrick’s right. Running interference isn’t enough. Assuming the fingerprints turn up nothing, we have to put our efforts into figuring out who this guy is and why he has it in for me.”
“You need to make two sets of lists,” Marc told her. “One will be a list of everyone—both personal and professional—that you had even a slight disagreement with.”
“I’ll run all the FI case files,” Ryan said. “Plus any cases from your consulting days. That’ll give us the big-screen potential candidates.”
Casey nodded. “And I’ll dig into every nook and cranny of my life, every detail of my days, to add to that list.”
“The other list will be of the killer’s possible next target,” Marc continued. “I want you to write down every single person you interact with who’s a petite redhead.” He thought for a moment. “If you know whether they’re natural redheads, that would be better still. My guess is this killer wants the real thing if he can get it.”
“Makes sense,” Casey said. “I’ll have plenty of time to do this tonight, since I doubt I’ll be doing much sleeping.”
“Tonight?” Claire shot her a quizzical look. “What about today?”
Casey blew out her breath. “We still have Jan Olson’s case to pursue. I’m not being a martyr. I’m pretty fixated on what just happened. But there’s a dying man waiting for us to find his daughter’s body.”
“Let me talk to Tom,” Claire said. “I’ll see how much police assistance we can count on. We have to work on both cases simultaneously. But, Casey, your life is our priority.” She tapped the table thoughtfully. “I was connecting with Jan’s energy when Kendra’s murder took over. I sensed death. And fear. Fear that Jan wasn’t sharing with anyone. She knew she was in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Patrick asked.
“Someone was watching her. Following her. She didn’t know what to do.”
“Exactly like Holly,” Casey said at once.
“Yes.” Claire nodded. “Exactly like Holly. And the stalker was new to this. Jan was practice.” A deep breath as Claire let the recollections fill her mind. “I could see Jan running through a park. She was terrified. Stumbling. Looking over her shoulder. Her stalker wasn’t just looking anymore. He was chasing her.”
“Did he catch her?” Marc asked. “Rape her? Kill her? Could you make out his face?”
Claire shook her head in frustration. “I never got that far. Kendra’s energy took over. I was gripped with it. It eclipsed everything I was sensing before that. There was simply no room for anything else.”
At that moment, Claire’s cell phone rang. “It’s Tom,” she announced, after checking out caller ID. “I’ll put him on speaker.”
“Hi, Tom, you’ve got us all,” she greeted him.
“Good. Then I’ll write down the office number, since I’ll be dealing with the whole team from now on. After a lot of arm-twisting, my captain agreed to your request. He complained about getting some pressure from the captain of the Twenty-sixth.” Tom was referring to the precinct where Columbia was situated. “Apparently, Casey Woods has pull there.”
“I’ve consulted for them,” Casey explained. “They have a great squad.” No need to get into their ongoing partnership on the Jan Olson case.
“Well, we’ll be joining forces on this case, since Kendra could very well have been kidnapped or killed on the Columbia campus and her body disposed of at the Brooklyn warehouse.”
“What happened with the fingerprints?” Marc asked right away.
“Dead end. Whoever this scumbag is, he doesn’t have a record.” Tom sighed. “We were really hopeful on that score. Anyway, I also want you to know that, thanks to social media, word about Kendra’s murder has gotten out. None of the details I shared with you, just the rape and the murder. There are counselors on campus talking to whoever needs help. And our detectives are there interviewing Kendra’s friends.”
“Anything yet?”
“Only that she was a studious, quiet girl who spent most of her time in the library. Her major was philosophy, so we’ll be interviewing all her professors. As for her whereabouts last night, she was supposedly on her way to a fraternity party, but never showed up.”
Claire had tears in her eyes. “The students must be planning something.”
