A soft smile touched Casey’s lips. “Don’t bother. I’m more intimidated by you than I am by him.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Casey heard beyond the drill sergeant tone to the worry beneath it. “I’m really fine, Hutch,” she said in a gentle voice. “Promise.”
Hutch blew out a relieved breath. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it, until I can confirm it myself. I’m inundated here. But I’m going to try to get out at a reasonable hour. I’ll bring home dinner.”
“Inundated? Anything you can tell me?” Casey asked like a hopeful puppy awaiting a treat. “Maybe something that’s not classified?”
Hutch chuckled. “No, my beautiful wife. But nice try. Now put your head down and sleep.”
“Okay,” Casey reluctantly agreed. “Even though I’m not tired.”
Hutch’s lips curved as he heard her yawn. “That’s fine. I’ll stay on the line while you settle in to rest.”
He waited three minutes. “Case?”
No answer. As he could have predicted, his exhausted wife was out cold.
Smiling, he disconnected the call and sent out the necessary group text.
Ryan’s lair
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
4:10 pm
Ryan was peering at his computer, working with Yoda to restore Shane’s cell phone data, when Claire knocked lightly at the door.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked, poking her head inside. “Because if it’s not a convenient breaking point for you, I’ll come back later.”
Ryan raised his head and swiveled his chair around to face her.
“No problem,” he said. “Restoring data off a cell phone that’s shattered and in FBI custody is slow, tedious work. I could use a diversion.” For a brief second, a hint of the old Ryan emerged, and a corner of his mouth lifted, his brows arching in hopeful anticipation. “Is this a booty call?”
Claire smiled. “Sorry to dash your hopes, but this is work-related.” She held up two evidence bags containing the personal items of Shane’s that Ryan had given her. Seeing the pained expression that crossed his face, Claire softened the discussion that lay ahead. “Although I have felt neglected. Maybe a raincheck for tonight, when we’re both here working until God knows when?”
With a hard swallow, Ryan nodded. “My pleasure. Yours, too.” That was about all the lighthearted conversation he could muster up. “Did you pick up on any sensory connections from holding Shane’s stuff?”
Crossing over, Claire perched on the wobble stool that Ryan had engineered for his restless moments.
“Not the NYPD-related items,” she responded. “But the hoodie—yes.” She set aside the NYPD evidence bag, opened the other, and took out the zip-up hoodie. She held it gently, running her finger along the jagged edges of the zipper. Her eyes slid shut, and when she spoke, she was unmistakably repeating an awareness she’d accessed and was now recounting. “Shane’s had this since he was just out of college. Caitlin gave it to him because he always forgot his regular jacket. He was more of a sweats’ guy. So this jacket-like hoodie was a no-brainer. She wound up buying him several, which is why he was okay with lending this one to you.”
Ryan nodded, stifling a choked-up sound.
Claire’s brow furrowed, as she sought an answer she didn’t quite have. “I see the unrelated past so clearly. But the more immediate past? The present? All I perceive is an aura of danger. It doesn’t just surround Shane. It surrounds Caitlin, too. Before. After. Impending death is still out there. I can’t reach its source. I’m trying…” Claire’s fingers tightened around the hoodie. “But it hasn’t come yet.” Her eyes opened, and her gaze was torn with sadness and grief. “I’ve got to reach it. I must.” A pause. “I’m so sorry it’s taking this long.”
Ryan rose, walked over and tugged Claire to her feet and into the circle of his arms. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “You’re doing everything you can, stretching yourself as far as you can go.” He could feel moisture burning behind his eyes. “I realize you’re going above and beyond. Please know how much it means to me—how much you mean to me.” He pressed his lips into the crown of her head.
Nodding, Claire wrapped her arms around his waist. “I know. You mean the same to me. I wish I could take away your pain. But, Ryan, we will resolve this, bring peace to Shane’s memory, find Caitlin, and help heal Kennedy.”
“Wishful thinking?” Ryan asked.
“Maybe. But my every instinct is telling me I’m right.” She eased back. “You go back to what you were doing. I’m ordering a couple of sandwiches for us. We haven’t eaten since our five-thirty AM PowerBars.”
Despite the sober feeling permeating the room, a corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted. “Those PowerBars don’t count, at least not for you. You barely choked yours down without heaving. And my appetite wasn’t exactly great. So a sandwich sounds good about now. Nothing with alfalfa sprouts in it though, not for me.”
