“I’ll try to restrain myself.” Claire was, not only a vegetarian, but a health food nut. Ryan, the carnivore, always teased her about it. She usually shot back a playful barb. Not this time.
Grateful that she’d infused Ryan with a bit of laughter, she went over, retrieved the hoodie, and zipped it back in its storage bag. She’d reexamine it after a brief lunch break.
“I’ll slide your sandwich under the door,” she called over her shoulder. “Hard at work or not, you’d better eat it. Or you can forget the midnight booty call.”
That didn’t please Ryan at all. “Every morsel will be gone in record time,” he assured her. “Do I get extra points for that?”
Claire smiled from the doorway. “Most definitely.”
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Marc’s office, 3rd floor
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
4:30 pm
Marc leaned back in his office chair, not even waiting for Patrick to get settled in the chair on the opposite side of the desk before opening the frustrating conversation.
“All today proved to us is that, in order to accomplish what’s necessary, we need Ryan to hack the Bureau’s database and get us a comprehensive list of present, former, and retired agents,” he stated flatly. “We both know that’s not happening. Which results in meetings like we just had with SA Groban—unproductive and a waste of time.”
Patrick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The only worthwhile bit of information that he passed along to us was one name—SA Tricia Adams—a just-retired agent who worked the same VC squad as Shane did during his freshman year at the Bureau. And even she, unfortunately, moved out west after retiring. We’ll contact her and set up a Zoom meeting, but I’m not too optimistic about finding out anything pertinent from her either.”
Marc scowled. “Plus, Shane was young and only with the Bureau for eight years. There are going to be a slim number of either retired or former agents who worked closely with him. Which narrows the possibilities even more.”
“I’m as disgusted as you, but equally unsurprised,” Patrick replied, seeing how pissed off Marc was, and trying to be the voice of reason. “I can’t blame any of the agents, retired or current, for not wanting to spill their guts. We might have once been Bureau, but now we’re not. Worse, we operate by our own set of rules—rules they don’t respect. They’ll never trust us.”
“I know.” Marc took his irritation down a notch, speaking in his customary pragmatic fashion. “As for the current agents, they have an additional reason to shut the door in our faces. Hutch must have put the fear of God in them where it comes to us. And I don’t blame him, either. He’s just doing his job. Casey is his wife and FI is her family. He knows our methods only too well.”
“Which leaves us where?”
Marc folded his hands behind his head. “With one approach left to tweak. When we talk to SA Adams, we have to shift our line of questioning. Rather than asking about former squad members and specific cases, we have to ask about BU employees who Shane was tight with—not just agents he worked with, but agents in other squads or field offices, and support staff, as well.”
“You’re going for a personal connection,” Patrick said.
“Yes. I want to reach out to anyone Shane might have expressed his concerns to. It’s our only hope of gathering pertinent information. It might be a long shot—but it’s the only one we’ve got.”
With that, Marc opened his iPad. “I’ll email Tricia Adams now. It’s only one-thirty on the west coast, so hopefully she’ll answer sometime today. While we wait to set up the Zoom meeting, you and I will strategize.”
Casey and Hutch’s apartment
Battery Park City
Manhattan, New York
6:30 pm
Hutch walked into the apartment, quietly shut the door, and crossed over to the kitchen. He put the bag of Chinese food on the kitchen island, then turned and headed into the bedroom. He smiled when he saw Casey curled up on the bed, still sound asleep. Her cell phone had dropped onto the pillow beside her.
Hero leaped up, tail wagging, and came over to welcome Hutch home.
“Hey, boy,” Hutch said quietly, squatting down and scratching behind the bloodhound’s ears. “Thanks for keeping an eye on our girl.” Rising, he crossed over to the bed, sank down beside Casey, and bent to give her a tender kiss.
Casey’s eyelashes fluttered, then lifted.
“Hi,” she said with a small smile. “I guess I nodded off.”
Hutch steeled himself for the explosion. “You didn’t just nod off, sweetheart . . . You’ve been asleep for almost three hours.”
