The danger was imminent. And Caitlin had done what she could to protect her family. But mostly Kennedy. She’d protect her with her life, never take her eyes off her.
Never take her eyes off her.
The phrase slammed through Claire’s brain with the force of a tidal wave.
I’m watching Kennedy. Are you?
Claire bolted to her feet and raced down the stairs to Ryan’s lair.
12
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Ryan’s Lair
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 1:35 a.m.
Claire didn’t even bother to knock. She just burst inside.
“Hey.” Surprised, Ryan looked up from his gym rat corner, where he sat, bare-chested, lifting weights with frustrated purpose. Seeing the expression on Claire’s face, he set down the weights, stood up, and grabbed a towel to wipe his face and neck. “You sensed something.”
“Yes.” Claire didn’t even sit down. “Where’s your mom’s cell phone? I need to hold it.”
Wordlessly, Ryan walked over and handed it to her.
Claire clasped it tightly, closing her eyes, and letting the energy flow through her. “Yes,” she whispered as images shot through her mind.
“Yes what?”
Claire’s eyes opened, and rather than looking dazed and faraway, there was utter certainty reflected in them.
“The person who sent that text—it was Caitlin.”
A moment of dead silence.
Then Ryan reacted.
“Caitlin?” His jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”
“Very. She’s alive. Running. And terrified that someone will hunt her down and go after Kennedy to find out what she knows.”
At that, Ryan went very still. “Kennedy knows something? What?”
“I’m not sure.” Claire set down the phone, her hand shaking with the aftermath of her vision. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m not zeroing in on that part—not yet. I just know that this is the reason I kept feeling as if someone without malice had sent the text to your mom. It wasn’t the killer, or even someone who worked for the killer. It was Caitlin.”
“Damn.” Ryan dragged his hands through his hair. “I don’t believe this.”
“I got a clear image of her sending it,” Claire continued. “I saw a lot of greenery and open space around her. As if she’d texted from a public garden or a park.”
“The latter,” Ryan replied. “The text originated in Boston. In Franklin Park.”
Claire nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah.” Ryan blew out a breath. “What also makes sense is that she feels compelled to reiterate that she wants my mom to do what she herself can’t—watch over Kennedy. Is Shane’s killer hovering nearby? Is that what Caitlin is implying?”
Claire’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know that either. All I’m sure of is that we have to keep Kennedy safe—and trace Caitlin. Did you and Yoda get any more specific information from the text? Because Boston is a big city.”
