“Nope.” Ryan began pacing, his mind working through the problems they faced. “Plus, even if I’d narrowed down our search a little, rushing up to Boston would wave a red flag in Hutch’s face. He’d be all over us for an explanation. As things stand, we can just give the cell phone back to my mom, have her show the text message to the FBI, and keep the rest of our newfound knowledge under wraps.”
He paused, pulling out his own cell phone. “I’m Slacking the whole team. I don’t care what time it is. We have way too much to discuss to wait til seven o’clock. Besides, you and Casey have to get to my parents’ house by eight at the latest. Otherwise, you run the risk of Kennedy waking up before you’ve had the chance to talk to my mom alone. Not to mention, you’ve got to get my mom’s cell phone back in her possession ASAP. And you’ve got to interview my mom and Kennedy before the FBI does.”
Claire nodded. “Maureen is expecting us to arrive early. That won’t be a surprise. But I agree with you—we need to have a team meeting right away. There’s too much information that’s not yet shared. We need everyone on board. We also need Patrick to put extra security on Kennedy.” She gestured at Ryan’s phone. “Go ahead. We’ll see how many of us are awake enough to respond.”
Casey and Hutch’s Apartment
Battery Park City, Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 2:05 a.m.
Casey was in the living room, curled up on the couch with a flashlight, reviewing Emma’s list so she could be ready to discuss the names with Maureen sometime tomorrow. She had an afghan thrown over her and a novel at the ready—in the event that Hutch awakened and came out to check on her. Working in the bedroom was out. The slightest flicker of light and Hutch would be up and grilling her about what she was working on in the middle of the night and why. Nope. Times like these called for craftiness and utter seclusion.
Her cell phone vibrated.
She glanced down at it, seeing the arrival of the Slack message. Without pause, she opened and read it. Her brows drew together and her adrenaline started pumping. She knew Ryan’s tone. And whatever this was about, it was urgent.
She doubled Ryan’s efforts by also Slacking the team, adding her voice to his and initiating an immediate invitation for a Zoom meeting.
Come as you are, she typed. PJs welcome.
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Ryan’s Lair
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 2:13 a.m.
Ryan read Casey’s message and chuckled. “Our president is on board,” he told Claire. “She’s summoning the troops.” He headed to the chair in front of his computer, pulling over a second chair as he did. “C’mon,” he invited Claire, patting the seat. “Let’s jump on the call.”
She did so at once, and an instant later, Casey’s face came into view. “Let’s give the others a chance,” she said. She shot Ryan a worried look. “You okay?”
He nodded. “More or less. Most important, I’m back in the saddle.”
“So I see. You’re at the office in the middle of the night. Why?”
As Casey spoke, Marc and Patrick joined the session. Both of them looked tousled, tired, and with a five-o’clock shadow, but completely alert.
“What’s up?” Marc demanded.
Before Casey could reply, Emma joined the chat. “I’m here,” she said. “But I’m not wearing a shred of makeup. So don’t judge.”
“We’ll do our best,” Casey replied dryly.
“I’m not so brave.” Angela’s voice entered the conversation. She’d turned on her audio, but not her video. “You’ll have to visualize me. Just know I’m here.”
This time, Casey’s lips twitched. “Gotcha. No problem.”
As she spoke, John’s face appeared. “Present and accounted for,” he said.
“Great.” Ryan looked both pleased and relieved. “The whole team is here. Thanks. I know an emergency Zoom meeting is the last thing you want to be having at this hour. But it can’t be helped. Our whole timetable has been pushed up.” He paused to inhale. “Claire and I have a lot to talk about. I’m sure all of you do, too. But Claire and I are going first.”
Waiting only long enough to receive Casey’s go-ahead nod, Ryan plunged in. He went for the most crucial information first: the text his mother had received, quickly followed by his cell phone data accumulation, and Claire’s epiphany that Caitlin had sent that text.
“Caitlin?” Emma managed. “That changes everything.”
“It does indeed,” Casey concurred. “Although we probably shouldn’t be as shocked as we are. We determined that Caitlin sent the initial text to Maureen, asking her to take care of Kennedy. Why wouldn’t she send this one, as well?”
