Kennedy shook her head.
“Okay.” A soothing nod. “What else did your daddy say?”
“Nothing. He went downstairs to the kitchen and brought back two cups of coffee. I was crouched in my room, so he didn’t see me. He just went back into their bedroom and shut the door again.”
“But you tried to listen,” Claire said.
A shaky nod. “I pressed my ear against the door and held my breath so I could hear. Mommy was crying and crying. Daddy was talking quietly to her. I heard him say something about digging for information and finding enough to take action. I don’t know what kind of action, because their voices got very low, and all I could hear were Mommy’s sobs. I didn’t want them to find me there, because it would upset them more than they already were. So I went back to my room. But after that, they were different. Sad. Worried. Mommy hugged me a lot. Daddy spent more time on his computer.”
Kennedy broke down, pulling her hand away and covering her face as sobs racked her body. “Now Daddy is dead. And I don’t know where Mommy is. Who did this? Why? I should have listened harder.”
Claire squatted down in front of Kennedy and gripped her shoulders. “Sweetie, none of this is your fault. Whoever did this is evil. The fault is theirs. You’re a wonderful daughter and a wonderful person. I promise you, we’ll figure this out.”
“How can you be so sure?” Kennedy wept.
“I just am.” Claire paused, glanced quickly at Casey, and—despite their original decision to avoid conveying any concrete hope—received her nod. “Kennedy, let me tell you something about myself, something I only talk about with my friends. I sometimes just know things. I have no idea how or why that happens, but flashes of awareness come to me, and I’m very sure they’re true. After talking with you, holding your hand—this is one of those times.”
Kennedy’s head came up, and she stared at Claire through her tears. “Are you a psychic?”
Claire shook her head. “I’m what’s called a claircognizant. Everything I just described to you—that’s what a claircognizant is. I realize that no one can bring back your daddy. But the rest—my instincts tell me that everything will be okay.” She could sense Maureen’s presence in the doorway. “I’m asking you to believe me.”
Kennedy didn’t avert her gaze. “Mommy’s alive, isn’t she?”
“I believe she is, yes.”
A long pause as Kennedy fought for control. “Then I believe it, too.” New tears flowed. “How will you find her?”
“We’re working on that round the clock. Especially your uncle Ryan. Have faith in him, in all of us. We won’t let you down.”
Kennedy flung her arms around Claire’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She dried her eyes. “Do I have to tell Agent Barkley about this?”
“No,” Casey intervened. “And not because you’re lying. We’d never ask you to do that. The truth is, Agent Barkley would probably think it was just wishful thinking on your part. More importantly, we have no proof to share with him. Once we do, we’ll tell him right away.” She gestured for Maureen to join them. “For now, let’s just sit together and have some of your aunt Maureen’s soda bread. Be strong. As soon as we have answers, so will you.”
14
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Ryan’s Lair
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 5:35 p.m.
Claire rapped lightly on the partially open door.
Rather than typing furiously at his computer, Ryan was on his feet, pacing around impatiently. He stopped when he saw Claire peering around the corner.
“Come on in,” he greeted her. “Did you just get back?”
She nodded. “First, I made sure Casey got home without collapsing. She was totally wiped. A very long day for her. Where is everybody?”
“They all headed home a few minutes ago. They’re on high alert, should they be needed. Marc was really antsy about Maddy. Since she’s on bed rest, her nurse has been working round-the-clock, and he’s barely seen her since Friday. Adele called Patrick to announce that she was making him his first hot meal in days. Emma is going out to dinner with her roommates. And Angela is wrapping things up with the last few of her former clients.”
“I’m glad,” Claire replied. “We’re all on overdrive. A little come-down time is necessary—except for you,” she hastily amended. “Meanwhile, any news? Updates?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said with a nod. “Aidan called Marc about the blood on the floor at Shane’s house. Marc was right. Aidan confirmed that the blood belonged to two different people—Shane and Caitlin. Different blood types, specific DNA markers—the works. Caitlin must have gotten injured when Shane was killed. We have no idea how severe the wound is, although logic dictates it wasn’t too bad, given how little blood there was. Still, Marc and Patrick were digging around all day, unsuccessfully, trying to come up with where Caitlin went to get treated—if she got treated at all.”
“That makes sense.” Claire was eyeing Ryan as he shifted from one foot to the other. “You’re obviously waiting for Yoda to process something. Do you want me to come back later?”
