“Nope.” He drew her to him, gave her a deep, tender kiss. “Screw our office rules. That kiss was just what I needed.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Actually, I could use a whole lot more.”
“That’s going to have to wait,” Claire returned with a smile. “You can barely stand still, much less indulge in our fantasies. Tell me what’s bugging you.”
A grimace. “I can’t get a better handle on where in the Boston area Caitlin is, even though my gut tells me she’s still there. Yoda and I have been at it for hours. No clear path to figuring it out.”
“Yet,” Claire stipulated. “You’ll find answers.”
“I sure hope so.” Ryan plopped down on the wobble chair, rolling around in a clockwise circle to try to get rid of his excess energy. “What about you? You’ve spent the entire day interviewing my family. Any of them think of something we haven’t?”
“Overall? No. There were no surprises or contradictions. Everyone saw the Walshes the same way: as a warm and loving part of your family. None of your family members had seen them recently enough to pick up on tension or anxiety.”
Ryan knew Claire too well. “Overall? Then something did strike you.”
“Kennedy did.” Claire’s brows drew together in reflection. “She and I have a strong connection. When she sat down beside me, I could perceive much of her internal turmoil these past few weeks.”
Ryan stopped moving around. “Go on.”
Claire proceeded to fill him in on her conversation with Kennedy, as well as what she’d sensed when holding the young girl’s hands.
“And she’s been bottling all this anxiety up,” Ryan said with a frown.
“Not only the anxiety. The awareness. She knew her parents were going through something—something that threatened their family unit. She just didn’t hear enough to determine the who or the what.” Claire’s inner concentration deepened. “I’m going to have to combine all the knowledge I do have and use it while holding Shane’s and Caitlin’s personal items again. Maybe something will click.”
She paused, studying Ryan’s pained expression.
“Please don’t be stubborn. You and Yoda take a break,” she said quietly. “Head over to your parents’ house for dinner. Emotionally, you need to see Kennedy. And practically, you need to talk to your mom, to complete Casey’s explanation on Caitlin’s social media handles. The two of them only spoke for ten minutes at the end of our visit. I chatted with Kennedy to keep her occupied. Casey told me that the @mimosagirl121 handle definitely struck a chord with your mom, as did the photo of the brunch table—complete with mimosas—that Caitlin posted on Instagram.”
“What kind of chord?” Ryan demanded.
Claire shrugged. “She’s not sure yet. She’s racking her brain. Also, Casey emailed her a bunch more handles and corresponding data from the car, but there’s information attached to all of them that has to be explained in person. You do it. Be there. Your dad can watch a movie or play a game with Kennedy while you talk to your mom. Then, you can tuck Kennedy in and head back to my place.” A hint of a smile. “I’ll wait up.”
“Good to hear.” Ryan grinned. “Yoda?” he called out. “Give it a rest. We’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“I think that’s wise,” Yoda responded. “Perhaps by then we’ll get beyond our impasse.”
Ryan shot a quick look at Claire. “You go home. You look pretty wiped out, too.”
Claire hesitated. “I will—soon. But, while it’s all fresh in my mind, I want to go up to my yoga room for a while and see if anything clicks.” She turned and headed for the door. “Give Kennedy a kiss for me.”
The McKay Residence
East 236th Street
Woodland, Bronx, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 9:30 p.m.
Ryan pulled up a chair beside Kennedy’s bed and lowered himself into it, studying her pale face with concern. Dinner had been tense, with his mom serving the meal, and then sitting down at the table beside Kennedy, scrutinizing her as they ate. His dad had done his share of the scrutinizing, as well. For her part, Kennedy had been very quiet, as she had been since SA Barkley called. He’d thanked Maureen for turning her phone over to his people so promptly. Then, he’d set up appointments for the following afternoon to interview first Maureen, and then Kennedy.
None of that was unexpected. Still, that didn’t make it any more palatable.
Ryan had managed to lighten the mood by telling Kennedy he planned to take her to the Old Ice Cream Shop while the FBI was with his mom for a “who can eat the most rainbow sprinkles on the hugest ice cream serving” contest. A sparkle had lit her way-too-serious eyes, and she’d given him a big smile.
“You’re going to lose,” she’d stated flatly. “So what’s my prize?”
Ryan didn’t miss a beat. “A return trip there so I can steal the championship from you.”
Kennedy giggled. “And if you lose again?”
