With Simone’s expertise, the Zermatt team would be assembled and ready in a heartbeat.
That’s when the fun would begin.
24
FBI New York Field Office
26 Federal Plaza
Manhattan, New York
Saturday, March 18, 4:15 p.m.
Hutch was cranky as hell, just as he had been since his altercation with Casey yesterday. He’d sequestered himself in his office, had worked straight through the night, and was up to his ass in investigative follow-up. Sometimes paperwork just plain sucked.
Still, he kept pausing, struck by a niggling feeling that something was off. He didn’t know what, but it was eating away at him. His every instinct told him that his presence was needed. Was it case-related? He didn’t think so.
He sat up in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and took a healthy swallow of his now-cold, shitty coffee.
He hadn’t heard from Casey since he’d left FI headquarters, having blasted her. He felt no guilt about what he’d said, because it was necessary and it was the truth. But he hadn’t liked the way she’d looked—so drained, so tired, and in more pain than usual.
He picked up his cell phone and pressed the key for her private line.
Ring. Ring. Voice mail.
Dammit. He wasn’t leaving a message. He was aware that his wife was furious at him, but not so furious that she’d be childish enough to avoid his call. So what the hell was going on? Was this why he was so off-center?
He called Marc, hoping to make some progress there.
“Hey, Hutch.” Marc sounded troubled.
“Is Casey in the office?” Hutch demanded without prelude.
“Nope. She texted me a while ago saying she had to leave. Hopefully, she went home. Frankly, she looked like shit.”
Hutch squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. I know. And, so far, she’s not answering her phone. But I’m trying her again.”
He tried several times and was on the verge of panic when his cell phone rang. Seeing Casey’s private number unblocked, he blew out a breath of relief.
“You okay?” he demanded.
Casey’s voice was shaky and slightly slurred. “Not really… I’m at the hospital… My surgeon met me in the ER. The staff ran some tests and took some X-rays, which he read on the spot… Turns out I have an infection and some abdominal inflammation from overexertion after the splenectomy… They just gave me some pretty strong antibiotics and painkillers—I can’t remember what.” She paused, obviously trying to gather strength and clear her head. “If home treatment doesn’t work…or if the infection worsens…I’ll have to be readmitted to the hospital. And now…they won’t release me on my own. Hutch…” She swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”
Hutch swore under his breath. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’ll fix this.” He was already in motion. “I’m on my way.”
Casey and Hutch’s Apartment
Battery Park City, Manhattan, New York
Saturday, March 18, 5:45 p.m.
Hutch carried Casey into their apartment and into the bedroom, where he placed her gently on the bed.
She’d been completely out of it on the drive home. Now she was shivering. Twice she shuddered and once she actually whimpered in pain.
That was not Casey.
“If I undress you, can you get into bed?” Hutch asked, a huge knot twisting his stomach.
