THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED TWICE

THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED TWICE

ANDREA KANE

To Freddy,

the heroic FBI Tactical Canine Dog

who was kil ed in the line of duty.

Thank you for protecting our country.

I hope my bloodhound, Hero, is a fitting tribute to you

and al the other brave service dogs like you.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂTWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂTHREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂFOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂFIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂSIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂSEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂEIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-ÂNINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ÂONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ÂTWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-ÂTHREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ÂFOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-ÂFIVE

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

Westchester County, New York

Summer, thirty-two years ago

When six-year-old Felicity Akerman went to bed that night, she had no idea that life as she knew it was about to change forever.

She settled under the light cotton blanket and put her head on the pil ow, her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail because of the heat. She was wearing her favorite short-sleeve nightshirt with the bright orange soccer bal s on it. She had to wear it tonight. It was like a gold star on a perfect spel ing test. A prize. A big win.

Thatâ€™s what todayâ€™s game had been. The doctor hadnâ€™t been too sure about letting her play. Neither had her mom and dad. But sheâ€™d talked them into it, and gotten the okay she was holding her breath for. No one understood how miserable sheâ€™d been, sitting on the sidelines al summer long since she broke her arm. But it was better now. No more cast. No more pain. No reason to wait.

Sheâ€™d proved that today on the playing field at Pine Lake Soccer Camp. Sheâ€™d scored three out of her teamâ€™s four goals.

With a happy smile, she rol ed onto her right side, reflexively protecting the left arm that had been in a cast for seven long, hateful weeks. Her smile widened as she remembered she didnâ€™t have to do that anymore. She wriggled her fingers and bent her elbow. Free. She was final y free. And final y her team leader again.

The bedroom curtains rustled as a warm summer breeze blew in through the window. Her mom had left it halfway open before she went out.

The summer air felt good. It swirled around the room. It smel ed like flowers. It acted like a lul aby.

Felicity shut her eyes, her fingers stil wrapped around a fold in her nightshirt. Next to her, her sister said something in her sleep and flopped onto her back. She hated sleeping alone when their parents were out. Normal y Felicity liked her room to herselfâ€”sharing the same face, same hair, and same birthday with her sister was enough. But tonight she was so happy that she didnâ€™t mind. Besides, they werenâ€™t alone.

Deidre was right down the hal , listening to her cassette player and singing along. Her voice was real y awful. The two girls giggled about that al the time. But they never said anything to Deidre. She was their babysitter, and she was very bossy. She was also eighteen and starting col ege. That made her practical y a grown-up. And their mom and dad always told them they had to be respectful of grown-ups.

Even Deidreâ€™s bad singing wasnâ€™t enough to keep Felicity awake. Lots of physical activity after lots of sitting around had real y worn her out. She drifted off to sleep.

She didnâ€™t see the window slide open the rest of the way. She didnâ€™t see the silhouette of a figure climb inside and cross silently over to the bed, going straight to her sister. Nor did Felicity see the intruder force a damp handkerchief over her face. But she did hear a whimper.

Groggily, Felicity rubbed her eyes and turned over. Stil half asleep, she could vaguely make out a human form dressed in a long, loose black hooded sweatshirt. The person was leaning over the other side of the bed. As Felicity watched, her sisterâ€™s whimpering stopped, and she went very stil .

Felicityâ€™s smal body went rigid, and her eyes snapped open. She was suddenly and ful y awake. Who was in their house?

But there was no time to find out. The intruder straightened, and a gloved hand was clamped down over Felicityâ€™s mouth. She started to squirm, fighting with al she had. The sleeve of the sweatshirt brushed her forehead. Damp, with a funny smel . Like orange medicine.

The gloved hand lifted, and a wet handkerchief with that same orange medicine smel was pressed down on Felicityâ€™s nose and mouth.

The smel was awful. Felicity wanted to scream. She couldnâ€™t. And she couldnâ€™t break free.

The room started spinning. Felicity caught a glimpse of her sister. It looked like there were two of her. And Deidreâ€™s singing sounded far away.

The stinky smel ing handkerchief won.

Everything went black.

CHAPTER ONE

Manhattan, New York

Present day

The bar smel ed like stale beer and sweat.

Casey Woods shifted in her seat, which was situated far away from the social hub of the place. She rol ed her glass between her palms. It was fil ed with whatever was on tap that the waiter had brought her. Taking a sip, she looked nervous but wistful among the slew of col ege kids mil ing around the East Vil age hangout.

She was one of those kids. Or trying to be. She was a wannabeâ€”a shy and naive misfit, on the outside, looking in. Hungry to be welcomed into the inner circle.

She reached around and fiddled with a strand of her long red hair, which was tied back, giving her a more youthful appearance. Her gaze darted around, flickering, every so often, over her target. He was in his early thirties, perched on the first bar stool. Whenever she glanced his way, he was usual y staring at her.

The time ticked by slowly. Casey made sure to openly, if shyly, eye the hunkiest-looking guys, changing her demeanor from hopeful to unsure or dejected. Every guy she focused on eventual y left, either with a group of friends, or with a girl heâ€™d hooked up with.

At just past three-thirty in the morning, the bartender started closing up, and the bar emptied out. With just a few stragglers left, Caseyâ€™s hopes for the night were ostensibly dashed. Her lashes lowered in an expression of utter defeat.

Slowly, she rose, reaching into her messenger bag for some cash. As sheâ€™d planned, the bag slid off her shoulder and plopped on the floor, contents spil ing everywhere. Flushed with embarrassment, she squatted down and began stuffing things back into her bagâ€”her wal et, makeup, and fake student ID.

From her peripheral vision, she saw the man at the end of the bar rise, toss some bil s on the counter and walk out with the last few stragglers.

It was 4:00 a.m. Closing time.

Despite the pointed glare of the bartender, Casey took her time replacing the contents of her bag, rearranging them as she did. She kept her wal et out long enough to slap some bil s on the table. Then she made her way to the door.

The bartender locked it behind her.

Casey sucked in her breath and turned, making sure to fol ow the same route sheâ€™d been taking al week. Sheâ€™d set the pattern. But tonight sheâ€™d stayed at the bar later. The streets were emptier. The timing was right.

She steeled herself as she walked past the al ey near Tompkins Square Park. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.

She heard Fisherâ€™s footsteps an instant before he grabbed her. His arm clamped around her waist, his free hand pressing a knife to her throat. Too hard. Too fast. No taunting. This was not how sheâ€™d planned it. And now he had her.

â€œDonâ€™t fight. Donâ€™t scream. Donâ€™t even breathe. Or Iâ€™l slit your throat.â€

Casey complied. She didnâ€™t have to fake her trembling, or the fear that stiffened her body. Silently, she talked herself down, reminding herself why she was doing this. She offered no resistance as Fisher dragged her into the al ey. The psychopathic SOB shoved her down on the filthy concrete ground, kneeling over her, a glittering look of triumph in his eyes. He kept the knife at her throat, using his other hand to tear at her jeans.

The button popped. But the zipper never gave.

Marc Deveraux made sure of that.

Emerging from the shadows like a predator in the wild, he lunged at the would-be rapist with al the strength of his powerful build. He yanked Fisherâ€™s knife-wielding arm up and away from Casey, then slammed down on his forearm until Fisherâ€™s bones made a cracking sound and the knife clattered to the ground.

Fisher howled with pain.

â€œIâ€™m just getting started,â€ Marc promised menacingly. He dragged Fisher up and slammed his back against the wal . â€œYou okay?â€ he cal ed out to Casey, who was scrambling to her feet.

â€œA hel of a lot better than I was thirty seconds ago,â€ she managed.

â€œGood.â€ He turned his attention back to Fisher. â€œTalk,â€ he ordered, one knee pushed into Fisherâ€™s groin and one elbow digging into his windpipe.

â€œThe girl came on to me,â€ Fisher said, then yelped, sweat beading on his forehead. â€œSheâ€”â€ His breath caught as Marc increased the pressure of his knee.

â€œWrong answer. Tel me about your plans for this girlâ€”and what you did with al the others.â€ He leaned closer, until his face nearly touched the other manâ€™s. â€œYou donâ€™t want to know what I am or what Iâ€™m capable of. Compared to me, youâ€™re a Girl Scout.â€

His elbow shoved deeper, cutting off most of Fisherâ€™s oxygen. â€œNow tel me about the girlsâ€”al of them. And donâ€™t spare any details.

Iâ€™m a captive audience.â€

It took longer than expected to get Fisherâ€™s confession. It took a Navy SEALâ€™s thumb dug deeply into his col arbone, causing blinding pain that persisted long after the pressure was removed, and the threat that a repeat performance would increase the pain tenfold if thatâ€™s what it took to make the perp talkâ€”assuming his neck didnâ€™t snap first. The bastardâ€™s cold-blooded confession had made bile rise in Caseyâ€™s throat. He might be going to jail for a long, long time, but Casey wished they were throwing away the key for good.

â€œIâ€™m done here, Marc,â€ she told her rescuer. â€œOtherwise Iâ€™m going to be sick.â€

â€œGo,â€ he urged quietly. â€œIâ€™l wrap things up here and head over to the precinct. The bodies wil be found. Any claim of coercion wil be tossed. Itâ€™s a murdererâ€™s word against ours. The confession wil stick. Go home.â€

Â

Home was a four-story Tribeca brownstone that was residence and office combined. There was no beating that. One mortgage. One place that held al her worldly possessions. And no commute. It was ideal.

Of course, she rarely made it up to the fourth floor, which was supposedly where she slept. Her bed was a casual acquaintance, if not a stranger. She virtual y lived in her office. That was her choice. One she made every day. And she wasnâ€™t sorry.

With a quick glance around the reception level, she turned left and climbed the L-shaped staircase to the second floor. Directly ahead, sheâ€™d had French doors instal edâ€”doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the manicured garden in a gated backyard. Colorful flower beds. A maze of closely trimmed shrubs. And a pair of graceful wil ow trees on either side, rippling in the breeze. The entire effect was both serene and eye-catching.

Pushing open the doors, Casey stepped outside for a moment, quickly shutting them behind her. She hoped the cool air would revive her.

Sighing, she noted that the sun was now wel above the horizon, and climbing rapidly into the sky. Her watch told her it was nine-thirty. The unofficial coercion Marc had inflicted had taken a lot longer than expected to work. To Casey, it had seemed like an eternity before theyâ€™d pul ed it off and extracted a ful confession from Fisher.

She could stil feel the pervâ€™s slimy hands on her. Heâ€™d real y freaked her out.

With a shudder, Casey reminded herself that they had pul ed it off, and gotten bothâ€”Fisher and his confession regarding the other victims.

Not a pretty business. Stil , the haunting, disturbing feelings inflicted by such men were the very reason sheâ€™d formed Forensic Instincts, LLC to begin with.

She walked across the balcony and reached the second set of French doors that led back into the brownstone. She held her access card up to the card reader and punched her security code into the Hirsch keypad. Pushing the doors open, she stepped inside and shut the doors behind her. No time for restâ€”not yet. It was time for her teamâ€™s post-op meeting.

Forensic Instincts had been just a dream at first. Now it was very much a reality.

It al started four years ago, and was stil in its fledgling state. Casey had begun her quest to assemble an awesome team, with herself at the helm. Thanks to her extensive credentials working with both behavioral and psychological profilers, her innate talent at reading people, and her years of working in both law enforcement and the private sector, Casey had easily transitioned into an independent profiler. She held a masterâ€™s in Forensic Psychology from John Jay Col ege of Criminal Justice, and a bachelorâ€™s in Psychology from Columbia. Most importantly, she was a natural at figuring out what made people tick.

Her two other team members were impressive as hel . She should know. Sheâ€™d meticulously selected them. Assessed them. Recruited them. They were very different from each other. Both brought specialized capabilities to the Forensic Instincts team. The result was a growing track record of successful y solved complex criminal cases.

Their trio was unique, but stil formative. Which meant they were sometimes welcomed, and other times regarded as a huge pain in the ass.

But, overal , they were earning a growing respect among law enforcement agencies and, more important, among their expanding client list.

To those who hired them, they were the ultimate beacon of hope.

Her rules were few, but absolute. Unwavering loyalty, both to the company and to one another. One hundred and ten percent of themselves when they were on the job. Total candor, regardless of the costâ€”but only when they were behind closed doors. A low profileâ€”which meant staunchly avoiding the limelight. As mavericks who pushed the boundaries more than conventional bureaucracy would al ow, it was best to be unrecognizable. They were an eclectic trio, each of whom believed absolutely in his or her specific methods.

Three egos were involved. And none of them shy. That meant frequent debates, tons of constructive argument andâ€”sometimesâ€”stubborn unwil ingness to budge. With the Fisher case, Casey had wanted to nail their perp by studying his interactions with col ege-aged women, then combining behavioral observations with her experience and sheer instinct. Marc had argued in favor of using statistics and past research to form a solid scientific base from which heâ€™d work up a profile before going in for the kil . And Ryan was adamant about implementing game theoryâ€”getting inside Fisherâ€™s head, figuring out his sick reasoningâ€”where he chose to hunt, and the strategies he used to go after his prey. The twenty-eight-year-old guy was an awesome combination of technology genius and strategic thinker. He studied behavioral patterns through complex computer programming and crunching enormous amounts of raw data, and then applied it to his analysis of human dynamics.

Each team member believed fervently in his or her methods. Fortunately, the whole was greater than the sum of its parts.

Yes, they made quite a teamâ€”strong wil ed, but the best. Casey expected nothing less as she expanded the operations, and Forensic Instincts grew. Her grandfather would have been proud. Sheâ€™d used her trust fund wisely and wel .

Smiling faintly, she looked around. The second set of French doors had granted her entry to the second-floor conference room. It was the largest and most elaborate space in the brownstone.

As she walked in, an entire wal of floor-to-ceiling video screens began to glow. A long, green line formed across each panel, pulsating from left to right. Then, a soothing voice, that seemed to emanate from every cubic inch of the room, said, â€œWelcome back, Casey,â€ bending each line into the contour of the voice pattern. It continued, â€œWarning. Heart rate elevated.â€

Casey started. She just couldnâ€™t get used to being greeted by Yoda, the latest incarnation of Ryan McKayâ€”Forensic Instinctsâ€™

bril iant techno-wizardâ€”and his artificial intel igence system. Somehow the damned thing knew who was in the room. It even knew when something was out of the ordinary. Like now. No matter how many times Ryan tried to explain to her how Yoda worked, to Casey it stil sounded like magic.

The conference room was pure class. Polished hardwood floors. A plush Oriental rug. An expansive mahogany conference table and matching credenza. And, most crucial of al , a technology infrastructure that was light-years ahead of its time in both design and operation, al hidden from view. Only the gigantic video wal was visible, covering the longest side of the room and al owing Ryan to assemble a dizzying array of information into a large single image or several smal er, simultaneous data feeds. Videoconferencing equipment, an elaborate phone system, and a personalized virtual workstation available to each member of the group completed the elaborate system.

And it was al control ed by Yoda, who unwaveringly responded to requests made by team members. Behind the â€œshock and aweâ€ of Yoda was a server farm located in the officeâ€™s secure data center downstairs. Like a proud papa, Ryan had named their custom-built servers: Lumen, Equitas and Intueri, from the Latin words for light, justice and intuition. The names had become so much a part of Forensic Instincts that theyâ€™d incorporated them into the company logo.

Casey stil found herself awed by the sophistication, power and pervasiveness of the technology. Truthful y, she didnâ€™t understand the half of how it worked. But Ryan did. And that was al that mattered.

Heading across the hardwood floor, Casey paused at the edge of the rug, then pul ed back a chair and sat down at the long, oval conference table.

Leaning back, she cal ed out, â€œYoda, please show me TV news.â€

â€œWould you like world news, national news or local news?â€ Yoda inquired pleasantly. â€œLocal.â€

â€œCBS, NBC, Fox, ABC or al ?â€ Yoda asked.

â€œAl .â€

Yoda carried out her command by simultaneously showing al four channels, each occupying one-fourth of the wal .

Casey pivoted her chair around so she had a direct view. Staring intently, she tugged off the hair band sheâ€™d worn tonight, shook out her long red mane and combed her fingers through the tangled strands. When Glen Fisher appeared on the Fox News screen, she instructed, â€œYoda, Fox News ful screen.â€

Instantly, Glen Fisher fil ed the entire wal . He was sweating and agitated, and quickly bent forward to hide his face as the cameras zoomed in on him being hauled out of the al ey and into the squad car.

It was a media feeding frenzy. The female newscaster on the scene was superanimated, as excited about delivering the story as she was upset by its occurrence. Casey read the signs on her face, heard them in her voice, saw them in her body language. Acute energyâ€”but mixed reasons for it. Chin held high, back ramrod straight, eyes bright with pride, but flickering away every now and thenâ€”she was already executing the steps necessary for her next promotion. But she felt guilty with her methods. She was a woman. Capitalizing on the violations and murders of other women wasnâ€™t sitting wel with her.

She was talking way too quickly, rambling on about Fisherâ€™s shocking crimes, being sure to exaggerate al the colorful detailsâ€”like the fact that he had a twisted, obsessive mind despite having had a stable childhood and an equal y stable adult life. A decent job in a difficult economy. A wife who was devoted to him, though oblivious to the monster she was married to. And a lovely apartment in Manhattan, with neighbors who had no idea of the danger and depravity living among them. Even worse, heâ€™d somehow found a way to elude the NYPD for months, staying so invisible that he wasnâ€™t even a blip on their radar, much less a suspect. Astonishing that it had taken the uncanny initiative of a young private organization like Forensic Instincts to zero in on Glen Fisher, and to set things in motion so this day of reckoning could come.

Irked by the melodramatic presentation and the digs at the NYPD, Casey cursed out loud and curled her hands into fists, making her nails bite into her palms. She was taking this whole case way too personal y, which was unusual for her. But there were reasons for her lack of objectivityâ€”what Fisher had done brought back memories that made her sick.

â€œLike the proverbial fly in the spiderâ€™s web,â€ said a masculine voice, interrupting her thoughts. â€œClearly, you made the ideal bait.â€

Glancing over her shoulder, Casey watched as her trusty backup and fel ow team member Marc Deveraux strol ed into the room, eyeing the newscast and making a quick mental assessment. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face, just an icy satisfaction in his eyes. Marc was Special Ops to the core.

He was also Caseyâ€™s most heavily credentialed recruitâ€”former FBI, former Behavioral Analysis Unit, former Navy SEAL. His heritage was diverse: Asian grandparents on his motherâ€™s side, and an extensive French lineage on his fatherâ€™s. As a result, he spoke three additional languages fluently: Mandarin, French and Spanish. With such a desirable, multifaceted background, Marc had been snatched up by the Bureau. At thirty-nine, heâ€™d done it al and heâ€™d done it fast. He was the sexy, brooding typeâ€”single and happy to stay that way. Most of al , when it came to the job, he was the real deal.

â€œI had an endless cosmetic makeover to become that ideal bait,â€ Casey informed him. â€œYou have no idea.â€

â€œA makeover?â€ Marc repeated with dry humor. â€œIâ€™d sooner guess an acting coach. The thought of you as a social y inept wal flowerâ€¦thatâ€™s a reach.â€

â€œVery funny, smart-ass. But I havenâ€™t been eighteen in a long time. I needed a professional makeup artist to wind back the clock.â€

â€œNope.â€ Marc was never one to mince words. â€œFor authenticity, al you needed to do was put on some teenage face gunk, and pul your hair back with a rubber band. Trust me, the rest of you worked. Just ask the horny frat boys ogling you. I saw them. I know the dril . If you hadnâ€™t been playing the scared virgin, they would have been on line to score.â€

â€œSounds like you had a front-row seat.â€

â€œI did.â€

Casey shook her head in amazement. â€œI never even saw you.â€

â€œThatâ€™s the point, isnâ€™t it? Iâ€™m good at making myself invisible. And at making sure no oneâ€™s invisible to me. Including horny frat boys whoâ€”â€

â€œOkay, enough on that subject,â€ Case interrupted, bringing the topic to a quick close. She was in no mood to be razzed. Actual y, she was more interested in giving Marc the praise he deserved. â€œLetâ€™s get to you. However you pul ed it off, your timing was perfect. The delivery was terrifying. Even I almost lost it when you charged into that al ey with murder in your eyes. And I have to admit I enjoyed watching Fisher freak out and humiliate himselfâ€”wetting his pants while he spil ed his guts. It doesnâ€™t get any better than that, catching the psycho and extracting a ful confession. Kudos.â€

Marc pul ed back the chair beside Casey and dropped into it, folding his hands behind his head. â€œSorry things got so ugly before I got everything I needed.â€

â€œNo apology necessary. Itâ€™s what the cops â€˜unofficial yâ€™ asked us to do.â€

â€œYeah, but theyâ€™re not the ones who had Fisherâ€™s knife at their throats and his hands ripping off their jeans.â€

â€œLetâ€™s drop it, okay?â€

Marc shot her a quick sideways look. Then he pivoted toward the TV, watching and listening to the details he already knew firsthand. Three redheaded col ege girls, al reported missing, now found raped and murdered. Three seedy pickup bars with al eys half a block away. Girls who hung out at bars hoping for normal col ege experiences, but who always left solo.

Through Fisherâ€™s confession, additional unknown victims had been identified and their bodies recovered. They were al kids new to Manhattan, either visitors or transfer students. Girls Fisher had done just enough research on to know that they had no friends or families to report them missing, but al of whom matched the descriptions of the known victims.

Marc blew out his breath. He was glad this case was solved. He hoped Fisher rotted in his cel . Now it was time to move on.

To Marc, moving on meant getting a few hoursâ€™ sleep, and thenâ€”before the next case descended on the teamâ€”enjoying some recreation time. And that meant recapturing the adrenaline rush of his days as a SEAL by taking on extreme sports that other people would consider insane. His current favorite was BASE jumpingâ€”the acronym of which said it al . Buildings, antennae, spans and earthâ€”al the wildly dangerous fixed objects that Marc would plummet from, not just for the thril s, but for the knowledge that he could master the precarious free fal before opening his parachute and floating to the ground.

Eager to get going, Marc shifted restlessly in his chair. â€œWhereâ€™s Ryan?â€ he asked. â€œDown in his lair?â€

â€œNope. Upstairs. Right behind you. Ready to wrap things up so we can cal it a day.â€ With that announcement, Ryan McKay strode into the room. The complete antithesis of every computer geek stereotype, he was not only a technical genius, he was also a gym rat, who worked out two hours each morning and whose athletic prowess included being a mountain biking pro and running ultramarathonsâ€”his preferred ones being in Death Val ey and the Moroccan desert. Thanks to Marc, heâ€™d recently earned his skydiving certification and was enthusiastical y starting to join him for several of his sports.

Besides his six-pack abs, Ryan was tal and broad shouldered and boasted those smoldering Black Irish looks that made women drool. The ironic part was that the gushing types and the lavish attention-givers irked the crap out of him. In fact, the very few women Ryan found the time for, and cared to pursue, were strong, independent and unimpressed with his physical attributes and accomplishments.

â€œGood,â€ Casey greeted him. â€œDoes that mean youâ€™ve left your precious robots long enough to deliver our visual wrap-up?â€

â€œNo robots. Not this time. I was testing our new digital y encrypted wireless communication system. So far, so good.â€ Ryan was already setting himself up at the touch-screen. His presentation would highlight the case details and emphasize areas that could impact future investigations, something he did at the conclusion of every case.

He lowered himself into a chair, shooting Casey a quick glance.

Like Marc, Ryan knew about their bossâ€™s past. And, like Marc, Ryan knew that, whether or not she admitted it, this was exactly the kind of case that would bother her.

The room had grown deathly silent. There was nothing to say, and Ryan wouldnâ€™t insult Casey by trying.

Â

Casey jerked awake from a fitful sleep fil ed with violence and nightmares, startled by the ring tone of her cel phone. Her gaze fel on the clock. Four-thirty in the afternoon. A perfectly normal time to cal someoneâ€”assuming that someone hadnâ€™t been awake for over fifty hours.

She wished sheâ€™d turned off the damned phone before going to bed.

Wel , she hadnâ€™t. And now she was awake so she might as wel answer.

She leaned over and picked up the phone.

The last thing Casey Woods wanted right then was another gut-wrenching case.

Unfortunately, thatâ€™s exactly what she got.

CHAPTER TWO

White Plains, New York

Day One

Family Court Judge Hope Wil is had finished up the last case on her docket, made her ruling and dismissed the court. She was in and out of her chambers in minutes, pausing only long enough to shrug out of her judicial robe, gather some files and say a few words to her court clerk. Then, having made the transition from judge to mom, she blew out of the office and exited the building in record time.

She hurried through the parking garage, delighted to be on her way home earlier than usual. Sheâ€™d actual y get to spend some time with Krissyâ€”hearing about her day at kindergarten, helping her with her homework and just seizing the opportunity to be sil y together.

That was a rarity these days. Since Sophia Wolfe, the other family court judge in White Plains, had transferred, Hopeâ€™s caseload had increased. So had her hours, thanks to the fact that Claudia, her former court clerk, had broken up with her fiancÃ©. Sheâ€™d then weirded out on Hope, becoming difficult and snappish, and so out of it that she kept screwing up the docket. Because of their long history together, Hope had given her scads more chances until, final y, sheâ€™d had to let her go. Training a new clerk was brutal, and taking up far too much time and effort.

There was only so much of Hope to go around.

Which meant that her hours with Krissy were limited.

And Edward? Talk about a strained marriage, and an equal y strained family unit. Hopeâ€™s husband was almost never home. A defense attorney for a large, prestigious law firm with offices in both Midtown Manhattan and in White Plains, he worked obscene hours. In fact, other than an occasional and unplanned meeting in the courthouse, Hope seldom saw her husband, and Krissy saw him even less.

There was a definite void there. So today was about Hope spending quality time with her five-year-old.

Sheâ€™d hurried through the parking lot, slid behind the wheel of her GMC Acadia and driven off toward Route 287 and their Armonk home.

Natural y, there was traffic. These days, getting out of White Plains was almost as bad as getting out of Manhattan.

Hope crawled along, final y reaching the highway, where she took advantage of the opportunity to rapidly accelerate. Eager to get home, she exited 287 and cruised onto Route 684 North.

It was at that precise moment that Hopeâ€™s life changed forever.

Everything might have been different.

If Hope had glanced out her window. If sheâ€™d spotted the other SUV passing by, headed in the opposite direction. If sheâ€™d seen the smal passenger in the backseat, slapping and yanking at the door handle in an attempt to escapeâ€”and failing, the door secured with a childproof lock.

Ifâ€¦

But Hope did none of these. Her mind was on getting home to Krissy.

So, like two ships passing in the night, the two SUVs went their separate ways. Hope never saw the other driver. And the other driver never saw her.

Focused on the road, Hope had no way of knowing what sheâ€™d missed, or how close sheâ€™d come to averting the hel that was about to begin.

Â

She was almost at the Armonk exit when her cel phone rang. A quick glance at the navigation system display told her that it was Liza Bock cal ing. Hope frowned. Lizaâ€™s daughter, Olivia, was in Krissyâ€™s kindergarten class. And it had been Lizaâ€™s turn to drive the afternoon car pool that day.

With a motherâ€™s sense of unease, Hope pressed the button that connected the cal . â€œLiza?â€

â€œOh, Hope, thank goodness I reached you. I was afraid youâ€™d stil be at work.â€ Lizaâ€™s agitated tone did nothing to calm the growing distress knotting Hopeâ€™s gut.

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ she demanded.

â€œIs Krissy with you?â€

â€œWith me?â€ Waves of panic. â€œOf course not. I assumed youâ€™d picked her up after school today, and dropped her home with Ashley.â€ Ashley was the Wil isesâ€™ nanny, and had been since Krissy was born.

â€œSheâ€™s not.â€ Lizaâ€™s voice was trembling now. â€œI just spoke to Ashley. She was very worried, so she cal ed me. Krissyâ€™s not there.â€

â€œWhat are you talking about?â€

â€œWhen I got to school, the kids al said youâ€™d picked her up,â€ Liza explained. â€œI double-checked with the faculty members on bus duty, and they confirmed. Everyone saw Krissy leave the school, and everyone heard her cal out, â€˜My mommyâ€™s here!â€™ and run to your car. They recognized your silver Acadia. It never occurred to themâ€¦or to meâ€¦â€

â€œAre you saying Krissyâ€™s gone?â€ Hope could hardly breathe.

â€œI donâ€™t know. I cal ed al the other kidsâ€™ houses. No oneâ€™s seen her. I donâ€™t understand.â€

â€œLiza, hang up and cal the police. Tel them what happened. Iâ€™m cal ing Edward.â€ Hope disconnected the cal .

Â

Twenty minutes later, she arrived home to mass pandemonium. Cops. Friends. Neighbors. Ashley, weeping when she ran up to Hope and announced that Mr. Wil is had spoken with the U.S. Attorney, whoâ€™d contacted the FBI. As a result, specialized agents were on their way, both to the house and to Krissyâ€™s school. Local police were already at the school, questioning everyone, including al the car pool parents, whoâ€™d been summoned back to the crime scene.

Hope barely heard her nannyâ€™s words. She pushed past everyoneâ€”including the cops who were clearly waiting for her to show up so they could talk to herâ€”and raced upstairs. She ignored the yel ow tape that read â€œDo Not Cross,â€ ducked under it and burst into Krissyâ€™s bedroom.

Pristine. Nothing disturbed. Nothing missing.

Nothing anyone else would notice. Only Krissyâ€™s mother. She noticed.

Oreo, Krissyâ€™s beloved stuffed panda, was gone. She slept with it every night, and left it on the center of the bed, covered by a tiny fleece blanket, while she was at school.

Hope raced over to the bed and flung the pil ows aside. Then, she dropped to her knees, peering under the bed to see if the panda had toppled beneath it. She groped around, praying. When she found nothing, she tore off the comforter and sheets, shaking them out like a wild animal. Nothing. She began rummaging through the closet. She opened the bureau drawers and dumped clothes onto the rug.

â€œJudge Wil isâ€”stop it! Weâ€™ve sealed off this room.â€ Officer Krauss, a member of Armonkâ€™s North Castle Police Department, hurried in. Having overheard the commotion coming from Krissyâ€™s bedroom, he sized up the situation, stalked over to Hope and blocked her frantic motions with his forearm. â€œYouâ€™re contaminating personal items that could lead us to your daughter. We need her linens, her clothesâ€”whatever we can use to find her. We also need you to provide us with a recent photo, a description of what she was wearing today, a ful health historyâ€”and any information that might tel us who abducted her. We need you to focus and talk to us, not go bal istic.â€

Hope shoved his arm away and whirled around, whipping her head back and forth. â€œTalk to you? Youâ€™re supposed to be finding my child. Why are you al here instead of combing the streets looking for Krissy? Sheâ€™s only been gone an hour. Now is the time to find herâ€”before itâ€™s too late. You need her personal things? Take whatever you want. Photos, yesterdayâ€™s clothes, her toothbrush. Check her comforter for prints. I doubt thereâ€™l be any. This SOB is too smart not to wear gloves. But try. And what about Krissyâ€™s school? Thatâ€™s where she was abducted. Did the outdoor cameras pick up anything? Do you know anything?â€

â€œNothing from the security cameras. But we have an entire team interviewing every member of the faculty.â€ Krauss narrowed his eyes and stared at Hope. â€œBut I have to wonder why youâ€™re tearing Krissyâ€™s bedroom apart and insisting we check her comforter for fingerprints, when you yourself just said she was kidnapped from her school. What arenâ€™t you tel ing us?â€

â€œNothing you shouldnâ€™t already have figured out!â€ Hope snapped back. â€œThis was no random kidnapping. It was meticulously planned. For God knows how long. Obviously, the monster who abducted my baby researched the make, model and color of my car so he could pass it off as mine. He also took the time to study Krissy, and to learn what meant the most to her. Then he got his hands on it, and used it to dupe her into getting into that car with himâ€¦.â€

â€œWhat did he get his hands onâ€”specifical y?â€

â€œThatâ€™s why Iâ€™m tearing up her room. To find it. But itâ€™s goneâ€¦.â€ Hopeâ€™s voice cracked as she stared at the overturned bedding. â€œHe was here. Today. But not to take Krissy. To takeâ€¦â€ Hope buried her face in her hands.

Before Krauss could demand that she finish her sentence, Edward swung his legs over the tape and strode into the room.

â€œHope?â€ His gaze darted wildly around, as if by visual y covering every square inch of the bedroom, heâ€™d spot his child. â€œWhat have you found out?â€ He turned to the cop. â€œOfficerâ€¦?â€

â€œKrauss,â€ the other man supplied.

â€œOfficer Krauss,â€ Edward echoed. â€œHave you heard from the kidnappers?â€

Krauss didnâ€™t ask why Edward Wil is assumed this was a ransom case. He just filed the information away for later and shook his head.

â€œNo contact whatsoever. But itâ€™s early.â€

â€œEarly?â€ Edward snapped. â€œWeâ€™re not talking about a morning strol . My five-year-old daughterâ€™s life is at stake.â€

â€œWeâ€™re aware of that, sir. Our sergeant and two officers are at your daughterâ€™s school, as are detectives from the Westchester County Police and FBI agents from the White Plains Resident Agency. Theyâ€™re al questioning Krissyâ€™s teacher, principal and the entire staff. More FBI agents from Violent Crimes are on their way over here to join us locals. So is the countyâ€™s CSI team. Weâ€™l comb through your house for clues, and branch out to widen the investigation.â€

â€œI cal ed the U.S. Attorney. He alerted the FBIâ€™s New York Field Office,â€ Edward announced. â€œI also made my own personal cal to the field office. I have a contact there who specializes in Crimes Against Children.â€

â€œThat wasnâ€™t necessary, sir. As I said, we notified the FBI to request their assistance as soon as we got Mrs. Bockâ€™s cal . They were already aware of the situation. The hotline reached the local RA, who contacted the CAC squad in New York. Their Assistant Director in Charge contacted FBI Headquarters, and requested a Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team. That team is en route. So is the team from the New York Field Office. Theyâ€™l be setting up an off-site command post, and working with us to safely recover your daughter. Plus, an Amber Alertâ€™s been issued.â€

â€œWhat about the NCIC Missing Person File?â€ Edward pressed on, referring to the National Crime Information Centerâ€™s entries.

â€œDid youâ€”â€

â€œAn entry was made immediately,â€ Krauss interrupted quietly. â€œBeing an attorney, sir, and familiar with the law, Iâ€™m sure youâ€™re aware that thereâ€™s no waiting period in a child kidnapping. Our police department may not be the size of the NYPD, but we know our jobs. And we do themâ€”wel .â€

Kraussâ€™s point struck home, and, abruptly, Edward realized what an overbearing tyrant he was being. â€œI apologize. I didnâ€™t mean to attack you. But under the circumstancesâ€¦â€

â€œI understand. Youâ€™re going through hel .â€

â€œEd.â€ Hope interrupted, clutching her husbandâ€™s forearms. â€œWho would do this? Who took our baby?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know.â€ He drew Hope closer in a protective gesture. â€œBut weâ€™l find out. And weâ€™l bring Krissy home.â€ Again, his gaze swept the room. â€œWho trashed her bedroom?â€

â€œI did.â€

Ed drew back, his brows knit in confusion. â€œI donâ€™t understand. You told me Krissy disappeared at school. That she was taken right after the bel . So whyâ€¦?â€

â€œYour wife was about to answer that very question for me,â€ Officer Krauss interceded. â€œWe checked this room out first, before we sealed it off for the Westchester County Forensic Investigation Unit. Everything seemed to be in order and completely untouchedâ€”at least until your wife turned the place upside down. Your nanny confirmed that she arrived right after you left this morning so she could do the laundry, bake cookies for your daughterâ€™s after-school snack, and catch up on her own studying. She assured us that no one was at the house, or in this room, today.â€

â€œAshleyâ€™s wrong,â€ Hope countered. â€œSo are the police.â€ Tears glistened on her lashes. â€œWhoever took Krissy was in this room. Today. During the time that Krissy was in school. Edâ€”â€ she turned to command her husbandâ€™s attention â€œâ€”I looked everywhere.

Oreoâ€™s gone.â€

His gaze snapped back to the bed. â€œAre you sure?â€

â€œPositive. He and his blanket are both missing. The kidnapper must have come specifical y to get them.â€

â€œDammit.â€ With a hard swal ow, Edward turned to explain to Krauss. â€œOreo is my daughterâ€™s stuffed bear.â€

â€œPanda,â€ Hope corrected.

â€œPanda. She drags him al over the house. The only time she puts him down is when she goes to school. Then, she covers him with a little blanket. Itâ€™sâ€¦â€ He paused to think.

â€œLavender fleece,â€ Hope supplied. â€œIt came with one of her dol s. She gave it to Oreo. She said she was afraid heâ€™d get cold when she went to school and wasnâ€™t there to hug him, so she tucked him in every dayâ€¦on her bedâ€¦.â€ With that, Hope final y, completely broke down. She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Edward touched his wifeâ€™s shoulder, but she backed away, wrapping her arms around herself in a determined attempt to withstand this emotional ordeal on her own. Stil weeping, she drew inward, seeking comfort where none existed.

It was like reliving a nightmare. Only worse. Now she was grown. And now the victim was her child, her precious little girl.

Officer Krauss was scribbling notes onto a pad. â€œYouâ€™re sure the bear was here when Krissy left for school?â€

â€œPositive,â€ Hope managed. â€œI saw him when I came in to get Krissyâ€™s jacket. She was already waiting for me at the front door.

We were running late. I took her directly to school. She never went back upstairs.â€

â€œWhich means she never reentered her bedroom.â€ Krauss double-checked the bedroom windows. â€œAs I said earlier, no sign of forced entry.â€ He was already heading for the door. â€œMy men and I wil recheck the security system and every door and window in the house.

Then, Iâ€™l need those personal items and information we talked about.â€

There was a long silence when Hope and Edward were alone.

â€œThe FBI should be here any minute,â€ he said at last.

â€œIâ€™m sure they wil . Theyâ€™l set up Command Central, waiting for a ransom cal , while they gril us. Theyâ€™l start with our relationship, since weâ€™re Krissyâ€™s parents and the primary suspects. Then, theyâ€™l move on to every human being who holds a grudge against usâ€”which wil take days, given our careers. Meanwhile, Krissyâ€™s out there somewhere. Scared. Alone. And God knows what else.â€

Hopeâ€™s hand was shaking as she whipped out her cel phone. â€œSo, yes, Iâ€™m glad we have the police and the FBI on board. But itâ€™s not enough.â€ She punched in directory assistance.

â€œWho are you cal ing?â€

â€œForensic Instincts.â€

Edward blinked. â€œThe profilers?â€

â€œYes,â€ Hope confirmed. â€œYou know their track record. Itâ€™s unbelievable. Five cases. Five successes. They find criminals. Serial kil ers. Rapists. And kidnappers. Theyâ€™re on the fast track. And they donâ€™t have a dozen other cases they have to work at the same time.â€

A scowl. â€œWe should check with the FBI first. What if the involvement of an independent organization puts Krissy in more danger?â€

â€œIt wonâ€™t.â€ Hope was talking so fast she was tripping on her words. â€œIâ€™ve fol owed their work. They know just how to handle things. Your friends at the FBI might not like it, but I donâ€™t give a damn.â€ A hard look at Edward as her index finger hovered over the send button. â€œIâ€™ve been through this nightmare before. Iâ€™m not losing Krissy.â€

â€œI know what you went through. But you canâ€™t compare the two traumas. Itâ€™s over three decades. Law enforcementâ€™s capabilities have grown by leaps and bounds.â€

â€œI donâ€™t care. I canâ€™t survive this again. Especial y not when it comes to my daughter.â€

â€œI understand. Butâ€”â€

â€œLook, Edward, three decades ago or not, some things havenâ€™t changed. Like the fact that an investigation can remain active for only so long. The last time the case went cold after two years. Iâ€™m not chancing that again. Not with my baby. Donâ€™t bother arguing with me.

Iâ€™m doing this. Iâ€™l get them to drop anything theyâ€™re doing. Iâ€™l pay them whatever fee they ask for.â€ Hope was finished waiting.

She punched the green button and put the cal through.

â€œIn Manhattan, I need the number for Forensic Instincts, LLC.â€ Hope reached for a pad and pen.

â€œFine. If you feel that strongly about it, go ahead,â€ Edward reluctantly conceded. â€œBut I want them working with law enforcement.

Not independently.â€

â€œIf thatâ€™s possible, great. If notâ€”â€ Hope shrugged, scribbling down the number. Having gotten what she wanted, she disconnected the cal , and began furiously punching in the telephone number. â€œThe truth is, I donâ€™t give a damn about the copsâ€™ or the FBIâ€™s internal politics. I donâ€™t give a damn about anythingâ€”except getting Krissy home safe and sound. So if Forensic Instinctsâ€™

methods are too unconventional to suit youâ€”hel o?â€ Hope put her lips to the mouthpiece, her throat working as she spoke. â€œIs this Casey Woods?â€

â€œSpeaking,â€ a weary voice answered. â€œAnd this isâ€¦?â€

â€œMy name is Hope Wil is. Judge Hope Wil is. I live in Armonk. An hour and a half ago, my five-year-old daughter was kidnapped from her elementary school. The police are here. So is the FBI. But the minutes are ticking by. And the suspect list is way too long for them to tackle alone.â€

â€œReal y. And why is that?â€

â€œBecause Iâ€™m a family court judge, and my husband is a criminal defense attorney. Weâ€™ve racked up more grudge-holders and enemies than we can recal . Weâ€™l try to compile a list, but itâ€™l be long. Plus, there are special circumstances involved that make this even more unbearable. I need to hire Forensic Instincts. Now. On an exclusive basis.â€

There was a prolonged silence at the other end of the phone.

Special circumstances. An interesting and succinct choice of words. Plus, Casey could hear the repressed note in Judge Wil isâ€™s tone.

The woman might be going through hel , but she was clearly holding something back. Half-assed candor didnâ€™t fly for herâ€”no matter how dire the circumstances.

â€œIâ€™m terribly sorry about your daughter,â€ Casey responded. â€œBut my team and I are just coming off a very intense, draining investigation, and we have other cases that have been back-burnered because of that, and now require our attention. Iâ€™m sure the FBI and the police wil be on top ofâ€”â€

â€œTheyâ€™re not enough,â€ Hope interrupted. â€œI need more than conventional methods. We canâ€™t afford to waste a second.

Please. You know how crucial these first three hours are.â€

â€œYes,â€ Casey replied soberly. â€œI do.â€ And theyâ€™re slipping away, she mental y noted.

â€œThen wil you come? Iâ€™l do anything. Pay anything. Fol ow your instructions to a tee.â€ The last semblance of Hopeâ€™s facade cracked. â€œPlease, Ms. Woods. Iâ€™m begging you. Find my baby.â€

Casey had to cave. And not just because this case would mean big bucks for the company. But because instinct told her that the honesty and trust would come when they met in person. If not, the team would walk.

For now, a five-year-old child was missing.

â€œOkay. Stay calm. Weâ€™l do everything we can,â€ she assured Hope, her entire demeanor softening. â€œHang on.â€ A rustle as she snatched up a Post-it and pen. â€œGive me your address. Then give us an hour.â€

CHAPTER THREE

Forensic Instincts showed up at the Wil is house at the same time as the FBI. Watching them pul into the driveway, Casey immediately recognized the four special agents whoâ€™d been contacted and deployed by the Crimes Against Children Unit at FBI Headquarters in D.C. They were one of the two Child Abduction Rapid Deployment teams in the Northeast, and consisted of special y trained agents from several different field offices, each of whom had dropped everything and taken off the instant theyâ€™d been contacted. Aware of how crucial these first post-abduction hours were, the CARD team was here to assist C-20, the New York Field Officeâ€™s CAC squad, in tracking down Krissy Wil is and bringing her home.

The team members now jumping out of their car consisted of Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens, and Special Agents Wil Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. And Casey knew exactly which of them would be smiling at the sight of her teamâ€™s arrival, and which of them would be exceedingly pissed off to see them.

â€œHey, Don.â€ As she climbed out of the driverâ€™s seat, Casey waved at the seasoned agent who had to be nearing fifty-seven and mandatory retirement. He was hard-core, married to the Bureau, and yet he was more open-minded about Caseyâ€™s team than some of the younger squad members. Go figure.

â€œCasey Woods. Why am I not surprised to see you here?â€ Owens acknowledged her with a slight smile, his trim gray mustache curving with his lips. â€œIâ€™m lucky I sped to Logan, and that my shuttle flight from Boston arrived early. Otherwise, you would have already set up the FBIâ€™s Command Post and canvassed half the neighborhood.â€

â€œDamn straight,â€ Ryan muttered under his breath.

Casey rol ed her eyes. Ryan was cranky. He hadnâ€™t gotten any of the sleep heâ€™d anticipated after closing the last case. Functioning on zero rest was Caseyâ€™s specialty. She could operate on empty and make it seem ful . She was able to push past her fatigue and get the job done. And Marc was a Navy SEAL to the core. He could run on sheer adrenaline. So Ryan was the cheese who stood alone. He was a royal pain in the ass when he went without sleep. At times like this, barring essential needs to communicate, Casey and Marc avoided him like the plague.

â€œThis place is going to be a circus,â€ Ryan continued to mumble. â€œThe CARD team. The Feds. The county police. The locals.

Canâ€™t we send them al back to their desks?â€ A grunt. â€œYou know, leave us aloneâ€¦. Iâ€™l hack into the little girlâ€™s computer. Casey, you can run down the list of suspects, interrogate the right ones. Marc can beat the crap out of the scumbag who did this. Then youâ€™l size up his reactions until we figure out where he hid the poor kid. And Krissy Wil is wil be safe in her own bed before the miserable prick who took her can do his worst. After that, we can al go home and crash.â€

Before Casey could reply, Ryan spied the tal , slender woman who was squatting down just outside the Wil isesâ€™ garage. Her brow was furrowed in intense concentration, and her delicate fingers were gliding over the streamers that dangled from the handlebars of what was clearly a little girlâ€™s bicycle.

â€œOh, great,â€ Ryan complained more loudly. â€œLook whoâ€™s here. Itâ€™s Claire-voyantâ€”the copsâ€™ favorite psychic, doing her thing. Now, weâ€™l be gril ing suspects, and sheâ€™l be clutching Krissy Wil isâ€™s dirty socks trying to get up in her head. I can hardly wait.â€

Casey stifled a smile. Claire Hedgleighâ€”Claire-voyant, as Ryan insisted on cal ing herâ€”was a noted, self-described intuitive who consulted with several police departments, using her special skil s to help solve cases. Casey and her team had crossed paths with her on a couple of cases. And Casey was more than impressed. Sheâ€™d done extensive background research on Claire, both educational y and professional y.

Academical y, Claire held a masterâ€™s degree in Human Development and another in Transformative Theory and Practices. In addition, she had teaching accreditation from schools in the U.S., England and Australia in everything from psychic development to metaphysical sciences.

And professional y, she had an A+ reputation and a three-year track record with the police. She was so good, in fact, that Casey was determined to lure her over to Forensic Instincts. Sheâ€™d be a great addition to the teamâ€”once Casey broke the news to Ryan and pried the chip off his scientific shoulder. Instinct told her it wouldnâ€™t be as hard a sel as Ryan pretended. He and Claire interacted in a way that only masqueraded as combat. But both Marc and Casey recognized it as a smoke screen for something more.

At this point, Claire was rising to her feet. Tal and wil owy, with pale blond hair and light gray eyes, Claire had a gentle, ethereal quality about her that suited her cal ing. Now, she released the bicycle handlebars, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and spotted them. An exasperated expression crossed her face when she saw Ryan. Clearly, she was not in the mood for a verbal sparring match. And Ryan was practical y vibrating to start one.

Caseyâ€™s grin widened. An electrical y charged tÃªte-Ã -tÃªte was definitely on the horizon. And Casey and Marc had already placed their bets on a timelineâ€”and an outcomeâ€”for that.

For now, some barbed banter would be fine with her. The moments of levity would feel good. More than good. It would be like Novocain before a root canal. Because the latter was what they were about to walk into. Child abductions were among the toughest crimes to swal ow.

â€œPlay nice, Ryan,â€ she said drily as they approached the garage. â€œClaire knows what sheâ€™s doing. So donâ€™t give her too much crap.â€

â€œWho? Me?â€ he replied with mock innocence.

â€œYeah. You look like a lion whoâ€™s been prodded with a sharp stick. Relax. You can go back and hole up in your lair as soon as we get the lay of the land here.â€ Casey reached Claire and stopped. â€œHi, Claire. Youâ€™re working this case?â€

A friendly nod. â€œAnd, obviously, so are you. Anything I can do to help out, let me know.â€

Ryan made a derisive sound. â€œI think weâ€™l rely on science. Messages from inanimate objects just donâ€™t cut it, at least not for me.

But thanks anyway, Claire-voyant.â€

â€œAh, Ryan. More obnoxious than usual, I see. What happened? Did you forget your Batman lunch box?â€

â€œIgnore him,â€ Casey advised. â€œHe hasnâ€™t slept in a few days.â€

â€œWel , that explains it.â€ Claire looked more amused than botheredâ€”which pissed Ryan off even more. â€œThanks for the news flash.

Iâ€™l consider myself forewarned.â€

With that, she headed into the house. â€œTime to commune with inanimate objects,â€ she cal ed over her shoulder. â€œYouâ€™d be surprised how much talking they doâ€”in a world thatâ€™s realer than cyberspace.â€

Ryan definitely had an answer for that one, but he pressed his lips together and refrained from spouting it, as he, Casey and Marc reached the CARD team.

â€œSo, the Wil ises hired you already.â€ Special Agent Guy Adams looked even more unhappy than Ryan about the prospect of working together. Adams was a trained hostage negotiator, in his mid-thirties, sharp, and as competitive as Ryan and Marc. And he had little regard for approaches other than those heâ€™d learned through the Bureauâ€”least of al Forensic Instincts and their out-of-the-box methods.

â€œIs that a problem?â€ Marc asked in a cool, probing tone.

â€œNot as long as you donâ€™t overstep.â€

â€œWeâ€™re here to work with you, Guy. You and C-20.â€ Casey nipped the tension in the bud. â€œWe al want the same thingâ€”to bring Krissy Wil is home, safe and with as little trauma as possible. So letâ€™s not turn this into a pissing match.â€

â€œOur special agents are already inside,â€ Guy informed her, purposely sidestepping her attempt at detente. â€œThe New York Field Office sent Harrington and Barkley. Theyâ€™re with the parents now, working on the Child Victim Background Questionnaire. The rest of the New York team is at Krissyâ€™s school, along with a couple of agents from the White Plains RA. Harrington and Barkley are about to debrief us.

Harrington is lead case agent on this one.â€

â€œGood choices,â€ Casey replied.

â€œGlad you approve.â€

â€œI do.â€ Casey ignored his sarcasm. She was mul ing over the agents she was about to deal with in the Wil is home. Peg Harrington and Ken Barkley were both seasoned agents whoâ€™d been working CAC cases for over a decade. They were intel igent, and they were self-assuredâ€”which meant they didnâ€™t trip over fragile egos. That made working with them tenable. And having Peg at the helm would be great.

She was cool under pressure and effective as hel .

â€œDid your clients supply you with al the facts?â€ Guy was asking Casey.

She wiggled her hand in an ambivalent gesture. â€œI checked in with Hope Wil is from my car. I got the basics. Anyone happen to catch the license plate on the Acadia the kidnapper was driving?â€

â€œJust a letter or two. Nothing solid to go on. The cops put out an APB. So far, nothingâ€™s turned up. They also notified the Westchester hotline, issued an Amber Alert and entered the case into the NCIC. Officers are at both scenesâ€”here and at the childâ€™s school, along with the county police and CSI.â€

It dawned on Casey that Guy was being unusual y chatty and informative, given his preliminary hostility. She glanced past him, and spotted McHale and Dugan head into the house. So that was Guyâ€™s plan. To keep her talking while the rest of the CARD team agents joined their C-20

counterparts and got a jump start on the case.

She had to admire their tenacious attempt to outmaneuver her, even if it had been feeble. She also had to admit sheâ€™d have done the same thing in their place. The fact was, C-20 had every right to run the show. They were law enforcement; she and her team werenâ€™t.

Nonetheless, she was getting into the house and meeting the Wil ises. The FBI couldnâ€™t deny her thatâ€”they were her clients. The truth was, she didnâ€™t just want to meet them, she wanted to study them. She needed to know what Hope Wil is was holding back. And she needed to get a firsthand look at how Hope and Edward Wil is were copingâ€”both individual y and as a coupleâ€”with these initial hours after their five-year-old childâ€™s abduction.

Body language was a powerful revealer.

The FBI and the police had already conducted official interviews with the Wil ises, and were about to turn their efforts toward debriefing the CARD team. The usual procedure. Eliciting the usual response from Forensic Instincts. While the doors were firmly shut in their faces, theyâ€™d take ful advantage of the opportunity to get information from their surroundings and the people in them. Each of Caseyâ€™s team members would accomplish this in his or her unique way.

â€œPlaytimeâ€™s over, Guy,â€ Casey stated bluntly. â€œYou can shut us out of your debriefing sessions, but you canâ€™t shut us out of the house. Hope Wil is hired us. Weâ€™re going in to meet her and her husband. Weâ€™l be discreet. And we wonâ€™t interfere with your investigation.â€

â€œThatâ€™s fine,â€ Don said, though with a bit of a sigh. â€œAny insights you glean would be a welcome addition to our efforts.

Weâ€™re talking about the life of a five-year-old little girl. Iâ€™ve got a granddaughter that age. Letâ€™s pool our resources and solve this oneâ€”successful y.â€

â€œAgreed.â€ Casey gestured for her group to fol ow Don and Guy inside. This was great. Theyâ€™d made peace with the CARD team supervisor. Barkley and Harrington had worked with them a lot, and they respected them. Ditto for the Violent Crimes squad in White Plains, and the Westchester County Police.

â€œSweet,â€ Marc murmured quietly. â€œNow we just have the locals to convince. Unfortunately, thatâ€™s the hardest part.â€

There was no argument from his coworkers. The locals, especial y the smal er precincts, were often skeptical of what and who they didnâ€™t know. Some were also determined to prove themselves, which made them territorial and leery of Forensic Instinctsâ€™ independent status.

â€œWe might get resistance, but we wonâ€™t get beginners,â€ Ryan said. Heâ€™d done a brief computer search on the North Castle P.D. â€œTheyâ€™re pretty solid.â€

Marc edged him an inquisitive look. â€œWhat did you find out?â€

â€œTheyâ€™re got a retention rate thatâ€™s sky-high. Their cops and detectives just stay on. They like their jobs. Theyâ€™re wel trained and dedicated. Thereâ€™s not a lot of major criminal activity for them to deal withâ€”mostly car and house break-ins. But theyâ€™re ready for big stuff, too. Theyâ€™ve got an impressive Emergency Service Unit. Itâ€™s been around for over a dozen years. Theyâ€™ve also got a strong community spirit. They take care of their own.â€

â€œSounds good,â€ Marc responded. â€œUnless theyâ€™re insular and uncooperative.â€

â€œOnly one way to find out.â€

Casey nodded. Best possible scenario. Best investigators. Best police support.

Now if she only knew what Hope Wil is was hiding.

Â

Hope was in the living room of her sprawling house, pacing around and tucking strands of blond hair behind her ears in erratic, repetitive motions, when Casey first laid eyes on her.

It took about ten seconds for Casey to feel convinced. The woman with the haunted eyes and the inability to sit stil had had nothing to do with her daughterâ€™s disappearance.

Edward Wil is was a little tougher to read. Stiff by nature, Wil is was a polished attorney who was accustomed to hiding behind a wel -

established veneer. But beneath that veneer a fine tension rippled the surface. Just as there was obvious tension between him and his wife.

Physical and emotional distance. Separate entities instead of one frantic unit. Edward was edgy, and way too knowledgeable about the law not to know he was a suspect.

Casey walked directly over to the couple. â€œMr. and Mrs. Wil is? Iâ€™m Casey Woods.â€

Instantly, Hope stopped pacing. She closed the gap between herself and Casey. â€œThereâ€™s been no word,â€ she blurted out. â€œNo ransom note. No phone cal . Not even a threatening email.â€ Hope looked helplessly from Casey to the FBI agents sheâ€™d just spoken to, to the CARD team now moving in. â€œDoes that mean heâ€™s hurting her? Worse? If he doesnâ€™t want money, what else could he want besidesâ€¦oh God.â€ Hope drew a few sharp breaths, her features contorting with fear.

â€œLetâ€™s not get ahead of ourselves, Judge Wil is.â€ Don stepped in front of Casey and introduced himself, keeping his voice quiet and calm. â€œIâ€™m Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens. These are Special Agents Wil Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. Weâ€™re part of a special y trained child recovery team. Weâ€™re here to help find your daughter. Have you given Special Agents Barkley and Harrington, as wel as the police, a ful description and photos of Krissy, along with clothing samplesâ€¦?â€

â€œYes.â€ Edward Wil is moved to his wifeâ€™s side. â€œThank you for coming, Agent Owens. Iâ€™m Edward Wil is, Krissyâ€™s father. In answer to your question, we fil ed out a background questionnaire. We gave the police and the FBI a preliminary list of neighbors, friends, relatives, Krissyâ€™s friends, classmates and teachersâ€”and weâ€™re working on a list of al of Hopeâ€™s and my potential enemies. We also provided the photo and clothing you just mentioned, along with Krissyâ€™s comb and toothbrush, and al the details of the abduction that we haveâ€”which arenâ€™t many. What else can we do?â€

â€œMake yourselves available for whateverâ€™s necessary,â€ Don replied. â€œMedia broadcasts. Fol owing our lead when we ask you to prolong any phone cal s weâ€™re recording. Working with us to separate whatâ€™s real from whatâ€™s bogus as the public starts to communicate potential leads. Which they wil . Some through our hotlines. Some through the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Some through tips to law enforcement. Youâ€™l both be required to submit to polygraph tests. I assure you, itâ€™s routine. Donâ€™t be insultedâ€”just do it. Eliminating suspects can be as important as pursuing them. And, most of al , have faith.â€

â€œPursuit,â€ Hope echoed, reminded for the umpteenth time of the potential flight risk involved. â€œWhat about roadblocks?â€

â€œTaken care of county-wide and beyond,â€ Don assured her. â€œAnd highway patrols are combing the area. Trust me, Judge Wil is.

We al know what weâ€™re doing.â€

Hope nodded, lowering her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.

It was clear from the expression on Donâ€™s face that he empathized with Hopeâ€™s fears. It was also clear that he knew there was only one way to al eviate them.

â€œIf youâ€™l excuse me, my team needs to be debriefed,â€ he informed her. â€œThe quicker the better. That way we wonâ€™t lose a minute. What room can we use?â€

â€œMy home office,â€ Hope said at once. She pointed. â€œItâ€™s down the hal , second door to your right. The other FBI agents are in there with the police. Thereâ€™s a conference table and more than enough chairs.â€

With a brief nod of thanks, Don and his CARD team disappeared in that direction.

Hope turned back to Casey.

â€œI picked up on a certain evasiveness in your voice,â€ Casey stated without preamble. â€œYouâ€™re hiding something. Before we go any further, I want to know what that something is.â€

Inhaling sharply, Hope responded to the obvious first. â€œDo you honestly believe I could harm my child? Is that why you think I was being evasive?â€

â€œInitial y, it was one of the explanations I considered.â€ Casey continued to be frank. Simultaneously, she was watching an interesting scene taking place diagonal y across from them, in the kitchen. But the answer she provided Hope was definite and direct. â€œBut after seeing you in person, my suspicions are gone. However, that doesnâ€™t answer my question. You are holding something back. What? And why?â€

â€œBecause it has no bearing on our daughterâ€™s disappearance,â€ Edward Wil is inserted abruptly.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, Casey signaled for Marc and Ryan to go do their thing. Once theyâ€™d complied, she leveled a direct stare at Edward.

â€œTel me if Iâ€™m wrong, Mr. Wil is, but I get the feeling youâ€™re not much in favor of your wifeâ€™s decision to hire us.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not wrong. Iâ€™m a firm believer in the legal system.â€

â€œAs an attorney, Iâ€™m sure you are.â€ Casey kept her tone respectful. But she didnâ€™t like this man. He was judgmental and control ing. And it was no surprise that he believed in the legal systemâ€”his legal system. He specialized in putting violent criminals back on the street in exchange for high visibility, a rush of self-importance and a hefty fee.

Aloud, al she said was, â€œI understand where youâ€™re coming from. Rest assured, my group wonâ€™t be abusing law enforcement or whatever decisions you make with them. Weâ€™re here to fol ow their leadâ€”if our discussion with you now results in a mutual decision for us to work together.â€

â€œIf?â€ Now Edward was taken aback. It was clear the man was used to getting his own wayâ€”even if, like this time, it meant Casey and her group vanishing into thin air.

His jaw tightened. â€œI donâ€™t understand, Ms. Woods. My wife hired you.â€

â€œTrue. But thereâ€™s a stipulation. I need my answer. What is it Iâ€™m not being told?â€

Hope stared at the floor for a minute. The hard swal ow that she gave, the way she steeled herself, and the way she shifted into autopilot told Casey that sheâ€™d relayed this story countless times, but that it never ceased to hurt.

â€œMy sister Felicity was kidnapped thirty-two years ago,â€ she said quietly, her voice quavering from emotional strain. â€œWe were six.

She was sleeping next to me when it happened. I was chloroformed. So was she. Only it was Felicity the kidnapper chose to take. Iâ€™ve never understood why. We areâ€”â€ a painful pause â€œâ€”were identical twins. Very few people could tel us apartâ€”unless they were familiar with our personalities. Which, to me, says the kidnapper was someone who knew us at least fairly wel . And before you ask, Felicityâ€™s body was never recovered. The case was labeled cold, and closed two years after the abduction. Now, history is repeating itselfâ€¦with my baby.â€ Choking up, Hope pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.

â€œNow you see why I didnâ€™t want you to pursue this line of questioning,â€ Edward snapped, once again putting an arm around his wife. The gesture seemed oddly stiff, even staged. â€œDredging up a painful incident from Hopeâ€™s past is pointless.â€

â€œI disagree.â€ Casey quickly processed the implications of what she was being told, even as her gaze flickered once again to the kitchen doorway. â€œIt explains that this terrifying crime is even more terrifying for your wife than it might be for another woman. Two treasured loved ones kidnapped in a lifetimeâ€”the first unsolved, and occurring when your wife was an impressionable, young child? Scars like that donâ€™t heal, Mr. Wil is. Especial y when the victim is an identical twin, who most people claim is like half of a whole. And now, a childâ€”the very heart and soul of a mother. I can see why Judge Wil is would be coming apart at the seams, reliving the past, and wil ing to go to any extreme to avoid a repeat of it.â€

â€œSo you understand.â€ Hope scrutinized Casey, her gaze fil ed with agonized pain.

â€œI do,â€ Casey said without hesitation. â€œI understand your fear. And I understand what you werenâ€™t saying on the phone.

Consider yourself our top-priority client.â€

Hope literal y sagged with relief. â€œThank you.â€

Casey wasted no time in getting down to business. â€œYour babysitterâ€”itâ€™s Ashley, right?â€ She gestured in the direction of the kitchen.

Startled by the abrupt change in subject, Hope looked up and fol owed Caseyâ€™s stare. Edwardâ€™s head snapped around, too.

â€œMy babysitter?â€ Hope repeated. â€œYes, itâ€™s Ashley Lawrence. Although sheâ€™s not real y a babysitter. Sheâ€™s been Krissyâ€™s nanny since the day Krissy came home from the hospital. So we donâ€™t think of her as an employee. Sheâ€™s family. And she adores Krissy.â€

â€œAl the more reason for my curiosity. If everything youâ€™re saying is true, why has she spent the entire time since I walked in here on her cel phone, arguing with someone?â€

â€œItâ€™s probably her boyfriend.â€ Edward waved away the observation. â€œIâ€™m sure heâ€™s unhappy about her decision to stay here until we have news about Krissy.â€

â€œI see.â€ Casey could sense Edwardâ€™s escalating tension. â€œSo heâ€™s a serious boyfriend. Whatâ€™s his name?â€

â€œFrank. Frank Barber.â€

Casey jotted that down. â€œYou mentioned that Krissyâ€™s stuffed panda was stolen from the house sometime today. Did the police find evidence of a break-in?â€

â€œNone.â€

â€œAnd no one had access to the house except Ashley, who claims that nobody came by here al day, and whoâ€™s now arguing with her boyfriend.â€

â€œOh, no.â€ Vehemently, Hope denied the notion that Ashley could be involved. â€œAs I said, Ashley adores Krissy, and the feeling is mutual. The poor girl was crying hysterical y when I got home. Sheâ€™s in shock. Sheâ€™s probably talking to her boyfriend for emotional support.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so. She seems more agitated than distraught. Agitated and, if Iâ€™m reading her body language right, scared.â€

Casey pursed her lips thoughtful y. â€œMaybe she just realized she bit off more than she could chew, and that events are spiraling out of control.â€

â€œYouâ€™re barking up the wrong tree, Ms. Woods,â€ Hope insisted. â€œAshleyâ€™s not capable of harming Krissy.â€

â€œMaybe she doesnâ€™t have to beâ€”at least not directly.â€ Caseyâ€™s gaze shifted to the pile of sophisticated-looking textbooks sitting on the kitchen table. â€œIt looks like Ashleyâ€™s in grad school. Unless youâ€™re paying her a fortune, I assume she has outstanding student loans. What does Frank do for a living?â€ The ensuing silence gave her her answer. â€œNothing lucrative, I take it.â€

â€œHe dabbles,â€ Hope replied, reluctance and wavering trust evident in her tone. â€œHeâ€™s a part-time bartender, and a part-time bouncer. Nothing concrete.â€

â€œAnd nothing a huge windfal wouldnâ€™t help in a big way.â€ A poignant pause. â€œThink about itâ€”a vulnerable young woman in love with the wrong man. A young woman who has direct access to your home, your schedules and your daughter.â€

For the first time, Caseyâ€™s gaze flickered cool y to Edward, whoâ€”as Casey had anticipatedâ€”had gone very, very stil . â€œIâ€™d say thatâ€™s a solid enough lead to check into, wouldnâ€™t you, Counselor?â€

His jaw was working, but his gaze pierced hers with laser intensity. â€œIâ€™d say thatâ€™s your cal , Ms. Woods.â€

CHAPTER FOUR

Itâ€™s been a terrifying day. I know youâ€™re scared. But youâ€™re such a special child.

Unique. Precious.

The sleeping pill is working. Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is even. Your long blond hair is tousled, spread out on the pillow. I wish your lashes werenâ€™t spiky and wet with the tears you cried for hours, or that your neck wasnâ€™t damp with the perspiration caused by your struggles.

You look like you belong here. Which is good, since thereâ€™s no escape. Even though right now thatâ€™s all youâ€™ll want to do.

When you wake up, youâ€™ll cry. Beg. And finally withdraw. Youâ€™ll have that haunted look in your expressive blue-green eyes.

Itâ€™s my job to erase that. To change your mind about being here. To make you want this to be your home.

I will. Iâ€™m the only one who can.

I got all the tools I need from your book bag. Youâ€™ll have nothing to do but comply.

Sweet dreams, Krissy. It will all begin when you wake up.

Â

Ashley hastily disconnected her cal the minute Casey walked into the kitchen. She looked jumpyâ€”like someone who was either at the end of her rope, or had something to hideâ€”as she met Caseyâ€™s stare.

â€œHiâ€¦â€ she said in a tentative voice.

â€œHel o, Ashley.â€ Casey extended her hand. â€œMy name is Casey Woods, and my organization is working with the Wil ises to help find Krissy.â€

â€œOrganization?â€ Ashley shook Caseyâ€™s hand, her own skin warm from holding the cel phone, and damp with nerves.

â€œYouâ€™re not with the police or the FBI?â€

â€œNope. Iâ€™m with Forensic Instincts. Weâ€™re a private company, specializing in solving cases like these. Iâ€™d like to ask you a few questions.â€

Ashleyâ€™s tongue wet her lower lip. â€œIâ€™ve already told the authorities everything I know.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure you have. But since my col eagues and I just arrived, Iâ€™d appreciate if you could fil me in, as wel .â€ Casey didnâ€™t have to turn around to know that the Wil ises had come up behind her and walked into the kitchen. Nor did she have to hear their footsteps. She could read it al over Ashleyâ€™s face, see it in her eyes as her gaze darted past Casey, fil ed with a mixture of uncertainty and an appeal for help.

â€œItâ€™s al right, Ashley,â€ Hope assured her, although Casey was quite certain that Hope wasnâ€™t the Wil is she was appealing to.

â€œTel Ms. Woods whatever she needs to know.â€

Casey turned to Hope. â€œMay I speak to Ashley alone? Maybe in a den or comfortable setting? Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™s overwhelmed by the events of the day.â€

â€œOf course. Thereâ€™s a Florida room behind the kitchen.â€ Hope pointed. â€œTake as much time as you need.â€ She went to the fridge, pul ed out two bottles of water, and handed one to Casey and one to Ashley. Edward stood to the side, his features and posture stiff.

â€œThank you.â€ Casey fol owed Ashley to the Florida room. The girl was definitely on overload. Maybe it was just a melt-down from the day. Or maybe it was guilt.

Casey suspected it was both.

â€œIâ€™d like to start out by going over some basics with you,â€ Casey began as soon as they were seated on the comfortable lounge chairs in the glass-enclosed Florida room. â€œI hope you donâ€™t mind if I take notes.â€ She pul ed out a pad and pen.

â€œI donâ€™t mind.â€ Ashley spread her hands in confusion. â€œBut wouldnâ€™t it be easier for you to get a copy of my police interview?â€

â€œIâ€™l do that, too. But my group tends to focus on the personal rather than the procedural. So there might be things you can tel me that wil help us help the authorities.â€

â€œLike what?â€

Casey clicked on her bal point pen and leaned forward. â€œLike giving me a mental picture of Krissy. Not her appearanceâ€”I can study the copsâ€™ photo for that. I can also read the victimology report her parents supplied. But often those arenâ€™t as in-depth as Iâ€™d like. Not where it comes to Krissyâ€™s hot buttons, her private likes and dislikes, her subtle behavioral traits. In many ways, you were her primary caretaker.

The Wil ises have busy, high-powered careersâ€”especial y Mr. Wil is. That doesnâ€™t mean theyâ€™re not exceptional parents but youâ€™ve spent the most time with Krissy, ever since she was born. There might be nuances youâ€™re familiar with that are fresher in your mind than they are in theirs.â€

A faint smile touched Ashleyâ€™s lips. â€œKrissyâ€™s always been special. Sheâ€™s happy, sheâ€™s bright and sheâ€™s so precocious that even I have trouble staying a step ahead of her.â€

Ashley went on to describe a bouncy, enthusiastic child who loved books, drawing and Disneyâ€™s Club Penguin, had lots of playdates and friendsâ€”including a little boyfriend named Scottyâ€”was a Daisy Girl Scout, wanted to play the tuba when she reached third grade and who wished her straight blond hair was red and thick like her friend Erinâ€™s, whose hair reached al the way down her back without getting even a little thin and pointy.

â€œKrissy would love your hair,â€ Ashley told Casey in a tone so fil ed with fondness that it couldnâ€™t be faked. â€œSheâ€™d ask you a mil ion questions about who in your family is a redhead and how you managed to inherit it.â€ Another smal smile. â€œSheâ€™d also ask if you had a boyfriend, and if he liked red hair. Then sheâ€™d tel you al about Scotty and how much longer she can hang upside down on the monkey bars than he can. Sheâ€™s not what youâ€™d cal shy or quiet.â€

Casey put down her pad. â€œShe sounds like a great kid.â€

â€œShe is. Everyone likes her.â€

â€œWhat about her parents? Does everyone like them, too?â€

An uncomfortable flush stained Ashleyâ€™s neck. â€œThatâ€™s a hard question for me to answer. Theyâ€™re wonderful to me, and they always have been. They have tons of friends. But they both also have these jobs that produce enemies. So I canâ€™t sayâ€¦.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t expect you to know details about their work lives. I was referring to any major disputes in their personal livesâ€”with others, with each other.â€

â€œNot that I know of,â€ Ashley answered quickly, defensively. Casey could see the pulse at her neck start beating a little faster. Nerves?

Maybe.

Casey continued to speak in a calm, reassuring tone. â€œAshley, my questions arenâ€™t meant to hurt the Wil ises. They seem like lovely people. I just want to find Krissy. Iâ€™m not interested in uncovering any family skeletons. Those are none of my business. But family arguments can lead to outside confidences. And outside confidences can lead to angry, bitter friends. You practical y live here. So Iâ€™m asking you if there are any internal or external conflicts you know about.â€

That calmed Ashley down. â€œNo, none.â€

â€œOkay.â€ Casey switched gears. â€œI understand you were here at the house al day today, and that there were no visitors,â€

The swift change in subject caught Ashley by surprise. â€œThatâ€™s right.â€

â€œDo you keep the burglar alarm on?â€

â€œNot during the day. But I do keep the doors locked. Iâ€™d know if someone broke in. Plus, I would have heard them.â€

â€œTrue,â€ Casey agreed. She pursed her lips. â€œWhat about the mail?â€

â€œWhat about it?â€

â€œI noticed the mailbox is at the foot of the driveway, which is winding and long. Did you bring in the mail today?â€

â€œYes,â€ Ashley admitted. â€œI already told that to the police. And, yes, the door was unlocked during that time. But I was only gone for two, maybe three, minutes. So if youâ€™re wondering if someone could have slipped in and out of the house, I doubt it. Is it possible? I suppose so. Iâ€™d like to think I would have spotted them. Not to mention how unlikely it is that theyâ€™d have had time to go upstairs, take Oreo, and leaveâ€”not to mention knowing the layout of the house, where Krissyâ€™s room isâ€”â€

â€œUnless someone drew them a diagram,â€ Casey interrupted quietly.

â€œWho wouldâ€”â€ Ashley broke off, her eyes widening as she realized where Casey was going with this. â€œDo you mean me? You think Iâ€™m part of this kidnapping?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what to think.â€ An offhand shrug. â€œI can see how much you care about Krissy, and how torn up you are by whatâ€™s happened. But you were the only person here al day. So you could be lying, or you could be involved on some levelâ€”maybe as an accomplice.â€

The shock that registered on Ashleyâ€™s face was unmistakable. â€œAn accomplice to who? My God, Iâ€™d never, ever hurt Krissy.

Iâ€™d never take her from her family. Iâ€™d never put her through this.â€

â€œAfter everything youâ€™ve said, I believe you.â€ Casey softened her expressionâ€”and her tone. â€œBut I had to ask. Especial y because of Frank.â€

â€œFrank?â€ Again, Ashley was on the defensive. â€œWhat about him?â€

â€œThe Wil ises tel me that your boyfriend is kind of a drifter, and that heâ€™s far from rol ing in cash. And youâ€™re in grad school. You have tuition and textbooks to pay for. The Wil ises are rich. It occurred to me that Frank might have pressured you into doing something youâ€™d never ordinarily do, and convince you it was harmless. Heâ€™d make sure Krissy never knew who took her. Youâ€™d make sure he never hurt her. Heâ€™d just keep her long enough to get a huge payment from the Wil ises, then get her back to them. Youâ€™d both be rich. And no one would be any the wiser.â€

â€œAnd Krissy would be scarred for life.â€ Ashley was trembling. â€œIâ€™d never, ever be part of such a sick scheme. Not for a mil ion dol ars.â€

â€œWould Frank?â€

â€œAbsolutely not. Frankâ€™s not exactly a go-getter, but heâ€™s not a thief. And heâ€™d never kidnap a child.â€

â€œItâ€™s not a great theory,â€ Casey murmured. â€œConsidering thereâ€™s been no ransom cal â€”yet. But I had to ask. Not so much about you, but about Frank. That was him you were just arguing with on the phone, right?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œWas it about Krissy?â€

â€œYesâ€¦noâ€¦I mean, it was about Krissy, but not in the way you mean.â€ An uneasy pause. â€œHeâ€™s upset about how much time Iâ€™m spending here. I know that sounds horrible. But heâ€™s a guy. He feels bad about Krissy, but heâ€™s had enough. Heâ€™s been questioned by the police. Heâ€™s listened to my hysteria al afternoon. And now heâ€™s dealing with my saying Iâ€™m not leaving this house until Krissy comes home safely. Heâ€™s not a bad guy. Heâ€™s just impatient and pissed off.â€

â€œSounds like most guys,â€ Casey said with a smile.

â€œI know.â€ Ashley was clearly relieved by Caseyâ€™s reaction.

â€œSo you and Frank are tight?â€

â€œPretty much. Weâ€™ve been together for a year.â€ Ashley opened her bottle of water and took a gulp. â€œI donâ€™t see us walking down the aisle or anything. But, like I said, heâ€™s a good guy.â€

â€œHe just wishes youâ€™d spend more time with him.â€

â€œYes.â€ Another swig of water. â€œAnd I wish heâ€™d work a little harder. Want to be a little more. I doubt thatâ€™s in the cards.â€

Casey gave an understanding nod. â€œAmbitionâ€™s one of those qualities youâ€™re either born with or youâ€™re not.â€

â€œExactly.â€ Ashley shifted on her chair. â€œIf thereâ€™s nothing else, Iâ€™d real y like to get back inside. Maybe the FBIâ€™s heard something.â€

The concern, the worry, the freaked-out look in Ashleyâ€™s eyesâ€”al that was real.

â€œYou real y love Krissy a lot,â€ Casey said.

â€œYou canâ€™t imagine.â€ Ashley rol ed the bottle of water between her palms. â€œCorny as it sounds, I feel like a second mother to her. Like you said, Iâ€™ve helped Judge Wil is raise her since she was born, and because of the Wil isesâ€™ long hours, I spend tons of time with her. And she real y is the best kid in the world. Cheerful. Smart. Sheâ€™s only in kindergarten, but sheâ€™s got a second grade reading level. She adds and subtracts faster than I do. And you should see what a whiz she is on the computer. She spends hours on Club Penguin. She chats on it.

She colors pictures on itâ€¦sheâ€™s awesome. And her penguin avatar is super cool.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure it is.â€ Casey rose. â€œI think weâ€™ve covered everything. Letâ€™s go inside for an update. Oh, and Ashleyâ€¦â€ she added as the younger woman stood up. â€œKrissyâ€™s lucky to have you in her life. Youâ€™re a wonderful nanny.â€

â€œThank you.â€ Ashley gave a wan smile. â€œNow if I could only bring her home.â€

Â

The debriefing session was breaking up when Casey walked into the house. The first thing she did was to seek out Special Agent Peg Harrington.

â€œHi, Peg.â€

â€œCasey.â€ The trim, forty-two-year-old woman with the short dark hair and intense expression greeted her. â€œDon told me the Wil ises had hired you. I donâ€™t need to tel you the rules.â€

â€œNo, you donâ€™t. This is your case. My team and I are here to help my clients, and to support you in any way we can. Al I need to know is how youâ€™re laying out the chain of command.â€

Peg cleared her throat. â€œMr. Wil is would prefer that the leadership came from the New York Field Office. So Iâ€™l be heading things up, with Ken Barkley as my co-case agent. But the White Plains RAâ€™s Task Force and the North Castle Police Department have good people on board, as wel . And, of course, you saw the CARD team arrive. Plus, two agents from BAU-3 should be here in an hour,â€ she added, referring to the division of the Behavioral Analysis Unit that dealt with crimes against children. â€œWeâ€™re leaving no stone unturned.â€

Casey nodded. â€œAnything from the crime scene yet?â€

â€œNo. The entire school staff is being interviewed, particularly those who witnessed the incident, and the car-pool mom who had a birdâ€™s-eye view. So far, weâ€™ve come up empty. The Wil ises are about to release a statement to the media, and issue a plea on TV.

Weâ€™re setting up a tip line for anyone with a potential lead to cal inâ€”anyone who might have spotted a silver GMC Acadia with a child inside and the letters â€˜Xâ€™ and â€˜Mâ€™ in the license plate.â€

â€œA suburban car in a suburban neighborhood,â€ Casey mused. â€œDoesnâ€™t exactly raise any red flags.â€

â€œUnfortunately, youâ€™re right. Not only that, weâ€™ve got two parents who have more than the average number of grudge-holders whoâ€™d love to strike them where it hurts. And whatâ€™s more powerful than taking their only child?â€

Casey grimaced. â€œNot a thing.â€ She glanced around and watched the FBI team coordinating plans. â€œLook, Peg, weâ€™re probably going to overlap in our suspect interviews. So if thereâ€™s anyone you want us to talk to, anyone on that list you think weâ€™re wel suited to gain insights from, just say the word. Like I said, the list of potential suspects is a mile long. And we al want the same thingâ€”Krissyâ€™s safe return. So use us as you need to.â€

â€œI wil .â€ Peg had seen Casey in action enough times to know that she didnâ€™t give a damn who got credit for the win. On the flip side, she was equal y unmotivated by the rules of bureaucracy. And that sometimes ruffled feathers. â€œRight now, weâ€™re dividing up the list. Once we do, I wonâ€™t hesitate to take you up on your offer. Count on it.â€

Once Peg had headed back into the tense huddle that was her team, Casey scanned the area for her own people. Marc was in the hal way, talking to a couple of C-20 agents. Ryan was nowhere to be found, but Casey suspected he was upstairs in Krissyâ€™s room, probing things with the agent assigned to analyze Krissyâ€™s computer for forensic evidence.

Hope and Edward were currently being prepped for the statement theyâ€™d be issuing within the hour on TV. Ashley was right beside them, listening intently. Her physical positioning and her body language were very tel ing. Casey made a mental note of both.

She then turned and made her way through the lower level of the house. She planned to wait until she could talk to Hope and Edward before she left. After that, when she and her team were armed with enough details to kick into high gear, she planned to drive over to Krissyâ€™s school and start conducting some in-depth interviews.

Strol ing from room to room, she didnâ€™t expect to enter the eerily quiet playroom only to find Claire Hedgleigh sitting cross-legged on the carpet, rol ing a crayon between her fingers while her other palm was pressed to a partial y finished picture in an open coloring book.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mommy?

Where are you? Iâ€™m scared. I donâ€™t know where I am. I donâ€™t know how I got here.

The picture I finger-painted for you in school is drying. My book bag zipper got stuck. So the bell rang two times before I came out. I was surprised to hear you honk the horn. Surprised but happy. You left work early. You left that bench you always sit on just so we could play. You hadnâ€™t even changed out of the black suit I helped you pick out this morning, so you could get to school before Oliviaâ€™s mommy took me home.

Now I remember that smelly scarf. I tried to tell you it was stinky, but you were talking. Not to me. To somebody else. The car kept moving. I woke up a little. You gave me a drink to make the yucky taste go away.

I feel funny. Am I sick? This is not my bed. And these arenâ€™t my pajamas. I donâ€™t like pajamas. I get hot and they stick to me. I like nightgowns. Whereâ€™s my nightgown?

I donâ€™t like it here. Was that Daddyâ€™s voice before? Is he still here? Are you?

What if you both left?

What if thereâ€™s no one here but me and Oreo?

I keep calling your name, but you donâ€™t come. I called Ashley, too. She didnâ€™t answer. I donâ€™t want her anyway. I donâ€™t want Daddy either. I want you.

Where are you, Mommy?

Please come.

Â

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, reflexively recoiling as the little girlâ€™s fear and confusion flowed through her.

The child was becoming more aware. The cobwebs were clearing from her head. And from Claireâ€™s. Afraid. So afraid.

Krissy was crying. Big droplets on her eyelashes, cheeks and chin. She was wiping them away with the backs of her hands. The top of Oreoâ€™s head was wet from the tears she couldnâ€™t catch.

Panic. She was starting to panic. Yel ing for her mommy. Sobbingâ€¦beggingâ€¦

â€œClaire?â€

At first the voice didnâ€™t penetrate. Then Claire heard it, realized someone was cal ing her. She jerked back to her current surroundings, blinking as she glanced behind her and saw Casey.

â€œAre you okay?â€ Casey asked.

â€œNo.â€ Slowly, Claire rose to her feet, unaware of the dampness on her face. â€œKrissy is terrified. She doesnâ€™t know where she is. And she keeps cal ing for her mommy.â€

Casey didnâ€™t bat a lash. â€œYou could sense what she was feeling. Was she reliving anything that happened? Anything you could pick up on?â€

A slight nod. â€œWhoever took her was wearing a classic black suit similar to the ones her mother wears to work. Her hair was blond and parted on the side, just like Judge Wil isâ€™s.â€

â€œWas it real? Or a wig?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. Krissy didnâ€™t have a feeling about thatâ€¦.â€ Claire spread her hands wide in an uncertain gesture. â€œThe woman was wearing dark sunglasses. She was clearly disguising her appearance. But, more important, she was doing her best to impersonate Krissyâ€™s mother. Her car. Her hair. A big smile. A welcoming wave.â€

â€œAnd a kidnapping.â€ Caseyâ€™s mind was racing. â€œWas Krissy remembering what happened in the car? Was the kidnapper alone? Did she hurt her?â€

â€œI think she chloroformed her, and later drugged her again. And Krissy heard her talking. I didnâ€™t sense anyone else in the car, so Iâ€™m guessing she was on the phone.â€

â€œProbably talking to whoever sheâ€™s working withâ€”or for.â€ Casey pushed on. â€œWhat else did you sense? Whereâ€™s Krissy now? Could you see her surroundings? Who was with her? Anything at al that could help us find her?â€

This time Claire hesitated. â€œCasey, I real y should talk to the police first.â€

â€œYou probably should. But itâ€™s freshest in your mind now. The cops are in meetings, getting their assignments so they can head out and start interviewing. Iâ€™m here. Iâ€™l memorize everything you say. I can be there when you talk to the task force, so that just in case a detail starts to fade, weâ€™l ensure you give them the clearest and most comprehensive picture possible.â€ A pause. â€œClaire, youâ€™ve worked with me before. Al I want is for that little girl to be found before itâ€™s too late. So tel me what you remember.â€

â€œShe wants her nightgown,â€ Claire replied quietly. â€œShe doesnâ€™t like pajamas, but sheâ€™s wearing flannel ones. Sheâ€™s in a downstairs bedroom, behind a door with a lock on the outside and a separate one on the inside for when the kidnapper is with her. No oneâ€™s there now. She heard voices before, but now itâ€™s silent, and sheâ€™s frantic for her mommy.â€

â€œThe roomâ€”did you see it?â€

â€œFlashes of it, yes. Itâ€™s bare. Quiet. Thereâ€™s a canopied bed with a white bedspread that has little gold crowns on it and pink ruffles al around the sides. Thereâ€™s enough light in the room, but itâ€™s from a lamp on the nightstand. No sunlight. And no window. Just four pale pink wal s and a bare carnation-pink carpet. Like an institutional room, but with a few personal touches.â€

â€œNo surprise,â€ Casey responded. â€œThe main offender is most likely a man. Heâ€™l want to put Krissy in an environment where she feels total y vulnerable, but surrounded by enough personal touches to lower her defenses and convince her that he cares. Thatâ€™l provide him with the greatest sense of control. As for the little-girl decor, Iâ€™m sure thatâ€™s courtesy of his female accomplice. Sheâ€™l do it for him, but Iâ€™m hoping that a smal part of her wil also do it for Krissy. That would mean the woman feels a shred of pity or compassionâ€”up to the point where sheâ€™d be crossing the line and jeopardizing her own safety. If thatâ€™s true, we can use her emotions to our advantage.â€

Claire nodded, walking over and picking up the coloring book and crayons. â€œIâ€™m going to find the North Castle detectives.â€

â€œAssuming theyâ€™re stil here,â€ Casey reminded her. â€œItâ€™s possible that everyoneâ€™s out doing their job and that the only law enforcement here are whoever Peg assigned to the Wil ises and the phones.â€

â€œThen Iâ€™l talk to them.â€

â€œDo you want me to be there?â€

â€œNo.â€ A raw pause. â€œIn this case, my recal is one hundred percentâ€”unfortunately.â€

â€œI can imagine.â€ Casey didnâ€™t envy Claireâ€™s gift. It had to be enormously painful at times like this. â€œWhoever you talk to, just donâ€™t do it in front of the Wil ises. Theyâ€™re about to give a media statement, and the BAU isnâ€™t here yet to coach them. The last thing they need is to hear that Krissy is terrified and locked upâ€”for God knows what purpose. We can talk to them later. Weâ€™l make sure to emphasize the fact that Krissy is alive.â€

Halfway to the door, Claire paused, looking at Casey as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. â€œYouâ€™re very insightful.â€

â€œSoâ€™s my whole team,â€ Casey replied. â€œItâ€™s something that you and I should discussâ€”when the time is right.â€

Claireâ€™s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. â€œOkay. We wil .â€

Just after Claire left the room, Caseyâ€™s BlackBerry rang. She glanced down at the cal er ID. No surprise at what she saw.

She punched on the phone. â€œHey.â€

â€œHey, yourself,â€ said a deep, masculine voice. â€œI wanted you to know that Iâ€™m in your neck of the woods. Iâ€™ve got a case in Westchester County. Iâ€™m not sure when I can break away, but when I do, can we get together? Maybe later tonight?â€

â€œOh, a lot sooner than that,â€ Casey assured him. â€œIâ€™m at the Wil isesâ€™ house right now. I assume thatâ€™s where youâ€™re headed?â€

A sharp intake of breath. â€œThey hired you already?â€

â€œWhat can I say? Theyâ€™ve got good taste. Just like you.â€ Caseyâ€™s light banter vanished. â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re coming.

Weâ€™ve got to find Krissy Wil is before sheâ€™s kil edâ€”or worse. Hurry.â€

Â

Casey got the Wil ises alone before the BAU-3 team arrived to prep them.

â€œAfter your TV statement, my team and I are going over to Krissyâ€™s school,â€ Casey told them. â€œWeâ€™l be interviewing a few specific staff members.â€

â€œWhy just a few?â€ Hope interrupted. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. â€œPlease, Ms. Woods, donâ€™t skim the surface just because the authorities are pressuring you. I hired you because of your creativity, your track record and your freedom to push the boundaries.

Edward and I are both lawyers. We know the dril . Law enforcement is bound by rules that you can circumvent. So circumvent them. Do whatever you have to. Do it thoroughly. And do it fast.â€

â€œI intend to.â€ Casey spoke as quietly as her client. â€œDonâ€™t confuse specificity with reticence. If I think someone on your list is a person of interest, Iâ€™l delve into their background, even if our investigation overlaps with the FBIâ€™s. But if my instincts tel me theyâ€™re a dead end, it would be a waste of time to pursue them when I could be devoting my attention to more likely suspects, or people who could lead me in the right direction. I especial y want to talk to Liza Bock, the car-pool mom who saw Krissy jump into the kidnapperâ€™s car. I also want to talk to her daughter, Olivia, and al Krissyâ€™s other friends. Kids very often know more than they think they do. The FBI task force wil cover the gamut.â€

Particularly the sex offenders, she thought silently and grimly. â€œLet us cover the probable.â€

Hope nodded. â€œAl right.â€ She handed Casey a stack of papers, including everything sheâ€™d given to Peg Harrington: a ful list of personal names and each individualâ€™s relationship to Krissy, and pages and pages of professional names that Hope and Edward had come up with as potential enemies, resentful plaintiffs and/or defendants, parents whoâ€™d lost custody of their children, and al the other people who might hold a grudge against them.

â€œIâ€™l review al this and get started,â€ Casey said. She thumbed through the pages. â€œFirst come the angry parents. An eye for an eye would be strong motivation. Ferreting through that part of the list and interviewing the right candidates wil be my job. Iâ€™l have Ryan concentrate on trimming down the list to the most logical thinkers among those. Whoever orchestrated this was sharp, focused and intel igent. And Marc wil zero in on those who have the greatest access to you, your home and your day-to-day lives, plus anyone with a criminal record. You have no idea how fast and thorough we are. Have faith.â€

â€œIâ€™m trying.â€ Tears slid down Hopeâ€™s cheeks. â€œBut sheâ€™s my baby.â€

â€œI know,â€ Casey replied gently. â€œAnd, on al fronts, youâ€™ve got the best of the best working for her safe return.â€

â€œHey.â€ Marc came up behind Casey. â€œSpeaking of which, the BAUâ€™s here. They sent Hutch.â€

Casey half-turned. â€œYes, I know. He cal ed a little while ago.â€ She watched as the familiar, commanding presence of SSA Kyle Hutchinson fil ed the room. For a man who epitomized the word reserved, Hutch managed to take charge without even trying. There was a natural, compel ing quality about him that screamed leadership. From the power of his build, the innate confidence he exuded, even the jagged scar across his left templeâ€”a souvenir of his days as a Washington, D.C., police detectiveâ€”the whole package yanked everyoneâ€™s gaze his way and told them he was someone of significant importance.

He never gave credence to those reactions. As always, he had just one purpose in mind. Doing his job.

He pressed forward, his sharp blue eyes focused on the Wil ises. Right behind Hutch was his partner, SSA Grace Masters, who was every bit as formidable as her partner. Anyone fooled by her slender build or wavy, light brown hair was an ass. She had a steel-trap mind, guts and grit to spare and an unflappable personality. Hutchâ€™s expressions were unreadable. Graceâ€™s were wel thought out and executed. The two pros had worked together for years, and now brainstormed with the ease of a long-term partnership, and the precision of a surgeonâ€™s scalpel.

â€œMarc. Casey.â€ Hutch nodded at each of them, then shifted his attention to the Wil ises. â€œIâ€™m Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson and this is my partner, Supervisory Special Agent Grace Masters. Weâ€™re from the FBIâ€™s Behavioral Analysis Unit.â€ He and Grace shook the Wil isesâ€™ hands.

â€œYouâ€™re here to profile the bastard who took my daughter,â€ Edward stated.

â€œWeâ€™re here to behavioral y analyze the crime to help the investigative team do their job,â€ Grace replied. â€œBut, yes, weâ€™l zero in on motivation, personality types, number of offendersâ€”anything that wil lead us to your daughterâ€™s kidnapper or kidnappers.â€

â€œLetâ€™s put off the details for now.â€ Hutch nipped Edwardâ€™s questions in the bud. â€œWeâ€™ve got to deal with the immediate. Youâ€™re going on TV in ten minutes. So letâ€™s get you prepped and ready.â€

CHAPTER SIX

Claudia Mitchel was ironing and watching a rerun of one of her favorite TV comedies when a special report interrupted. Breaking news. An Amber Alert had been issued. Krissy Wil is, the five-year-old daughter of Family Court Judge Hope Wil is and prominent defense attorney Edward Wil is had been kidnapped.

The parents appeared on-screen, ready to speak.

Quickly, Claudia turned off her iron and set it down on the stand, hurrying over to turn up the volume. The Wil ises were issuing a statement, a plea, begging for their childâ€™s safe return. Claudia stared at Judge Wil is, the woman to whom sheâ€™d been court clerk for years. In al the time sheâ€™d known her, Claudia had never seen or heard her like this. No makeup. Panicked. A lost look in her eyes. Choked sobs in her voice.

For a woman who was always put together and in complete control, it was a startling sight.

But why shouldnâ€™t she look like death warmed over? Her little girl was missing. The most important person in her life had been taken away, and could be lost forever.

It was a terrible ordeal, one that elicited great sympathy. It made Claudia wonder if maybe Judge Wil is would have gone easier on her, shown her more compassion, if sheâ€™d already endured this life-altering trauma before sheâ€™d fired Claudia. At that time, Claudia had felt just the way Judge Wil is felt now. Terrified and helpless. Alone. Joe had just ended their engagement and walked out of her life. Claudia had believed the decision was permanent.

Joe was her whole world. So, yes, sheâ€™d gone to pieces. And Judge Wil is had tolerated it for a month, maybe two. Then, sheâ€™d let Claudia go, saying her work was unsatisfactory and that her improper management of the docket was compromising courtroom procedure.

So Claudia found herself not only alone but unemployed. And, given the state she was in, she was in no condition to seek employment elsewhere. Her entire life was in shambles.

Now maybe Judge Wil is would understand. But, actual y, how could she? Krissy wasnâ€™t her whole world. She was barely a part of it, given the number of hours the judge worked. The precious child was raised by a nanny, not a mother and father.

And Judge Wil is would never be alone. She had a husband. Money. And now she was saying something about taking a leave of absence until her daughter was found and brought home safe and sound. A leave of absence? Her job would stil be waiting for her. Her career would be intact. And sheâ€™d be held in high regard for her maternal commitment, rather than stared at like an emotional basket case.

Given the circumstances, Claudia felt a wave of guilt, which dissipated beneath the weight of an overwhelming sadness. She could stil remember the first time Krissy had visited Judge Wil isâ€™s courtroom, her wide-eyed excitement when sheâ€™d sat in her motherâ€™s chair and held her gavel. She was a wonderful child. None of what had happened was her fault. The poor little girl. She needed love, security. She didnâ€™t needâ€”

The front door swung open, and Joe walked into the house. Claudia rushed out of the kitchen to greet him. She stil couldnâ€™t believe her good fortune. Heâ€™d come back to her. The circumstances didnâ€™t matter. Heâ€™d come back.

â€œJoe.â€ She put her hand on his arm, stopping him before he could pass by on his way to the basement.

He looked annoyed, glancing up from the video game heâ€™d purchased and was now reading a description of. â€œWhat?â€

â€œJudge Wil is is on TV. Sheâ€™s announcing that her daughter was kidnapped, and sheâ€™s pleading for her safe return.â€

â€œI heard about it on the car radio,â€ he replied. â€œThe little girl wil be fine. And I wouldnâ€™t get any pangs over the judgeâ€”not after what sheâ€™s done. Iâ€™m heading downstairs. You start dinner.â€

â€œBut, Joeâ€¦â€

His gaze hardened. â€œIâ€™m not in the mood, Claudia. Let it go. I donâ€™t want to repeat myself. Do you understand?â€

â€œI understand.â€ Quickly, she released his arm and backed off. â€œIâ€™l peel the potatoes.â€

â€œGood.â€

â€œWhen wil you be coming up?â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure. I have a new game to try out.â€

Â

It was almost midnight.

The Forensic Instincts team gathered around the brownstone conference table, reviewing their notes, their accomplished tasks and their plans. The Wil isesâ€™ TV statement had gone off without a hitch. The FBI task force was utilizing the lower-level media room of the Wil is house as their command center. In addition, al the telephone recording devices and the tol -free tip line were in place, and concerned citizensâ€”along with the usual crankstersâ€”were starting to cal in. The interviewing process had long since commenced and would be continuing round-the-clock.

Casey had spent another hour with the Wil isesâ€”including a half hour alone with Hopeâ€”fil ing in some crucial blanks.

Armed with their individual information, it was time for the team to regroup.

Ryan began by describing what heâ€™d learned in conjunction with the forensic computer specialist who was doing a cursory sweep of Krissyâ€™s computer before removing it for a thorough evidential analysis. No real surprises. As expected, Krissy was a normal, if precocious, five-year-old whose only computer activities appeared to include games, crafts and chats via her avatar.

Whether or not one of her chat buddies was, in fact, a child predator laying the groundwork to get his hands on her remained to be seen.

Once the computer reached the lab, an in-depth investigation would be conducted.

Marc reported in next, tel ing them that heâ€™d used his FBI clout to gain info that would cross a chunk of suspects off the listâ€”although he was stil bugged by Sal and Rita Diaz, the Wil isesâ€™s gardener and housekeeper, who happened to be husband and wife and who the BU had ruled out due to confirmed alibis. Al eged alibis or not, Marc stil viewed them as a couple whoâ€™d maxed out on al their credit cards and who were in debt up to their eyebal s. A couple who constantly had their noses shoved in the Wil isesâ€™ affluence, and who might very wel feel they wanted a piece of it. A couple with a husband who had a history of bar fights, and a wife who was clearly cowed into submission.

It was a classic setup for a kidnappingâ€”except for the fact that two separate employers had vouched for their whereabouts al afternoon, and that no ransom demands had come in. Stil , Marc wasnâ€™t ready to let it go.

Casey had talked to al the car-pool mothers, particularly to Liza Bock. And, while she hadnâ€™t learned anything glaringly new, the evasiveness sheâ€™d encounteredâ€”on a whole different frontâ€”had raised her antennae and convinced her that her earlier suspicions were wel -founded.

â€œI think Edward Wil is is sleeping with Ashley Lawrence,â€ she announced.

â€œThe nanny?â€ Marc arched an eyebrow. He looked more intrigued than surprised. Very little about human nature surprised him these daysâ€”certainly not an affair.

â€œYup.â€ Casey leaned forward and propped her elbows on the conference table. â€œAl the signs are thereâ€”Ashleyâ€™s body language and her bickering with her boyfriend. Edwardâ€™s antagonism toward us and absurdly forced show of protectiveness toward his wife.

The weird dynamic that permeates the house. Affection mixed with tension and a hint of desperation, not to mention a healthy dose of anger and mistrust. Hope cares for her husband, but sheâ€™s resigned herself to his career-immersed absence from her life and from Krissyâ€™s. Judging from the way she pul s into herself and away from her husband, Iâ€™d be shocked if she doesnâ€™t suspect thereâ€™s another womanâ€”and equal y shocked if she thought it was Ashley. As for Ashley, she adores Krissy, but feels guilty as hel about something. And Edward is an arrogant, egocentric powermonger, whoâ€™s perfectly suited for his job, and for screwing over his family.â€

â€œDoes that include grabbing his kid and his hot young nanny and taking off for parts unknown?â€ Ryan asked.

â€œUh-uh.â€ Casey shook her head. â€œHe loves his daughterâ€”as much as heâ€™s capable of loving anyoneâ€”but he sure as hel doesnâ€™t want ful responsibility for her. Any more than he wants a life with that hot young nanny. What he wants is exactly what heâ€™s gotâ€”the whole nine yards. A perfect little family. Great sex from a young woman who worships him. And a prestigious legal practice that heâ€™d never in a mil ion years leave. It feeds his bank account and his ego. Nope. Edwardâ€™s got a good thing here. He just doesnâ€™t want us to blow it by tel ing Hope. As it is, he knows heâ€™s under the FBIâ€™s microscope, since heâ€™s Krissyâ€™s father and, therefore, a prime suspect. So heâ€™s not a happy camper.â€

Marc was tapping his pencil against his leg. Now he hunched over and drew a line through two names. â€œSo weâ€™re crossing off the nanny and her loser boyfriend. What about other relativesâ€”grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles?â€

â€œEdwardâ€™s an only child. Both parents deceased,â€ Casey responded. â€œHope, as you know, has a much more complicated past. After her twin sister, Felicity, was kidnapped and the trail went cold, her parentsâ€™ marriage fel apart. Her father started drinking heavily.

He and his wife divorced. He took off, never to be heard from again. The wife, Vera, came close to a nervous breakdown. Having a six-year-old who needed her kept her from going over the edge. She stil lives in the same house the twins grew up in. Hope says that part of her mother never gave up praying that Felicity would come home.â€

â€œWhere is this house?â€

â€œNew Rochel e. A solid half hour away. Vera Akerman is too shaken and heavily medicated to drive herself. For obvious reasons, Krissyâ€™s kidnapping is bringing back the worst memories of her life. But she needs to be with her daughter. So Hopeâ€™s arranged for a car service to pick her up and bring her to Armonk.â€

â€œDo you plan to interview her?â€ Ryan asked.

â€œGently, but yes. Tomorrow afternoon. I want to give her some time alone with her daughter.â€

â€œI agree,â€ Marc said with a nod. â€œItâ€™s doubtful she can cast any light on Krissyâ€™s kidnapper anyway. In the meantime, letâ€™s move on. I scanned some internet articles on recent cases Edward was involved with as defense counsel. A few of them raised some red flags. Wealthy, white-col ar scumbags, with backgrounds that scream violence. Iâ€™m sure theyâ€™re guilty of the crimes they were charged with committing, but are instead free as birds, living the good life, thanks to Edward Wil is. I already cal ed in a few favors. Iâ€™l be getting a look at the court transcripts. Then, Iâ€™l be paying a few visits.â€

â€œHow soon?â€ Casey asked.

â€œTomorrow morning. Iâ€™l be pounding the pavement by noon.â€

Caseyâ€™s head dropped back against the chairâ€™s backrest, and she blew out a frustrated breath. â€œWeâ€™re fighting the clock.

Krissyâ€™s already been missing for longer than the first crucial hours. Peg told me they have nothing solid from the cal -ins. And thereâ€™s been no contact about ransom. None.â€

â€œChild predator,â€ Marc muttered. â€œYou know thatâ€™s what Hutch and Grace are going to come up with.â€

â€œYes,â€ Casey said quietly. â€œI know. But there are too many unique personal details here for our kidnapper to be a random sex offender, even one with a fetish for little girls. He specifical y wanted Krissy. Why? We have to tie the two together.â€ A pause. â€œI plan on being at Krissyâ€™s school tomorrow, and talking to her friends during recess. The parents al gave me permission, as did the school. Itâ€™s a comfortable environment, and the kids wonâ€™t feel pressured. Iâ€™l keep it light. But Iâ€™l get what I can. Tonight, Iâ€™m running through the list of disgruntled parents from Hopeâ€™s family court. Iâ€™l talk to as many of them as I can tomorrow. Oh, and Iâ€™l also be talking to Claudia Mitchel , Hopeâ€™s former court clerk. Seems she broke up with her fiancÃ© recently, and skitzed out enough so that Hope had to fire her.â€

â€œBoth of you are going to step on more than a few law enforcement toes tomorrow,â€ Ryan said thoughtful y. â€œSo letâ€™s keep me out of the mix to minimize the col ateral damage. Give me the lists. Iâ€™l hole up and do some in-depth searches. Based on what I find, Iâ€™l put together likely scenarios for the suspects I think have not only the motive, means and opportunity, but the brain power and access to the right people to pul this off. I take it weâ€™re looking for a main player whoâ€™s male and a compliant accomplice whoâ€™s female.â€

â€œI think so, yes.â€ That triggered another issue in Caseyâ€™s mind. â€œI believe that Krissyâ€™s being held in a basement that was converted into a princess-pink bedroom. The woman who took her impersonated Hope, right down to her tailored black suit. She drugged her and took her to wherever she is. As of late afternoon, Krissy was terrified and isolated, but stil alive.â€

â€œHow do you knowâ€¦â€ Ryan broke off, rol ing his eyes. â€œYouâ€™ve been talking to Claire-voyant. I saw her wandering around the house. I donâ€™t know why the copsâ€”and youâ€”listen to her.â€

â€œBecause ninety percent of the time sheâ€™s right,â€ Casey shot back. She steeled herself, and went for it, head-on. â€œYou know I plan to expand Forensic Instincts. I think we need a better balance to the group. Weâ€™ve got logic up the yin-yang. A little ethereal input would be good for us. Iâ€™ve done my homework, Ryan. Claire Hedgleighâ€™s the real deal. I want to hire her.â€

â€œAh, shit.â€ Ryan slapped his palm on the table.

Casey ignored him, turning to Marc. â€œRyanâ€™s feelings are obvious. Yours?â€

Marc pursed his lips, silently weighing the question. â€œYou know Iâ€™m not a big believer in psychics,â€ he replied at last. â€œThe fitâ€™s not going to be easy. But I do see your point. I know Claireâ€™s success rate. Thatâ€™s fact, not speculation. Do you know if sheâ€™s interested?â€

â€œNot a clue,â€ Casey answered honestly. â€œI wanted to talk to the two of you before I broached the subject. So I take it youâ€™re not opposed?â€

A corner of Marcâ€™s mouth lifted. â€œHow tough is she? Thereâ€™s going to be a lot of infighting going on. Can she take it?â€

â€œNot a doubt.â€ Casey arched a brow in Ryanâ€™s direction. â€œCan you?â€

Ryan met Caseyâ€™s gaze. â€œI can take anything. But Iâ€™m not going easy on her. If I think sheâ€™s spouting crap, Iâ€™l say so.â€

â€œAre you going to go after her on purpose?â€

â€œIâ€™m not in middle school, Casey. If you think sheâ€™s a value-add, I wonâ€™t fight youâ€”or herâ€”unless I disagree. Which I probably wil . But Iâ€™l make it work, if it makes the group stronger.â€

â€œGood. Because I think it wil .â€ Casey rose. â€œWhy donâ€™t the two of you go home and get some rest. We never did sleep off the Fisher case. Plus, I want to hit the ground running first thing tomorrow.â€ She frowned. â€œIt makes me il that Krissy Wil is is out there tonight, scared to death, and possibly being violated in some sick way.â€

â€œSexual predators donâ€™t wait for bedtime, Casey,â€ Marc reminded her quietly. â€œIf thatâ€™s who has her, time is what matters.

Not time of day.â€

â€œI know.â€ Casey raked a hand through her hair. â€œAnd Iâ€™d pound the pavement al night, if I thought that Peg Harrington wouldnâ€™t cut us off at the knees. Weâ€™ve got to play bal a little or the Feds wil kick us out on our asses. Theyâ€™l be out there 24/7. So Iâ€™l spend tonight reviewing my notes and seeing if something I havenâ€™t spotted yet jumps out at me.â€

â€œYou get some rest, too,â€ Ryan advised, yawning as he came to his feet. â€œYouâ€™ve got a packed day tomorrow.â€

â€œWil do.â€

But both guys knew that meant â€œwonâ€™t do.â€ Just as they knew theyâ€™d be burning the midnight oil themselves.

Â

It was wel past two in the morning when Caseyâ€™s doorbel rang.

Sheâ€™d been scribbling notes in the margins of her lists, and had pretty much reached a roadblock that couldnâ€™t be skirted until the morningâ€™s interviews.

She put down her pen and smiled. Only one person had the stamina, the tenacity and the incentive to show up on her doorstep at this ungodly hour.

She went down the two flights of stairs and peeked outside. Then she unlocked the door and pul ed it open.

â€œHi,â€ she greeted her guest with a smug grin. â€œHere for breakfast?â€

Hutch walked inside, kicked the door shut and dragged Casey into his arms. â€œDamn straight.â€ He was already unbuttoning her shirt as he covered her mouth with his. He lifted her off the floor and turned sharply, pressing her against the wal as he continued yanking off her clothes.

â€œFirst time wil be right here,â€ he muttered, his voice rough with desire. â€œThen Iâ€™l take you to bed.â€

â€œItâ€™s four flights,â€ she reminded him breathlessly, unzipping his fly. â€œI might not leave you with the strength.â€

â€œTry me.â€

â€œI plan to.â€

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day Two

Krissy rolled over and hugged Oreo. She buried her face in his soft fur. Like always when it was dark. And here, it stayed dark whenever the lamp wasnâ€™t on. The night-light helped. It looked just like hers. It kept her from getting too scared.

The bed was soft. The blanket was, too. And she was wearing a nightgown now. The pajamas were gone. Theyâ€™d been gone for a long time.

With her eyes shut, she could pretend she was home. She hadnâ€™t been able to do that before. Too many bad things had happened.

But since she drank the milkshake, the bad things were going away. She felt warm and sleepy. Sheâ€™d been happy to climb into bed. The hand that stroked her hair as she went to sleep felt like her mommyâ€™s. The voice was gentle like her mommyâ€™s. Maybe sheâ€™d dreamed the whole scary day.

Maybe when the lamp went back on, sheâ€™d be in her own bed. Then she could tell her mommy about the bad nightmare.

If her mommy had already left for work, she could always tell Ashley.

But she didnâ€™t really want to.

Not anymore.

Â

With a huge yawn, Casey towel-dried her hair. The sun was just rising outside her bathroom window. An hour and ten minutes of sleep. Not exactly the requisite amount for a productive day. Yet Casey had never felt more energized. If it werenâ€™t for the case preying on her mind, she would have loved nothing more than to stay in bed with Hutch until noon, making up for lost time. He was an amazing lover, and with weeks, sometimes months, separating their visits, the intensity of their time together was pretty damned breath catching.

But those extra hours were not meant to be. Not this time. Not when both of them were committed to finding Krissy Wil is.

Casey came out of the bathroom to find Hutch tossing aside his towel and pul ing on his clothes. He glanced up as she walked across the bedroom in her terry robe, and shot her a very sexy, very sated grin.

â€œThanks for the best shower Iâ€™ve had in ages,â€ he said. â€œI barely remember getting clean.â€

â€œYou did,â€ she assured him. â€œI washed your back myself.â€

â€œAmong other parts.â€

â€œAnd you returned the favor.â€

Hutch pul ed her against him for a long, deep kiss. â€œTo be continued tonight.â€

â€œItâ€™s a date.â€

â€œBy the way,â€ he told her, shrugging into his shirt and buttoning it. â€œI brought you a present.â€

Caseyâ€™s brows rose. â€œReal y. What is it?â€

â€œFirst comes the where. Then the what.â€

â€œNow youâ€™ve real y got me curious.â€

â€œGood.â€ Hutch finished buttoning his shirt. â€œThen give me a half hour. Iâ€™l be back with two cups of strong coffee, and your gift.â€

â€œItâ€™s in your car?â€

â€œNope. But close by. And thatâ€™s al Iâ€™m going to say.â€ He gave her a sly wink. â€œSee you in thirty.â€

True to his word, Hutch knocked on the door twenty-eight minutes later.

Casey opened the door, and blinked. She was expecting the cardboard tray of steaming coffee that Hutch clutched in his right hand. But she wasnâ€™t expecting the leash wrapped around his left. Or what was at the other endâ€”a handsome red bloodhound. The dog sat obediently by Hutchâ€™s side, his deep hazel eyes soulful and curious, his high-curved tail wagging back and forth as he stared at Casey.

â€œYour gift has arrived,â€ Hutch announced.

â€œA bloodhound?â€ Stunned, Casey found herself bending down and stroking the dogâ€™s glossy head. â€œYou brought me a bloodhound?â€

â€œNot just any bloodhound. A human scent evidence dog. Certified, but retired. Hero drove up with Grace and me. He came straight from Quantico. He fulfil ed his two-and-a-half years of training. Unfortunately, after his certification, his handler discovered that he was a terrible air traveler. Which doesnâ€™t cut it. The team hated retiring himâ€”evidently, he was a star pupil in his training class. But they had no choice. Anyway, I spoke to the breeder and offered to find a new home for him. I knew how much you wanted a dog, particularly a bloodhound. Now you have one.â€

â€œA human scent evidence dog,â€ Casey murmured, stil stroking Heroâ€™s head. Hutch was right. She was crazy about dogs.

Sheâ€™d had one most of her life. And bloodhounds were a particular passion of hers. She and Target, her last bloodhound, had gone through tracking and trailing classes together, right up to the time when heâ€™d passed away at the ripe old age of twelve. She missed those classes terribly. But the time commitment was too extensive for her to continue once sheâ€™d started Forensic Instincts. Stil , the company was under control now, growing but settled. And bloodhounds were noble and uniqueâ€”far too special to pass up. Plus, her life seemed a little empty without a canine companion.

â€œLike I said, he just turned three,â€ Hutch was tel ing her. â€œHeâ€™s sharp, fiercely loyal, and has an olfactory sense thatâ€™s off the charts. Oh, and his instincts are keen, so heâ€™l even fit in with your company name.â€

A smile curved Caseyâ€™s lips. â€œHey, Hero,â€ she greeted him, scratching his long ears. â€œI love your name. And I have a gut feeling it suits you.â€

In response, Hero crossed the threshold and began slobbering enthusiastical y at Caseyâ€™s face.

â€œI take it you know they drool,â€ Hutch commented.

â€œProfusely.â€ Casey laughed. â€œAnd theyâ€™re stubborn as hel . Sounds like most men.â€

â€œVery cute.â€

â€œI thought so.â€ Casey turned her attention back to Hero. â€œWe have only a smal backyard for you. The good news is that the fence is so high, you wonâ€™t be taking off.â€ Casey sprawled on the floor so she could rub Heroâ€™s white underbel y. â€œAlso, Tribeca has a couple of fabulous parks that would give us room to maintain your trailing skil s. Plus, I could take you out for a morning and an evening jog. You wonâ€™t even have time to be lonely. Marc and Ryan are in and out al day, and theyâ€™d be thril ed to have you join the team. Theyâ€™re both stubborn, too, yes, so youâ€™l have your work cut out for you. Between the two of them and me, youâ€™l have plenty of play pals. Howâ€™s that sound, Hero?â€

â€œAnd, whenever you canâ€™t be around, Casey, thereâ€™s a great place just a few blocks from here that offers everything from doggie day care to five-star hotel service,â€ Hutch added. â€œBelieve me, I saw it firsthand. Thatâ€™s where Hero spent the night. His accommodations made mine look like a Dumpster.â€

Casey tilted back her head and gazed up at Hutch. â€œYou knew I couldnâ€™t say no to this gift, didnâ€™t you?â€

â€œI was pretty sure, yeah.â€ He grinned. â€œI have a crate, food and a bunch of other essentials in my car. The rest is up to you. So, whatâ€™s the verdict? Does Hero have a new home?â€

Hero perked up at the sound of his name. He looked so erect and professional that Casey could swear he was applying for a job.

â€œWelcome to Forensic Instincts, Hero,â€ Casey said in response. She massaged his jowls, then scrambled to her feet. â€œLetâ€™s get you settled. Then weâ€™l give Ryan a cal and ask him to pop up here ASAP. You two need to meet, since both Marc and I have a ton of interviews to conduct and Ryan can do everything from here today.â€

â€œSounds like a plan.â€ Hutch gulped his coffee. â€œIâ€™l get Heroâ€™s gear from my car. Then Iâ€™ve got to run. Grace and I have to get over to the Wil is place.â€

â€œAnd Iâ€™m starting out at Krissyâ€™s school. Maybe her little friends know something they donâ€™t even realize they know.

Someone hanging around the school, or pul ing up in a car to talk to Krissy. Iâ€™ve got a zil ion bases to cover.â€

â€œAs do I.â€ Hutch gave her a quick kiss and Hero a quick scratch behind the ears. â€œIâ€™m sorry for an abrupt end to a great night.â€

â€œYouâ€™l make it up to me,â€ Casey assured him with a twinkle in her eye. â€œYouâ€™ve already made a down payment by bringing me my new best friend.â€

Â

Casey cal ed Hope as she drove up to Armonk. â€œAny news?â€

â€œNothing.â€ Hope sounded like she was about to shatter. â€œThe FBI task force has been working al night, crossing names off the suspect list, establishing alibis and manning the phones. Iâ€™m a mess. My motherâ€™s due here in an hour, and I donâ€™t know how Iâ€™m going to keep it together for her.â€

â€œWhereâ€™s your husband?â€

â€œAt the office.â€ A pause. â€œHe was going crazy sitting around here, waiting for a ransom cal or a breakthrough. But heâ€™s ready to come home at the drop of a hat,â€ she added quickly in his defense.

Casey refrained from responding. â€œIâ€™m on my way to Krissyâ€™s school. Then Iâ€™m checking out some of the parents on the losing end in your courtroom, as wel as Claudia Mitchel .â€

â€œClaudia?â€ Hope sounded horrified. â€œI know she was hurt and angry when I let her go. But do you real y think sheâ€™s capable of kidnapping a child?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. But no oneâ€™s above suspicion, and Iâ€™m leaving no stone unturned. My whole team is on the move. Iâ€™l stop by the house later. In the meantime, cal me with any updates.â€

â€œI wil .â€

Â

Claire Hedgleigh circled the area in the school parking lot where the car that had taken Krissy away had picked her up. The vibes here were dark. Something ugly had definitely happened. And it had taken Krissy total y by surprise. By the time she understood what was going on, it was too late.

With a heavy heart, Claire squatted down and touched the pavement, wil ing herself to sense more.

Nothing.

â€œClaire?â€ Casey walked out of the school, spotted Claire and approached her.

â€œHi, Casey.â€ Claire rose and turned around to face her. â€œThis is the spot where Krissy was kidnapped. It took less than ten seconds for the automatic door locks to close her in and the handkerchief to cover Krissyâ€™s nose and mouth. Another ten seconds and the car was speeding off. Krissy never had time to react.â€

Chil ing though it was, none of that information surprised Casey. She joined Claire precisely where she stood, and peered over her shoulder. â€œA wel -chosen spot. Out of the surveil ance camerasâ€™ field of view.â€

Claire fol owed her gaze. â€œI didnâ€™t think of that. Obviously, we have an intel igent kidnapper on our hands.â€

â€œYou said you sensed Krissy. Is she stil alive?â€

A helpless shrug. â€œI donâ€™t know. I havenâ€™t connected with her since you and I last spoke. Iâ€™m trying to pick up on somethingâ€”anything. Last night, I took home one of Krissyâ€™s favorite T-shirts. But, so far, nothing. That doesnâ€™t mean sheâ€™s alive, or that sheâ€™s not. It just means that I canâ€™t wil these connections to come. They just do.â€ Claire gave Casey a measured look. â€œUnless youâ€™re one of those people who secretly thinks Iâ€™m either crazy or a fraud.â€

â€œNope.â€ Casey shook her head. â€œI have the greatest respect for your abilities. In fact, thatâ€™s what I wanted to talk to you about. I know you enjoy working for law enforcement. But Iâ€™m eager to hire you away. I want you on board at Forensic Instincts.â€

Claire started at the blunt and unexpected invitation. â€œYou want to hire me?â€

â€œUh-huh. On a permanent basis, salary, benefits and al .â€

â€œBut you know almost nothing about me.â€

â€œTo the contrary, I know a lot about you, starting with your impressive educational background. I know how many cases youâ€™ve worked on. I know your success ratio. I know that you hate the term psychic, because you see it as clichÃ©d and commercial. So do I, by the way. I know that you attribute your metaphysical abilities to claircognizance. I know that claircognizance is perceiving things without being able to understand or explain how or why, but just accepting that you do. Iâ€™ve heard you say that sometimes you awaken from a dream with a clear vision of something thatâ€™s either happened or is about to happen. Iâ€™ve watched you hold a victimâ€™s personal items in your hands and have what others cal ed visions. Terminology doesnâ€™t matter. Neither do nonbelievers. You use your gift as a tool to help others, and with great success. Now, do you stil think I know nothing about you?â€

For a long moment, Claire just stared, looking both astonished and flattered. It wasnâ€™t often that her talents were so highly regarded, and certainly not so thoroughly researched.

â€œIâ€™m not sure what to say,â€ she replied at last. â€œIâ€™m a little taken aback. This is the last thing I expected when you said you wanted to talk.â€

â€œWel , now you know. I donâ€™t expect an answer on the spot. But would you consider it?â€

â€œProbably.â€ Claire was nothing if not honest. â€œIâ€™d be lying if I said I wouldnâ€™t welcome a work environment where my abilities were ful y utilized.â€ A pause. â€œBut I have to ask the obvious. Have you discussed this with your team? Because I seriously doubt Ryan wil be al smiles about this.â€

â€œI have, and he is.â€ Caseyâ€™s lips curved. â€œDid he put up a fight when I brought it up? Sure. Is he skeptical? You know the answer to that. Was he pissed off when I made him pul al that research on you? Of course. But I see your differences as a plus. Healthy debate, bringing different viewpoints to the mix, is what produces the best results. Marc approaches things with an investigative and analytical eye. Ryan is more strategic and technological. Iâ€™m al about the psychological, and I tend to go with my gut. We need a spiritual eye to round things out.

Youâ€™d bring balance to the team. Even Ryan didnâ€™t argue with that. He just promised to chal enge you along the way.â€

Claire rol ed her eyes. â€œGee, what a surprise. Actual y, I thought it would be worse. I thought heâ€™d write me off as a freak, and threaten to quit if I joined the company.â€

A chuckle. â€œRyanâ€™s not nearly as narrow-minded as he acts when heâ€™s around you. Give him a chance. Give the group a chance.

I promise, at the very least, youâ€™l never be bored.â€

â€œNow that never occurred to me,â€ Claire responded drily. â€œCan you give me a day or two to think about it? Especial y since Iâ€™m committed to the North Castle police on this kidnapping case.â€

â€œOf course. Right now, I donâ€™t want you to invest time in anything except finding Krissy Wil is. Weâ€™l pick this conversation up after that. Oh, one more thing. Youâ€™re not al ergic to or afraid of dogs, are you?â€

â€œNo. Why?â€

â€œWe got a new team member as of this morning. His nameâ€™s Hero, a bloodhound, trained and certified as a human scent evidence dog.â€ Casey found herself smiling again. â€œIn fact, Ryanâ€™s showing him the ropes this morning. Iâ€™m sure Iâ€™l have colorful stories waiting for me when I get back.â€

â€œOh, Iâ€™m sure you wil .â€ Claire glanced over at the school building. â€œDid you interview teachers?â€

â€œTeachers, custodial staff, mostly the ones who were on the scene when Krissy was taken,â€ Casey replied. â€œI didnâ€™t learn anything new. And I certainly didnâ€™t get the sense that any of them was involved.â€

â€œNor did I.â€ Claire frowned, staring at the concrete spot where Krissy had disappeared. â€œThe only vibes Iâ€™m getting are right here. And they leave me cold. Cold and dark.â€

Before Casey could respond, her cel phone rang. She scanned the number on her cal er ID. â€œItâ€™s Hope Wil is,â€ she announced as she punched on the phone. â€œYes, Hope.â€ A pause. â€œIâ€™m on my way.â€ She turned to Claire. â€œA lead was cal ed in on the tol -free tip line regarding the car that kidnapped Krissy. The tip was legit. The NYPD found the car. Iâ€™m heading over to the Wil isesâ€™.â€

â€œIâ€™l fol ow you.â€

CHAPTER EIGHT

The car used to kidnap Krissy had been dumped in a South Bronx lot, and stripped clean during its hours sitting on garbage-strewn asphalt. The task force had traced the vehicle to a car rental company at Kennedy airport. The GMC Acadia had been rented using a fake ID and credit card.

The signature on the rental agreement was no more than chicken scratch. And, given the high level of activity at the companyâ€™s location, most of the employees had no memory of the customer whoâ€™d rented that specific car a ful day ago. One employee vaguely remembered a woman wearing a hat and sunglasses who might be the person the cops were looking for. Overal , the only thing the employees knew was that the Acadia had yet to be returned and was overdue.

At this point, it was never going back. It was disemboweledâ€”and evidence in a crime.

An immediate evidentiary sweep by ERT showed nothing. Other than some smudges, there were no discernible fingerprints on the vehicle.

The offender had obviously wiped them clean before abandoning it. And the car had been ransacked by so many people that there was no way a bloodhound could differentiate the specific scent of the kidnapper. Not to mention there was very little left to smel . The Acadia was as picked clean as a Thanksgiving turkey.

So it was back to square one. Sort of.

â€œThe kidnapper had to leave Krissy somewhere before dumping the car. She wouldnâ€™t risk taking her along,â€ Casey said to Peg.

â€œNope.â€ Peg shook her head. â€œThe odometer indicates she went straight to the dumping site from Krissyâ€™s school. My guess?

She met the main offender there, got rid of the car and took off with himâ€”and Krissy.â€

â€œThese kidnappers arenâ€™t stupid,â€ Casey replied, blowing out a breath. â€œThey knew how to plan. And they know how to elude us.â€

â€œThe BAU is fine-tuning their profile, and fil ing in the task force now. I just came from there. Feel free to go to the command center and listen, since the Wil ises are going to fil you in anyway. You might as wel have your facts straight when you narrow down your list of suspects.â€

Peg glanced over at Claire. â€œThe North Castle police have invited you to attend, as wel .â€

â€œThank you.â€

Â

Grace and Hutch were explaining the profile, as wel as the inconsistencies of the offender or offenders whoâ€™d taken Krissy, when Casey and Claire walked in.

â€œUnless this is the first in an upcoming pattern of incidents, thereâ€™s no evidence that weâ€™re dealing with a serial offender,â€

Grace was saying. â€œAs a result we have to treat this as an isolated event. It stil could be a kidnapping for ransom, although thatâ€™s looking less likely with no contact from the kidnapper. But that motive canâ€™t be ruled out, especial y when the parents are notably affluent.â€

â€œAre we dealing with one offender or two?â€ asked one of the North Castle police detectives.

â€œOur guess is two, simply because of the complex way the crime was carried out and the stats. If our unsub is a child predator, heâ€™s most likely a white male in his thirties, who works with or hangs around children, maybe through coaching or volunteer work. Heâ€™d be either unattached or in a nonsexual relationship, and heâ€™d enjoy childlike activities like building model airplanes or playing computer games. Heâ€™d probably have endured childhood abuse, and be harboring latent anger, which would flare up if anyone threatened to stand between himself and his victim. The person who kidnapped Krissy Wil is was female. Could she be acting alone? Possibly. There are a smal percentage of child predators who are female.â€

â€œSo youâ€™re definitely thinking this is a sexual offense.â€

â€œThatâ€™s certainly right up there on the list,â€ Hutch replied. â€œBut there are variables that just donâ€™t fitâ€”not the offender or the victim. Normal y, a child predator has a much less complicated M.O. This one went to a hel of a lot of trouble to snatch one specific child. The typical child predator operates in a simpler and more invisible way. He seeks out a withdrawn, vulnerable child. Krissy is neither of those, nor is she an easy target. Her parents are both very high-profile people, and theyâ€™re both very present in their daughterâ€™s life.â€

â€œWhich might give a certain type of offender a sense of power,â€ Casey commented from the rear of the room.

Hutch angled his head in her direction and nodded. â€œIt might. Thatâ€™s another gray area, both in terms of profile and motive.

Whoeverâ€™s running the show here is either unbothered by, or turned on by formulating a plan thatâ€™s intricate and in our faces. He or she is smart. This crime was wel planned and wel researched. There wasnâ€™t an iota of impulsiveness about it. And itâ€™s personal. Krissy Wil is is personal. Whoever took her wanted her, and her specifical y. Which smacks of either a need for power or revenge.â€

â€œIf thatâ€™s true, this wonâ€™t end as a quiet closed case,â€ Casey responded. â€œThe offender wil want notoriety, or recognition.

Krissy wil turn up.â€

â€œIn one form or another, yes.â€ Hutchâ€™s tone was grim. â€œOur job is to find her before she â€˜turns up,â€™ and to find her alive.â€

Â

Marc sat calmly in the waiting room of Dr. Brian A. Pierson, flipping through the pages of a medical magazine. The renowned neurologistâ€™s office, which until several months ago had been crammed with patients, was relatively quiet. And getting a new patient appointment, which would normal y mean a lengthy waiting period, had been a snap. Not a surprise, given that the doctorâ€™s name and photo had been splashed al over newspapers since heâ€™d been charged with murdering his wife in cold blood. The evidence against him was staggering. There wasnâ€™t a doubt in Marcâ€™s mind that the SOB was guilty. And not just of murder. Through his discreet but wel -informed contacts, Marc had uncovered al kinds of ugly little secrets about the renowned neurologist. Pierson should be rotting in prison, not making hundreds of dol ars an hour practicing medicine.

But Edward Wil is had defended him. And that was his ticket to freedom.

â€œMr. Deveraux? Dr. Pierson wil see you now,â€ the receptionist informed him.

â€œThank you.â€ Marc fol owed her down the hal , where she motioned him into an inner sanctum the size of two adjoining lecture hal s at the FBI Academy in Quantico. She left him there, shutting the door behind her.

The very recognizable Dr. Pierson rose from behind his heavy mahogany desk. â€œMr. Deveraux,â€ he said, greeting Marc with a handshake. â€œPlease, take a seat.â€ He gestured at a leather chair on the opposite side of the desk, simultaneously glancing down at the new patient forms Marc had fil ed out.

â€œSo youâ€™re suffering from severe headaches, and your primary care physician suggested they could be migraines.â€ Piersonâ€™s eyebrows drew together. â€œYou didnâ€™t list the referring doctor.â€

â€œNope. Thatâ€™s because there is none. And my headaches are usual y from lack of food or sleep.â€

Every muscle in Piersonâ€™s body went rigid. â€œAre you a reporter? Because Iâ€™l have you arrested on charges ofâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™m not a reporter,â€ Marc interrupted. â€œIâ€™m a member of Forensic Instincts, a private investigative company.â€

â€œI was acquitted.â€ Pierson rose. â€œPlease leave.â€

Marc made no move to stand. â€œIâ€™m not here to discuss your murder case. Iâ€™m here to discuss the kidnapping of Edward Wil isâ€™s five-year-old daughter.â€

The neurologist started. â€œHis daughter? When did this happen?â€

â€œEvidently, you donâ€™t watch the news. Yesterday. After school. The Wil ises have hired us to find her.â€

â€œAnd you think I had something to do with it?â€ A pulse was working at Piersonâ€™s temple. â€œWhat motive would I have? Edward saved me from a life sentence in a maximum security prison.â€

â€œAnd destroyed your reputation in the process. Heâ€™s a splashy guy, made sure your story was a household word. From what I gather, you and Wil is had several heated arguments about his sensationalistic strategy, especial y as you watched your patient list dwindle. Not to mention that his legal feesâ€”which he refused to reduceâ€”pretty wel wiped you out. And I didnâ€™t notice a waiting room ful of patients here to tip the coffers in your favor. A hefty ransom would do wonders toward getting you back on your feet.â€

â€œI feel nothing but respect and gratitude for Edward. He did what he had to do. And I donâ€™t abduct children. Not for money. Not for anything.â€

â€œBut you certainly like them.â€

Piersonâ€™s pupils widened. â€œWhat does that mean?â€

â€œIt means that your ten-year-old daughter, Melanie, went off to boarding school soon after her mother died. Or, more specifical y, right before your trial.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t want her subjected toâ€”â€

â€œYes, thatâ€™s what Wil is told the jury. But the truth is, Melanie had complained to your wife about the amount of time you were spending with her friends. Sleepover dates you encouraged, pool parties you threw on warm summer eveningsâ€”during which you spent inordinate amounts of time with the girls. Making physical contact with them when you taught them how to swim. Stopping upstairs in Melanieâ€™s bedroom when they were getting ready for bed.â€

â€œThatâ€™s enough.â€ Piersonâ€™s fist struck his desk. â€œI donâ€™t know where you got your information, but I could sue you for slander.â€

â€œYou could. But you wonâ€™t.â€ Marc bent one leg and propped it over the other knee. â€œBecause everything I just said is true and is documented. Sealed, but documented. So tel me, Dr. Pierson, just how fond are you of five-year-old girls?â€

Piersonâ€™s breath was coming fast. â€œMy daughter has an active imagination. I donâ€™t covet young girls, and I certainly donâ€™t lust after babies. A five-year-old? Thatâ€™s sick. If you plan to spread rumors that Iâ€™m a sexual predatorâ€¦â€

â€œI donâ€™t. So letâ€™s stop talking in generalizations. Letâ€™s get back to Krissy Wil is.â€

A frosty glare. â€œIâ€™m neither a kidnapper nor an extortionist, Mr. Deveraux.â€

No, Marc thought with revulsion. Just a pervert and a murderer. â€œWhere were you yesterday from three oâ€™clock on?â€ he asked.

â€œRight here in my office. My nurse, my receptionist and two col eagues can testify to that. I came in at ten and didnâ€™t leave until six.â€

â€œAnd then?â€

â€œThen I drove straight home. Speak to my housekeeper. She cooked me dinner and cleaned up afterwards. She didnâ€™t leave until after eight.â€

â€œWhat about lunchtime? Did you go out?â€

â€œI had Chinese food delivered. Do you want to see the receipt?â€

â€œNope. That wonâ€™t be necessary.â€ Mental y, Marc crossed Pierson off his list of suspects. Heâ€™d known it was a long shot. But every lead had to be pursued. Plus, if nothing else, Marcâ€™s visit would keep Pierson on his toes, force him to control his unnatural propensity for young girls. The last thing the neurologist needed right now was more scrutiny and scandal.

Marc would have loved to break the guyâ€™s jaw. But that wasnâ€™t in the cardsâ€”not this time.

â€œWhat about any of your wifeâ€™s relatives?â€ he asked instead. â€œOr her friends? Anyone close to her who disagreed with the not-guilty verdict and whoâ€™s got the temperament to act on it?â€

â€œFran had no living relatives,â€ Pierson replied in a clipped tone. â€œAnd Iâ€™m not wel acquainted enough with her friends to know if any of them is deranged. Talk to the prosecutor. The people youâ€™re asking about were his witnesses.â€

â€œI already have,â€ Marc reassured him. â€œBut I wanted to fol ow up with you. First, because I didnâ€™t think youâ€™d want the prosecutor to hear my theories about your daughterâ€™s friends. And second, because heâ€™s a lawyerâ€”you were a husband. General y, theyâ€™re privy to more intricate details of their spousesâ€™ lives than a stranger is.â€

â€œFranâ€™s friends were al mothers. I canâ€™t imagineâ€¦â€

â€œNor can I. But it happens.â€ Marc skimmed his notes. â€œI got a list of those friends. Would you object if I were to interview them?â€

â€œNo. Not that it would matter. Youâ€™d interview them with or without my permission.â€

â€œActual y, I already have.â€ He smiled what he knew was his most irritating smile. â€œI just wanted to see your reaction. Clearly, none of them has a clue about your affinity for preteen girls. Which is al that matters to me. Their opinions on the murder are moot. You were acquitted.

Double jeopardy applies. Plus, my job is to find Krissy Wil is, not your wifeâ€™s kil er.â€

â€œThen talk to whomever you like. I have nothing to hide.â€

â€œRight.â€ Marc came to his feet. â€œThank you for your time, Dr. Pierson. Glad to hear that youâ€™re innocent of murder and of sexual deviance. Thereâ€™s nothing like a clear conscience.â€

Â

Casey had a bad feeling.

Her interview with Claudia Mitchel had never happened. Sheâ€™d rung the bel a half-dozen times. No one had answered. But she knew someone was home. Sheâ€™d heard the flurry of muffled footsteps, spotted the outline of a woman through the window. The woman had retreated to the kitchen and hidden behind the counter. Judging from her height and build, it was Claudia Mitchel .

So why wasnâ€™t she opening the door?

The deception raised a host of red flags. Especial y since Casey had preceded her trip to Claudiaâ€™s house with a visit to the White Plains courthouse where Judge Wil is presided. The couple of employees Casey had tracked down who were familiar with Claudia had confirmed Hopeâ€™s description of the clerkâ€™s state of mind at the time of her dismissal. Two of them, along with one of Claudiaâ€™s neighbors, knew her fiancÃ©. And, judging from their description, the couple was a classic fit for the kidnappersâ€™ profiles. Dominant manâ€”at least with Claudia. Passive woman, with a build not dissimilar from Hopeâ€™s.

Then came what Casey already knew. There was motive on both their parts. Revenge for Claudia, who was clearly bitter about Hope firing her during her hour of need. And a windfal and who knew what else for Joe, who the neighbor described as odd and more than a little antisocial.

Also, when Casey peeked in the window to see if she could spot Claudia, she noted that the living room was fil ed with plenty of boy toys. Not the electronic gizmos that fascinated most men, but younger, more juvenile computer games.

The whole scenario screamed for further investigation. Casey would pass the info along to Peg. But she had no intention of waiting for Peg to take the necessary steps for probable cause and a search warrant. Casey was determined to get into that basement now. Sheâ€™d come back in the evening, when Joe was at his second job and Claudia was at county col ege taking a class. Sheâ€™d bring Marc. After hearing â€œsuspicious soundsâ€ from inside, Marc would pick the lock and get them in. If Krissy was there, theyâ€™d find her.

After a quick phone cal to Marc setting up their evening plans, Casey headed back to see Hope and to meet Hopeâ€™s mother.

Other than her gray hair, Vera Akerman resembled a smal , frail sparrow. She also looked far older than her sixty-four years. It was obvious that the blow life had dealt her thirty-two years ago had taken its tol â€”a tol from which sheâ€™d never recovered.

After Hope had made the necessary introductions, Casey sat down across from Vera. She opened the conversation by expressing her heartfelt regrets over Krissyâ€™s kidnapping. She also explained to Vera a little bit about Forensic Instincts and how they could take a more creative and less regulated approach to solving cases than law enforcement could. She concluded by assuring Hopeâ€™s mother that the entire team was working round the clock to find her granddaughter.

Vera thanked her in a tear-fil ed voice.

Casey was just about to tactful y broach a few questions, when the front doorbel rang. A minute later, a square-jawed man in his early sixties with a solid build and salt-and-pepper hair entered the room.

Hope rose. â€œAre you with the police or the FBI?â€

â€œIâ€™m former FBI,â€ was the terse reply.

â€œFormer?â€ Hope pressed, brow drawn. â€œI donâ€™t understand.â€ Before she could continue, she heard her motherâ€™s sharp intake of breath. She turned. â€œMother?â€

Vera was staring at the man. Her eyes had widened, recognition erupting across her face.

â€œSpecial Agent Lynch,â€ she managed.

CHAPTER NINE

â€œHel o, Mrs. Akerman. Iâ€™m glad you recognize me. And Iâ€™m sickened that youâ€™re going through this again.â€ The former special agent shifted his gaze to Hope. â€œJudge Wil is. My name is Patrick Lynch. I was the lead investigator thirty-two years ago when your sister was kidnapped.â€

â€œI see.â€ Hope was visibly thrown. â€œIâ€™m sorry. I donâ€™t remember you.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t expect you would. You were six when we met.â€ He walked over and extended his hand. â€œIâ€™m sorry to be here under these dire circumstances.â€ He shook Hopeâ€™s hand. â€œBut Iâ€™m here to offer my services. Anything I can do to help, just ask.â€

Casey had watched the entire exchange with interest. Patrick Lynch was clearly sincere in his offer, and disturbed by Krissyâ€™s kidnapping. But there was something more here. Something personal. It didnâ€™t take a genius to figure out that he stil felt responsible for Felicityâ€™s kidnapping, for coming up empty. In fact, judging from his pained expression and determined demeanor, Casey was wil ing to bet that heâ€™d been plagued for years by the caseâ€™s lack of resolution.

â€œThank you, Agent Lynch,â€ Hope was saying. â€œThatâ€™s very kind of you.â€

â€œKindness has nothing to do with it.â€ His next words confirmed Caseyâ€™s suspicions. â€œI canâ€™t make up for your sisterâ€™s disappearance going cold. But I can do everything in my power to assist the Bureau and to make sure this second crime doesnâ€™t go unsolved.â€

â€œDo you have reason to believe the two kidnappings are related?â€ Casey asked, also coming to her feet.

â€œThis is Casey Woods,â€ Hope introduced her.

â€œFrom Forensic Instincts. Yes, I know. Iâ€™ve been fol owing Krissyâ€™s kidnapping since the story broke yesterday. I saw on the news that youâ€™d hired Ms. Woodsâ€™s team.â€ He shook Caseyâ€™s hand. â€œItâ€™s nice to meet you.â€

â€œLikewise.â€ Casey met his handshake. â€œYou headed up the investigation into Felicity Akermanâ€™s abduction?â€

A nod. â€œAnd to answer your question, I have no idea if thereâ€™s a connection between the two abductions. The only common denominator is the family. But if it is a coincidence, itâ€™s a horrible one. Mrs. Akerman barely survived the loss of her daughter. Now her granddaughterâ€¦â€ He blew out a slow breath. â€œIâ€™m an independent consultant now. But I need to be part of this.â€

â€œAnything you can contribute would be a blessing,â€ Hope said. â€œIâ€™l gladly pay you any amountâ€¦.â€

He waved away her offer. â€œYour sisterâ€™s kidnapping has never stopped eating at me. Retirement from the Bureau gave me even more time to dwel on it. Believe me, participating in this investigation is as much for me as it is for you.â€

â€œWhat type of consulting work do you do?â€ Casey asked curiously.

â€œMostly security, both for private companies and law enforcement. Iâ€™ve done a fair amount of work with the NYPD, since New York City is my home base. And Iâ€™ve assisted the Bureau on a couple of cases. It works wel . I live in New Jersey, and my office is in lower Manhattan.â€ Lynch met Caseyâ€™s gaze, his expression one that said he was total y comfortable in his own skin. â€œNot to date myself, but when I started working for the Bureau, the White Plains RA was in New Rochel e, and the New York Field Office was on East Sixty-ninth at Third Avenue, not Federal Plaza.â€

â€œWhich explains your heading up the investigation into Hopeâ€™s twin sisterâ€™s abduction.â€ Casey nodded. â€œTheir home was in New Rochel e.â€

â€œExactly.â€ Lynch turned back to Vera and Hope. â€œI kept my notes from the original kidnapping. Judge Wil is, if your mother is up to it, and with your permission, Iâ€™d like to speak with Special Agent Harrington about digging up the cold case file. If thereâ€™s any crossover in the suspect pool, or any other details that repeat themselves in the two abductions, I want to go after them.â€

Hope glanced quickly at her mother, who gave a brief nod. â€œYou have my permission,â€ she told Lynch. She paused, visibly shaken by this turn of events. â€œWhy would anyone target my family for over thirty years?â€

â€œItâ€™s a long shot,â€ he told her gently. â€œMore a process of elimination than a viable possibility. But on the off chance that it has merit, we could uncover clues to help find your daughter.â€

Casey couldnâ€™t restrain herself any longer. The first question sheâ€™d planned to ask Vera Akerman was stil on the tip of her tongue.

In light of Patrick Lynchâ€™s approach, that question was now more important than ever.

â€œMrs. Akerman,â€ she asked quietly. â€œWhen was the last time you saw or spoke to your ex-husband?â€

Hopeâ€™s mother looked more saddened than she did, taken aback. â€œAt the divorce hearing. Heâ€™d been drinking, which was routine for him those days. Once the divorce decree was official and I had ful custody of Hope, he vanished into thin air.â€

â€œAnd you?â€ Casey asked Hope. â€œHas there been any contact with your father?â€

â€œNone.â€ Hope shook her head, a flash of pain and nostalgia crossing her face. â€œAl I remember is how broken up he was after Felicity was kidnapped. She was definitely daddyâ€™s little girl, into sports and arcade games, just like him. He couldnâ€™t get over her disappearance. Every day she was gone, things got worse. Eventual y, he stopped going to work. He drank al the time. And he and my mom cried and fought.â€

â€œSidney and I should have grown closer because of the trauma of losing Felicity,â€ Vera added. â€œBut we never did. I tried. He just wouldnâ€™t let me in. It was as if the loss was entirely his. He withdrew into himself, and gave up on life. Work, family, our marriageâ€”none of it meant anything to him anymore. Ultimately, he lost his job, and drank himself into oblivion. I was overpowered by my own grief. The whole thing became too much. Our marriage just broke into pieces.â€

She squeezed her eyes shut. â€œPoor Hope got the brunt of it. She never said a word, but I could see it in her eyes. She blamed herself for the breakup. She felt like it was her fault, like she wasnâ€™t enough reason for her father to stay. Itâ€™s amazing that she came through itâ€”a testament to her internal strength. She was only six years old, and she was going through her own hel . She and Felicity were so close. Identical twins. Losing her twin and then her fatherâ€”how could any child come through that unscathed? I should have done moreâ€”â€

â€œStop it, Mom,â€ Hope interrupted. â€œYou did everything you could. Your child had been kidnapped. Thatâ€™s every motherâ€™s nightmare. Now itâ€™s become my reality.â€ Another shaky breath. â€œAs for Dad, al thatâ€™s in the past. I donâ€™t think about it anymore.

And I donâ€™t think about him.â€

â€œSo neither of you knows where he lives?â€ Casey asked, trying to repress the urge to push harder.

â€œNot a clue.â€ Hope wasnâ€™t stupid. Her head came up, and her gaze darted from Casey to Lynch and back. â€œWhy do you ask?

Do you think he might know something about Krissy?â€

â€œI think we canâ€™t afford to leave any stone unturned,â€ Casey responded bluntly. â€œSidney Akerman is Krissyâ€™s grandfather, whether or not theyâ€™ve met. His whereabouts are unknown. We have to change that.â€

â€œI agree,â€ Patrick Lynch chimed in. â€œI remember what a mess he was after Felicity was taken. He was actively involved in every step of the investigation. He might remember something weâ€™re forgetting. We have to track him down and talk to him.â€

Casey whipped out her BlackBerry. â€œIâ€™l get Ryan on it right away. He can find anyone.â€ She punched in her office number and swiftly relayed the details of what she needed to Ryan. â€œHeâ€™l get back to me as soon as he has something,â€ she reported, punching off her phone.

Lynch reversed his steps, turning and heading for the hal . â€œIâ€™m going to pul Peg Harrington aside and tel her the situation. Then, we can get started.â€

Casey glanced at Hope, who was currently leaning over to soothe her mother. Using the brief window of time to her advantage, Casey walked discreetly over to Patrick Lynch, way-laying him in the doorway with a hand on his forearm.

â€œMr. Lynch, before you go, I have a blunt question to ask you. Would you be wil ing to combine your resources with Forensic Instincts, and work in conjunction with us? The advantage is that you and my team share the same independent status. The FBI task force is inundated with avenues to pursue and potential suspects to interview. I doubt that opening up a cold case thatâ€™s three decades old is high on their list.â€

A corner of Lynchâ€™s mouth lifted. â€œIn other words, you want access to my notes and to the old case file.â€

â€œPrecisely.â€ Casey saw no point in playing games. â€œLike I said, the Bureau canâ€™t put their resources into what appears to be a long shot. But we can. Not to mention the fact that we can push the boundaries in ways the police and the FBI canâ€™t.â€

One dark eyebrow rose. â€œI agree with your first premise. The task force has to concentrate on the most promisingâ€”and currentâ€”leads. As for the boundary-pushing, Iâ€™m not interested. After thirty-five years with the Bureau, Iâ€™m a creature of habit. On the other hand, I donâ€™t miss the paperwork. So I donâ€™t mind cutting a few corners. Just donâ€™t expect me to be a maverick. If you can live with that, Iâ€™d be happy to take you up on your offerâ€”if the sharing of information is mutual.â€

â€œIt wil be.â€

â€œGood.â€ Lynchâ€™s tone said that he was on board. â€œAnd, by the way, the nameâ€™s Patrick.â€

Informal. Direct. No bul shit.

Casey liked this man.

â€œAnd Iâ€™m Casey,â€ she replied. â€œIâ€™l make sure you meet my other team members, Marc and Ryan, ASAP. In the meantime, can we talk after you get the okay from Peg? That way, you can fil in some blanks for me, and Iâ€™l do the same for you. Itâ€™l eliminate my having to ask too much of Mrs. Akerman. The last thing she and Hope need is to be repeatedly dragged through the worst time of their lives.

Especial y now. We need to keep their hopes alive, not imply that Krissyâ€™s case wil end the same way Felicityâ€™s did.â€

â€œI think thatâ€™s wise.â€ Patrick nodded. â€œIâ€™l talk to Peg. Then Iâ€™l meet you outside the house in twenty minutes.â€

Â

As requested, Casey gave Ryan a quick cal while she was waiting outside.

â€œOkay, Iâ€™m alone now,â€ she said. â€œWhat did you want to tel me?â€

â€œIâ€™ve got the names of four disgruntled fathers who lost custody of their kids in Judge Wil isâ€™s courtroom during the last few months,â€ he replied. â€œAl who were ripping pissed when she took away their custodial rights. Al whose background checks show raging tempers and questionable lifestyles. Al who fit our main kidnapperâ€™s profileâ€”right down to girlfriends with low self-esteem. And al who openly threatened Judge Wil is in her courtroom. Iâ€™l text you the list.â€

â€œLetâ€™s not waste time hanging up and texting.â€ Casey whipped out a pad and pen. â€œIâ€™l write down the info and check into it.â€ She scribbled al the specifics Ryan provided, including names, addresses, phone numbers and current employment information. â€œIâ€™l pay these guys visits as soon as Iâ€™ve talked to Patrick Lynch. Heâ€™s a real find. Youâ€™l like him.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure. In the meantime, Iâ€™l dig up what I can on Sidney Akerman. The guy is either dead or really doesnâ€™t want to be found.â€

â€œInteresting.â€ Casey digested that tidbit. â€œAnything else?â€

â€œYeah. Your canine vacuum cleaner and gauze pads got here, along with some jars and tongs. And your dog just peed on my shoe.â€

Casey laughed. â€œThen take him out. He could use the exercise. Unlike you, he doesnâ€™t have a gym membership.â€

â€œMaybe he should. Heâ€™s already dragged me to the park and sniffed out every square inch.â€ A sigh. â€œFine. Iâ€™l take him out back and tire him out. I hope heâ€™s not getting a salary. He doesnâ€™t deserve it.â€

â€œHe wil . Thatâ€™s what that STU-100, canine vacuum cleaner, is for.â€

â€œGood. Then he can use his first paycheck to reimburse us for the rugâ€”and me for my shoes. On the other hand, heâ€™s got a hel of a nose. Heâ€™d be a great navigator for adventure racing.â€

â€œYou and Hero can coordinate your schedules later. And Iâ€™l explain the STU-100 to you.â€

â€œNo need. This is me. Already checked the website. I know the dril . Gauze in place. Personal article on gauze. Vacuum for thirty seconds. Gauze col ects smel s. Jar stores gauze. Hero has Krissyâ€™s scent. Done deal.â€

â€œNice. Concise. Now go find Sidney Akerman.â€

â€œAl over it like white on rice.â€

Â

Sal Diaz stopped pushing his lawn mower, and dragged a sweaty arm across his forehead. He was working at the house across the street from the elementary school. The place was crawling with cops and FBI. It was only a matter of time before they questioned him and Rita, alibis or no alibis. Sal was the Wil isesâ€™ gardener, and his wife was their housekeeper. They spent hours a week at the huge Wil is house. The cops would definitely be asking about them. Theyâ€™d dig up the facts that Sal had a history of brawling and domestic disturbances, and that he and Rita were in debt up to their asses. If the Muel ers and the Kitners hadnâ€™t vouched for their whereabouts, theyâ€™d probably be in custody now.

But how long would that safety net last?

Sal had been cutting the Kitnersâ€™ lawn between two and four yesterday. And Rita had been cleaning the Muel ersâ€™ house.

The Wil is kid had been taken by a woman. The Muel ers both worked, Mrs. Muel er until three. Sheâ€™d walked through her door yesterday afternoon right around the time school closed. Technical y, Rita could have left the house, grabbed the kid and stashed her somewhere, then pretended to be downstairs in the laundry room if Mrs. Muel er walked in a minute before her. The timing was too damned close. And Salâ€™s background was too damned sketchy.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He couldnâ€™t risk putting himself and Rita in the hot seat. Not unlessâ€”or untilâ€”the cops put them there. At that point, he wouldnâ€™t have to go to them. Theyâ€™d come to him.

And heâ€™d tel them what he knew.

CHAPTER TEN

Hope stood in Krissyâ€™s bedroom, tears coursing down her cheeks as she berated herself for everything that had happened.

It was her fault. Why hadnâ€™t she left work just a little earlier yesterday? Why hadnâ€™t she surprised Krissy by picking her up at school?

Why hadnâ€™t she known in her gut that something was wrong?

She was a mother. And mothers were supposed to know.

But she hadnâ€™t.

Had she told Krissy she loved her when they said goodbye that morning? Had she hugged her? Had she tucked those stubborn wisps of unruly hair behind her ears before letting her out near the kindergarten door?

Would she ever have the chance to do those simple, priceless things again?

Her precious little girl. Would she ever hold her again, hear her sweet voice, revel in her exuberance? Would she ever share her childhood, struggle through her teens, see her grow to womanhood?

Oh, God, what was that animal doing to her? Hurting her? Molesting her? Worse? Where in the name of heaven was her baby? Was she alive?

Hope sank to the carpet, a knife of pain stabbing through her heart. She broke down completely, sobbing until her body was weak and trembling, until every single tear was spent.

The bedroom door opened, and she heard Ashleyâ€™s tentative, â€œJudge Wil is? Is there anything I can do?â€

â€œNo.â€ Hope shook her head, not even lifting it from the carpet. â€œI just need to be here with Krissyâ€™s things.â€ An agonized pause. â€œI certainly wasnâ€™t there for her, not when I should have been.â€

Down the hal , Ashleyâ€™s cel phone began playing music, signaling an incoming cal . She ignored it.

â€œJudge Wil is, youâ€™re a wonderful mother,â€ she told Hope with al the conviction of knowing it was true, and that this, at least, was something she could give her employer. â€œNone of this is your fault.â€

â€œIt is my fault. I should have been there.â€

â€œYou couldnâ€™t have known.â€

â€œI should have. Sheâ€™s my child.â€

The upbeat music of Ashleyâ€™s cel phone continued to play, its lively tempo a flagrant antithesis to the somber mood in Krissyâ€™s bedroom.

â€œThatâ€™s your cel .â€ Hope voiced the obvious.

â€œWhoever it is wil cal back.â€

As if to confirm Ashleyâ€™s words, the phone fel silent.

Ashley walked over and knelt down beside Hope. â€œI blame myself, too, you know,â€ she admitted softly. â€œIf Iâ€™d been doing yesterdayâ€™s car pool, maybe I would have gotten there sooner. I definitely would have noticed Krissyâ€™s absence right away. Maybe I would have been in time to prevent al this.â€

â€œYou couldnâ€™t have. Maybe none of us could. It doesnâ€™t matter. Iâ€™m dying inside, anyway.â€

â€œI know you are.â€ Tears clogged Ashleyâ€™s throat. She reached down and gripped Hopeâ€™s hand.

â€œI donâ€™t think I can survive this, Ashley,â€ Hope managed. â€œKrissy is my world. Without herâ€¦nothing else matters.â€

â€œI know that, too. But I have to believeâ€”â€

Before Ashley could continue, her cel phone burst into song again.

â€œDamn.â€ She jumped to her feet. â€œIâ€™l get rid of whoever that is.â€

â€œThatâ€™s okay. You can talk.â€

â€œI donâ€™t want to. I want to stay in here with you. Iâ€™m turning off my phone.â€

She rose and sprinted down the hal .

A ful minute passed. Then another.

Hope just lay where she was, riddled with pain, guilt and fear. It was as if al the life were draining out of her.

Through her onslaught of emotion, she heard Ashley return.

â€œJudge Wil is?â€ Ashley whispered from the doorway.

Something about the odd note in her voice brought Hope bolting to her feet. â€œIs there news?â€

Ashleyâ€™s face was colorless. She was gripping her cel phone so tightly that her knuckles were white. Furtively, she glanced behind her, then stepped into the room and shut the door.

â€œOn my phone,â€ she managed, extending her hand and offering Hope her cel . â€œItâ€™s a weird voice. But he told me heâ€™s the kidnapper. He said he got my number from Krissyâ€™s book bag, and that he cal ed it so the authorities couldnâ€™t trace him, and so that you wouldnâ€™t involve them. But he wants to talk to you. He hasâ€¦demands.â€

Hope snatched the phone and put it to her ear. â€œThis is Judge Wil is.â€

â€œI have your daughter,â€ an odd, tinny voice told her. Clearly, the kidnapper was using a voice scrambler. â€œIf you want her back, fol ow my instructions exactly, and keep your mouth shut. Tel no one that I cal ed. Not your husband. Not the locals. And not the FBI. If you do, your daughter dies.â€

â€œIâ€™l do whatever you say,â€ Hope replied instantly. â€œPlease, please donâ€™t hurt Krissy.â€

â€œThatâ€™s up to you.â€

â€œIs she al right? Can I talk to her?â€

â€œSheâ€™s fine. And, no, you canâ€™t talk to her. Sheâ€™s elsewhere.â€

â€œThen how do I know sheâ€™s okay? How do I even know you have her?â€

â€œListen.â€ There was a brief pause, a rustle, then the punch of a button.

â€œIâ€™m not hungry.â€ It was Krissyâ€™s voice, obviously recorded, obviously tear fil ed. â€œOreoâ€™s not either. I want my mommy. I wantâ€”â€

Another punch of the button and Krissyâ€™s voice vanished.

Hope squeezed her eyes shut. â€œWhy does she sound so frightened? What are you doing to her?â€

â€œWear your brown trench coat,â€ the voice instructed. â€œI donâ€™t want you noticed. Bring two hundred and fifty thousand dol arsâ€”cash. In Krissyâ€™s black Adidas duffel bag. Tomorrow. Five oâ€™clock. At the Mid-County Mal . Second-floor food court. Next to the pretzel kiosk. Thereâ€™s a trash can. Drop the bag beside it. Then walk away. Donâ€™t pause. Donâ€™t look back. Just go.â€

Dear God, heâ€™d just provided an exact description of Krissyâ€™s duffel bag. That meant he had to be watching her when she went on a Daisy Scout outing. Who knew where else heâ€™d been scrutinizing her? Not to mention that heâ€™d specified Hopeâ€™s brown trench coat.

That meant heâ€™d been watching her, too, probably when she was with Krissy.

The nightmare just kept getting worse.

â€œDid you get al that?â€ the voice demanded.

â€œYes.â€ Hope didnâ€™t need to write down the instructions. They were engraved in her brain. â€œWhat about Krissy? Wil she be at the kiosk?â€

â€œSheâ€™l be on the second-floor parking level an hour later.â€

â€œWhat proof do I have of that?â€

â€œNone.â€

Hope barely paused. â€œIâ€™l be there.â€

â€œGood. And Judge Wil is? If I see anyone but you at that food court, your daughterâ€™s blood wil be on your hands.â€

A click told Hope the cal had been disconnected.

â€œGod. Oh, God.â€ She sagged against the wal .

â€œWhat did he say?â€ Ashley asked.

Another brief hesitation. â€œItâ€™s better that you donâ€™t know the details,â€ Hope told her. â€œAnd, Ashley, not a word to Edward or the task force. Iâ€™m counting on you. Iâ€™ve got to bring Krissy home alive. Forget your cel phone ever rang. Forget anything you overheard.

Plus, Iâ€™l be going out twiceâ€”once now and once tomorrow around dinnertime. Iâ€™l need you to cover for me. Wil you do it?â€

Ashley gave a shaky nod. â€œFor Krissy? Yes.â€

Hopeâ€™s mind was racing. Edward had a large amount of cash in their home safe, mostly under-the-table payments from rich, questionable clients Hope didnâ€™t want to know about. And they had over a hundred-thousand dol ars in their safe-deposit box at the bank.

Between the two, she could get the necessary cash together without alerting anyone or triggering mandatory bank reports regarding large cash transactions.

Please, she prayed silently. Please let this work. Please bring my baby home.

Â

The disgruntled-father angle wasnâ€™t paying off.

No surprise to Casey. As soon as the men in question heard what she wanted, she ceased to be a pretty redhead tracking them down in their various workplaces and became an intrusive pain in the ass. And they had no intentions of speaking to some outsider they had no obligation to speak to.

Casey kept her questions brief, spending most of her few precious minutes with each potential suspect studying their reactions, their body language, and separating their natural bel igerence from their possible guilt.

Al four guys were bul ies. Al four wanted to torment their ex-wives. And al four resented Judge Wil is for ruling against them.

But none of them had the brains or the bal s to kidnap her child. None of them had the strategic skil to plan this perfectly executed abduction, or the guts to kil a five-year-old girl. And none of them was twisted enough to be a child predator.

So Casey had to agree with the Feds on this one. A personal vendetta against Judge Wil is from a custody case in her courtroom was looking like a weak possibility.

It was time to go somewhere the FBI task force hadnâ€™t been.

Â

Casey was surprised to find Vera Akerman alone in the living room. She was sipping a cup of tea, perched at the edge of the sofa.

â€œMrs. Akerman,â€ Casey greeted. â€œWhereâ€™s Hope?â€

The older woman looked up, gave a faint sigh. â€œShe went for a drive. After spending the past hour alone in Krissyâ€™s room, she needed some air. Some time by herself. To think. To pray for strength. To get away from the pandemonium. My guess? Sheâ€™s parked at Krissyâ€™s school, crying her eyes out.â€

â€œI understand.â€

â€œI doubt that.â€ The words were said factual y, without bitterness or accusation. Vera glanced up and met Caseyâ€™s gaze. â€œDo you have children?â€

â€œNo, I donâ€™t.â€

â€œThen you canâ€™t possibly understand. Not the depth of love a mother feels for her child, and certainly not the unbearable pain of possibly losing her. Knowing sheâ€™s out there somewhere in the hands of a monster, and thereâ€™s not a thing you can do, except pray. Hope would gladly trade her own life for Krissyâ€™s. But sheâ€™s not being given that choice. Al she can do is waitâ€”and die a little each minute that passes.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. I canâ€™t understand. And I apologize for my lack of sensitivity.â€ Casey gestured toward the chair, asking permission to sit.

Vera nodded.

Casey lowered herself to the armchair. â€œI canâ€™t know what Hope is going through, or what you endured and are being forced to endure again. Al I can do is sympathize and work my heart out to bring Krissy home.â€

Hopeâ€™s mother set down her cup. â€œItâ€™s my turn to apologize. I didnâ€™t mean to be rude. I know how hard youâ€™re working to help my daughter. My nerves are just raw. Itâ€™s like reliving a nightmare.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have to explain.â€ Mental y, Casey ran through some of the information Patrick Lynch had given her. She leaned forward.

â€œMrs. Akerman, I wonâ€™t do anything to make this worse for you. But would you mind if I asked you a few questions?â€

â€œAbout Sidney.â€

â€œMore about what life was like right around the time that Felicity was taken.â€

A pained expression. â€œBeforehand I can tel you about. Itâ€™s afterwards that I canâ€™t. The memories went from horrifying to numb to blurry. The doctors tel me I went through severe post-traumatic stress disorder. I cal it a nervous breakdown. I got out of bed each morning and went through the motions. I had to, for Hope. But the restâ€”itâ€™s like I stopped living. So did Sidney. We just stopped in different ways. And nowâ€¦â€ Vera pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. â€œWhy is this happening again? Why is my family cursed? Why?â€

Casey didnâ€™t even try to offer an answer. â€œBeforehand, your family was happy?â€

â€œVery. We were an average family. Sidney had a good job. I was on the PTA. The twins were wel -adjusted. Hope was the reader who loved school, and Felicity was the athlete who loved games and sports. Stil , they were incredibly close. If someone hurt one of their feelings, he or she had the other twin to contend with.â€ A reminiscent smile. â€œThat last summer, Felicity broke her arm. She was devastated that she couldnâ€™t play soccer. Hope arranged for everyone at camp to sign her cast. And when the cast came off, Hope asked if we could give Felicity a freedom party. Thatâ€™s the kind of relationship they had.â€

â€œHope must have been traumatized by her sisterâ€™s kidnapping.â€

â€œMore than even she realized. She was next to Felicity in bed when it happened. The kidnapper drugged both girls, then took Felicity. I stil donâ€™t know if he chose her intentional y, or whether he only had time to grab one twin and get out before he was discovered.â€ Veraâ€™s lips quivered. â€œAl our friends, and al the mothers from camp, came over and kept vigil with me. They prayed. They brought food. Hope wouldnâ€™t even come out of her room. Not to eat. Not to talk. It was only when Iâ€”and my marriageâ€”started to deteriorate that she forced herself to come out of her shel and became part of our lives again. She was a brave little girl, far stronger than I was. Even after her father left.â€

Casey made a mental note to explore the friends and camp mothers with Patrick. But it was obvious that Hopeâ€™s mother had had enough.

â€œMrs. Akerman, letâ€™s cal it a day,â€ she said gently. â€œWe can talk again tomorrow. In the meantime, I have some additional avenues I want to pursue.â€

And she did.

Next on the agendaâ€”meeting up with Marc and exploring every square inch of Claudia Mitchel â€™s house.

Â

Ashley was preparing a light dinner for the family and the on-site members of the task force, when Edward stalked into the kitchen and seized her arm.

â€œThe detectives tel me that you spent time comforting Hope in Krissyâ€™s bedroom,â€ he said in a hard whisper. â€œAnd Hope has been acting odd and aloof since I got home. What did you tel her during your heart-to-heart?â€

Wincing, Ashley pul ed her arm away. â€œNothing. Iâ€™m not stupid, Edward. I havenâ€™t told a soul.â€

He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowed. â€œYouâ€™re sure?â€

â€œPositive. The only topic we discussed was Krissy.â€

â€œGood. Keep it that way. Remember, one wrong word from you and my marriage and your job wil blow up. Not to mention that weâ€™l zoom to the top of the FBIâ€™s suspect list. Krissyâ€™s rich attorney father, his young mistress, and his precious daughter take off for parts unknown, after a bril iant plan masterminded by Edward Wil is.â€

â€œI think youâ€™re overreacting.â€ Ashleyâ€™s tone was in direct contrast to the frightened expression on her face.

â€œTrust me, Iâ€™m not. Iâ€™m a lawyer. I know how law enforcement thinks. Donâ€™t give them food for thought. Theyâ€™l gobble you up.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t.â€ Tears glistened on Ashleyâ€™s lashes. â€œI already feel guilty enough about what weâ€™re doing to Judge Wil is. And now Krissyâ€™s abductionâ€¦â€ She broke off, swal owing to regain her composure. â€œBut I know the rules. And Iâ€™l play by them. With the authorities, and with your wife.â€

â€œYou do that. The alternative wonâ€™t be pleasant.â€

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Patrick Lynch was too good a former FBI agent not to know that Casey Woodsâ€™s idea of pushing the boundaries and his own were very different.

Heâ€™d shared a good chunk of information on Felicity Akermanâ€™s kidnapping with her, and agreed to share his notes and the file.

She, in turn, had fil ed him in on everything she had on Krissy Wil isâ€™s abduction, and al the avenues that she and her team were pursuingâ€”both the ones that were in conjunction with the authorities and the ones that werenâ€™t.

Sheâ€™d omitted more than a few details. Then again, so had he. Trust wasnâ€™t something you developed in one conversation. It took time, and lots of it. So Lynch had kept certain cards close to his vest, and he was sure Casey was doing the same.

There wasnâ€™t a doubt in his mind that she and her team were heavily pursuing Hope Wil isâ€™s former court clerk, Claudia Mitchel . He understood why. Their reasoning had merit. Their methods, on the other handâ€”wel , those he had a hunch would be teetering on the brink of il egal.

He couldnâ€™t be a part of it.

On the other hand, there was no saying he had to stop it.

Â

It was just after dark when Casey and Marc parked their car under a canopy of trees a half block down from Claudia Mitchel â€™s house.

They were both dressed in black sweatshirts and jeans. They looked perfectly ordinary, and were hardly noticeable in the darkness. Marc carried his tools in a sport waist pack.

They approached the front door like casual visitors and rang the bel .

As expected, there was no response.

A second ring.

This time a cat meowed from somewhere inside.

â€œDid you hear that?â€ Casey asked flatly, knowing ful wel that Claudia owned two yel ow tabbies.

â€œYeah.â€ Marcâ€™s response was equal y bland. â€œI wonder what it was.â€

â€œI couldnâ€™t tel if it was a cat or a child. Could you?â€

â€œNope. But if itâ€™s a kid, he or she canâ€™t be left alone in the house.â€

â€œDefinitely not. And he or she sounds like theyâ€™re in some kind of distress.â€

A second meow.

â€œThatâ€™s it.â€ Casey reached for the doorknob. â€œWe canâ€™t risk it. We have to go in.â€

Marc grabbed her arm and stopped her. â€œDonâ€™t bother. I think itâ€™s unlocked. Let me check.â€ He pul ed out a torque wrench and pick. Inserting the flat end of the wrench, he exerted just enough pressure to the L-shaped top of the tool, which served as a lever. He then inserted the pick and careful y tapped each pin out of the way. There was a slight click and a subtle movement of the cylinder as the torque wrench acted as a substitute key, turning the entire cylinder and disengaging the lock.

With a slight push, Marc opened the door. â€œI was right. Unlocked. Letâ€™s check on that sound.â€

They crossed the threshold in a heartbeat.

â€œStart with the basement,â€ Casey instructed, al sarcasm having been abandoned. â€œThatâ€™s the room where Claire kept visualizing Krissy.â€

They found their way to the stairs leading down to the basement. Al Casey was hoping to see was a room transformed to a bedroom, much the way Claire had described.

Al she found was a bare-bones basement. Drywal ed partitions. Indoor-outdoor carpet. Two pul -string fluorescent fixtures. An Alienware gaming laptop sitting on top of a smal desk. The only upgrade to the decor was a leather gaming chair facing a large flat-screen TV, along with video game consoles, control ers, various accessories and al the games to go with them.

But no sign of a child.

â€œDammit,â€ Casey muttered. She flicked on one of the overhead fixtures and scanned the room.

Nothing.

â€œYou take care of the computer,â€ she told Marc. â€œIâ€™l keep searching.â€

In response, Marc walked over to the laptop, which was currently turned off. He popped open the DVD drive with a paper clip and inserted the disk Ryan had given him. Closing the drive, he turned on the computer and watched as it booted from Ryanâ€™s disk. In an instant, the laptopâ€™s hard disk indicator began flashing furiously, as the program hacked into the password security tables, inserting a seemingly innocuous system account with ful administrative rights and an undetectable spyware program that tracked everything. It also enabled the microphone and effectively turned the laptop into a one-way intercom, with Ryan able to listen to everything that transpired in the room.

When the program finished, it shut down the laptop as if nothing had happened.

Marc removed the disk, sliding it into his jacket pocket, and closed the drive.

While Marc was occupied, Casey walked over to the gaming setup and thumbed through the extensive selection of games. BioShock 2: Limited Edition. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. Batman: Arkham Asylum. Left 4 Dead 2. Resident Evil 5: Gold Edition.

â€œTerrific,â€ Casey commented in a grim tone. â€œIsnâ€™t BioShock the game where you can decide to kil little girls?â€

â€œSadly, yes. But itâ€™s also superpopular among normal people. The fact that Claudiaâ€™s fiancÃ© enjoys shooter games doesnâ€™t prove anything.â€

â€œMaybe not. But this guy is obviously a hard-core gamer. When Grace described the offender, she said heâ€™d be into hobbies like model airplanes or video games. Claudiaâ€™s fiancÃ© certainly fits the bil .â€ Another somber look. â€œBut thereâ€™s no sign of Krissy.â€

â€œThey could be holding her elsewhere in the house,â€ Marc noted, using his heavy-duty flashlight to peer around.

â€œOr in a different location entirely.â€ Casey took a few photos with her cel phone, then headed for the stairs. â€œLetâ€™s search the rest of the place.â€

They were thorough, although neither of them expected to find Krissy on the main floor of the ranch-style house. It was too open, with no private areas or secluded rooms. The basement had been their best bet. And it had come up empty.

The houseâ€™s decor was country style, and decidedly feminine. No surprise, given that Joe had just moved back in. Stil , it was odd that there was virtual y nothing personal of Joeâ€™s to be found, other than a broken-down chest of drawers in a corner of the bedroom.

â€œLetâ€™s take a look inside,â€ Casey said to Marc. â€œWe need to get a handle on this guy. Is he just an obnoxious boyfriend and an odd duck, or is he capable of kidnapping a little girl?â€

Marc was already pul ing on a pair of gloves. He waited while Casey did the same. There was a big difference between responding to an al eged cry for help and ransacking a manâ€™s drawers. They had to tread very careful y.

The top three drawers held the usual: T-shirts and jeans, underwear, some construction gear. Again, no surprise. Ryan had noted that Joe worked for Bennato Construction Company, doing mostly road paving projects.

The bottom drawer had his pay stubs from work, al rubber-banded together. The amounts were consistent, and everything looked to be in order. There was a stack of papersâ€”software receipts, game magazines, a couple of credit card slips from a local pub.

A folded diagram was sticking out from underneath the stack of papers.

â€œWhatâ€™s this?â€ Casey murmured. She pul ed out the sheet and smoothed it out.

It was an architectural layout of Armonkâ€™s elementary school parking lotâ€”Krissyâ€™s elementary school parking lot. It included the exterior of the rear side of the building, the outside lights, the surveil ance camerasâ€”everything.

â€œWhat the hel â€¦?â€ Marc breathed, squatting down and shining his flashlight directly on the plans. â€œThis is literal y a map of the kidnapping scene.â€

â€œItâ€™s also probably one of Joeâ€™s workplaces,â€ Casey mused aloud. â€œI remember that the parking lot at Krissyâ€™s school was newly paved, as was the playground. We should find out if Joe was on that job.â€

â€œYeah, along with why he would have kept this layout, even after the construction work was completed.â€

â€œRight.â€ Casey took out her phone again, and shot a couple of pictures. â€œOkay, letâ€™s put everything back exactly as we found it and get out of here.â€

Ten minutes later, they left the house, locked the door and headed back for the car.

â€œRyanâ€™s turn?â€ Marc asked once Casey was driving, heading back to Tribeca.

â€œYup.â€ Casey gripped the steering wheel. â€œWe sure as hel arenâ€™t leaving this one alone. A map of the crime scene, a mother-lode gaming center, and the very real possibility that they could have stashed Krissy anywhere. Besides the hack job, we need to have Ryan get a GPS tracking device on Joeâ€™s car and, hopeful y, on Joe himself.â€ She turned onto the highway. â€œLetâ€™s get to the office. I want to see what Ryan found on Sidney Akerman, anyway.â€

Before Marc could respond, Caseyâ€™s cel phone rang. She punched the receive button on the steering wheel. â€œCasey Woods.â€

â€œSo, did you get lucky?â€ an older masculine voice inquired through the speakerphone. â€œOr did you walk away frustrated and with nothing? I agree with you that youâ€™ve got a strong suspect in Claudia Mitchel . She worships that boyfriend of hers, and heâ€™s a real wack job. Stil , I canâ€™t get past the feeling that thereâ€™s a connection between the past and the present.â€

â€œPatrick,â€ Casey said, after a quick glance in the rearview mirror. â€œAre you tailing us?â€

â€œDonâ€™t have to. I knew what you had on your agenda. What I donâ€™t knowâ€”and I donâ€™t want to knowâ€”is how you got in.â€

Caseyâ€™s lips quirked. â€œThen I wonâ€™t disappoint. Letâ€™s just say the door was open and we heard crying from inside. It turned out to be the cats.â€

â€œOf course it did.â€

Gesturing at Marc, Casey made the audio introduction. â€œPatrick Lynch, meet my passenger and associate, Marc Deveraux.â€

â€œHey,â€ Marc said. He looked more amused than surprised by Patrickâ€™s insightful analysis of the eveningâ€™s events.

â€œNice to meet you,â€ Patrick replied. â€œEven by phone.â€

â€œHow about in person?â€ Caseyâ€™s mind was racing. â€œWeâ€™re heading back to Manhattan. Ryanâ€™s in the office. Since youâ€™re keeping such great tabs on us, can you swing by and meet the rest of the team? You knowâ€”the team youâ€™l be working closely with to solve this crime by sharing al the reasons why you think the past and the present kidnappings are connected. The team you wonâ€™t be holding back any details or information from.â€

â€œThatâ€™s doable.â€ Patrick sounded as if heâ€™d expected the invite. â€œIâ€™ve got your address. Iâ€™l be there in an hour.â€

Â

Hopeâ€™s heart was pounding in her chest as she opened the safe in Edwardâ€™s home office.

She was taking a huge risk doing this during evening hours. But Edward was stil at work, and the task force was scattered, performing their various assignments. This was as good a time as any to check out the contents of the safe.

She wasnâ€™t planning on removing the cash now. She couldnâ€™t. If Edward had reason to look inside during the next twenty-four hours, and he found the safe cleaned out, her entire plan to recover Krissy would blow apart. And there was no way she was taking that chance.

No, now wasnâ€™t for confiscating. Now was for counting. She had to see if she had enough to add to the $128,000 she had accumulated from todayâ€™s bank visits.

Sheâ€™d had to go to two separate banks, and pul cash from two separate safe-deposit boxes, to avoid suspicion. Sheâ€™d never realized how heavy and bulky large sums of money in smal bil s could be. She couldnâ€™t walk into the bank with Krissyâ€™s gigantic duffel bagâ€”not without looking out of place. Nor could she leave the house in the middle of the day lugging it along. So sheâ€™d taken her roomiest laptop case and removed al she had from each box.

Now, she peered into her husbandâ€™s open safe, grimacing in disgust at the sight. Piles of cash Edward had accumulated in ways that turned her stomach, but that right now might be her lifeline to Krissy. Quickly, she unloaded stacks of money and counted.

She stopped when she reached the magic number of $122,000. There was more than enough in this safe to cover what she needed.

Replacing everything the way sheâ€™d found it, Hope locked the safe and slipped out of Edwardâ€™s office.

Â

Ryan was glued to his computer screen, pounding away at his keyboard and eating trail mix out of a bag, when Casey and Marc walked in.

Hero was glued to Ryanâ€™s feet, crunching on the pieces of granola that were being inadvertentlyâ€”and not so inadvertentlyâ€”dropped.

â€œWel , I see that you two have developed a rapport,â€ Casey noted aloud.

â€œHuh?â€ Ryan looked up, then glanced down at Hero as he realized what Casey had said. â€œYeah, we had a talk after that peeing episode. Itâ€™s been smooth sailing ever since. While we were walking to the park, he got a whiff of something and took off. We were half a block away. He nearly yanked the leash out of my hand, he was sniffing so frantical y. Turns out it was the manager of that dog hotel he stayed at. She must have been great to him, because he shoved me out of the way and jumped al over her like they were supertight. Not that I blame him. She was hot. I got her phone number. But Hero got al the attention. You have to admire that kind of strategic intent.â€

â€œI do.â€ Casey perched at the edge of Ryanâ€™s desk and fil ed him in on what she and Marc had found at Claudiaâ€™s. â€œThe laptopâ€™s taken care of. But I need you to find a way to track Joe Dealeâ€™s movements.â€

â€œNot a problem. Heâ€™s working on a bridge repair project in the Bronx. Iâ€™l arrange for a diversion at the site tomorrow morning, during which Iâ€™l plant a GPS in his car, and a tracking chip in his cel phone. Iâ€™l monitor them on my PC.â€

Casey nodded, folding her arms across her breasts. â€œGood. Now, what did you find on Sidney Akerman?â€

Ryan stared at his computer screen. â€œHe lived like a vagabond after his marriage broke up. Different towns, odd jobsâ€”al over the Tri-State Area. He couldnâ€™t hold down any of the jobs because of his drinking. It seems he final y got it together enough to go to rehab a good decade later, somewhere in the Northwest. He got out, joined AAâ€”according to an Arizona newspaper article on the groupâ€”and started working as a bookkeeper for a smal office supply chain in upstate New York. That didnâ€™t last long. He went back to the bottle, and vanished off the screen. Iâ€™m stil trying to fil in the blanks. I get snatches of what heâ€™s been up to, and then nothing. Suffice it to say, he hasnâ€™t exactly lived a productive life.â€

â€œWhere is he now?â€

â€œThe most recent address I have is in Ithaca. But itâ€™s eight years old. The one interesting thing is what his job was, and maybe stil isâ€”custodian in an elementary school.â€

Marc let out a low whistle. â€œAny indication of off-color behavior during that time? Approaching kids, talking or acting inappropriately around kidsâ€”even watching kids at the bus stop?â€

Ryan shook his head, double-checking by inputting a slew of data into the computer. â€œNothing documented,â€ he reaffirmed. He cal ed up a page, entered the print command and waited for the single sheet of paper that he snatched off the laser printer. â€œBut hereâ€™s the address of the school, and a list of the faculty. The principalâ€™s been there for ten years, so heâ€™s bound to know Sidney Akerman. And some of the faculty predate the principal. Iâ€™d say this is our best starting point.â€ A questioning look at Casey. â€œDo you want me to drive upstate and check it out?â€

Before Casey could respond, there was a knock at the front door.

â€œHold that thought,â€ she said, heading for the hal .

She returned a minute later, Patrick at her side.

â€œMarc, Ryan, this is former Special Agent Patrick Lynch, our new consultant on the Krissy Wil is abduction.â€ Casey made the introductions. â€œAs I told you, he was the lead case agent on the Felicity Akerman investigation.â€

The three men shook hands.

â€œGood timing. We were just discussing Sidney Akerman,â€ Casey informed Patrick, bringing him up to speed. â€œRyan tracked him to upstate New York.â€

â€œYeah,â€ Ryan said. â€œAnd I was just asking Casey if she wanted me to drive up there and check it out.â€

â€œIâ€™l do that,â€ Patrick intervened. â€œIf you picked up on Sidney Akermanâ€™s trail, I want to fol ow it. He was always one of my missing pieces. There was never any doubt that he was a genuine wreck when Felicity was kidnapped. But there was also no doubt that he became an angry drunk afterwards. Plus, the fact that heâ€™s been MIA for decades is a huge loose end. Itâ€™s my responsibility to see it through. Iâ€™l head up to Ithaca early tomorrow.â€

No one argued. Patrick had supplied them with al the background on the Akerman cold case. It was his right to pursue this lead.

But Casey wanted to know a lot more about the Felicity Akerman abduction than where Sidney Akerman fit into the puzzle. After her conversation with his ex-wife earlier today, she had other people of interest to ask about.

â€œPatrick, letâ€™s al go upstairs to our conference room,â€ she suggested. â€œThatâ€™s our think tank, the place where we do our best brainstorming. Appropriate, since you and the group of us have a mountain of information to share.â€

â€œShare being the operative word,â€ Patrick returned drily. â€œIâ€™m not going upstairs to be interrogated.â€

â€œThen youâ€™re going to be majorly pissed off,â€ Casey answered with her usual candor. â€œBecause I plan on firing questions at you. I also plan on giving you ample time to do the same.â€

A gruff laugh. â€œYouâ€™re quite the force to be reckoned with, arenâ€™t you, Casey Woods?â€

â€œI like to think so. But this isnâ€™t about me trying to one-up you. Time is running out. We al know it. If we donâ€™t put our heads together and come up with some answersâ€”and I mean nowâ€”weâ€™l lose any shot of finding Krissy Wil is.â€ Caseyâ€™s pause was grim.

â€œAnd when we do find herâ€¦I pray sheâ€™s stil alive.â€

CHAPTER TWELVE

Day Three

The medical complex was set in a section of countryside just north of Westchester County. The grounds werenâ€™t vast, but they were wel maintained, especial y the colorful gardens. The buildings were kept clean, even if they appeared a bit Spartan and institutional looking.

The facility was cal ed Sunny Gardens. And it was the best that a middle-class income could afford.

The woman sat in one of the lovely gardens overlooking the park. She gazed across the grounds, not real y seeing them. Her mind was wandering to a different place and time. Sometimes her thoughts were vivid and clear, as real as if they were happening right now. Other times, the present and the past melded into one, and, try though she would, she couldnâ€™t separate them. Those days she felt very confused, and she was happy for her medication. She also needed the nurses to explain. Sometimes they were wrong. She knew it. But sometimes they were right. She just wasnâ€™t always sure when.

Today was a fairly good day. She understood where she was. She even had a good idea why. And she was certain that today was Wednesday, which meant sheâ€™d have a visitor. Her favorite visitor.

Her little girl.

She worried a lot. Maybe seeing her mama like this would frighten the child. True, she never showed signs of fear. But that didnâ€™t mean she wasnâ€™t afraid. She was always so good at hiding her emotions.

Was that what she was doing now?

The nurse was walking over, a big smile on her face. The name tag on her uniform said Marla Greene. Marla Greeneâ€”did she know her?

She must. Because the nurse was gazing at her with familiar recognition.

â€œLunchtime,â€ she announced cheerily.

â€œLunchtime?â€ The woman shook her head vehemently. â€œIt canâ€™t be. My babyâ€™s not here yet.â€

â€œMaybe sheâ€™s coming later today,â€ Marla Greene suggested. â€œYou know how much work she has.â€

â€œYes.â€ The woman beamed. â€œSheâ€™s smart. I gave her extra homework to do.â€

â€œWel , that explains why sheâ€™s late. So letâ€™s go inside and have some lunch. You need to keep up your strength for her.â€

â€œOf course. Youâ€™re right.â€ The woman al owed Marla Greene to help her to her feet, and to guide her back to the main facility. â€œI have to keep things straight in my mind, so I can keep teaching her. Iâ€™m the only one who can.â€

Â

Patrick drove rapidly up the highway. Ithaca was only four hours and change from his place, and heâ€™d left the city right after breakfast. So heâ€™d be showing up at Plainview Elementary School by noon.

Ryan McKay was obviously damned good at what he did. For over a year after Felicityâ€™s abduction, and sporadical y thereafter, Patrick had tried to find a lead on Sidney Akermanâ€™s whereaboutsâ€”and come up empty-handed. Of course, todayâ€™s technology changed al that by leaps and bounds. So Patrick was cautiously optimistic that heâ€™d locate Hope and Felicityâ€™s father.

And then what? Did the man know anything, or was he just another dead end?

Patrick thought back to the time of the original abduction. Sidney Akerman had been al over the FBI from the get-go. Half the time, heâ€™d been inebriated, but that didnâ€™t stop his relentless quest to find Felicity. Heâ€™d cooperated ful y, taken and passed his polygraph test and answered al the questions he was asked during his interview. After that, heâ€™d insisted on being told about every leadâ€”until time and stress wore him down and the liquor won out.

Could he have information he didnâ€™t even realize he hadâ€”information that would tie these crimes together and shed light on his granddaughterâ€™s kidnapping? Did he even know he had a granddaughter?

Regardless of what Patrick learned today, there was a connection between these two abductions. He didnâ€™t know what, how or why. He only knew what his gut was tel ing him. And heâ€™d learned to listen to his gut.

The sign for his exit appeared just ahead. He signaled, slowed down and turned off the highway, heading directly to his destinationâ€”and, hopeful y, to some answers.

Â

Claire jerked awake, her body drenched in sweat.

Sheâ€™d been up al night. Sheâ€™d gone over her notes al morning. She must have drifted off.

And dreamed.

Not about Krissy. About her stuffed panda, Oreo.

Dragging her fingers through the damp strands of her hair, Claire struggled for total recal . Krissy had been a mere wisp of presence in the dream. But Oreoâ€”Oreo had been vivid. Heâ€™d been tangled in the bedcovers. Lonely. Crying. Sad for his best friend and her pain. Wishing his other best friend was here. Maybe together they could make Krissy smile. Maybe her eyes would light up like they always did when the three of them playedâ€”after it was bedtime and the lights were out and Krissyâ€™s parents thought she was asleep.

For Godâ€™s sake, Claire thought, she was personifying a stuffed animal. Ryan would be laughing his ass off at this one.

How could a toy feel? Or weep? And why had Krissy been so faint in the dream? Almost nonexistent?

Mental y, Claire reached out, trying desperately to drag back the rapidly evaporating images. But they were gone.

They werenâ€™t arbitrary. They meant something. She was sure of it.

Now she had to figure out what.

Â

Hutch wasnâ€™t happy.

Not just because the kidnapping investigation hadnâ€™t turned up a damned thing so far. But because it looked as if this stuck-in-neutral situation wouldnâ€™t be shifting into gear anytime soon. And soon was al they had.

The facts just werenâ€™t coalescing into a viable profile. Not for a ransom kidnapping. Nothing to suggest a serial predator or an attempt at human trafficking. And, so far, no concrete evidence against any of the potential suspects who might be seeking revenge against the Wil ises.

To make matters worse, he had the distinct feeling that Casey was onto somethingâ€”something other than her belief that Krissyâ€™s kidnapping was connected to Felicity Akermanâ€™s. The latter part sheâ€™d discussed with him. He thought it was a long shot. But he also knew that the Bureau didnâ€™t have the resources to chase after itâ€”not when there was a five-year-old girl out there enduring Lord knows what. So in the unlikely event that Caseyâ€™s long shot had merit, Hutch was comfortable leaving it in the hands of Forensic Instincts.

No, this was something more. Casey had another bee in her bonnet. He hadnâ€™t gotten a thing out of her last night in private, nor this morning in public. No surprise there. As intimate as they were, as close as theyâ€™d become over the past year, he was a Fed and she was an independent consultant. Their goals might be the same, but their methods sure as hel werenâ€™t.

Which meant nothing good. If Casey was onto something, but had no proof; if she thought her team could get what they needed through nonkosher means, sheâ€™d be off and running without a word.

And that worried himâ€”a lot.

Â

Casey wasnâ€™t exactly off and running, but she was keeping a close eye on behavior that had first presented itself after her team meeting last night and before Hutchâ€™s arrival at one oâ€™clock in the morning.

As per usual, sheâ€™d checked in with Hope Wil is before turning in. The phone cal had been odd. Rather than pounding Casey with questions and clinging on to her every word, as Hope usual y did, sheâ€™d asked very little of her. In fact, sheâ€™d been downright curt, her voice high-pitched and agitated, rather than pained and tear fil ed. Sheâ€™d cut the conversation short, practical y hanging up on Casey.

It was definitely uncharacteristic. Not unheard-of, given the circumstances. Mothers of kidnapping victims often ran through a gamut of emotions. Sometimes those phases of emotions included anger at those who were trying to help but, as yet, had come up empty. People like Casey, who was an easy target, were perfect for lashing out at. That wouldnâ€™t have been off-putting, nor would it have offended Casey in the least.

But this was different. It wasnâ€™t only what Hope had said, or even how sheâ€™d said it. It was what she hadnâ€™t said, and the veiled quality of her tone.

Something was up. And Hope wasnâ€™t ready to tel Casey what.

Had she found out about Edward and Ashley, or was it something to do with Krissy?

The question had plagued Casey al night.

Sheâ€™d headed up to Armonk at a reasonable hour of the morning, right after verifying with Ryan that heâ€™d successful y arranged for a morning fire dril at Joeâ€™s work site. A diversion that had al owed him to place the tracking device inside Joeâ€™s car and the chip in his cel phoneâ€”which Ryanâ€™s spies had revealed Joe constantly misplaced and then scrambled to find. They could now monitor al of the guyâ€™s movements.

Caseyâ€™s original plan had been to further interview Vera Akerman in order to flesh out more of the details that Patrick had run by her and the team last nightâ€”including al the people whoâ€™d been in the Akermansâ€™ lives at the time that Felicity was abducted. It was the only way to get a ful picture of the past.

Now, Casey had two reasons for her trip to Armonk.

The first reason fel through. Unfortunately, Vera was in no condition to talk. The stress of what was happening had taken its tol , and she was in her room, heavily medicated on doctor-prescribed sedatives, and under strict orders to rest. Hope was sitting with her, so she, too, was unavailable.

Thatâ€™s when things started getting weird, and the second reason for Caseyâ€™s trip had taken shape.

Walking past the Florida room, sheâ€™d spotted Ashley, alone in the room, visibly overwrought as she paced back and forth. Not the way sheâ€™d been when Krissy first disappeared. Then, sheâ€™d been emotional y freaked out and in shock.

This time she was bouncing off the wal s.

First, Hope. Now, Ashley.

It was more than enough.

With that in mind, Casey strol ed into the Florida room. â€œAshley?â€

The nannyâ€™s head snapped around. â€œMs. Woods. I didnâ€™t hear you come in.â€

â€œClearly not. You look like youâ€™re vibrating. Has something happened?â€

A heartbeat of a pause. â€œIf you mean, is there any news about Krissy, then no. So if Iâ€™m vibrating, thatâ€™s why.â€ Ashley gave Casey a stricken look. â€œItâ€™s been way more than twenty-four hours. Whatever theyâ€™re doing to that precious little girlâ€¦it makes me sick just to think about it.â€

Casey heard the genuine hysteria in Ashleyâ€™s voice. But she also picked up on her initial pause. She also picked up on the interesting fact that Ashley spoke about Krissyâ€™s captivity without mentioning that being missing so long usual y meant not just torture or sexual abuse, but death.

â€œDo you know something more than youâ€™re saying, Ashley?â€ she asked quietly. â€œMore than you knew the last time we spoke?â€

The girl glanced at her with eyes as wild as a frightened bird. â€œAre you back to suspecting me? Because I swear on my life, Iâ€™d never harm Krissy.â€

â€œAnd, as I said last time, I believe you.â€ Casey decided it was time to win Ashleyâ€™s trust. â€œCan we sit down for a minute?â€

Sitting down with Casey looked like the last thing Ashley wanted to do. But she lowered herself dutiful y onto the lounger, her back ramrod straight. Casey fol owed suit, making sure that she faced Ashley so as to watch her expressions, while leaving enough distance between them so the younger girl didnâ€™t feel as if her space were being invaded.

â€œDo you want to ask me more questions about Krissy?â€ Ashley began. â€œBecause I told you everything I know andâ€”â€

â€œActual y, I want to reassure you,â€ Casey interrupted. â€œI have no intention of sharing your secret.â€

Ashley turned white. â€œMy secret?â€

â€œYes. I wonâ€™t tel anyoneâ€”including Judge Wil is.â€

Now Ashley looked bewildered. â€œWhat are you talking about?â€

â€œObviously not what you thought I was talking about. Is there some secret you and Judge Wil is share? One I should know about?â€

â€œNo.â€ Ashley answered a little too quickly. â€œThatâ€™s why Iâ€™m confused. What secret are you referringâ€”â€

â€œYour relationship with Edward Wil is,â€ Casey supplied. â€œI know that you two are romantical y involved.â€

â€œOh God.â€ Ashley sagged into the cushions. â€œHow did you find out?â€

You just told me, Casey thought silently. â€œThat doesnâ€™t matter. What matters is that I know. And Iâ€™m not here to judge you. Nor to tel the authorities or Judge Wil is. So you can stop freaking out.â€

Ashley blew out a breath. â€œI appreciate that more than you can imagine. I donâ€™t expect you to understand. I never wanted to hurt Judge Wil is. And Iâ€™m not naive enough to believe this is going anywhere. It just happened. Once. Then again. And before I knew itâ€¦letâ€™s just say thereâ€™s something incredibly compel ing about Edward. His power. His passion. I do believe that what we have is real. Iâ€™m not a diversion. But Iâ€™m not a forever either. So I hold on to the moments we get, and do the best I can to shove aside my guilt.â€

â€œLike I said, Iâ€™m not judging you,â€ Casey replied. â€œOn the other hand, I am doing you a pretty big favor by keeping quiet. So I think Iâ€™m entitled to a favor in return. Like your tel ing me whatâ€™s going on with Judge Wil is, and how you factor into it.â€

Silence.

Casey rose. â€œI understand your loyalty to Judge Wil is.â€ That in itself was incongruous, given the girl was sleeping with Hopeâ€™s husband. Casey refrained from saying that aloudâ€”although she did pause long enough for the irony of her statement to sink in. â€œBut consider this. Iâ€™m not prying. But I think your secret has to do with Krissy. And since I honestly believe that my team is the Wil isesâ€™ best chance of getting Krissy back alive, I suggest you share it with me. No one and nothing is worth protecting if it endangers that childâ€™s life. Think about it.

Iâ€™l check back with you a little later.â€

As she walked out of the room, Casey could feel Ashley staring after her, fighting some internal battle.

Casey hoped the right side would win.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sidney Akerman parked his car in a grassy area just three blocks from Plainview Elementary School. He slumped down in his seat, shutting his eyes and wondering if heâ€™d ever escape the pain and consequences of his past. The agony and fear were excruciating.

A quick sidelong glance at his glove compartment. There was a flask of whiskey in there. He could almost taste it, feel its effects as it numbed him up. So far heâ€™d resisted opening the top and taking that first purging gulp. The flask had sat in the same spot for the past eight days.

He didnâ€™t want to become a drunk again. Heâ€™d kept his job for almost ten years now. He liked it. He liked being around the kids. He knew al the reasons why. And he knew heâ€™d lose it al if he took that first drink.

But the way things looked right now, heâ€™d lose it al anyway.

He had a couple of hours before he had to get back to the school for his afternoon maintenance work. Maybe heâ€™d get up the guts to cal his AA sponsor and get the support he needed. Maybe the story heâ€™d told the Feds would satisfy them. Maybe he could keep his freedom after al .

Not that heâ€™d ever be free.

Abruptly, the passenger door of his car swung open, and a solid man of about his own age hopped in.

â€œHel o, Akerman,â€ he greeted him. â€œItâ€™s been a long time.â€

Sidney felt his insides go cold. Yeah, it had been a long time. But this was one face heâ€™d never forget.

â€œAgent Lynch,â€ he managed. â€œWhat are you doing here?â€

â€œSo you do recognize me.â€

â€œOf course I do. But I donâ€™t get it. I thought last weekâ€™s visit had taken care of any questions the FBI had for me. And why would they send you, of al people? Just to torture me by conjuring up the worst memories of my life? Besides which, arenâ€™t you retired yet?â€

Patrickâ€™s eyebrows drew together in a frown. â€œThe Bureau spoke to you?â€

â€œDonâ€™t look so surprised.â€

â€œI am. I didnâ€™t even know theyâ€™d tracked you down.â€

â€œA guy from the Organized Crime Squad came to my apartment. Come on, Lynch, cut it out. How else would you have found me?â€

Organized Crime Squad? That was a new one to Patrick.

â€œIt wasnâ€™t easy,â€ he replied careful y. â€œBut I assure you, I didnâ€™t use Bureau resources to do it. I am retired, just as you suspected. Iâ€™m acting as a consultant on this case.â€

â€œWhy would they need a consultant? I told them everything I knew. And you were on the Violent Crime Squad. When did you make the switch?â€

Patrick took a second to study Sidney Akermanâ€™s face. The man had aged terribly, thanks to the alcohol. With his stooped shoulders, heavily lined face, and bags under his eyes, he looked as if he were seventy-five, rather than in his early sixties. He also looked frazzled about the FBI hassling him. But he didnâ€™t look frantic, like a man whoâ€™d just found out that his granddaughter had been kidnappedâ€”something Patrick would expect regardless of the estrangement between Sidney and his family.

â€œI never worked Organized Crime,â€ Patrick informed him. â€œIâ€™m not here about whatever new trouble youâ€™re in. Iâ€™m here about your granddaughter.â€

â€œKrissy?â€ Sidney jerked around to face Patrick. â€œWhat about her?â€

â€œSo you do know she exists.â€

â€œIâ€™ve fol owed every detail of Hopeâ€™s life since the day I walked away. Her appointment to the bench, her marriage, the birth of her daughterâ€”everything. Why? Whatâ€™s happened to Krissy?â€

The man looked so stricken that Patrick actual y felt sorry for himâ€”and for the news he was about to deliver.

â€œSheâ€™s been kidnapped.â€

â€œKidnapped?â€ Sidney choked on the word as if it were poison. â€œOh God, no.â€ He pressed his fingers to his temples. â€œWhen?

When was she taken?â€

â€œThe day before yesterday. Outside her school. Someone pretending to be Hope picked her up and drove off with her. Thereâ€™s been no word since. Al of law enforcementâ€™s involved, from the locals to the FBI. Iâ€™m surprised you didnâ€™t see the media coverage on TV.â€

â€œMy TVâ€™s broken. And Iâ€™m not much of a news watcher.â€ Sidneyâ€™s robotic answers were that of a man in shock. â€œI canâ€™t believe this is happeningâ€”again. A nightmare, repeating itself. Hope must be a wreck. And Veraâ€¦that poor woman has been through hel . First, our daughter. Now our granddaughter. She had a nervous breakdown before. How is she going to survive this?â€

â€œNot wel ,â€ Patrick replied flatly. â€œSheâ€™s heavily sedated. And your daughter is sick to death.â€ A pause as Patrick took in the entirety of Sidneyâ€™s reaction. â€œYou real y didnâ€™t know a thing about this until now.â€ He didnâ€™t wait for an answer. â€œWhy is the Bureau interested in talking to you? Whatâ€™s your connection to Organized Crime?â€

Silence.

â€œLook, Akerman, we can do this any way you want. But Iâ€™m thirty-two years and hundreds of sleepless nights invested in this case.

Iâ€™m not going away. Not until you tel me every goddamned thing you know. Because I happen to think these two kidnappings are connected.â€

A purposeful pauseâ€”and a glint of fear and guilt in Sidneyâ€™s eyes. â€œI can see you think so, too. So weâ€™re going to talk. About then.

About now. About everything.â€

Patrick pul ed out his copy of Krissyâ€™s photo, shoved it in Sidneyâ€™s face. â€œHave you seen a picture of your granddaughter lately?

Sheâ€™s a beautiful, exuberant child. Or she was, until yesterday. God only knows whatâ€™s happened to her since then.â€

Slowly, Sidney reached out and took the photo. â€œShe has Hopeâ€™s eyes,â€ he managed, tears gliding down his cheeks. â€œAnd her smile. The way sheâ€™s wrinkling her noseâ€”itâ€™s like seeing Felicity again. Oh Lord, what have I done?â€

â€œWhat have you done?â€ Patrick was al over that like white on rice. â€œWhy? Did you have something to do with Krissyâ€™s abduction? Did you do something to precipitate it? Does that tie into why the Bureauâ€™s Organized Crime Squad is gril ing you?â€

Sidney dragged his arm across his face, wiping away his tears. Then, he shoved the photo of Krissy aside and threw his hands up in the air.

â€œI canâ€™t take this anymore. Iâ€™m done. I played Russian roulette last time, and I lost. Iâ€™m not risking it again. Do whatever the hel you want to me. Send me to prison and let me rot there. Just find Krissy.â€ He turned to Patrick. â€œAsk me what you need to.â€

â€œThis Organized Crime investigationâ€”itâ€™s related to the kidnapping. Just Felicityâ€™s, or Krissyâ€™s, too?â€

â€œBoth.â€ A ragged sigh. â€œHere it is, short and sweet. When you and I first met, I was the accounting and business manager for a construction company.â€

â€œI remember.â€

â€œThe owner of the company, Henry Kenyon, was an old col ege buddy of mineâ€”I told you that, as wel . What I didnâ€™t tel you was that Henry had a major gambling problem. He was in the hole for hundreds of thousands of dol ars. He paid off his debts and became partners with the wrong people.â€

â€œThe mob?â€

â€œYup. A handful of them invested in Henryâ€™s company. Their involvement was a closely kept secret, known by only a few members of their â€˜family.â€™ They kept it that way so they could fly under the FBIâ€™s radar. It worked, because it never came up in your investigation.â€

â€œSo weâ€™re talking money laundering,â€ Patrick surmised.

â€œExactly.â€ Sidneyâ€™s voice quavered. â€œI didnâ€™t want any part of it. But Henry was close to the edge. I couldnâ€™t turn my back on him. So I did what I had to. I kept my mouth shut for as long as I could stand it. Then I told Henry I was out. He passed that along. A few days later, Felicity was kidnapped. I lost my mind. I was up your ass while you were investigating. I prayed I was wrong. Then, I got a phone cal from those bastards. They said theyâ€™d kil ed my kid, and that I had no one but myself to blame. They threatened me, said that if I opened my mouth, Hope would be next, fol owed by Vera.â€

Patrick let out a low whistle. â€œSo thatâ€™s why you dived into a bottle and fel off the map.â€

â€œYou bet. It was the only way I could think of to keep my family safe.â€ A bitter laugh. â€œFor al the good that did me. Here it is, over thirty years later, and the FBI just got some mob guy to flip and give them damning info from the seventiesâ€”including the lowdown on Henryâ€™s company. Henryâ€™s been dead for fifteen years, so the FBI agent came to me for confirmation. I denied everything, told them I didnâ€™t know what they were talking about, and that if Henry did anything il egal, I didnâ€™t know a thing about it.â€

â€œSaving your family, or your own ass?â€

â€œAt this point? Both.â€ Sidneyâ€™s forehead was drenched with sweat. â€œThe mob must have thought I gave the Feds something.

So they pul ed a repeat performance, this time with my granddaughter.â€ He grabbed the front of Patrickâ€™s shirt. â€œYouâ€™ve got to stop them before they hurt her. Please. Do something.â€

â€œI plan to.â€ Patrick whipped out his cel phone. â€œIâ€™m cal ing the task force working on Krissyâ€™s case and fil ing them in. I need the name of the agent who came to see you and any immediate details on the mob guys you dealt withâ€”names, descriptionsâ€”anything.

After I pass al that along, Iâ€™m getting back into my own car, fol owing you to your apartment, and waiting while you throw a few things in a bag.

Youâ€™re coming back to Armonk with me.â€

Â

The news about her father reached Hope via the task force right before she packed up Krissyâ€™s duffel bag and prepared the drop for the kidnappers.

Her shock and rage at this unexpected development and the part her father had played in it were secondary now, eclipsed by the white terror of what was happening to Krissy. The realization that the mob might be involved in Krissyâ€™s abduction only strengthened Hopeâ€™s resolve to fol ow through with her plan. Time was of the essence. Action was of the essence.

She couldnâ€™t think about her fatherâ€™s betrayal. She couldnâ€™t al ow herself to think about the fact that, if history was repeating itself, her baby could be dead. Al she could think aboutâ€”blindly, frantical yâ€”was that she had to do everything in her power to bring Krissy home, alive and safe.

So when the agreed-upon time drew near, when the whole task force was caught up in tracking down known organized crime members, getting sketch artists, and contacting other Bureau members for further information while awaiting Sidney Akermanâ€™s arrival, Hope hauled the cash-fil ed duffel bag into the garage, heaved it into the trunk of her SUV and drove off.

No one noticed.

No one but Casey.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Casey had done her ongoing review of Ryanâ€™s documentation at Hopeâ€™s house al afternoon. She didnâ€™t want to leave because she was stil bugged by her suspicions that something was up. Once Hope had final y emerged from her motherâ€™s bedroom, only to be given the news about her father, Casey had watched her careful y, paying close attention to her actions and reactions.

Her reaction had been odd. Yes, sheâ€™d been genuinely stunned and devastated. But then her shock had transformed into something else. A grim determination. A panicky impatience. She kept glancing at her watch, clearly waiting for something to happen.

Or to make something happen.

The hel with Ashleyâ€™s lack of cooperation, and Hopeâ€™s morning-long absence. Casey could sense that something was going down.

And she had a pretty good idea what that something was.

Her theory was confirmed when she spotted Hope slipping down the back stairs and out of the house with a duffel bag that looked suspiciously heavy, and with a frantic pulse throbbing at the side of her neck.

Casey didnâ€™t say a word to anyone, although she felt Hutchâ€™s probing stare as she slipped out the door. To avoid potential problems, she turned in the doorway and mouthed the words to him, Iâ€™m just getting some air, before she sprinted to her car. She knew he didnâ€™t buy her staged exit. He obviously assumed sheâ€™d gotten some clandestine lead. But his hands were tied. He had no way of knowing if her lead was valid, or even if sheâ€™d truly gotten one. He was deep in his investigation, with no concrete reason to fol ow a private consultant wherever the hel she was going. So Casey was safe, and on her ownâ€”for now.

Jumping in her car just as Hopeâ€™s garage door went up, Casey ducked down behind the wheel to avoid being spotted. From her crouched position, she made a quick cal to Marc, instructing him to find and fol ow Edward Wil is, no matter where he went. Simultaneously, she watched Hope back out of the driveway and speed up the street.

That was her cue.

Easing back up, Casey turned on her own ignition and shifted into Drive, waiting until Hopeâ€™s Acadia was halfway up the block before fol owing her.

Wherever Hope was taking that stash of money, and whether she was acting alone or with Edward, Casey was about to find out.

Â

The mal â€™s second-floor food court was every bit as crowded as Hope had expected. Five oâ€™clock was prime shoppersâ€™ dinner hour. Her shoulder throbbed from the weight of the duffel bag, but she made her way among the throngs of people, not stopping until she reached the trash can that was tucked inside a little alcove across from the pretzel kiosk.

Her heart was pounding like a drum. Her insides were twisted into knots. She resisted the urge to look around. Krissyâ€™s life depended on her fol owing instructions to a tee.

She lowered the duffel bag to the tiled floor right behind the trash can, where it was half-hidden and out of the path of the main flow of traffic.

Keeping her head conspicuously down, she squeezed her eyes shut for one moment, fighting a wave of sickness. Then she sucked in her breath and walked away, heading directly for the door leading to the second-floor parking lot.

Please God, she prayed. Please let things go as planned. Please let Krissy come home to me.

It was going to be the longest hour of her life.

Â

Casey stood in the middle of the food court, impatiently scanning the area for Hope. There were scores of people crammed into the various tables and chairs, endless lines in front of each restaurant station, and stil more shoppers mil ing around the kiosks. Finding Hope was going to be a major chal enge.

It was a good five minutes before Casey spotted her. Wearing her generic brown trench coat, she was halfway down the corridor, moving purposeful y toward her destination, despite being weighed down by the duffel bag.

Casey elbowed her way through the crowd, losing sight of Hope twice before spotting her nearing the exit door. This time there was no duffel bag on her shoulder.

Dammit.

Fol owing her target, Casey scrutinized the passersby in the thin hope of seeing someone with the heavy duffel bag in tow.

No such luck.

She reached the exit, pushed her way out, and headed for the garage where sheâ€™d seen Hope park her Acadia not thirty minutes earlier.

The SUV was stil in the same parking space. Hope was inside, sitting in the driverâ€™s seat. Her arms were folded across the steering wheel, and her face was buried in her arms. Even from a distance, Casey could see that her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

The damage had already been done. The payoff had been made. Hope was obviously waiting for her daughterâ€™s appearanceâ€”an appearance Casey knew would not be forthcoming.

But Hope had to realize that for herself. If Casey went over there now, Hope would always blame that interference as the cause for Krissy not being returned.

Casey retreated to her car, which was parked diagonal y across the way, slid inside and waited.

Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

Hope got out of her SUV and began pacing around, looking from her watch to the pil ars at the exit door.

No one appeared.

A good hour and a half passed before Hope sagged against her car, raking her fingers through her hair and breaking down completely. She sank to the concrete floor, her knees raised as she curled forward and wept.

Casey jumped out of her car. She crossed over until she was standing beside Hope.

Hopeâ€™s head jerked up, and, for one split second, there was a wealth of hope in her eyes. It was replaced by bleak realization when she saw who it was.

â€œYou knew?â€ she asked in a watery voice.

â€œI guessed.â€ Casey hated this part of her job. On the other hand, she was far from ready to give up. â€œI came alone,â€ she explained, putting Hopeâ€™s mind at ease about the thought of a posse scaring off the kidnapper. â€œI didnâ€™t tel a soul. But, Hope, theyâ€™re not delivering Krissy to you, no matter what they said. Thatâ€™s way too amateurish for such a sophisticated kidnapping. That doesnâ€™t mean theyâ€™ve harmed Krissy. It just means they want something more than theyâ€™ve gotten.â€

â€œMore than a quarter of a mil ion dol ars?â€

Casey winced at the large sum Hope had gambled away on nothing.

â€œYes,â€ she responded honestly. â€œIt might be more money, although I doubt it. Iâ€™m sure they realize that, at this point, youâ€™re going to fil the authorities in on the ransom scheme. And that the FBI task force wil be al over any future ransom attempts. More likely, they want to see you suffer. Especial y since we know this crime is personal. The whole ransom thing gave them a ton of cash, plus the opportunity of twisting a knife in your heart.â€ Casey paused. â€œItâ€™s also possible that this entire plan was orchestrated by some news junkie who conned you into supplying him or her with some quick and hefty cash.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t think of that,â€ Hope managed. â€œBut they had so much personal informationâ€¦I just donâ€™t think so.â€

â€œTel me the details leading up to the dropâ€”how they reached you, what they saidâ€”everything. Then, weâ€™l go back to the house and tel the FBI what happened.â€

Â

The FBI task force was deep into their investigation of Henry Kenyon and his construction company, when Casey and Hope walked into the house.

Hutch nearly mowed down Ashley as she sprinted toward her employer.

â€œWhere did you two disappear to?â€ he demanded.

Hope glanced at Casey, who nodded, urging her to tel the truth as theyâ€™d discussed.

â€œI got a cal from the kidnappers,â€ Hope said quietly. â€œI paid the ransom they asked for. They didnâ€™t return Krissy. The whole thing was a reckless dead end.â€

â€œShe wasnâ€™t with them?â€ Ashley asked, her voice trembling.

â€œNo. They took the duffel bag of cash. But Krissy never showed up.â€

Casey could see Hutch visibly control ing himself. â€œWhen did you get this cal , and who knew about it?â€ he asked.

â€œI got the cal yesterday.â€ Hope wasnâ€™t hiding anything at this point. â€œIt came in on Ashleyâ€™s cel phone, so the FBI couldnâ€™t trace it. I was the only one who knew the details. Ashley just handed me the phone. I swore her to secrecy. And Casey spotted me as I was leaving the house, and fol owed me on a hunch. I didnâ€™t even tel Edward. I was afraid to. The kidnappers said theyâ€™d kil Krissy if Iâ€¦â€

Hopeâ€™s voice broke, and fresh tears fil ed her eyes. â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ she whispered. â€œHave I pushed them over the edge? Is this what they wanted? Now that they have the two hundred fifty thousand dol ars they asked for, wil theyâ€”â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so,â€ Hutch interrupted her. â€œIt doesnâ€™t fit the profile of these kidnappers. If they wanted money, and money alone, why would they wait until the FBI and the police were so heavily involved before asking for it? Theyâ€™d have better luck dealing with you alone, and right away, when the first horrible realization punched you in the gut.â€ He signaled to Grace, as wel as to Peg Harrington, who both strode right over.

Hutch fil ed them in with a few terse sentences.

â€œTel us everything you remember,â€ Peg instructed Hope.

Once again, Hope repeated the scenario verbatim, from the details of the phone cal to the specifics of the drop.

â€œThis plan is way amateur,â€ Grace murmured. â€œIt doesnâ€™t fit the sophistication of the crime.â€

â€œNeither does the amount of ransom money they demanded,â€ Hutch added. â€œThey know that you and your husband are good for a lot more than a quarter of a mil ion dol ars. And playing you Krissyâ€™s voice on tape? Thatâ€™s weak. They could have recorded her anywhere and spliced her words together. Again, an amateurish move. For al we know, it was al a hoax, and whoever cal ed you doesnâ€™t even have Krissy. Instead, they freaked you out and made themselves a nice chunk of cash.â€

Casey was wel aware that Hutch was intentional y softening some components and leaving out some biggies. Like the fact that, if Sidney Akermanâ€™s ties to organized crime had incited Krissyâ€™s abduction, this whole extortion scheme was either a dead end or the horrific tip of the iceberg. Scoring some quick cash wouldnâ€™t cut it. The mob would want major payback, just like they had when they kidnapped Felicityâ€”if theyâ€™d kidnapped Felicity. And if they hadâ€¦the mob didnâ€™t deal in idle kidnapping. They dealt in human trafficking, torture and murder.

Before Caseyâ€™s thought process could continue, Edward emerged from the kitchen. Spotting his wife, he went over and caught her arm.

â€œWhere were you?â€

He was livid at the answer.

â€œWhat the hel were you thinking?â€ he snapped. â€œThatâ€™s why we have the FBI here. Do you realize you could have gotten Krissy kil ed?â€

â€œWe donâ€™t believe thatâ€™s the case, Mr. Wil is.â€ Casey stepped in, seeing the white fear return to Hopeâ€™s eyes. â€œNot in such a wel -planned, cleverly executed abduction. We think this was just step one, or even an unrelated act.â€

Edwardâ€™s gaze shot to Casey, suspicion clouding his stare. â€œYou knew about this.â€

â€œNo, sir, I most certainly did not.â€ Casey spoke as respectful y as she could. But she really didnâ€™t like this man. â€œIf I had, I would have told you and the task force about it immediately. I fol owed Hope. Iâ€™d planned to try to stop her. I was too late. I realize how upset you are, and that emotions are running high. But, the bottom line is that Hope wasnâ€™t intentional y undermining you or the FBI. She was behaving like a terrified mother. She wasnâ€™t thinking clearly. And now sheâ€™s beating herself up enough for everyone. So I suggest we not waste time with accusations, but move on to finding your daughter. I know thatâ€™s what you want. Please, Mr. Wil is, letâ€™s just find Krissy as quickly as possible.â€

Her words seemed to placate Edward a little, because his jaw snapped shut and he nodded. â€œFine.â€

The tension was stil crackling, when there was a brief knock at the open door, and Patrick stepped inside. Behind him was a nervous, weathered-looking man who had to be Sidney Akerman.

â€œWeâ€™re here,â€ Patrick announced. â€œReady to get started.â€

â€œSidney?â€ Vera Akerman rose from the living room sofa and made her way out into the hal . â€œMy God, it is you.â€ She looked torn between relief and disgust.

Hope harbored no such torn loyalties. She whirled around, facing her father with blazing eyes. â€œHow could you?â€ she demanded.

â€œHow could you compromise your family like that? Felicity and I were innocent childrenâ€”your children. And now Krissyâ€”she barely knows of your existence, yet sheâ€™s become part of your col ateral damage. How can you live with yourself?â€

â€œI canâ€™t,â€ her father replied without flinching. â€œThatâ€™s why Iâ€™ve spent my life inside a bottle. And thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m here now, even knowing you hate my guts. If I can help bring Krissy home safely, Iâ€™l do anything, sacrifice anything, to make it happen.â€

â€œHow valiant. Unfortunately, itâ€™s thirty-two years too late for my sister, and my daughterâ€¦my babyâ€¦â€ Hopeâ€™s voice quavered, and she turned away.

â€œHope.â€ Vera went to her daughter, put her arms around her. â€œI feel what you feel. But put it aside. We have to find Krissy.â€

Sidney met his ex-wifeâ€™s gaze, and he was clearly speaking to both her and Hope. â€œTo tel you that I was a stupid, naive pawn would be the truth, but meaningless. It changes nothing. Pleaseâ€”Iâ€™m not asking you for forgiveness. Iâ€™m just asking you to accept my help. Let me look at mug shots. Let me work with a sketch artist. Let me try to aid this investigation.â€

Hope stepped away from her mother and dashed the tears off her cheeks. â€œThatâ€™s why youâ€™re here,â€ she informed Sidney.

She gestured toward the group of waiting professionals. â€œIt certainly isnâ€™t for a family reunion. So go see what you can do.â€

Â

Sidney was entrenched in mug shots and recaps when Caseyâ€™s cel phone rang.

â€œHey,â€ Ryan greeted her. â€œMarc cal ed and told me whatâ€™s going on. Sidney Akerman there yet?â€

â€œHe got here about an hour ago,â€ Casey replied quietly. â€œIâ€™m not sure whatâ€™s going on. The FBIâ€™s not in a sharing mood. Theyâ€™re pissed at me about the ransom drop. By their rules, I should have shared my suspicions with them before I took off to fol ow Hope.â€

â€œYeah, wel , by their rules I wouldnâ€™t be cal ing you with this interesting bit of info.â€

â€œIâ€™m listening.â€

â€œHenry Kenyonâ€™s construction company was bought up after he died. Guess who the buyer was? Bennato Construction, employer of one Joe Deale.â€

â€œYouâ€™re kidding.â€

â€œNope. And from what Iâ€™m pul ing up, Bennato is connectedâ€”mob connected.â€

â€œThis one Iâ€™m going to share,â€ Casey said.

â€œBy al means.â€ Ryan chuckled. â€œIt might get you back into Hutchâ€™s good graces.â€

â€œGoodbye, Ryan.â€

â€œOne more thing. When the FBI wants to pick up Deale, heâ€™s at the Laketown Bridge. Theyâ€™re repaving.â€

â€œThanks.â€ Casey ended the cal on her BlackBerry.

â€œThat was one of my associates,â€ she announced to the task force. â€œEvidently, the construction company Sidney worked for was bought up after the owner died.â€

Guy Adams shot her an impatient look. â€œSo?â€

â€œSo the company who bought it is Bennato. Iâ€™m sure you know theyâ€™re reputed to have mob connections.â€

â€œWeâ€™re aware of that.â€

â€œWait a minute.â€ Hutch rapidly scanned his notes. â€œClaudia Mitchel â€™s fiancÃ© works for Bennato.â€

â€œExactly,â€ Casey replied. â€œJoe Deale. I doubt thatâ€™s a coincidence. Nor is the fact that Bennato recently repaved the parking lot and playground of Krissyâ€™s elementary school. Joe worked on that project.â€

There was a long moment of silence.

â€œHow is it you have access to al that information?â€ Guy asked in a clipped tone.

â€œThatâ€™s not important. I just do. I also know heâ€™s at the Laketown Bridge right now, working on a repaving job.â€

â€œLetâ€™s bring him inâ€”now.â€ Peg was already at the door as she spoke.

Â

Hope was thoughtful for a moment after the handful of agents peeled out. Her brows were knit together in concentration.

â€œBennato,â€ she murmured. â€œEdward, didnâ€™t you represent someone by that name a while back?â€

Edward cleared his throat. â€œMore than a while. Over a decade.â€ This was one he clearly wished his wife had forgotten.

â€œWas it the same Bennato as the one Casey is referring to?â€

â€œYes, Hope, it was. Tony Bennato. But I represented him on a domestic, not a business matter.â€

â€œWhat kind of domestic matter?â€ Casey asked at once.

â€œA rather complicated divorce.â€

â€œReal y. Thatâ€™s unusual, considering youâ€™re not a matrimonial attorney.â€

Edward bristled. â€œThere were some criminal charges involved. Bennatoâ€™s ex was suing him on charges of assault and ongoing physical abuse. It was a high-profile case for me at the time. So I took it.â€

â€œAnd you won, of course.â€

â€œI did.â€ Edwardâ€™s jaw was working. â€œAny organized crime al egations didnâ€™t impact my defense preparation. Nor were they a factor in the trial.â€

â€œHow much were you paid?â€ Hutch inquired. He and Grace had stayed behind to continue their behavioral analyses, while several of the CARD team members and investigative agents had taken off to bring in Joe Deale.

â€œHow would I remember that? It was over ten years ago.â€

Hutch gave an offhand shrug. â€œIâ€™m just curious if Tony Bennato paid you by check or cash.â€

Hope shifted a bit at the question, uncomfortably lowering her gaze.

Edward was far less subtle and far more vocal. â€œAre you accusing me of something, Agent Hutchinson?â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m just trying to establish the nature of your business relationship with Mr. Bennato.â€

â€œI defended him,â€ Edward said. â€œHe was found to be innocent of al charges. Further, he walked away with most of his monetary assets. He was happy. I was happy. Our relationship ended there. And Iâ€™ve had no contact with him since.â€

â€œWow,â€ Casey commented. â€œThat must have been some defense you mounted.â€

â€œIâ€™m an excel ent attorney, Ms. Woods. My reputation speaks for itself.â€

â€œIndeed, it does.â€

Casey made sure to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Stil , from the corner of her eye, she saw Ashleyâ€”who was standing in the far corner of the hal wayâ€”wince. The poor girl obviously thought Casey was making a veiled reference to Edwardâ€™s infidelity. The truth was, that was the last thing on her mind. What she was thinking was what a sleazebag Edward was, and how she wouldnâ€™t dismiss the prospect of his own mob dealings.

â€œThe fact is, Tony Bennato would have no reason to hold a grudge against me,â€ Edward was concluding. â€œAnd, if he did, he wouldnâ€™t have shelved it for ten years. Krissy wasnâ€™t even born when I handled his case.â€

â€œPoint taken,â€ Hutch replied. â€œUnless there were some under-the-table payments involved. Those tend to prompt very long memories, and very high expectations. Wouldnâ€™t you agree?â€

Edwardâ€™s only response was a glittering stare.

â€œWel , thereâ€™s only one way to find out,â€ Hutch continued. â€œUnless youâ€™d rather save us some time and tel us how you col ected your legal fees from Mr. Bennato.â€

â€œI have nothing to say. Feel free to cal my accountant and discuss my finances to your heartâ€™s content, Agent Hutchinson.â€

â€œNow that would be a waste of time, and we both know it. Youâ€™re an intel igent, resourceful man. If youâ€™d conducted any il egal or unethical transactions, youâ€™d be sure to cover them.â€ Hutchâ€™s expression stayed total y neutral. â€œYour reaction, on the other hand, has been anything but a waste of time. My suggestion? Donâ€™t get too comfortable. Right now, our only priority is to bring your daughter home, safe and sound. But, once thatâ€™s done, Iâ€™m sure our Organized Crime division wil be eager to chat with you.â€

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ashley pul ed Edward aside the instant it was feasible without raising any red flags.

â€œI have to talk to you,â€ she said in a low, urgent tone.

â€œNot now,â€ Edward replied, teeth clenched. â€œNot after that interrogation.â€

â€œIt might throw fuel on the fire of what lies ahead,â€ Ashley returned, her eyes wide and frightened. â€œPlease, Edward. Give me a minute.â€

Edward glanced around. Hope was talking with her mother. Sidney was working with the sketch artist. And Casey Woods was in the middle of a heated debate with Agent Hutchinson.

With a jerk of his head, Edward signaled for Ashley to fol ow him into the kitchen.

â€œWhat is it?â€ he demanded. â€œThis is definitely not the time.â€

â€œCasey Woods knows about us,â€ Ashley replied without preliminaries.

â€œWhat the hel do you mean she knows about us? Thatâ€™s impossible. You must have misunderstood.â€

â€œHardly. She cornered me early today. First, she pressured me to tel her what was going on to make your wife so jumpy. She sensed that I knew something. When I refused to share what I knew, she not-so-subtly reassured me that she didnâ€™t plan on tel ing Judge Wil is that you and I are sleeping togetherâ€”but that sheâ€™d real y appreciate if I reconsidered sharing what I knew about Judge Wil isâ€™s jittery state. A sort of one hand washes the other. Does that sound to you like I misunderstood?â€

â€œDammit.â€ Edward slammed his fist on the counter. â€œHow did she find out?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. The same way she finds out everything. Does â€˜howâ€™ matter? The important thing is she wasnâ€™t fishing. She was stating a fact. Denying it would have been stupid.â€

â€œSo you admitted it?â€ Edward had clearly reached the end of his rope today. â€œFor Godâ€™s sake, Ashley, first you keep the ransom cal from me, and now you give Casey Woods confirmation that weâ€™re having an affair. Why donâ€™t you just tel her weâ€™re taking Krissy and al my undeclared cash and flying off to the Cayman Islands?â€

â€œBecause weâ€™re not.â€

â€œYou and I know that. But Iâ€™m under a microscope. The FBI might not think I abducted my own daughter, but they do think Iâ€™m a criminal. Any way I turn, Iâ€™m screwed. Youâ€™re in better shape. Ms. Woods thinks youâ€™re supernanny, and, undoubtedly, an innocent young woman whoâ€™s been sucked in by a rich, successful older man.â€

â€œIsnâ€™t that exactly what I am?â€ Ashley wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, visibly reticent about what she was about to say.

â€œAnd isnâ€™t that exactly what you are? Edward, I realize you donâ€™t share your business dealings with me, but Iâ€™m not stupid. I know the kind of clients you represent. Plus, I know that Judge Wil is got her hands on a quarter of a mil ion dol ars in cash in record time and without tipping off anyoneâ€”not the banks or the authorities. To me, that says thereâ€™s cash lying around here. Lots of cash.â€ She waved away Edwardâ€™s reply. â€œI donâ€™t care about that, and I donâ€™t want to discuss it. I just want to give you a heads-up about Casey Woods. If it makes you feel any better, she promised to keep her mouth shut about our secret, not just to your wife, but to the authorities.â€

â€œHow comforting.â€ Sarcasm dripped from Edwardâ€™s tone. â€œAs if I trust her. And, even if she does keep quiet, the FBIâ€™s going to be watching me like a hawk. Which reminds me, since the ransom cal came in on your cel , theyâ€™l be monitoring it. Iâ€™l have to buy you a throwaway for our conversations.â€

A long, painful pause. â€œThat wonâ€™t be necessary.â€

â€œMeaning?â€

â€œEdward, you know how much I love you. Just like I know that Iâ€™m just a romantic distraction for you. So this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you. But I canâ€™t do this anymore. Not to Judge Wil is. And not in light of whatâ€™s going on. Iâ€™m sick with worry over Krissy, and sick with guilt that Casey Woods has to waste her time on us when the real kidnappers are stil out there.â€

Edward looked stupefied. â€œYouâ€™re breaking things off?â€

â€œI have to. I canâ€™t stop loving you. But I can start living with myself again.â€

â€œFine,â€ Edward snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. â€œWhatever you want. Frankly, this is an absurd conversation to be having right now. My daughterâ€™s out there somewhere. I have no idea if Iâ€™l ever see her alive again. So whether or not we keep sleeping together is low on my list. So if youâ€™ve said everything you have to say, Iâ€™m going back into my living room to see if that son-of-a-bitch father that old man dragged in here can identify Krissyâ€™s kidnappers.â€

Â

Casey was stil having it out with Hutch when Peg Harrington cal ed the house to say that theyâ€™d brought Joe Deale into the North Castle Police Department for questioning.

Everyone mobilized ASAP. Hope and Edward grabbed their coats. The remaining members of the task force did the same, including those with Sidney Akerman. The sketch artist was already packing up to move to the police precinct. Sidney was going with him. So was Patrick, who wasnâ€™t about to miss one moment of this opportunity of hearing what Deale had to say.

Casey spoke to Peg on speakerphone. â€œI want to sit in on this,â€ she requested. â€œI think thatâ€™s fair, since I gave you the information.â€

â€œFine. You can sit inâ€”on the other side of the glass,â€ Peg replied. â€œThe police want Claire Hedgleigh to do the same. You can give us your expert opinions after my agents and I have interviewed him.â€

â€œFair enough.â€

Once everyone dispersed, the only people remaining in the house were Special Agent Jack McHale, who was monitoring the phone, Vera Akerman, whoâ€™d gone up to her room to rest, and Ashley Lawrence, who was weeping silently in the kitchen.

Â

Joe Deale was ready to wet his pants by the time the FBI agents walked into the interrogation room two hours later. Heâ€™d had plenty of time to think. And he had plenty to hide. No matter how he played this, he was screwed. If he spil ed his guts, heâ€™d go to jail. And, if he kept his mouth shut, there was no way the mob would believe he hadnâ€™t talked. So the options were being locked up or being kil ed.

Locked up seemed like the lesser of two evils.

â€œHel o, Joe,â€ Peg Harrington said as she and Ken Barkley final y entered the interrogation room, armed with documents, and took their seats across from him at the table. The North Castle Police Departmentâ€™s building was smal , since crime there was low. And the interrogation room was bare bones.

â€œWhy am I here?â€ Joe demanded. â€œI was paving a bridge. Last I heard, that wasnâ€™t il egal.â€

â€œNo, but working for organized crime is.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what youâ€™re talking about.â€

â€œSure you do,â€ Ken said. â€œYouâ€™ve done al kinds of ugly little deeds for your mob friends at Bennato. Shakedowns, violent reminders of monies owed, drug dealsâ€”I could go on and on.â€

Sweat broke out on Joeâ€™s forehead. â€œYouâ€™ve got no proof.â€

â€œProof is a relative thing,â€ Ken replied. â€œFor instance, weâ€™ve got a couple of dealers whoâ€™d be delighted to identify you as their heroin connection in exchange for a lighter sentence. And one of my associates says he dug up a witness who saw you hanging around a stolen car that ultimately ended up at a Mafia-affiliated chop shop.â€

â€œTheir word against mine. Those guys would trade their mothers for a lighter sentence.â€

â€œTrue.â€ Peg leaned forward and took over. â€œBut the stacks of cash taped to the underside of your chest of drawers arenâ€™t up for debate. Theyâ€™re very real, and very incriminating for a man who makes barely more than minimum wage.â€

â€œYou were in my house?â€ Joe gripped the edge of the table, trying to look outraged. But his hands were shaking. â€œThatâ€™s il egal. Itâ€™s breaking and entering.â€

â€œNot with a search warrant, it isnâ€™t. The North Castle police got one more than an hour ago. Given the circumstances, the warrant was issued faster than you can say La Cosa Nostra. Weâ€™ve got more than enough to hold you.â€

â€œThe money is Claudiaâ€™s. She asked me to keep it for her.â€

â€œNice try.â€ Peg folded her arms across her breasts. â€œLetâ€™s stop playing games, Mr. Deale. You can sit here al night while we compile the evidence we need to charge you. You can walk out of here and take your chances on the streets. Or you can talk to us now. Because, quite frankly, your two-bit dealings with the mob are a blip on our radar. This, however, is a whole lot moreâ€¦.â€

Peg reached for the table, flipping the architectural plans for Krissyâ€™s school faceup. She shoved them across the table and practical y into Joe Dealeâ€™s face. â€œWhat are you doing with this?â€

Joe blinked. â€œIt was a job I worked on.â€

â€œFor which you have the plans?â€

â€œI was responsible for providing the right number of containers of tar. So the foreman made me a copy of the plans with dimensions, and I brought them to our supplier. I forgot I even had them.â€

â€œSo if we questioned your foreman, heâ€™d tel us the same story?â€

â€œIf he remembers me being there, yeah. Whatâ€™s so important about these plans?â€ Joe stared at the designs, and realization erupted across his face. â€œThis is that school Judge Wil isâ€™s little girl was kidnapped from. You stil think I had something to do with that?â€

â€œYouâ€™ve got to admit, it looks pretty damning. The diagrams, the cash, the connections.â€

â€œWhy would Bennato want to kidnap a kid?â€

â€œI tel you what. Why donâ€™t we send you back out there to ask him?â€

Joe went sheet-white. â€œPlease. Donâ€™t do that. Iâ€™l be dead by tonight.â€

â€œProbably. Which makes jail a much safer choice. Tel us where Krissy Wil is is, and weâ€™l put a guard outside your cel .â€

â€œI donâ€™t know!â€ Joe hol ered. â€œI didnâ€™t take that kid! Neither did Claudia. She resented the hel out of Judge Wil is for firing her. But sheâ€™d never hurt a child. And even if I did do al the other things you just saidâ€”which Iâ€™m not admitting I didâ€”I never touched a kid. Never. I swear it!â€

Â

â€œHeâ€™s tel ing the truth,â€ Casey murmured on the opposite side of the glass. â€œHis entire body language is screaming it. Direct eye contact. Offensive posture. Whole body aligned with his words. Heâ€™s not clever enough to fake al that.â€

â€œI agree.â€ Claire was eyeing Joe intently. â€œIâ€™m picking up a fair amount of negative energy, so my guess is that the FBI is right about his ties to the mob. But Iâ€™m not sensing any real evil. Heâ€™s not a sociopath. And he didnâ€™t kidnap Krissy.â€

â€œThen who did?â€ Casey ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. â€œI feel like weâ€™re speeding down streets that look promising, but coming up against one dead end after another. We know the main road is close by, but we just canâ€™t reach it. The past and the present are related. I know itâ€”I just canâ€™t get at how.â€

Claire angled her head slowly until she faced Casey. â€œI donâ€™t know what it means, or if itâ€™s related to anything you just said. But I had the oddest dream the other night. It was about Krissyâ€™s stuffed panda.â€

Â

The house is always packed with FBI agents, and the driveway is packed with cars.

Now thereâ€™s only one.

Thereâ€™s never going to be a better time for what I have to do.

Another assignment I canâ€™t refuse. Itâ€™s for Krissy. Itâ€™s necessary to fill the void until the feelings alone are enough.

Selfishly, itâ€™s for me, as well. Iâ€™m afraid of the fate Iâ€™ll suffer if I change my mind and turn away.

Check the driveway one more time. Still just the one. It belongs to the agent inside monitoring the phones. Everyone else has left, except for the old woman and the nanny. Both their bedroom lights are off, which means theyâ€™ve gone to bed.

Iâ€™m taking a huge risk, I know. But to see Krissyâ€™s face light upâ€”itâ€™ll be worth it. Sheâ€™s still so traumatized.

This close, even through the window, I can hear snippets of the agentâ€™s conversation. It sounds pretty heated. Probably an argument with his superior, or a wife. Good. Itâ€™s the perfect distraction.

Back door. Thereâ€™s nothing but wooded acreage back there, and nothing but a short hall to the backstairs inside. I can do this. I have to do this.

My hands have to stop shaking. Stop it. Stop it.

Key in the lock. A quiet click. No burglar alarm screaming through the halls. Good. Although I came prepared.

The agentâ€™s still on the phone, he sounds more intense. Nonetheless, my time is limited.

Silently. Carefully. One carpeted step up at a time.

Safe. And I know just where to find what I came for. Krissy talks about it all the time. It makes her feel less scared. But she hurts so for Oreo.

This will fix the problem.

Top shelf beside her bed. Nestled in a makeshift nest of straw. Ruby the Robin and her nest. Oreoâ€™s best friend.

Step one complete.

Down the hall to the master bedroom suite. The makeup table. In a simple, classy bottle. Joy. A lovely perfume, a memorable scent.

Now, something else. It will add to the mirage.

The jewelry boxâ€”on the dresser. The heart-shaped locket. Inside, a picture of Krissy on one side, and a picture of the woman whoâ€™d been her mother on the other. Nothing could be more perfect.

Everything back in place. Nothing looks disturbed.

Â

Ashley was sure sheâ€™d heard a noise. A creaking sound. Footsteps? She was probably imagining things, but, after what had happened to Krissy, she wasnâ€™t in the mood of letting anything slide.

She belted her bathrobe and left her room. First, she poked her nose into Krissyâ€™s room, scanned the area. Al was silent, dark and deserted. She flicked on the light. Nobody was there. She shut the door behind her, and headed down the hal , glancing into each upstairs guest room and study. Nothing. Mrs. Akermanâ€™s door was shut. Ashley pressed her ear to the door. Silent. And no light shone from underneath. Not a surprise, given that the poor woman had retired hours ago.

Completing her tour, Ashley headed down to the other end of the hal and the master bedroom suite.

The door was ajar, the way Judge Wil is often left it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and glanced around.

There was no warning, nor any chance to turn around.

A heavy object crashed down on her head, sending blinding pain vibrating through her skul , and knocking her to the ground.

She made a faint moaning sound and lost consciousness.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hope and Edward were silent during their car ride home from the police precinct. Edward drove mechanical y, and Hope sat in the passenger seat, her body angled away from her husband, her head resting against the cool windowpane.

It didnâ€™t take a professional to interpret their body language.

â€œJoe Deale didnâ€™t give us a damned thing, other than his connection to Bennato,â€ Edward final y said.

â€œNeither did you. And you once had business ties to Tony Bennato, too,â€ Hope replied bitterly.

â€œWhat is that supposed to mean?â€

â€œIt means that there are al types of criminal acts, some dirtier than others. I realize you donâ€™t work the streets. But you represented a major figure in organized crime.â€

Edward shot her a sideways look. â€œI already explained that. Besides, I hardly see the two associations as the same. Joe Deale works for the mob. I donâ€™t.â€

â€œNot directly, no. But the clients you represent, and the way you do businessâ€¦â€ Hope sucked in her breath. â€œIâ€™ve turned a blind eye for so long. But your scruples, or lack thereof, real y struck home when I remembered your defending Tony Bennato. No, thatâ€™s not entirely true. They struck home when I opened your safe and saw the treasure chest youâ€™ve accumulated. You made it very easy for me to get the cash I needed for the ransom. I doubt you won the money on lottery tickets.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s your point?â€

â€œMy point is youâ€™re hardly one to cast stones. Stop being so sanctimonious about my negotiating with the kidnappers. I was trying to save our daughter. Iâ€™m wel aware that you donâ€™t care for my methods. Iâ€™m not particularly fond of yours.â€ Hope inclined her head slightly in her husbandâ€™s direction. â€œLetâ€™s put aside our dirty laundry for now and get through this crisis. Then we can deal with our differences in whatever way we see fit.â€

Edwardâ€™s jaw tightened. â€œWhatever you say. But our differences arenâ€™t just professional or marital. Theyâ€™re about Krissyâ€™s abduction, as wel . Youâ€™re ful y committed to the idea that Felicityâ€™s and Krissyâ€™s kidnappings are connected.â€

â€œAnd you see no merit to that theory?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t say that. Your fatherâ€™s mob dealings back then, and the fact that it just now became common knowledge makes the first strong argument in favor of that idea. But itâ€™s not the only theory. The FBI is working on several.â€

â€œNone of which have produced any results. Now that Forensic Instincts is focusing entirely on this angle, I feel as if we might get somewhere. Joe Deale isnâ€™t the only mob employee. Plus, he was a baby thirty-two years ago. Maybe Felicityâ€™s and Krissyâ€™s kidnapper was the same person. Maybe heâ€™s Agent Lynchâ€™s age.â€

â€œThat doesnâ€™t fit the BAUâ€™s profile.â€

â€œProfiles are based on rigorous analysis of evidence. But theyâ€™re not exact.â€

â€œNeither are gut instincts.â€

â€œSo, once again, we agree to disagree.â€

â€œIt would seem that way,â€ Edward said with a not undetectable amount of scorn in his voice.

The silence in the car resumed.

Â

Hope was exhausted when they arrived home. She went directly upstairs, leaving Edward to nurse his snifter of brandy. Once she was on the second floor, she stopped in Krissyâ€™s room, just as she had the past two nights. Flipping on the light, she looked around, her gaze instinctively going to the bed, where her baby would now be asleep. Her chest gave that awful squeeze, and the rush of panic surged through her.

Two days. It had been two ful days since Krissy was abducted. How in the name of heaven could she stil beâ€¦

No. Hope gave a hard shake of her head. She couldnâ€™t al ow herself to consider the implications of her daughter being missing this long. She had to believe that Forensic Instincts, if not law enforcement, would find Krissy and bring her home, safe and sound. They had to.

She turned off Krissyâ€™s light and headed wearily down the hal to the master bedroom suite. She ached everywhere, inside and out. But she didnâ€™t have the wherewithal to soak in a tub. So sheâ€™d take a quick, hot shower and slide into bed. Then sheâ€™d lie there, her eyes burning, for yet another sleepless night.

It didnâ€™t play out that way.

Crossing the threshold, Hope didnâ€™t even have a chance to turn on a lamp before she heard a thump as she tripped over a solid object.

She regained her balance and reached for the overhead light switch.

Light flooded the room.

Col apsed in a crumpled heap on the carpet just inside the doorway was Ashley.

â€œOh my God.â€ Hope dropped to her knees, shaking Ashley in a reflexive motion. â€œAshley! Ashley, can you hear me?â€ She leaned sideways toward the door, yel ing at the top of her lungs. â€œHelp! Somebody help me!â€

There was a pounding of footsteps, and Special Agent Dugan burst into the room, Edward at his heels. They both instantly saw Ashleyâ€™s limp figure.

â€œCal 9-1-1,â€ Dugan instructed Edward, whose entire face had gone white. The agent crouched down, gingerly examining Ashley.

â€œIâ€™ve got a pulse,â€ he announced. â€œItâ€™s strong and steady. I donâ€™t see any indication of a puncture wound, and thereâ€™s no pool of blood. That means no knives or guns. And no contusions around the throat, so no strangling.â€ He paused as his hand lightly touched the back of Ashleyâ€™s head, and withdrew with blood on his fingertips. â€œShe was struck from behind with a heavy object. Sheâ€™s bleeding, and sheâ€™s got a whopper of a bump.â€ He paused, spotting the weighty sculpture lying on the floor. â€œThere. That must be the weapon. No one touch itâ€”itâ€™s evidence. In fact, donâ€™t touch anything in this room. There might be fingerprints.â€

Hope complied, staying perfectly stil on her knees on the floor. Meanwhile, Edward was supplying the necessary information to the emergency operator.

As he hung up, Ashley gave a low moan and began to stir.

â€œAshley.â€ Very gently, Hope stroked her cheek. â€œCan you hear me? Are you al right?â€

Slowly, groggily, Ashley opened her eyes. â€œJudge Wil is?â€ she asked in confusion. She tried to sit up, and groaned in pain, her hand automatical y flying to the back of her head. â€œMy headâ€¦itâ€™s kil ing me.â€ She turned white when she saw the blood on her hand. â€œOh Godâ€¦â€

â€œItâ€™s okay,â€ Hope told her soothingly. â€œYou took a hard hit. But youâ€™l be fine. The EMTs are on their way.â€

â€œEMTs?â€ Ashley blinked. â€œWhat happened?â€

â€œYou tel us,â€ Agent Dugan instructed. â€œSomeone obviously got into this room and assaulted you.â€ He frowned. â€œWhoever it was must have come up the back stairs. I was in the living room.â€

â€œWhat about the burglar alarm?â€ Edward asked. â€œI thought we activated it before we went out. And, even if we didnâ€™t, al the doors were locked.â€

â€œI have no answers for you yet, Mr. Wil is. But, I assure you, weâ€™l find them.â€

â€œAl I remember was hearing a noise and going to check into it,â€ Ashley told them, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

â€œKrissyâ€™s room was empty. It looked as if it hadnâ€™t been touched. When I got down here, I stepped inâ€¦and thatâ€™s al I remember.

Noâ€”there was a blinding explosion of pain in my skul . I saw colors, lights. I felt like I was going to throw up. After that, I must have lost consciousness.â€

â€œDid you see your assailant?â€

â€œNo.â€ Clearly, Ashley was struggling to remember. â€œOut of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. I heard breathing. I never had the chance to turn around, or even to react.â€ Another groan. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€ She held both sides of her head. â€œIt just hurts so much.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure you have a concussion,â€ Dugan said.

â€œAnd maybe some internal bleeding.â€ Edward glanced impatiently at his watch. â€œI wish the paramedics would get here.â€

As he spoke, the sound of sirens reached their ears, and a minute later the EMTs rushed in. They took Ashleyâ€™s vitals, lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her out to the ambulance.

â€œIâ€™l ride with you,â€ Hope said at once.

â€œNo.â€ Agent Dugan stopped her. â€œOnce ERT has checked the crime scene, I need you here to see if anything is missing.â€

â€œIâ€™l go with Ashley,â€ Edward offered. â€œIâ€™l keep you posted on her condition. You keep me posted on what your Evidence Response Team turns up, and if the bastard who broke in here took anything that could lead us to Krissy. He sure as hel didnâ€™t risk getting caught for nothing.â€

â€œI agree. He took quite a risk.â€ Dugan was frowning, his professional gaze scanning the room, as he pressed a speed-dial button on his phone. â€œVery soon weâ€™l have a ful house, and hopeful y some answers.â€

Â

Casey and Hutch practical y col ided into each other in the front doorway of the Wil is house.

â€œSo Hope Wil is cal ed you the minute she got home.â€ Hutchâ€™s words were a statement, not a question. And it wasnâ€™t a happy one.

â€œOf course she did. Sheâ€™s my client,â€ Casey replied curtly.

â€œNot now, you two,â€ Grace said, urging them into the house. â€œLater, you can kil each other. Now, we have a job to do.â€

They went upstairs to find ERT packing up to leave, and Hope speaking to Don Owens and several CARD team members, along with SAs Peg Harrington and Wil Dugan, and Sergeant Sam Bennett of the North Castle Police Department.

â€œIâ€™m so glad youâ€™re here.â€ Hopeâ€™s face flooded with relief when she saw Casey. Her reaction came as no surprise. It was very common for Forensic Instinctsâ€™ clients to develop a personal attachment and to cling to them as a lifeline.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Hutch demanded.

Dugan fil ed him in on the events of the evening. â€œERT found no fingerprints on the jewelry box, or on any of the remaining jewelry inside.

Also, none were found on the surfaces we know the intruder touched when he removed the locket and the perfume. None on the dresser. None on the makeup table. Whoever broke in here must have worn gloves. ERT double-checked everything. They took the jewelry box with them for a more extensive examination. But I doubt theyâ€™l find anything. This kidnapper knew what he wanted, maybe even the exact locations of the items in question. He came prepared. He went straight for what he needed, snatched the locket and perfume, and left.â€

â€œA bottle of perfume, and a locket,â€ Casey murmured. â€œInteresting.â€

â€œWhat does it mean?â€ Hope was shaking from head to toe. â€œHe didnâ€™t touch any of my expensive jewelry or anything else of value.â€

â€œTel me about the locket,â€ Hutch instructed. â€œDid it open? Was there a photograph inside?â€

â€œThe locket was heart shaped. There were two photos inside. One of Krissy and one of me.â€

â€œAnd the perfume?â€

â€œItâ€™s my regular scentâ€”Joy,â€ Hope supplied. â€œI almost always wear it. I kept the bottle in plain sight.â€

Hutch leaned his head back and drew a sharp breath. â€œHe was right here under our noses while we were al at the police station.â€

â€œQuite a risk he took,â€ Grace added thoughtful y. â€œA pretty daringâ€”and desperateâ€”act.â€ She turned to Hope. â€œI know youâ€™re badly thrown by this. But thereâ€™s a big upside. It tel s us that Krissy is probably alive.â€

â€œI agree.â€ Hutch nodded. â€œThe kidnapper took personal thingsâ€”things that would remind Krissy of you. That suggests heâ€™s trying to put her at ease, to soothe her. Which not only means sheâ€™s alive, it means heâ€™s struggling to make her happy. Thatâ€™s not the act of a kil er, not when you combine it with the risk he took coming here, knowing ful wel that the task force is al over this case.â€

â€œHe waited until we al cleared out,â€ Don said. â€œThat means heâ€™s watching the house.â€

â€œWe expected as much.â€

A nod. â€œHe caught Wil Dugan alone and on the phone. It was the only time in the past two days that he could get in and out without running into an entourage of law enforcement. Once again, it emphasizes that weâ€™re not dealing with an amateur. Every step he takes is wel thought out and painstakingly executed.â€

Casey turned to Sergeant Bennett of the North Castle P.D. â€œCan I give Claire Hedgleigh a cal ? I know sheâ€™s working for you on this case. Maybe she can pick up on something from the scene.â€

â€œGood idea.â€ Bennett nodded. â€œBut Iâ€™l take care of contacting her.â€

Â

Claire arrived a short time later. She was stil bothered by al the loose, unconnected threads of her visions, none of which she could weave into a cohesive braid. Now, she was stunned by the brazen act of the kidnapper, breaking into the Wil isesâ€™ houseâ€”again. But she was eager to get to the master bedroom to see if anything came to herâ€”anything that would integrate her flashes of insight.

â€œHowâ€™s Ashley?â€ she asked as soon as she entered the room. â€œIs she badly hurt?â€

â€œNo. Just a concussion,â€ Hope supplied, visibly relieved by that aspect of the equation. â€œNo internal injuries. Some deep cuts and a nasty lump on the back of her head, though. The doctors are keeping her overnight for monitoring, just to be on the safe side. But weâ€™l be able to pick her up tomorrow so she can recoup at home.â€

â€œGuilt,â€ Claire pronounced abruptly. â€œIâ€™m sorry to interrupt you. But Iâ€™m picking up on an overwhelming sense of guilt in this room.â€

â€œThat would be mine,â€ Hope said grimly. â€œI should have been here to prevent this.â€

â€œNone of this was your fault,â€ Casey responded at once. â€œNor was it Ashleyâ€™s. Itâ€™s too bad that Agent Dugan was on the phone. But no one could anticipate this.â€

â€œIâ€™m pretty pissed off at myself, as wel ,â€ S.A. Dugan responded. â€œI canâ€™t believe someone got by me.â€

â€œThis is a big house and there are back stairs,â€ Claire murmured, stil half inside her own head. â€œBut thereâ€™s another energy here. A new one. The kidnapperâ€™s.â€

â€œA kidnapper with a conscience,â€ Hutch muttered. â€œMore personal traits.â€

â€œNot just personalâ€”feminine,â€ Claire amended. â€œMy sense is that the intruder was a woman. She came specifical y to get the special items that would ease Krissyâ€™s separation anxiety.â€ A furrowed brow. â€œItâ€™s a femaleâ€™s energyâ€”not dense or heavy like a manâ€™s would be. More light and airy.â€

â€œSo you think the alpha male whoâ€™s running the show sent his female accomplice to do the dirty work.â€ Casey pursed her lips and nodded. â€œIt makes sense. Heâ€™d get his desired results, and he wouldnâ€™t be the one taking the risk.â€

Hutch was scowling. â€œNone of this feels right. A mobster with a grudge. One who demanded, and got, ransom money, but is stil not satisfied. He also doesnâ€™t seem to want an eye for an eye. He wants Krissy alive, but is showing no signs of returning herâ€”just as Felicity Akerman was never returned or recovered. Whatâ€™s this manâ€™s end goal? Just to make Sidney Akermanâ€™s family suffer?â€

There were no ready answers.

â€œAre you sure nothing else was taken?â€ Claire asked Hope as she moved slowly around the room. She paused next to the empty space on the dresser. â€œThe jewelry box was in this spot?â€

â€œYes,â€ Peg confirmed. â€œERT took it for evidentiary purposes. And, according to Judge Wil is, nothing else was taken other than what weâ€™ve discussed.â€

â€œJust the locket was taken from the jewelry box? Youâ€™re sure?â€

â€œIâ€™m sure,â€ Hope verified. â€œI checked the box three times. Al my jewelry was untouched.â€

â€œDo you have a red stone? A ring, a necklace, maybe earrings?â€

Hope shook her head. â€œI have an opal necklace that projects a variety of colors. But none of them is red.â€

â€œA ruby.â€ Claire stated it with certainty. â€œItâ€™s a ruby.â€ She brushed her fingertips over the spot that had held the jewelry box.

â€œAnd itâ€™s not in the box that was here. Do you keep jewels anywhere else in the house?â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m not real y a jewelry person.â€

â€œWhat about Krissy? Does she have any ruby studs, or fake stones that look like rubies?â€

â€œShe doesnâ€™t have any jewelry, much less rubies. She doesnâ€™t even like rubies, other than the name. Itâ€™s the one she gave toâ€”â€ Hope stopped, her breath catching in her throat. â€œRuby,â€ she whispered. â€œI never thought of that. I never checkedâ€¦â€

â€œRuby?â€ Grace demanded.

â€œKrissyâ€™s stuffed robin.â€ Hope was already halfway to the door. â€œShe plays with her and Oreo al the time.â€

By the time everyone had reached Krissyâ€™s room, Hope was standing next to the shelves beside Krissyâ€™s bed and was gazing at the top one, a stricken expression on her face.

â€œSheâ€™s gone. Nest and al .â€ Slowly, Hope turned. â€œOreo and Ruby are like an imaginary family to Krissy. Oreo and Ruby are best friends, and Krissy is their nanny, like Ashley is to her.â€

â€œThat explains my dream,â€ Claire murmured. â€œItâ€™s why Oreo was crying. And who he was missing. Ruby.â€ At the puzzled glances aimed her way, Claire explained the specifics of her dream.

â€œOnce again, an attempt to make Krissy feel less lonely, more normal,â€ Sergeant Bennett concluded. â€œNice work, Claire.â€ He was wel aware that the FBIâ€”particularly the BAUâ€”was on the fence about Claireâ€™s abilities. He couldnâ€™t miss this opportunity to drive home the legitimacy of her gift.

Casey spoke up. â€œNot just more normal, more at home. The kidnappers are trying to recreate the securities of Krissyâ€™s world. Her motherâ€™s scent. A locket with pictures of the two of them side by side. And Krissyâ€™s two closest inanimate friends in the world, the ones she keeps with her at night in the haven of her bedroom. These people want her to want to stay where she is, not just to tolerate it.â€

â€œA wil ing captive,â€ Claire agreed. â€œWhich she hasnâ€™t been until now. Sheâ€™s desperate to come home. The kidnappers are hoping to win her over.â€

â€œOh, God.â€ Hope sank down onto Krissyâ€™s bed. â€œWhat if theyâ€™re unsuccessful? Krissy is so strong wil ed. What if she fights them? What if they hurt her?â€

â€œHopeâ€”stop.â€ Casey sank down beside her. â€œLetâ€™s cling to the fact that Krissy is alive and that the kidnappers are trying to soothe her. It buys us a little time to figure things out. Letâ€™s not waste that time panicking.â€

â€œThen what do we do from here?â€

â€œWe divide and conquer.â€

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The brownstone was dark.

Hero was stretched out on the carpeted floor, enjoying a late-night snooze.

In the bed, Hutch threw back his head with a shout, every muscle in his body strained to the hilt. Then, with an exhausted groan, he shuddered and col apsed on top of Casey, his body drenched in sweat.

Casey sank into the mattress and shut her eyes, stil quivering in the aftermath. Her fingertips traced a fine line down Hutchâ€™s back.

â€œStil mad?â€ she final y managed.

â€œToo tired to be madâ€”now.â€

A soft laugh. â€œYouâ€™re tough to win over.â€

â€œHave your way with me a few more times. I might reconsider.â€

â€œIâ€™l keep that in mind.â€

Long, silent minutes passed.

Broaching the inevitable, Hutch rol ed over, throwing an arm over his head and sprawling out on his back. â€œItâ€™s bad enough you play by your own set of rules,â€ he said. â€œBut youâ€™re reckless, too. That ransom drop could have gotten ugly. Weâ€™re trained to handle that.

Youâ€™re not.â€

â€œPoint taken. But I didnâ€™t have time to arrange a posse. I had to act fast. Plus, I wasnâ€™t sure it was a ransom drop. Al I was sure of was that Hope was acting weird. Then she left abruptlyâ€”right after her father showed up. I didnâ€™t thinkâ€”I just took off after her.â€ Casey tipped her head back to look up at Hutch. â€œThatâ€™s as close to an apology as youâ€™re going to get. I hope it makes the grade.â€

A corner of his mouth lifted. â€œYou real y are a piece of work. Yeah, fine, it makes the grade. Iâ€™l give it a C+. But as for our methodsâ€”weâ€™re never going to have a meeting of the minds on those.â€

â€œTrue,â€ Casey agreed. â€œThe good news is that the FBI task force is now on the same page with us about the two kidnappings probably being related. Your team can dril the hel out of Sidney Akerman and Joe Deale, and my team and I can soft-pedal it.â€

Hutch gave her a quizzical look. â€œMeaning?â€

â€œMeaning that organized crime is the FBIâ€™s forte. But there are other ways to skin a cat. There are tons of subtleties yet to explore.

Law enforcementâ€™s job is clearâ€”to chase down every viable lead, from the mob to the other suspects on your list. Which makes Forensic Instinctsâ€™ job just as clearâ€”to hunt down more subtle leads, through the more subtle sources.â€

â€œJust to clarify, youâ€™re total y abandoning the idea that Krissyâ€™s kidnapping might be an isolated event?â€

â€œYou know me better than that. I never abandon anythingâ€”not until the case is official y, and successful y, closed. I have a few avenues left to travel on the isolated kidnapping theory, although my gut tel s me they wonâ€™t pan out. Nothing il egal, I promise. Mostly, I want to pursue the related kidnappings theory. I plan to go over the Felicity Akerman case file with Patrick. Heâ€™s going to be an invaluable resource in recreating the pastâ€”for your team and mine. I want to take in everything he tel s me. Then I want to talk to Hope and, most importantly, to Vera Akerman. If Sidney was in trouble when Felicity was kidnapped, his family might know more than they realize. Hope, from a childâ€™s innocent perspective, and Vera, from a wifeâ€™s real-life observations. I want to hear about friends. Business associates. Even casual acquaintances who struck an odd note.â€

â€œIt sounds like youâ€™re reaching.â€

â€œMaybe we are. But we donâ€™t have a clear suspect, just a lot of muddied waters. So between your tried and true methods and our unconventional ones, weâ€™l have al the bases covered.â€ Casey propped herself on one elbow. â€œSpeaking of unconventional methods, stop eyeing Claire Hedgleigh with such skepticism. Sheâ€™s for real, and sheâ€™s good. Iâ€™m hoping to convince her to come work for my company once this case is behind us.â€

â€œDuly noted. I guess my personality and training make it hard for me to believe in psychics.â€

â€œThen think of her as a highly sensitized intuitive. Sheâ€™d like that description better anyway.â€

â€œIs that the argument you used on Marc and Ryan to get them to welcome their new col eague?â€ Hutch asked with a grin.

â€œSomething like that. Marcâ€™s very similar to you. Heâ€™s dubious, but reasonable. Ryanâ€™s less open-minded. Then again, I think heâ€™s dying to get her into bed, and hasnâ€™t come to terms with it. Sheâ€™s a one-eighty from him and from the women heâ€™s used to.â€

â€œIn other words, sheâ€™s not climbing al over him.â€

â€œExactly. So his reaction to having her around on a daily basis isnâ€™t entirely professional.â€

â€œMixing business with pleasure,â€ Hutch said drily. â€œItâ€™s a lousy idea.â€

â€œTrue.â€ Caseyâ€™s eyes twinkled. â€œThen again, sometimes you just canâ€™t help yourself.â€

â€œI couldnâ€™t agree more,â€ Hutch concurred in a husky voice.

He pul ed Casey over him, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close.

Â

My doubts had been wrong, my protests in vain.

It had been worth the risk.

Krissy. Watching you cradle the panda and the robin makes me all the more certain that I did the right thing by following orders and breaking into your house. And spraying the robin with that perfumeâ€¦ Now, youâ€™re sleeping peacefullyâ€”at last.

Iâ€™ve got to make you willing. This plan canâ€™t work without that. Your old life must cease to exist.

Or youâ€™ll cease to exist.

Â

Day Four

It was seven in the morning, and it was Marcâ€™s turn to walk Hero.

He didnâ€™t mind. The dog was smart as a whip, with a sniffer to match.

They returned to the brownstone with bagels and coffee for everyone. Casey and Ryan were already seated at the conference room table, so Marc and Hero completed the team.

â€œI brought enough for Hutch. What did he do, sneak out the back door?â€ Marc asked wryly.

â€œNo.â€ Casey was unbothered by the good-natured teasing. â€œHe left at the crack of dawn, boldly through the front. Heâ€™s meeting with Patrick and Sidney. The FBI task force gets to talk to them first. But thatâ€™s okay. We have a few things to take care of in the meantime. And Patrick had copies of the Akerman case file sent to both me and to Don. So weâ€™l be privy to the same information. Iâ€™l make photocopies for each of you.â€

â€œGood.â€ Marc distributed breakfast, then took a seat. â€œThatâ€™l give me lots of reading material.â€

â€œWel , you wonâ€™t be doing it today,â€ Casey informed him. â€œToday youâ€™re going to be a determined husband searching for a new house. One thatâ€™s in Armonk, where the school system is exceptional.â€

â€œReal y.â€ Marcâ€™s brows rose. â€œAnd who am I married to? You?â€

â€œNope. Iâ€™l be your Realtor. We need someone who can be overbearing to play that part. And thatâ€™s yours truly. Actual y, Claire has agreed to help us out. Sheâ€™l be your wife. And Hero wil be your dog. Weâ€™l meet at the Wil is house. Bring my STU-100, the gauze pads and tongs, some latex gloves and the special glass jars I bought. Iâ€™l create a few scent pads, using some of Krissyâ€™s things as scent articles. Weâ€™l introduce a pad to Hero.â€

â€œAfter which, weâ€™l be canvassing the neighborhood,â€ Marc surmised.

â€œRight. Once heâ€™s familiar with Krissyâ€™s scent, Hero wil be able to tel us if she was taken to any of the neighborsâ€™ houses. In the meantime, weâ€™l be talking to the home owners, asking questions about what itâ€™s like to live there. How many kids are around and their ages, if the parents are friendly, if thereâ€™s any trepidation over the recent kidnapping. Iâ€™m wil ing to bet weâ€™l find out lots of gossip, tidbits that average people donâ€™t share with law enforcement. Itâ€™l give us a good perspective on anyone in the area whoâ€™s considered to be â€˜off,â€™ plus firsthand interaction with the folks who live here, as wel . If Krissyâ€™s kidnapping is a stand-alone crime, that should help supply us with some viable suspects. Then, Ryan can run down their names and see if anything unsavory pops up.â€

â€œBut you donâ€™t believe it wil .â€

â€œNo, I donâ€™t. I think the two crimes are connected. But this wil help the Wil ises comfortably rule out their friends and neighbors, and give us a chance to cross some names off our list until the FBI lets us in the door to talk to Patrick. I donâ€™t want to step on their toes. I pissed them off enough already by fol owing Hope to the ransom drop. If they try to block our access, weâ€™l be screwed. So letâ€™s play by the rules, at least where it comes to the organized crime angle.â€

Ryan leaned back in his chair, eyeing Casey shrewdly. â€œThatâ€™s not al you have on tap for today, is it?â€

Casey shook her head. â€œIâ€™m going to talk to Hope, get more details of her childhood. Then, if Iâ€™m lucky, Iâ€™l get to talk to Vera Akerman. Iâ€™d be wil ing to bet she can relay information she doesnâ€™t even know she has. At which point, youâ€™l come in. Iâ€™m hoping to have some names to give you, some from the Wil isesâ€™ neighborhood, and some from their past. Youâ€™re going to be a busy boy by dinnertime.â€

â€œGood. I look forward to the chal enge.â€

â€œFor you?â€ Casey arched an eyebrow. â€œIt wonâ€™t be a chal enge. You could do it in your sleep.â€

Her cel phone sounded its upbeat ring tone. â€œCasey Woods.â€ She was quiet for a minute, listening. â€œIâ€™m stil in the city, but Iâ€™l be heading up to Armonk in a little while,â€ she supplied. Another pause. â€œAre you in Midtown now? Fine. Iâ€™l meet you in your office in an hour.â€ She disconnected the cal .

â€œWhat was that about?â€ Marc asked.

â€œThat was Edward Wil is. What was it about? Ostensibly, he wants to see me in his office to discuss the status of our investigation.â€

â€œIn reality, he wants to know if you plan on tel ing his wife that heâ€™s sleeping with Ashley Lawrence,â€ Marc finished.

â€œBingo.â€ Casey tapped her pen on the table. â€œThat marriage is already in trouble. Edward probably wants to keep it from blowing apart. Not good for his image. And that means covering his ass. The man is a major pig.â€

â€œWhat are you going to tel him?â€

Casey gave Marc a tight smile. â€œI think Iâ€™l make him squirm.â€

Â

Edward Wil is was doing paperwork at his desk when his secretary showed Casey into his office. He requested privacyâ€”door shut, no interruptions, no phone cal s. The poor young woman immediately agreed, giving her boss one long, infatuated look before retreating. Casey wondered if Edward was sleeping with her, too.

â€œThank you for coming, Ms. Woods,â€ he began, once they were alone. â€œWould you like coffee? Tea?â€

â€œIâ€™l help myself, thank you.â€ Casey poured herself a cup of regular coffee from the expensive brewing station, then took a seat across from Edward. â€œI didnâ€™t know you were in the office today. I thought youâ€™d be at the hospital with Ashley, or joining your wife in driving her home.â€

She saw Edwardâ€™s jaw visibly tighten.

â€œI find work to be therapeutic,â€ he replied. â€œIt keeps me from going crazy worrying about Krissy.â€

Casey studied his expression, thinking that that was probably the first completely honest statement heâ€™d ever made to her.

â€œSo your phone cal sounded important,â€ she began. â€œWhat was it you wanted to see me about?â€

â€œThis.â€ Edward slid a check across the desk until it was right in front of Casey, so she could easily view it.

She didnâ€™t look down but, instead, continued watching him expectantly.

He gave her the explanation she was seeking. â€œWhen my wife hired you, I thought of you as a fledgling company with a very light proven track record. I had no idea youâ€™d be as committed, or insightful, as you are. Iâ€™m afraid I treated you rather brusquely, and without the respect you deserve. I know that Hope is paying you wel . Stil , Iâ€™d like to add a bonus to that fee right now. And another if you bring my daughter home safely.â€

At this point, Casey glanced down at the check. It was made out to Forensic Instincts LLC, and it was in the amount of twenty-five thousand dol ars.

A lovely, generous bribe.

Keeping her expression careful y blank, Casey met Edwardâ€™s gaze.

â€œLet me tel you a few things about myself and my company, Mr. Wil is. Weâ€™re everything you just described and more. Someday, weâ€™re going to be known as the foremost profilers in the Tri-state Area, with the most out-of-the-box, creative approaches to solving crimesâ€”successful y. None of those approaches is going to include gossiping or inciting family breakups. So while I appreciate your offer, Iâ€™m not too crazy about its basis. So let me put your mind at ease. Frankly, I donâ€™t care if you sleep with Ashley Lawrence and half of Manhattan. It has no bearing on Krissyâ€™s kidnapping. Iâ€™m convinced that neither you nor Ashley had anything to do with her abduction. And thatâ€™s al that interests me.â€

Casey slid the check back across the desk. â€œConsequently, thereâ€™s no need to buy me off. Like you said, your wife is paying us twice our normal rates. Thatâ€™s more than enough. On the other hand, donâ€™t tear up the check. Iâ€™l be happy to take it as a bonus, once we bring Krissy home.â€

Edward startled, and then, for a split second, he actual y looked as if he might smile. â€œVery wel ,â€ he agreed, picking up the check and putting it in his desk drawer. â€œItâ€™s clear we understand each other.â€

â€œCrystal clear.â€

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From Edward Wil isâ€™s office, Casey drove up to Armonk to carry out the house-hunting charade sheâ€™d arranged with Claire and Marc.

After several hours of pounding the pavement and ringing doorbel s, they col apsed on the Wil isesâ€™ sofa, worn-out as they discussed their findings. One thing was for sure: it was amazing the trivia you learned in a suburban neighborhood just by asking the right questions.

By the time the â€œhappy couple,â€ escorted by their â€œRealtor,â€ had visited a ton of local residences in the Wil isesâ€™ community, they knew more about the negligent parents and more from the overprotective parents than any official cal could ever yield. They knew the number of kids in each household, as wel as their ages and genders. They knew who the career moms were, who the stay-at-home moms were, and who the moms were who constantly had housefuls of kids over. They knew which dads worked at home, which were frequently around, and which were away on perpetual business trips. And they knew which families were tight with each other, which ones were the neighborhood leaders and which ones were loners who kept to themselves.

While there were definite families who didnâ€™t make the popular list, that list was, nonetheless, devoid of people demonstrating creepy behavior or questionable actions. Everyone described the neighborhood as warm, friendly and overwhelmingly safe. The recent abduction of Krissy Wil is had sent shock waves through the community. The home owners al assured Claire and Marc that nothing like this had ever happened before, nor, given the extensive neighborhood watch that had been set up, did they intend to ever let it happen again.

Most of them were certain the crime had been a personal one, given the type of people the Wil ises dealt with in their work, and the high-profile nature of their careers. But not even one neighbor so much as hinted at a suspicion involving someone in the community.

Casey was unsurprised by the results, as were Marc and Claire.

â€œI didnâ€™t pick up significant negative energy from any of our visits,â€ Claire pronounced. â€œAnd Hero didnâ€™t pick up Krissyâ€™s scent.â€

â€œAgreed. It was just the usual affluent suburban competitiveness,â€ Marc clarified drily. â€œWhose landscaping was more elaborate, who had the latest and greatest model of Mercedes SUV, and whose built-in pool was larger. Nothing unexpected. Just another reason Iâ€™m glad Iâ€™m not a rich suburbanite.â€

Casey gave him a half smile. â€œI hear you. As for what we didâ€”or didnâ€™tâ€”find out, that comes as no surprise. None of us expected to hit the mother lode from this adventure. But we had to try.â€ She glanced down at her notes. â€œJust to tie this inquiry up with a neat little bow, Iâ€™l email Ryan the names that came up most frequently in a negative capacity. He can check them out. If theyâ€™ve had so much as a run-in at a Little League game, heâ€™l find it.â€

She began typing names into her BlackBerry.

â€œThe FBI has been with Sidney Akerman al day,â€ Marc reminded her. â€œDo you think they found out anything?â€

â€œI think Patrick would have let us know if they had.â€ Casey bit her lip thoughtful y. â€œIâ€™m not quite sure why, but I trust him. Maybe itâ€™s because heâ€™s not official y on any side. Or maybe itâ€™s because I sense the same maverick spirit in him as I do in us. Whatever the reason, I think heâ€™d let us know if they were onto something. Weaving your way through the members of the mob is no easy task. Theyâ€™re working with the details given to them by the FBIâ€™s resident agency in upstate New Yorkâ€”details they obtained from the perp who cut a deal by giving them information on Sidneyâ€™s run-in with the mob. Theyâ€™re also dealing with Tony Bennato, who bought that company. And theyâ€™re dealing with Joe Deale, whoâ€™s a smal potato in a much bigger organization. Itâ€™s not going to come together in one day.

Stil â€¦â€ A pensive pause. â€œIt canâ€™t hurt to be safe. Marc, you and Hutch havenâ€™t had any time to catch up. Why donâ€™t you drop by the North Castle P.D. and see if he wants to grab a drink, or a late lunch.â€

Marcâ€™s lips twitched. â€œIâ€™m flattered. You think I can get more out of a friend and former col eague than you can out of a guy who canâ€™t stay away from you for more than a few weeks at a time.â€

â€œDamn straight, I do. Business is business. Youâ€™re former BAU. You worked together. And youâ€™d be talking guy to guy.

Thatâ€™s about as sacred as it gets. Besides, this wil give Claire and me a chance to talk to Hope and Vera. I want to get as many seemingly inconsequential details as I can. The more I get, the more Ryan has to run with.â€

â€œTrue.â€ Marc rose. â€œMaybe I could also drop in on Joe Dealeâ€™s foreman, and intimidate him a little about those architectural plans. You never know how deep heâ€™s in.â€

â€œGood point. And good luck.â€

â€œIâ€™l check in later.â€ Marc shot a quick wave at Claire and headed out the door, where Hero was waiting in the car.

The man-to-man stuff was underway. Time for a little woman-to-woman action.

Â

Hope and Vera were seated in the Florida room, sipping on cups of chamomile tea, when Casey and Claire found them.

Hope jumped to her feet in a heartbeat. â€œIs there news?â€

â€œNot yet,â€ Casey replied. â€œBut weâ€™d like to talk. Iâ€™l fil you in on the names weâ€™ve crossed off the list, and then Iâ€™d like to ask you both some questions. The questions may seem trite, but I assure you, theyâ€™re anything but.â€

â€œAl right.â€ Hope resettled herself on the couch. â€œWhose names did you delete from our suspect list? And how?â€

Quickly, Casey ran through their house-buying charade.

â€œThatâ€™s very creative,â€ Hope commented when Casey was through. â€œBut the FBI and the police have already interviewed al our neighbors. So that territory has been covered.â€

â€œYes and no. The task force did their jobâ€”very thoroughly. But police badges and FBI ID tend to intimidate people. So the interviewees automatical y supply factual answers, rather than more detailed, personal ones. We took every iota of negative feedback, however smal , and turned the information over to Ryan McKay, my techno-genius. Heâ€™l do detailed searches on those peopleâ€”so detailed that anything even remotely out of whack wil pop up. Thatâ€™l support the law enforcement investigations, and eliminate a neighborhood of suspects altogether.â€

Hope gave a wan smile. â€œI appreciate that. But it doesnâ€™t bring me much comfort.â€

â€œI agree. Thatâ€™s why we want to talk.â€ Casey sat down and opened her notepad, gesturing for Claire to take a seat beside her.

â€œI stil believe that your sister and your daughterâ€™s kidnappings are related. I think you do, too. The cops are digging into your fatherâ€™s connection to the mob, however limited. I want to look at the past, too, but through a different route.â€

â€œWhich is?â€

â€œYou. I want you to think back thirty-two years. To rack your brains to remember every single detail, person or conversation associated with the time right before and after Felicityâ€™s kidnapping. Youâ€™d be surprised how much each of us stores away in our memory that we donâ€™t even realize is there. Events, snatches of conversation, and flashes of visual images. Iâ€™m asking you to trust me, and to try this. Claire can help us. If anything you touch on triggers a feeling or insight, sheâ€™l pick up on it. Together, maybeâ€”just maybeâ€”we can zero in on something that can help find Krissy.â€

â€œI was six years old,â€ Hope reminded her.

â€œI realize that. Were you in kindergarten? First grade? Focus on that, on the friends you remember coming over to play. Thatâ€™s a good place to start to initiate memories.â€ Casey turned to Vera. â€œAnd you were Sidneyâ€™s wife. You must remember the last months you were together. Things he said. The way he acted. How he reacted to Felicityâ€™s abductionâ€”and not just the drinking. The things he harped on.

What set him off. Which parts of the FBI investigation threw him the most. Any people who came by to offer their support that elicited a notable response from him. Things like that.â€

Vera drew a slow, painful breath. â€œThat was a horrible time in our lives and in our marriage. I canâ€™t overlook the drinkingâ€”it consumed us. And, yes, Sidney was obsessed with the FBI investigation. Now I realize why. He felt responsible. He was responsible.â€

â€œDid he have any friends who supported him? Anyone who came by frequently to offer words of encouragement?â€

â€œI understand where youâ€™re going with this,â€ Vera replied. â€œBut Sidney wasnâ€™t interested in support. He was a man with a mission. Iâ€™m the one who craved the support. I didnâ€™t get it from my husband. I was fortunate that my friends, and the mothers of Hopeâ€™s and Felicityâ€™s friends, were there for me. They came by every day, bringing food and words of encouragement.â€ She swal owed, hard.

â€œWe had a prayer vigil each evening, the entire first week that Felicity was gone.â€

â€œI remember that,â€ Hope murmured. â€œMrs. Matthews, Mrs. Tatem, al our neighbors, and a lot of other mothers I didnâ€™t know.

Felicity and I had different friends. I do remember al the mothers from the camp soccer team coming over.â€

â€œDaily,â€ Vera confirmed. â€œThey were kind, lovingâ€¦and scared to death. They were afraid the kidnapper was targeting the girls from the team. I think they felt better being close to the investigation, so they could feel reassured. I donâ€™t blame them.â€

â€œWas there any justification for their fear?â€ Casey asked. â€œWere there any seedy characters hanging around watching the girls?â€

Vera shook her head. â€œNot that any of us knew. Of course, now that I know the mob was involved, I canâ€™t be sure. Theyâ€™re good at staying hidden. But even if they were watching, thereâ€™d be no reason to scrutinize anyone but Felicity. None of the other fathers was involved with Sidneyâ€™s business.â€

â€œHave you stayed in touch with any of these mothers?â€

â€œOf course. Some of them stil live in New Rochel e. Some moved, but we kept up by phone, and now, by email. Tragedy is a funny thingâ€”it binds people together for life.â€

â€œI understand.â€ Casey was jotting down some notes. â€œAre the names of al those womenâ€”from school, camp and the neighborhoodâ€”listed in the original file along with your current friends at the time? I havenâ€™t had the chance to sink my teeth into the file yet.

Agent Lynch just got it to us.â€

â€œI believe al the names are in there, yes.â€ Vera thought about it and nodded. â€œSpecial Agent Lynch was very thorough. He col ected every detail. The only ones you wonâ€™t find in his file are those attached to the mob connection youâ€™ve only now just uncovered.

Henry Kenyonâ€™s name wil be in there, of course. He was Sidneyâ€™s employer and friend. The FBI questioned himâ€”evidently not thoroughly enough.â€

Casey lowered her pad and gazed steadily at Vera. The last thing she wanted was for the older woman to get the wrong idea about the Bureauâ€™s competence. â€œAs you noted, Mrs. Akerman, the mob is adept at hiding. Organized Crime is very good at staying under the radar.

They keep operations like the one they were running through Henry Kenyonâ€™s company smal and unobtrusive.â€ As she spoke the truth, she stil knew in her gut that Patrick was undoubtedly beating himself up for missing the connection. â€œThe FBI would have no reason to have their antennae raised about any mob involvement. Plus, technology then was a lot more limited than it is now. Computers were a new phenomenon, and certainly not standard Federal issue. So there were no internet searches, or in-depth profiles.â€

â€œWe know that,â€ Hope assured her. â€œI remember hearing my parents talking. They said the FBI was al but living at our house.

Iâ€™m sure Special Agent Lynch did everything he could to find Felicity. Heâ€™s obviously stil distraught over the case. Pointing fingers would be absurd.â€

â€œIâ€™d never do that,â€ Vera clarified hastily. â€œHope is right. Special Agent Lynch was a godsend. He led the investigation, and he dealt with Sidney. I donâ€™t know which was more of a chal enge. Iâ€™m sorry if I sounded accusatory.â€

â€œYou didnâ€™t,â€ Casey reassured her. â€œYou sounded tormented. Which you were, and now are again.â€

â€œDo you have a photo of Felicity that you could give me?â€ Claire inserted herself for the first time, tackling the situation via her area of expertise.

â€œOf course.â€ Vera opened her purse and pul ed out a photo album. A few sleeves of pictures were inside. Most of them were dated, but stil clear. She handed two photos to Claire. â€œBoth of these are from the summer beforeâ€¦before our world ended. The first one is just Felicity. Sheâ€™s beaming ear to ear because sheâ€™d just won a plaque for scoring the most goals at her camp soccer tournament. The second photo is of Felicity and Hope together.â€ A wan smile. â€œVery few people could tel them apart.â€

â€œI can see why,â€ Claire murmured, studying the photos. â€œIâ€™m going to start with the one of just Felicity. I donâ€™t want to get hers and Hopeâ€™s energies confused, especial y since theyâ€™re identical twins. If I sense anything at al from the first photo, Iâ€™l move onto the second.â€

She shut her eyes, touching her fingertips lightly to Felicityâ€™s image.

A few moments passed.

â€œI sense joy. Pride. Maybe a little smugness.â€ Claireâ€™s lips curved. â€œShe beat out Suzie by only two goals.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right.â€ Vera leaned forward, her eyes huge as saucers. â€œWhat else can you sense?â€

â€œThat was the last game Felicity played. Not because of the abduction. Another reason.â€ A pensive pause. â€œI sense impatience, frustration and pain. A lot of it.â€ Claireâ€™s fingers shifted slightly and came to rest near Felicityâ€™s left elbow. â€œHer left arm. She canâ€™t bend it. And it hurts terribly. Shooting pain.â€

â€œShe broke it,â€ Hope supplied, visibly awestruck by Claireâ€™s talent. â€œIt was in a cast most of the next summer. The doctor gave her the green light to play again the day before she was kidnapped. I remember how excited she was.â€

Claire nodded without opening her eyes. â€œShe was. She loved soccer. She loved sports.â€ A heartbeat of a pause. â€œShe loved sharing them with your father.â€

Not a flicker of envy crossed Hopeâ€™s face. â€œThank you for your sensitivity. But my fatherâ€™s enthusiasm over Felicity was common knowledge. It wasnâ€™t that he loved her more than he loved me. They just had more in common. I never felt neglected or uncared for.

Besidesâ€”â€ Hope patted her motherâ€™s hand â€œâ€”I had my mom to share my love of reading and learning with. So it al evened out.â€

As she thought back, tears dampened Hopeâ€™s eyes. â€œWe were a happy, wel -adjusted family. Felicity and I were different, but we were best friends. Anyone who hurt one of us had to deal with the other. I adored her. She adored me. My childhood, and a chunk of my life, disappeared when she did.â€

On that note, Claire opened her eyes long enough to switch photos, laying the shot of Hope and Felicity in the palm of her hand. She ran her fingers over the twinsâ€™ happy images.

â€œI can feel the love youâ€™re describing,â€ she said. â€œNot just from you. From your sister, as wel . The connection between you is strong. I doubt anything could come between you. Sometimes she got scared. She didnâ€™t want anyone to know. You made it better.â€

A nostalgic smile touched Hopeâ€™s lips. â€œFelicity was afraid of going to the doctor. She always associated it with getting a shotâ€”and she was terrified of shots. Tongue depressors, too. There was no way of getting around those visits when it came to our family doctor, although we racked our brains to come up with something. But school was another matter entirely. It was easy to fool the school nurse. Felicity was not only afraid, she didnâ€™t want her friends to make fun of her. So whenever she got sick during the school day and the teacher made her go to the nurse, she went to the bathroom instead. I went to the nurseâ€™s office and pretended I was her. I complained of her symptoms and got the nurse to cal our mother. Felicity stuck out the day, and I got to go home to TV and ice cream.â€

Hope gave a smal laugh. â€œItâ€™s a good thing I didnâ€™t go to camp, though, because I couldnâ€™t have pul ed it off there. Every time I visited Felicity at camp, or went with my parents to see her in a game, the camp nurse knew who was who. She was sweet. And she claimed that each of us had our own sparkle.â€

â€œLinda,â€ Vera said affectionately. â€œShe was so fond of Felicity. She was one of the women I mentioned who came to our evening prayer vigils. Even after those initial weeks, Linda and I stayed in touch. We stil do, now and then. But Hope is right. Linda always could tel the girls apart. So could our next-door neighbor, Gladys Evans and Fern Chappel, the school librarian. It seemed to be a gut feeling with some people. Of course, it was never an issue with Sidney and me. To us, each twin was unique and distinctive, physical y and characteristical y.â€

Turning, Vera arched an eyebrow at Hope. â€œAnd, by the way, I caught on to that little game you and your sister played with the school nurse. I passed the details of your trick along to her. When one of you was sick, she knew just who to tel me to pick up. Sheâ€™d describe what her patient was wearing, and Iâ€™d let her know if it real y was Felicity or if it was her very loyal and naughty twin.â€

â€œOh.â€ Hopeâ€™s smile was sheepish. â€œWe always did wonder why you sometimes got mixed up about who you were picking up and giving a sick day to.â€

â€œWel , now you know.â€

â€œFelicity wasnâ€™t the only one who was sometimes afraid,â€ Claire pronounced.

â€œNo, she wasnâ€™t.â€ Hopeâ€™s smile faded. â€œI was afraid of sleeping alone when our parents were out. So, on those nights, she made sure we stayed in the same bed. We told our parents that it was because our babysitterâ€™s talking on the phone kept me up. But it wasnâ€™t true. I was scared. Thatâ€™s why we were together the night of the kidnapping.â€

â€œYes,â€ Claire said softly. â€œBut that night she was also scared for you. She saw the person in black go to you first. You were asleep.

She saw your face get covered. She saw you go limp. She didnâ€™t know what happened to you.â€

â€œYou can visualize the night of Felicityâ€™s kidnapping?â€ Casey asked Claire, stunned by the realization.

Claireâ€™s eyes opened. â€œFragments of it, yes. The kidnapper was dressed in black. Wearing a hooded sweatshirt. And gloves. I can visualize black gloves. The handkerchief was drenched in chloroform. Thatâ€™s al I see. I can feel fear and confusion. I can sense a commotion.

But thereâ€™s nothing distinct. Itâ€™s al amorphous flashes.â€ A sigh. â€œI wish I could tel you more.â€

â€œItâ€™s a start,â€ Casey said. â€œA good one. I think weâ€™ve made some real progress today.â€ A pause. â€œOn several fronts.â€

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Oh, Krissy, we have the whole lot of them so confused. They donâ€™t know where to look first. And theyâ€™ll never look here. Youâ€™re safe.

I love watching you play with Oreo and Ruby. Your little face lights up, and youâ€™re in a world of your own imagination. Imagination is a wonderful thing. It opens doors and dreams that no one can take away from you. It makes things right when everything is wrong. How well I know that. Iâ€™ll help keep you in that beautiful, magical world. Iâ€™ll keep you safe, make that imaginary world a reality.

Itâ€™s so precious the way you change your voice when Ruby is speaking, and then when Oreo answers. A high tweet with words intermingled, and a low but friendly growl mixed with more words.

Until today, I watched your playtime from outside the room, through the glass pane in the door. Those were my instructions. This time, everything changed. I was allowed inside. I couldnâ€™t share your game, not yet. But I could see it up close, feel as if I were a part of it.

I came in and sat down quietly. You stiffened when I walked in, and you got that flicker of uncertain fear in your eyes. But that dissipated.

And you didnâ€™t cringe or wriggle away. You took the milk and cookies I brought, and you drank and ate them without hesitation. After you got that adorable milk mustache, you went into your favorite corner and started playing with your pretend friends.

You act as if Iâ€™m not here, but I know you know that I am.

Sweet Krissy. This is just the beginning. Soon youâ€™ll let me into your pretend world. Soon youâ€™ll include me. Then Iâ€™ll give you the surprise pretend world I developed for you. Youâ€™re smart. Youâ€™re creative. Youâ€™ll love it.

You need me. You donâ€™t know it yet, but you do. No one understands that better than I do. I need what you need. But my needs were, and wil be, met. And so will yours.

We just need a little more time.

Â

Business at the rustic Armonk pub was starting to pick up as Marc and Hutch relaxed in one of the booths, drinking their pints of Sam Adams.

â€œI could ask to what do I owe this honor. But we both know the answer.â€ A corner of Hutchâ€™s mouth lifted. â€œCasey sent her Navy SEAL out to do reconnaissance.â€

Marc took a deep swal ow of beer, then lowered his glass to the table. â€œActual y, she wanted to give you and me some catch-up time and for me to do reconnaissance. So it wasnâ€™t entirely divisive. Besides, she knows damn wel we wouldnâ€™t be putting anything over on you by playing games. Nope. In your case, I wear my motives on my sleeve.â€

â€œFair enough.â€ Hutch was total y comfortable with Marc. Theyâ€™d known each other for years, ever since Marcâ€™s days at the BAU, where theyâ€™d become not only col eagues but friends. Marc had worked BAU-2, which covered crimes involving adults. Hutch was thinking of putting in for a transfer to that unit. Investigating the sexual violations, kidnapping and murder of children was beginning to get to him.

Heâ€™d been a cop, he was a pro, but that didnâ€™t mean he regarded life as any less precious. And kidsâ€”wel , that was watching the utter decimation of innocence right before his eyes.

â€œWhatever you can tel me about the Sidney Akerman investigation would be appreciated.â€ Marc didnâ€™t waste time mincing words.

â€œTechnical y, thatâ€™s nothing. Itâ€™s an ongoing investigation. And youâ€™re not Bureau anymore.â€ Hutch shot Marc a wry grin.

â€œWhich is why I got my marching orders from Peg about precisely what I could and couldnâ€™t say. Sheâ€™s more interested in finding Krissy Wil is than playing cat and mouse with Forensic Instincts. So tel me what you know, what you want to know, and Iâ€™l fil in whatever blanks I can.â€

â€œOkay,â€ Marc agreed. â€œLetâ€™s start out with the biggest question. Do you know what crime family Tony Bennato works for?â€

â€œBetween what we found out from the soldier who flipped and what we got from our own informants, the Vizzini family.â€

â€œSo youâ€™ve got the Vizzini squad at the New York Field Office working on it.â€

â€œYup. Theyâ€™re pounding the pavement right along with us. Theyâ€™ve got their long-term goals, which wil include interviewing members of the family stil serving time, those on the street, even those in the witness protection program, which theyâ€™l work through the U.S.

Marshals. But for now, they know what we need. Weâ€™re al about finding Krissy Wil is. Theyâ€™l use their informants, and whatever Carl Georgeâ€”the seniormost member of the Vizzini case squadâ€”can come up with. He was around in the late seventies. He may know one or more of the guys Sidney Akerman comes up with.â€

â€œIn other words, who might or might not be with the Bennato Construction Company.â€

â€œRight.â€

â€œI spoke to Joe Dealeâ€™s foreman earlier. Frankly, I think that he and Deale are both dead endsâ€”unless they know something they donâ€™t realize. What they do for Bennato is smal potatoes. Theyâ€™re sure as hel not privy to the big-league stuff.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right,â€ Hutch replied. â€œWeâ€™ve got Deale on dealing and working as an enforcer, squeezing some dirtbags who are behind on their weekly instal ments. But he never heard of Sidney Akerman, and heâ€™s too dumb to handle the job of kidnapping Krissy Wil is in some far-fetched attempt to satisfy a thirty-two-year-old vendetta. Heâ€™s clueless. Ditto for that obnoxious foreman of his. We questioned him, too. He has no idea what weâ€™re talking about. So, if Bennato is behind the kidnapping, he didnâ€™t use those two. But, like you said, thereâ€™s always the chance they overheard or saw something. So weâ€™re keeping them on our radar and weâ€™re keeping Deale in custody.â€

â€œStil , this leaves the whole Bennato angle as a big question mark.â€

â€œAfraid so.â€

â€œThen what do you have?â€

â€œAccording to Akerman, there were four guys from what he now knows was the Vizzini family who ran the original kick-back scheme.

Since Henry Kenyon had most of the one-on-one contacts, Akermanâ€™s names and descriptions are limited. One of the offenders was a quick match for us, because the New York squad knew him. Unfortunately, he fel off the map eleven years ago, and his body was never recovered. We might have another match, and, if that pans out, weâ€™l have Akerman take a look at him in a lineup. We canâ€™t afford to take our time on this, not with the clock ticking on that poor little kid.â€

â€œYeah, but thirty-two years is a long time,â€ Marc conceded with a frown. â€œThere are deaths. Gaps. Changes in gang structure.â€

â€œYeah, itâ€™s a long shot, but some loyalties run deep. Sons. Nephews. Weâ€™re digging as hard and as fast as we can.â€ Hutch polished off his beer and set down his glass with a thud. â€œTel Casey thatâ€™s al I have for her now.â€

â€œAl you have or al you can say?â€

â€œBoth.â€

â€œYouâ€™l keep us posted?â€

â€œAs best I can, sure.â€ Hutch gave another wry grin. â€œAnd whatever I donâ€™t tel you, Iâ€™m sure Casey wil worm out of Lynch.

Heâ€™s a free agent, and sheâ€™s very good at drawing information out of people.â€

Marc tossed a few bil s on the table. â€œI donâ€™t want to know how you know that.â€

â€œSure you do. But I donâ€™t plan on tel ing you.â€

Â

Casey spent the evening once again poring over the old case file Patrick had provided. She sat at the sweeping table in the Forensic Instinctsâ€™ conference room and scrutinized every detailâ€”from names to dates and times, to investigative leads. Patrick had gone wel above and beyond the line of duty, delving into every aspect of the Akermansâ€™ lives. But, as Casey had explained to Vera, the technological resources of the FBI in the late seventies had been far more limited than they were now. Which meant that Ryan had his work cut out for him.

Sheâ€™d already fed him the names Vera had mentioned tonight, and he was running them through various databases. Again, another long shot. A support group for a grieving mother didnâ€™t scream child abduction. Casey was half hoping one of them would be married to or involved with a member of the mob. But she knew it was rarely as easy and straightforward as that.

Patrick had promised to drive down here tonight, after the meetings with Sidney Akerman broke up. Casey wanted him to fil her inâ€”just in case Hutch had left out any details when he talked to Marcâ€”and to flesh out any theories Patrick had entertained from the case information she was reading.

Marc showed up at the brownstone before Patrick. He climbed the stairs to the conference room, where he was greeted by an enthusiastic Hero. One leap, two slobbery licks, and Hero was sniffing at Marcâ€™s pocket.

â€œNot to worry,â€ Marc assured him, unzipping the bag he carried with dog treats in it. â€œI know better than to chal enge your olfactory skil s. Here you go.â€ He gave Hero two healthy-sized biscuits.

â€œYou know,â€ he said thoughtful y, watching the bloodhound chomp on the biscuits. â€œHero did a great job sniffing out the neighborhood. Why donâ€™t we continue to use him? Letâ€™s go to the Wil isesâ€™ house tomorrow and col ect some more scent articles from Krissyâ€™s room. Bring Hero. You never know where that supersniffer of his might lead.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. In the meantime, fil me in on what Hutch told you.â€

A half hour later and, true to his word, the doorbel rang. Casey went downstairs to open the door, and Patrick strode inside.

â€œThis is frustrating as hel ,â€ he announced, tossing his jacket on a chair. â€œThe sketches we were able to come up with from Akermanâ€™s descriptions were vague at best.â€

â€œI heard there was one strong lead,â€ Casey replied.

â€œYeah. Lou DeMassi. Heâ€™s one of the Vizzini guys whoâ€™s stil alive and serving time. He was in his late twenties when Felicity Akerman was kidnapped, which means heâ€™s sixtyish now. The sketch artist aged the image Akerman came up with by three decades, and the resemblance is strong enough for us to pursue. Peg Harrington and two other members of the task force took Akerman and are on their way to the prison. Heâ€™l look at DeMassi in a lineup, and theyâ€™l interrogate the hel out of him. Whatever they can get is more than we have now. Oh, and DeMassi has a son whoâ€™s tied to the Vizzini family, too. Ken Barkley and two other agents are on their way to his place.â€

â€œYou think itâ€™s possible heâ€™s avenging his father in some way? Maybe because Sidney talked to the Feds? You think thatâ€™s the basis for Krissyâ€™s kidnapping?â€

A shrug. â€œAnythingâ€™s possible. Frankly, Casey, I donâ€™t know what I think. Other than the fact that I could kick myself for missing the mob connection in the first place. Weâ€™re now investigating a complex web with no time to do it in.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not your fault. But I wonâ€™t be able to convince you of that. So I wonâ€™t even try. Iâ€™l just suggest we take what weâ€™ve got and go from here. Ryanâ€™s in his lair downstairs. I gave him al the names from the Akermansâ€™ past that I could come up with, including a list of most of Felicityâ€™s classmates. Hope and her mother put their heads together to supply those.â€

Patrick started. â€œYou think someone connected with a kid from Felicityâ€™s past played a part in Krissyâ€™s kidnapping?â€

â€œI think we canâ€™t overlook anything. And Ryan has the software and expertise to age-enhance those kids into adulthoodâ€”not only visual y, but as whatever real, living, breathing human beings theyâ€™ve become. Their careers, marriages, children, financial circumstancesâ€”you name it. Trust Ryan to produce it al .â€

Â

At the moment, producing it al was precisely what Ryan was focused on doing. Except that the avenue he was pursuing was one of his ownâ€”one he was determined to see through before turning his attention to the project Casey had given him.

Ryanâ€™s space was an interesting combination of the many facets of his personality. Most important was the â€œbusiness sectionâ€: his server farm, where he was customarily stationed, staring at the two-by-two grid of screens. Located downstairs, the companyâ€™s secure data center took up a third of the entire floor. It was the technological heart of Forensic Instincts, housing Ryanâ€™s custom-built servers: Lumen, Equitas and Intueri.

Then came the other sides of Ryan McKay.

In the middle of the basement was his personal gymâ€”a self-contained masterpiece of pul eys, cables and weights, for those times he needed to release energy by working out but didnâ€™t have time to escape from his lair.

And, last, came his â€œstuff,â€ which helped him focus his intricate mind on assembling complicated machinery when the answers wouldnâ€™t come. That â€œstuffâ€ occupied a good chunk of the basement. In one corner was his electronics benchâ€”a laminated rock maple tabletop with floor-to-ceiling shelves and racks, fil ed with electronic equipment: a dual-trace oscil oscope, computer workstation, Wel er soldering station and numerous drawers of electronic parts. A high-definition monitor sat directly above the center of the workbench, able to displayâ€”with a word to Yodaâ€”a live feed from the surveil ance cameras positioned inside and outside the building, or any sporting event in the world.

In the opposite corner sat a smal machine shop: compact lathe and mini vertical mil ing machine and welding equipment, along with a wal fil ed with hand tools, measuring devices and attachments for the machining equipment.

Between these two shops, he could design and build anything smal er than a go-cart. His â€œrobots,â€ as the team liked to cal them. For larger projects, he would draw on his network of fabricators who on short notice would construct anything he requested.

And, in the center of it al â€”where he was now crouchedâ€”was his â€œarena,â€ as he liked to cal it: the place where he would test his latest robotic incarnation against a variety of chal engesâ€”obstacles, flames, circular saws. The swept-up pieces of those experimental designs that had failed in combat were in a neat pile in the farthest corner of the room.

The team could be as amused as they wanted. Theyâ€™d be surprised as hel to learn how much playing in the arena supported his efforts at Forensic Instincts.

And, yeah, okay, it was also damned fun.

A crash caused Ryan to swivel around from what he was working on. On the floor lay a peculiar robot with suction-cup-like attachments on its feet. Ryan had been testing his latest toyâ€”a smal robot, not quite the size of a paperback book, capable of walking up wal s and inside ductwork. Affectionately dubbed â€œGeckoâ€ by the team, and the â€œlittle critter,â€ by Ryanâ€”it sported miniature video cameras and microphones.

Ryan walked over and switched off the battery pack. The little critter needed more work. But that would have to wait.

He returned to his electronics bench, soldered the last connection and inspected his work. Pleased with the result, he walked over and reinstal ed the modified hard drive assembly into the floor-standing copying machine, set the countdown timer for ten seconds, then walked back to the bench. A message flashed on the monitor: â€œE.T. phone home.â€ A mosaic of images began to appear. Each image was a thumbnail of the pages copied by the photocopier and temporarily stored on the hard driveâ€”al transmitted via the cel phone that Ryan had just hard-wired to the copier hard drive.

â€œTest successful,â€ Yoda announced.

â€œYeah, thanks, Yoda.â€ Stil , Ryan had to iron out a few bugs. Once the copying machine was in place, it would have to be one hundred percent reliable.

So right now, fun was the last thing on Ryanâ€™s mind. He had a job to do, a job thatâ€”between his own project and the one Casey had given himâ€”was going to take al night.

So an al -nighter meant canceling his evening plans. There was no choice to be made. A five-year-old childâ€™s life depended on him.

And the sands of the hourglass continued to trickle down to empty.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Day Five

Claudia Mitchel was in panic mode.

Joe was being held in custody for having connections to the mob. She was pretty sure the FBI suspected him of kidnapping Krissy Wil is.

And there wasnâ€™t a damned thing she could do about it.

She was alone, she was unemployed and she was devastatedâ€”again. Sheâ€™d just gotten Joe back. She didnâ€™t care who he worked for. He wasnâ€™t a bad manâ€”he was Joe. Plus, everything else aside, they were just beginning to put the pieces back together, to make a life together.

And now this.

Damn Judge Wil is.

Claudia understood that her anger at Judge Wil is was irrational. But that woman had taken everything from her: her career, her income and now her man. She wanted to strike out, to make Judge Wil is pay.

But, in her heart, Claudia knew that the judge was already payingâ€”in the most heinous way possible. Her little girl was gone. Sheâ€™d been taken from her, maybe forever.

Given those circumstances, it was cruel to harbor resentment. Stil , Claudia couldnâ€™t squelch hers. It continued to boil inside her, like a volcano about to erupt.

Her life was in shambles.

The phone cal sheâ€™d received from the employment agency was the closest thing to good news sheâ€™d had since this turmoil began.

A nursing home north of Westchester County was looking for a bookkeeper and an office manager. It was a far cry, both in content and in salary, from her position as a court clerk, but it would help pay the bil s. And the commute would be long, but it was doable.

Her interview was today.

She rose early, dressing in her most serious business suit, and mental y ran through prospective interview questions in her head. It had been a while, and she had to make the transition back to professional woman.

With a modicum of confidence, Claudia left the house and climbed into her car, beginning the hour-and-a-half drive up to the facility. She left herself plenty of time, since she was unfamiliar with the area and the winding, mountain roads. As it turned out, she made good time, and arrived at Sunny Gardens fifteen minutes early.

That gave her a short interval to scan the grounds from the vantage point of the administration building. From what she could see, the acreage was lovelyâ€”wel manicured, serene, just the atmosphere a patient would need to enjoy the final stages of his or her life. The facility was set on rol ing hil s with expansive gardens. Aside from the main complex and the administration building, there was a modern clubhouse and a sprawling patio with a view of the sunrise. Claudia would have loved to strol down to the lake, but the distance would make her arrival at the interview tight. Maybe afterwardâ€”if she had a shot at the job.

Which she did. The interview went beautiful y. Claudia was direct and honest about her qualifications and experience. And, Ms. Babick, the human resources executive Claudia met with, was clearly aware that Claudia was overqualified. But she was also aware of the high unemployment rate, and the scarcity of good jobs. So, rather than being put off by Claudiaâ€™s years clerking for a judge, she was pleased by her organizational skil s and her ability to take charge.

A half hour later they shook hands, and Claudia was on her way, with the guarantee of a prompt phone cal to the employment agency.

Feeling good about herself for the first time in ages, Claudia decided to take that strol down to the lake.

The strol turned out to be a lot more than she bargained for.

Rounding the corner of the administration building, Claudia got a ful panoramic view of the facility. The first thing that stood out was that a new wing was being constructed at the farthest end of the main building. The second thing was the large sign on the fenced-in construction area.

It read: Bennato Construction Company.

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared in confused disbelief. Then, she pul ed herself together. She reminded herself that Bennato was involved in construction projects al over New York State. Any connection between Joe and them had nothing to do with her, or todayâ€™s job interview.

She was overreacting. She had to be.

She turned away. Thatâ€™s when she was hit with her second surprise of the day.

This was no coincidence.

She considered retracing her steps and forgetting sheâ€™d ever seen what she did. But she couldnâ€™t. She was too unstrung. So she didnâ€™t think. She just marched straight into the eye of the storm. And she had the confrontation before she could chicken out and walk away.

She left the nursing home with a sense of awareness and dread that far eclipsed the positive impact of her upbeat job interview.

Hurrying to her car, she jumped in and turned over the engine. She couldnâ€™t get home fast enough. What sheâ€™d learned in her face-off could change everything.

So stunned was Claudia with her newfound, overwhelming knowledge, that she failed to spot the dark sedan fol owing a short distance behind her.

It waited until she was a quarter mile from the sharp hairpin turn atop the mountain to pick up speed. Then, the driver floored the gas. The car flew up to Claudiaâ€™s in seconds. Just as quickly, it moved to the left and astride hers. The driver lost no time, slamming the sedanâ€™s passenger side directly into Claudiaâ€™s driverâ€™s side.

She screamed and clutched the wheel, swerving from side to side and trying to get out of the way. But there was nowhere to goâ€”not with the steel divider to her right, separating her from the steep decline that plunged down from the mountaintop.

The sedan wouldnâ€™t let her go. It struck her car over again and againâ€”hard, purposeful yâ€”nudging it closer and closer to the railing.

Claudia veered wildly, trying to escape the inevitable.

She lost the fight.

With the sickening sound of tearing metal, Claudiaâ€™s car tore through the divider and plummeted over the side of the mountain. It flipped over four or five times before crashing into a tree.

Seconds later, the car burst into flames.

Â

Ryan was stil at his desk when Casey came down late that morning, Hero at her heels. Ryanâ€™s five-oâ€™clock shadow told her heâ€™d been at it al night. The dark circles under Caseyâ€™s eyes told him the same.

â€œWhere do things stand?â€ she asked.

Ryan leaned back in his chair. â€œYou look like hel .â€

â€œThanks. So do you.â€

â€œRough night?â€

Casey shrugged. â€œIâ€™ve been buried in the Felicity Akerman case file.â€

â€œHutch must be pissed.â€

â€œNope. He pul ed an al -nighter of his own. The BAU is busy modifying their profile in light of the potential Vizzini connection.â€ Casey put a lid on the chitchat about her private life and changed the subject. â€œWhat have you got for me?â€

Ryan took the hint and reverted to business. â€œIâ€™ve aged the images of al the kids you gave me to work withâ€”Felicityâ€™s friends, the neighborhood kids she played with, the girls she went to soccer camp with. Iâ€™m in the process of tracking them down. So far, thereâ€™s nothing impressive to report. No parents with mob connections. No sleazy backgrounds. Just normal middle-class families. And the kids, now men and women, are scattered around the countryâ€”different careers, different marital statuses, different lives.â€

He handed Casey some printed pages. â€œThose are the adult images I came up with. Each page has a smal corner photo of that person as a child. That gives us the continuity we need when we show the pictures to Vera Akerman and Hope Wil is. See if either of them recognizes a familiar face. Particularly Hope. Have her rack her brain for anyone whoâ€™s been hanging around, maybe visiting as an al eged repairman or someone canvassing for a religious organization or political candidate. That would have given them access to the house and to the Wil isesâ€”maybe even to Krissy. And if Hope does recognize someone, and if Vera recal s them from childhood, we might have a lead.â€

Casey glanced toward the center of the room, taking in the copying machine. â€œIt looks like youâ€™ve been busy working more than one lead.â€

â€œYeah. I know we havenâ€™t gotten anything incriminating off Joe Dealeâ€™s computer. And I know the guyâ€™s low on the Vizzini totem pole. So I figured weâ€™d step up our investigation, take it to the next levelâ€”the Bennato Construction Company.â€ Ryan walked over, patted the copier. â€œAs of four this morning, this babyâ€™s ready to go.â€

Â

Marc was in his office at the Forensic Instincts brownstone, getting ready for the visit he and Ryan had planned, when his BlackBerry rang.

The cal was short. But it was a shocker.

He made his way to Caseyâ€™s office, cal ing down to Ryan to join them.

â€œGet thisâ€”â€ he said the instant the three of them were together. â€œClaudia Mitchel is dead. Her car went off a cliff forty miles north of here, a couple of hours ago. There were two sets of tire treads at the crime scene. This definitely wasnâ€™t an accident.â€

â€œWow.â€ Casey blew out a breath and sank down on the edge of her desk. â€œWho told you thisâ€”Hutch?â€

â€œYeah. He gave me a courtesy cal , just so weâ€™d have a heads-up. This sure as hel supports the mob theory. And it suggests that either Claudia knew something, or, more likely, that Joe is being delivered a message to keep his mouth shut. Which means he knows something, whether or not he realizes it.â€

â€œAl the more reason for todayâ€™s mission.â€ Ryan was already dressed and ready. â€œCasey, you go ahead up to the Wil isesâ€™

place and deal with this new development. Marc and I wil do our thing.â€

Casey was already punching a phone number into her cel . â€œIâ€™m cal ing Patrick. The FBI might already have alerted him, but, if not, he should be a part of this. Itâ€™s another indication that Sidney Akermanâ€™s il egal dealings are at the heart of Krissyâ€™s disappearanceâ€”and Felicityâ€™s.â€

Â

An hour later, Marcâ€”clad in a gray uniform with the word â€œSuperiorâ€ printed on his shirtâ€”pushed open the door of the Bennato Construction Company.

The reception area was cramped, fil ed with piles of building materials, with peeling wal s, a dusty floor and a steel desk, behind which sat a young, attractive secretary. She was cracking gum, talking on the phone and reading Cosmo at the same time. Based on the conversation, and the juvenile notes sheâ€™d written on Post-its that were stuck to her desk, Marc knew he was not dealing with a brain trust.

Al the better.

She looked up when Marc walked over. Her gaze traveled from his broad, wel -built physique to his brooding, sexy stare.

â€œSuze?â€ she said into the phone. â€œI gotta go. Thereâ€™s a workman here. Iâ€™l cal you back.â€ She hung up, folding her hands and leaning forward. It was no accident that she was providing Marc with a spectacular view of her cleavage. â€œCan I help you?â€

â€œNow thatâ€™s a loaded question.â€ Marc gave her a slow, crooked smile and a wink, making sure to scrutinize her breasts appreciatively as he spoke. â€œIâ€™m sure you canâ€”in lots of ways.â€

â€œName them.â€

Oh, this was too easy.

â€œYou got itâ€”â€ Marc waited for her to introduce herself. â€œSonya.â€

â€œYou got it, Sonya.â€ Her name was a caress, as he turned his charms on ful force. â€œBut first, letâ€™s get work out of the way. My name is Danger. John Danger.â€

â€œReal y.â€ She gave a tinkling laugh. â€œIs that your pickup name or your real one?â€

â€œBoth.â€ A twinkle. â€œI just got lucky, I guess.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure you get lucky a lot.â€

â€œI never kiss and tel ,â€ Marc replied in a teasing tone. â€œAnyway, back to businessâ€”for now. Iâ€™m from Superior Office, and your copying machine has been sending intermittent alerts to our office.â€

â€œReal y?â€ She was barely listening to him. But she was eyeing his crotch. â€œI didnâ€™t know copying machines could do that.â€

â€œThey can, Sonya. Do you know the Check Engine light on your car? Same idea, except that the light is in our office instead of on your keypad. That way, we can be of best service to you.â€ Another smile. â€œIs it okay if I take a look?â€

That question elicited a furrow between her eyebrows. â€œHow much is this going to cost? I have to get my bossâ€™s okay before I spend any money.â€

â€œWonâ€™t be necessary. Itâ€™s free. Service is included at no charge along with your machine.â€

â€œFree is perfect.â€ She pointed to her left. â€œThe copierâ€™s in the storage room. Would you like a cup of coffee? Iâ€™m making a fresh pot.â€

â€œOnly if you join me.â€

â€œJust what I had in mind.â€ She crossed the room, giving him a clear view of her tight pants and curvy ass as she did. â€œItâ€™l be ready when you are.â€

â€œI canâ€™t wait.â€

When Sonya was at the sink, Marc strode into the storage room and opened up the copying machine as if to service it. He then slid the special piece of paper Ryan had given him into the main paper tray.

Hearing the coffee machine sputter its last drops of water, Marc cal ed out, â€œIâ€™m not seeing any error codes. Can you make a few copies for me?â€

â€œBe right there,â€ Sonya cal ed back. â€œHow do you take your coffee?â€

Marc rol ed his eyes. â€œHot,â€ he informed her, his voice fil ed with promise. â€œJust like my women.â€

Sonya sashayed into the storage room and handed Marc a cup of steaming hot coffee. Marc moved closer to her, brushing up against her.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sonya asked, â€œWhat did you ask me to do?â€

â€œIâ€™d like to test the machine. Can you make a couple of copies?â€

â€œOh. Sure. I need some timesheets anyway.â€

Reluctantly, she walked back to her desk, got the original and returned. Placing the page on the copier glass, she closed the cover, punched in ten copies and pressed the button that said Copy.

The machine whirred to life for a brief second, until Ryanâ€™s sheet of paper reached the hot imaging area. Instantly, the copier seized, and a vile smel permeated the office.

Sonyaâ€™s head snapped around, and her eyes fil ed with dread. â€œWhat did I do?â€

â€œDonâ€™t freak out,â€ Marc soothed. â€œLet me see whatâ€™s going on.â€

He slid out the imager, scowling as he pointed to the smoking drum. â€œNot good. Itâ€™s fried.â€

Sonya was practical y in tears. â€œMy boss wil kil me. Anytime something goes wrong in the office, he blames me.â€

â€œShh-shh-shh.â€ Marc pressed his index finger to her lips, then held it up in a one-minute gesture. Whipping out his cel phone, he punched in a number.

Around the corner in their van, Ryanâ€™s phone rang. He hit the talk button. â€œYup,â€ he greeted Marc.

â€œHey, Jim,â€ Marc said in his ear. â€œItâ€™s John. You know that machine you were going to deliver today? I need you to bring it to me here at Bennato Construction.â€ A pause. â€œI donâ€™t care. Fuck â€™em. Theyâ€™l get their machine tomorrow.â€ Another pause.

â€œFuck Eddie, too. He can kiss my ass. Just bring that copier to me now. Itâ€™s an emergency. Iâ€™l handle Eddie.â€

Hanging up, Marc turned to face Sonya, who was staring at him, speechless.

Marc gave her a huge, sexy smile, and said, â€œAfter this, weâ€™l work on the other things I can do for you, Sonya. And on the ways you can help me.â€

Thirty minutes later, Marc and Ryan left Bennato Construction. Marc had a bite mark on his lips and Sonyaâ€™s phone number in his pocket. And the storage room had Ryanâ€™s machine in it. The copier would soon begin to â€œphone home,â€ sending Ryan images of every piece of paper that went through it.

â€œNice souvenir,â€ Ryan commented drily, turning from the wheel to indicate Marcâ€™s mouth.

â€œShut up.â€ Marc tore up the phone number and tossed the scraps into the trash container.

â€œMaybe you should keep that. You could get laid tonight. Hel , you practical y got laid ten minutes ago on the new copying machine.â€ An approving nod. â€œI guess watching me in action has had a positive educational impact. You real y pul ed that off. Iâ€™l make sure Casey knows that youâ€™l make a good backup when Iâ€™m otherwise occupied.â€

â€œDonâ€™t do me any favors.â€ Marc had no desire to fil the role of hot stud. â€œI do just fine on my ownâ€”when itâ€™s for real. But this phony shit is not my thing, even if I am a stel ar actor. I only did it this time because seductive olâ€™ you had to make technical tweaks on your copying machine.â€ He licked his swol en lower lip. â€œDamn. She almost tore off a layer of my skin, not to mention smothering me in her breasts.â€

â€œShe also had about three brain cel s. Not my type either.â€ Ryan chuckled.

â€œLetâ€™s just hope we get something off that machine,â€ Marc said soberly. â€œThe spyware on Joe Dealeâ€™s laptop gave us zip.â€

â€œTrue. We need a quick break. Claudia Mitchel is dead. Where does that leave Krissy Wil is?â€

â€œNot just as a kidnapping victim anymore.â€ Ryanâ€™s jaw tightened.

â€œYeah. But hopeful y not as col ateral damage.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

With a tight grip on his leash, Casey led Hero into the Wil is home. The bloodhoundâ€™s nose was everywhere, taking in the smel s of the house and the scents of the people in it.

â€œGreat-looking guy, Casey.â€ Grace greeted her in the living room doorway. â€œI knew youâ€™d come to your senses and replace Hutch.â€

â€œGiven how pissed off at him I am right now, I just might take that advice.â€ Casey didnâ€™t pul any punches with Hutchâ€™s partner.

They were a tight team, and Casey was sure that Grace was aware of the fact that Hutch had cal ed Marc, rather than Casey, with the news about Claudia Mitchel â€™s murder.

Casey wasnâ€™t sure which was more immatureâ€”Hutchâ€™s action, or her own reaction.

She spotted him across the room, and purposely ignored him. She had things to deal with; sheâ€™d thrash it out with Hutch later.

â€œWhat happened with Akerman and yesterdayâ€™s lineup?â€ Casey asked. â€œDid Sidney recognize that guy Lou DeMassi?â€

â€œFrom what Peg told me, I think that Akerman was pretty sure DeMassi was one of the mobsters squeezing Kenyon. Last I heard, Peg and Don were interrogating him. Ken went over to DeMassiâ€™s sonâ€™s place, but the guy and his family seem to have magical y left on a spontaneous Sicilian vacation. Ken wil find him. But weâ€™re back to the same enemyâ€”time.â€

â€œCaseyâ€”â€ Hope interjected, hurrying over, her lashes damp with tears. â€œThis nightmare just keeps getting worse and worse. Why would the mob kil Claudia? Did she know something? Are they warning her boyfriend to keep his mouth shut about my baby?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ Casey answered honestly. â€œBut they obviously went to great lengths to pick the right spot to commit the murder.

That section of road is al hil s and sharp curves. And itâ€™s countrified, so itâ€™s pretty isolated. Iâ€™m guessing they fol owed her up to there, waited for her return trip and did their job.â€

Turning back to Grace, Casey asked, â€œHas someone told Joe Deale about Claudia yet?â€

â€œYup.â€ Grace nodded. â€œPeg stopped at the precinct before she and Don drove up to the medical center to question the staff. From what I heard, Deale is total y freaked out. Not so much about losing his girlfriend, but about what it suggests. He knows that heâ€™s next. Heâ€™s like a rat in a maze, not knowing what he might know and not knowing how to get out.â€

â€œI finished our updated profile and released it to the entire task force.â€ Hutch appeared out of nowhere to convey that information to Grace. â€œTheyâ€™re al running with it.â€ He glanced at Casey. â€œHey.â€

â€œHi,â€ she returned cool y without meeting his gaze. Instead, she addressed Hope. â€œI have some photos for you and your mother to look at. Is she up for it now?â€

â€œYes, of course. Come into the Florida room. Sheâ€™s resting there. Itâ€™s the only place thatâ€™s removed from the pandemonium, and she hasnâ€™t gotten any real sleep since Krissyâ€¦â€ A tremor in her voice. â€œSince they took Krissy. Ashleyâ€™s with her.â€

â€œGood. Ashley practical y lives here. Itâ€™s possible that she might be able to identify someone, too.â€ Casey began fol owing Hope, then paused. â€œIs your mother okay with dogs? As I mentioned to you on the phone, I brought Hero to do some more sniffing recon.â€

â€œSheâ€™s fine with them.â€

â€œHero does slobber,â€ Casey warned.

Hope managed a smal smile. â€œMy mother had a cocker spaniel when she was growing up. According to her, â€˜Slobberâ€™ was his middle name. So I wouldnâ€™t worry. Going through those photos with a fine-tooth comb is what this is al about.â€

â€œGreat. What Iâ€™l do is leave the stack of photos with the three of you, explain what Iâ€™m looking for and take Hero up to Krissyâ€™s room. Okay?â€

â€œFine. Yes. Anything.â€

They continued into the Florida room, where Vera was sitting on the couch bleakly sipping a cup of tea and Ashley was pacing around, unable to sit stil .

â€œHi,â€ Ashley said, stopping to look at Casey. â€œDid you hear the horrible news about Claudia Mitchel ?â€

A nod. â€œThe authorities are al over it. Hopeful y, weâ€™l hear something soon.â€

Ashleyâ€™s gaze dropped to Hero. â€œWhat a beautiful bloodhound. Is he yours?â€

â€œNot only mine, but a newly inducted member of Forensic Instincts,â€ Casey replied. â€œHeâ€™s a former FBI human scent evidence dog, trained and certified at Quantico. Weâ€™re lucky that he went into early retirement. This way, he can work the case with us.â€

Casey turned back to Vera and Hope. â€œI have photos for you to review. Felicityâ€™s friends, aged to what they would currently look like.

And their parents, as wel . Hope, you study the images careful y and let me know if youâ€™ve seen any of these people hanging around your house or Krissyâ€™s school. And Mrs. Akerman, Iâ€™d appreciate if youâ€™d concentrate on seeing if you recognize the kids from childhood, and their parents from younger adulthood.â€

â€œYouâ€™re searching for a clue that would tie the two kidnappings togetherâ€”like the same kidnapper,â€ Hope concluded aloud.

â€œExactly,â€ Casey said. â€œAshley, you join Judge Wil is in her scrutiny of the current individuals. You spend so much time hereâ€”maybe someone in the pictures wil jump out at you.â€

â€œOf course.â€ Ashley had already settled herself beside Hope, whoâ€™d sunk down on the opposite sofa, photos in hand.

â€œTake your time,â€ Casey instructed. â€œHero and I wil go upstairs to Krissyâ€™s bedroom. I want to col ect a few more of Krissyâ€™s things that have her smel s. Heroâ€™s sense of smel is unbelievable. He could pick up her scent from miles away. That can only help us.â€

Casey was just about to head upstairs when Patrick arrived.

â€œWhere do things stand?â€ he demanded.

Quickly, Casey fil ed him in, then suggested that he, too, review the photos and see if anyone struck him from three decades ago.

â€œConsider it done,â€ he said, perching behind Vera. â€œIf the offender is here, Iâ€™l spot him.â€

Â

Once upstairs in Krissyâ€™s bedroom, Casey put on latex gloves to do her work. Sheâ€™d covered half the room, scooped up Krissyâ€™s pil owcaseâ€”which she let Hero sniffâ€”and had gathered a pair of soccer cleats and a T-shirt, which sheâ€™d packed careful y away for later scent-pad col ection, when her BlackBerry rang.

A swift glance at the cal er ID told her it was the office.

â€œRyan?â€ she asked into the phone.

â€œYup. Iâ€™ve got something for you, straight from the copying machine at Bennato Construction. And itâ€™s a doozy. Get this. You know that medical facility, Sunny Gardens, that Claudia Mitchel â€™s calendar said she interviewed at just before her death?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œWel , guess who just happens to be constructing the new wing there?â€

â€œYouâ€™re kidding.â€

â€œBingoâ€”Bennato. And it gets better. From the paperwork Iâ€™m seeing off their copier, Bennato is screwing them big-time.

Theyâ€™re using substandard materials, cutting corners in construction, you name it. Plus, it looks like theyâ€™re paying off the inspectors, ensuring that they look the other way. Itâ€™s quite an operation Bennatoâ€™s got going there.â€

Casey sank down in a chair, Hero beside her. â€œThe il egalities are no surprise. But the fact that Claudia Mitchel was at the place just before she was kil ed, thatâ€™s no coincidence. And it changes everything. I assumed her kil er had fol owed her upstate. Now Iâ€™m wondering if this murder was more spontaneous than planned.â€

â€œMy thoughts exactly. She went for an interview. She might have inadvertently seen something, or someone, she shouldnâ€™t have. Or maybe that someone saw her, and figured that she and/or Deale might be ratting Bennato out to the Feds.â€

â€œMaybe just doesnâ€™t cut it anymore,â€ Casey said. â€œDid any of the paperwork list the foreman or any of the workers who are on this particular construction project?â€

â€œThe foreman, yes. His nameâ€™s Bil Parsons. Heâ€™s been working for Bennato for a dozen years.â€

â€œWe need to talk to Parsons.â€

â€œMarc and I are one step ahead of you. Marcâ€™s already on his way to the construction site.â€

â€œSoâ€™s the task force, Ryan.â€

â€œWe know. But this is Marc weâ€™re talking about. Heâ€™l slither in and out, get what we need, and do it al without being spotted by anyone.â€

â€œTrue.â€ Thank God it was Marc handling this. No one else could pul it off. Theyâ€™d be screwed. Because if the FBI spotted a member of her team on the grounds, theyâ€™d demand to know how they got the information on Bennato and Parsons first. They wouldnâ€™t like the answer, and Forensic Instincts wouldnâ€™t like the consequences.

The wisest thing was to stay out of the Bureauâ€™s way on this one. Let them fol ow protocol. That way, whatever they uncovered would be admissible in court when they went after Bennato. Casey and her teamâ€™s job was to find Krissy Wil is, not to bury the Vizzini family.

â€œMarc wil get answers out of Parsons any way he has to,â€ she said, tel ing Ryan what he already knew. â€œI almost feel sorry for the bastard.â€

â€œYeah. A low-level mob soldier up against a Navy SEAL. Not promising for the foreman.â€

Â

Krissy. I donâ€™t know what to do.

Iâ€™ve followed my instructions to a tee. Iâ€™ve eliminated obstacles, kept us well hidden, and done everything in my power to win you over. I thought I was making headway. But nothing works.

Even the special world I created for you didnâ€™t get the reaction Iâ€™d hoped for. The software I designed is one-of-a-kind, just like you. Itâ€™s better and more original than your all-time-favorite Club Penguin. And yet, even though you obeyed me and went to play with it, you did it without the sparkle in your eyes that I expected. Silently. Listlessly. Not like when youâ€™re playing with Oreo and Ruby. Theyâ€™re the only ones who make you smile.

At least youâ€™re eating a little better, but youâ€™re not sleeping. The room is still strange. The monsters are still terrifying.

I want to soothe them away. But you wonâ€™t let me get near you, not even with the locket and perfume. You start to cry the minute you see and smell them. And you shut down when I mention the word â€œmommy.â€

Yet you call out her name and cry for her every night.

I keep telling myself how short a time itâ€™s been.

I try not to think about whatâ€™s being taken from you, day after day. I try to remind myself of the instructions. But things are different.

The caring is different. No one can help or protect you but me.

Iâ€™ve got to remember that. Iâ€™ve got to have patience.

But for how long?

Â

Hutch pul ed Casey aside the minute she and Hero made their way downstairs.

â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€ he demanded.

She gave him a cool look. â€œHero and I were just doing a once-over in Krissyâ€™s room. I wanted him to be able to sniff outâ€”â€

â€œI know what you were doing with Hero,â€ Hutch interrupted. â€œI meant, whatâ€™s with the icy treatment? What are you so pissed off about?â€

Casey glanced around to ensure they were alone. â€œApparently, itâ€™s okay to sleep with me, but not to give me a major heads-up like the fact that Claudia Mitchel was murdered. Iâ€™d understand if the information was classified, but it wasnâ€™t, and you had no problem cal ing your buddy, Marc. So you werenâ€™t keeping it from Forensic Instincts, just from me.â€

â€œThatâ€™s what youâ€™re ripping mad about?â€ Hutch sounded incredulous. â€œObviously, I knew Marc would tel you. Your team is tighter than our squads.â€

â€œBut?â€ Casey prompted. â€œIâ€™m not a former BAU-er? Is that it?â€

â€œNo, thatâ€™s not it.â€ It was Hutchâ€™s turn to glance around. Then, he dropped his voice to protect their privacy. â€œItâ€™s because of our personal relationship that I didnâ€™t cal you directly. The Bureau understands my continued contact and loyalty towards Marcâ€”we were once col eagues. But you and I are different. Youâ€™re the private sector, earning big bucks without having to fol ow the rules.

Itâ€™s bad enough that half the world knows weâ€™re involved. The last thing I want to do is ruffle feathers to the point where the FBI stops feeling so magnanimous toward Forensic Instincts. Up until now, itâ€™s been an amenable, if rocky, road. But your team walks a fine line between acceptable and off-limits. My giving you a direct jump on Claudia Mitchel â€™s murder would definitely rock the boat.â€

Casey waved her hand in frustrated disbelief. â€œSo even though the entire task force knows that Marc is going to come straight to me with the news, itâ€™s okay because Marc is former BAU and because the two of you arenâ€™t hitting the sheets together.â€

Hutchâ€™s lips twitched at her succinct conclusion. â€œThat about sums it up.â€

â€œUnbelievable.â€ Casey dragged her fingers through her hair. â€œAnother reminder of why I hate bureaucracy. Fine.â€ A thoughtful pause. â€œYou and I real y have to have a talk. In retrospect, I should have anticipated this kind of thing, but, since this is the first case weâ€™ve worked so closely together on, I didnâ€™t. We need to set some ground rules. Otherwise, weâ€™l combust.â€

â€œI agreeâ€”and not just about this case. We have to get on the same page about a lot of things.â€

Casey didnâ€™t ask him what those â€œthingsâ€ were. She merely nodded.

â€œTonight,â€ Hutch stated flatly. â€œIâ€™l come by late, after weâ€™re both too exhausted to work. Then we can talk.â€

This time, Caseyâ€™s eyebrows rose slightly. â€œThat sounds productive, but not very inspiring.â€

â€œOh, Iâ€™l be inspiring. You can count on it.â€

â€œIâ€™l hold you to that.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

This time Claireâ€™s flashes of insight didnâ€™t come in a dream.

They did come while she was in bed, however. When she was lying there, staring off in the darkened room and contemplating the idea of joining Forensic Instincts.

Her mind began to wander, drifting from one team member to the other. She envisioned her role in the company. Her relationships with the people.

Suddenly, those images were gone, replaced with the sights, sounds and smel s of tragedy.

A medical facility with negative energy surrounding it.

That image faded. The darkness persisted.

White panic. A car. Veering wildly. The grinding screech of failing brakes. Tearing metal. The car, rol ing over and over, spiraling downward.

Thudding against the craggy terrain. A violent stop. Flames. The smel of gas. The blast of an explosion.

The icy stil ness of death.

Fear. Krissyâ€™s face. Tears coursing down her cheeks. Hopeâ€™s face. Pain and frustration carved into her very soul.

Krissy. Hope. Krissy. Hope.

Claire jerked into an erect position, unable to bear the onslaught of images any longer.

For a minute she sat there, pul ing up her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees. She tried to make sense of what sheâ€™d experienced. Clearly, the first part was Claudia Mitchel â€™s murder. But the second part, the harsh, alternating flashes between Krissy and Hopeâ€”that had to mean something.

Krissy was stil alive.

She knew that in a flash. The child was traumatized, withdrawn, afraid.

But stil alive.

Instantly, Claire reached over and picked up her phone.

Â

Casey was in the living room of the brownstone, drinking her fifth cup of coffee of the day. Sheâ€™d hung around the Wil ises long enough to hear what she already knew from Marc.

Peg and the task force members had returned from Sunny Gardens, where theyâ€™d spoken to Ms. Babick in Human Resources and learned about the great interview Claudia Mitchel had had that morning. The poor woman had been shocked to learn about Claudiaâ€™s tragic, fatal car crash. The task force further reported that Bennato Construction was on the premises, building a new wing. Theyâ€™d questioned the construction crew, particularly the foreman, who was an emotional wreck.

Casey had smiled at that part. Bil Parsons had been a wreck, al right. But not because he knew anything. Because Marc had pinned him to the wal , pressed his forearm across the guyâ€™s neck, and threatened to crush his windpipe if he didnâ€™t tel him what he knew.

Parsons had spewed al kinds of informationâ€”the names of the construction crew, the length of time theyâ€™d been working the project, the corners theyâ€™d been told to cut.

None of it gave them a clue about Krissy Wil isâ€™s abduction.

But Parsons did know Joe Deale, and he had heard he was locked up. Between that, and his terror over Marcâ€™s death grip, he was more than happy to swear that heâ€™d keep his mouth shut about Marcâ€™s little visit if the Feds came around.

Casey wasnâ€™t surprised to hear that the task force had come away with nothing. But she was interested in their subsequent interrogation of Joe Deale, where theyâ€™d squeezed out the fact that Parsonsâ€™s brother Ike was one of Tony Bennatoâ€™s fair-haired boysâ€”the foreman on some of his most lucrative projects. Interesting. Marc might have another visit to pay.

As for the photos Ryan had created, neither Vera nor Hope had come up with a damned thing. Hope hadnâ€™t laid eyes on any of the grown women whoâ€™d once been Felicityâ€™s childhood friends, and Vera didnâ€™t recognize the older renditions of those childrenâ€™s parents.

Even Patrick was stumped, although he did remember interviewing almost al the parents in the photos. He was frustrated as hel , but not surprised. He might have missed Sidney Akermanâ€™s mob connection, but he hadnâ€™t missed the obvious. Heâ€™d gril ed the neighborhood suspects again and again those thirty-two years ago, until they cringed every time he knocked on their doors.

Casey was stil deep in thought, when her phone rang.

â€œCasey Woods,â€ she said into the mouthpiece.

â€œCasey, itâ€™s Claire.â€ Claireâ€™s voice was shaky but certain. â€œKrissy Wil is is stil alive.â€

Caseyâ€™s head shot up. â€œYouâ€™re sure?â€

â€œAs sure as I can be without seeing her in person. I just got a strong sense of her presence, and some vivid flashes of her face.

Sheâ€™s sobbing her heart out. This experience has badly scarred her. But whoever has her didnâ€™t break her. Not yet. And they definitely didnâ€™t kil her.â€ A stymied sigh. â€œEvery time I get close to sensing who the kidnappers are, or what they plan to do to Krissy, the vision is eclipsed by Hope Wil isâ€™s pain. I just canâ€™t get around it. I keep seeing Hope, time and again.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not a shock. Hope is coming apart at the seams. And who can blame her? Her daughterâ€™s been missing for more than four days. She knows the statistics. In fact, Iâ€™m not sure whether or not I should tel her about your vision. Would it help? Or would it give her false hope?â€ Casey hastened to qualify her statement. â€œIâ€™m not questioning your abilities. Iâ€™m relieved as hel to hear what you sensed. But to tel a motherâ€¦â€

â€œI understand,â€ Claire said. â€œAnd Iâ€™m not offended. Casey, no matter how strong your faith in clairvoyance is, you canâ€™t help but doubt what you canâ€™t see. Nonetheless, Iâ€™d tel Hope if I were you. She needs something to cling to. And, if by some sick twist of fate Iâ€™m wrong, the loss of her daughter wonâ€™t be any less unbearable.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right.â€ Casey had to agree that what Claire said made a world of sense. â€œIâ€™l cal her now. Thereâ€™s no need to put her through another agonizing night. Not if I can ease the pain a little.â€

Â

A half hour later, Casey was stil feeling a sense of wel -being at Hopeâ€™s reaction to her phone cal . How grateful sheâ€™d sounded.

How many indebted tears sheâ€™d cried.

Now, Casey could only pray that the hope sheâ€™d given the Wil ises would be realized.

There was a knock on the door, and Hero leaped to life, barking and braying at the sound. He headed for the stairs, making his way down, ears flopping as he descended.

Casey fol owed behind, glancing at her watch as she did. It was ten oâ€™clock, too late for the team, too early for Hutch.

â€œWho is it?â€ she cal ed.

No answer.

â€œWhoâ€™s there?â€ she asked, this time louder.

Again, there was no response.

Sliding the chain lock into place, Casey opened the door a crack and peered outside. Hero shoved his nose through the smal opening and sniffed, growling under his breath.

There was nobody on the doorstep.

Assuming the visitor had realized he or she was at the wrong house, Casey urged Hero inside and started to shut the door. As she did, she noticed an envelope tucked under the doorjamb.

She unchained the door and opened it, reaching down and picking up the envelope. It had her name careful y printed on it in ink.

Swiftly, she glanced up and down the street. Quiet and empty.

Hero was sniffing the doorstep. He looked ready to take off in hot pursuit.

Casey nipped that in the bud. She coaxed Hero back into the house. Then she locked the door and turned, leaning back against the wal and careful y opening the envelope. On second thought, she walked into the storage room and got a pair of latex gloves, which she wriggled her hands into. If this letter had anything to do with the Wil is case, she didnâ€™t want to smudge any fingerprints that might be on the page.

That done, she slid the sheet of paper out of the envelope and unfolded it.

There was one phrase scrawled there in ink: Look closer at family.

The note had to refer to her kidnapping investigation. But the wording was curious.

Family. Did the person mean the Vizzini family or the Wil is family? And if he or she knew something, why werenâ€™t they coming forward?

Were they afraid for their own safety? Were Forensic Instincts and the FBI task force getting close enough to incite more violent acts? Was murdering Claudia Mitchel only the beginning?

And why had this informant come to Casey, rather than to law enforcement? It had to be fear. Or the hope that Forensic Instincts would be wil ing to take some il egal path to get at the answers. Any way you looked at it, the whole thing was sleazy. And that smacked of the mob.

She was stil standing there, contemplating the message, when another knock on the door sounded.

â€œWho is it?â€ she demanded.

â€œMe.â€ It was Hutchâ€™s voice.

Relieved, Casey opened the door. Hutch was standing there, looking tired and stressed-out, but no less sexy.

â€œHi,â€ Casey greeted him. â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re here. Although I didnâ€™t expect you for hours.â€

He stepped inside and squatted down to scratch Heroâ€™s ears. Clearly, the bloodhound was agitated by his arrival. â€œThe team broke up early. Ken got a break on the Sicilian whereabouts of DeMassiâ€™s son. Heâ€™s fol owing up on it. Based on our assumption that the two abductions are related, the DeMassis are our strongest lead. Father and son both take orders from the Vizzini family. The time frame worksâ€”DeMassi could have kidnapped Felicity, and his son could have kidnapped Krissy. At least itâ€™s a continuum that makes sense.â€

â€œPlus, if Lou DeMassi is serving a lengthy sentence, itâ€™s an added impetus for his son to want to avenge his fatherâ€™s imprisonment.â€

Hutch nodded. â€œAnyway, if the lead materializes into something concrete, or if anything else surfaces tonight, Iâ€™l get a cal from the task force. If not, you and I can have that talk.â€ He frowned as Hero continued to growl under his breath. It wasnâ€™t characteristic for him to show such hostility toward Hutch.

â€œItâ€™s okay, fel ow,â€ Hutch soothed. â€œIâ€™m the one who brought you to your new lady. Remember?â€

Hero gazed past Hutch and out into the darkened street.

Raising his head, Hutch gave Casey a quizzical look. â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€ he asked, picking up on the tension that was rippling through her. Simultaneously, he spotted her latex gloves, and the letter she was holding.

â€œThis is whatâ€™s going on.â€ Casey held out the letter for him to see. â€œI found it outside my door a little while ago.â€

Hutch squinted and scanned the letter without touching it. â€œDo you have another pair of gloves?â€

â€œSure.â€ Casey went and got him a pair.

Once his gloves were on, Hutch took the page and studied it.

â€œThe family,â€ he muttered. â€œDoes that mean the Wil ises or the Vizzini crime family?â€

â€œMy question exactly.â€ Casey waved her arm in non-comprehension. â€œI donâ€™t see how it could be the Wil ises. Not even slimy Edward. Weâ€™ve investigated the hel out of them. Your team and mine. And weâ€™ve found nothing.â€

â€œUnless the writer of this message means Sidney Akerman. Heâ€™s the newest piece of the puzzle and the one with the mob ties.

Maybe those ties run deeper than weâ€™ve uncovered.â€

â€œThatâ€™s the only possibility I see, and itâ€™s one weâ€™l have to address. Next questionâ€”whoâ€™s giving us this tip?â€

Hutch scowled. â€œThe operative word here being us. The us in question is Forensic Instincts. Which means that whoever left that envelope at your door is someone who chooses not to give it to law enforcement. And that suggests that he or she prefers non kosher methods be used to get at the truth.â€

â€œOr that his or her own hands arenâ€™t clean,â€ Casey added. â€œI thought of both those things.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure you did.â€

â€œLook, Hutch. As you can see, Iâ€™m not keeping any secrets from you. The FBI lab is far superior to anything we have. So go ahead and take this back to the task force ASAP so it can be analyzed. You and I wil talk another time.â€

Hutch scrutinized Casey thoroughly, then shook his head. â€œThat would waste precious time. Iâ€™l cal Peg. Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™l authorize me to messenger this straight down to Quantico. Theyâ€™l get us answers in a matter of hours. In the meantime, the task force is already deep into investigating the Bennato Construction Company, and their role in the Vizzini family. Thereâ€™s nothing in this note that would change that course of action. As for Sidney Akermanâ€¦â€

â€œI can cal Patrick,â€ Casey said quickly. â€œHeâ€™l gril Sidney til the cows come home. No one in this investigation knows Sidney better than he does. And before you protest, Patrick Lynch is as straight as an arrow, former FBI al the way. Whenever my team crosses the line, he refuses to get involved. Heâ€™s an ethical, law-abiding man.â€ A hint of a smile. â€œAs opposed to Forensic Instincts, the big, bad wolves of the private sector.â€

â€œNot big, bad wolves. Maybe wel -meaning wolves that roam too far into dangerous territory.â€

â€œBut with proven results.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t argue that point. I canâ€™t agree with your methods, though.â€

â€œFair enough.â€

â€œBut speaking of big, bad wolvesâ€¦â€ A corner of Hutchâ€™s mouth lifted. â€œThis one thinks that, after we take care of this letter, we should set the case aside for a few hours and adjourn to the bedroom.â€

â€œBefore we talk?â€

â€œDefinitely. After that, the mood might be shattered.â€

â€œTrue.â€

The two of them pul ed out their cel phones and made the necessary arrangements. Then, they put the letter and envelope in a Ziploc, and packaged it for transport. That done, they pul ed off their gloves and waited for the FBI messenger to arrive.

A half hour later, the evidence was on its way, and Hutch turned and pul ed Caseyâ€™s sweater over her head. â€œA couple of hours off,â€ he murmured. â€œThatâ€™s al Iâ€™m suggesting. Weâ€™ve got other people working round-the-clock to find Krissy Wil is while we recharge our batteries.â€

â€œRecharge our batteries.â€ Caseyâ€™s eyes twinkled as she unbuckled Hutchâ€™s belt. â€œIs that what weâ€™re cal ing it these days?â€

â€œWith us? We cal it sensory overload.â€

He swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her fourth-floor apartment, not letting her feet slide to the floor until they were in the bedroom.

They finished tugging off each otherâ€™s clothes and tumbled onto the bed, their breaths coming fast and uneven. There was a sexual pul between them that had sparked to life the instant they met, and only intensified as the months had passed.

Now was no exception.

They made love with a passion and intensity that was theirs and theirs alone. Neither of them was foolish enough to believe that a connection like this grew on trees. Their bodies moved in a rhythm that was sheer unison, escalating to a frantic need for completion.

Casey wrapped her arms and legs around Hutch, gasping his name and arching her body hard against his, taking him as deep as she could. Hutch responded by urging her legs higher up on his back, gripping the headboard and driving himself al the way inside herâ€”and then some.

It erupted in an explosion of nearly painful pleasure, Casey crying out as she contracted al around him, and Hutch shouting her name as he poured into her. They drew out the moment as long as they could, before col apsing in each otherâ€™s arms, weak and drained and utterly sated.

â€œCan we stay like this for a couple of weeks?â€ Casey mumbled into Hutchâ€™s shoulder, when sheâ€™d caught her breath.

He chuckled. â€œA nice thought. Shutting out the world, the job pressures and the conflicts. Just you and me and this.â€

â€œNot viable, huh?â€

â€œUnfortunately not.â€ Hutch propped himself on his elbows and gazed down at her. â€œWeâ€™ve never come right out and said it, but you do know that whatâ€™s going on between us is about a lot more than sex, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œYes, of course. Thatâ€™s whatâ€™s going to make this conversation that much harder.â€

â€œWeâ€™re worth fighting for, Casey. Whatever label you want to give our relationship, we both know it doesnâ€™t happen every day.

So, no matter how heated a debate we end up having, Iâ€™m not walking away. Not unless you ask me to.â€

â€œIâ€™m not stupid.â€ Casey traced his jaw with her fingertip. â€œIâ€™m not going to end things over our careers. Iâ€™m just going to defend what I believe in.â€

â€œWhich is that the end justifies the means.â€

â€œWithin reason, yes. My goal here is to find Krissy Wil is. I donâ€™t give a damn about the right way to go about it. Any way I find her is the right way.â€

Hutch rol ed away and scooted to the edge of the bed. â€œIâ€™m going to grab some water for this talk. You depleted al my reserves.â€

Casey smiled. â€œNow that I doubt. But grab a bottle for me, too. Iâ€™m parched. Plus, I think we should have this conversation with our clothes on. Otherwise, we wonâ€™t talk at al .â€

â€œAgreed.â€ Hutch yanked on his boxer briefs and pants, and headed for the kitchen. By the time he returned, Casey was belting her black silk robe and perching at the edge of the bed.

Hutch handed her a bottle of water and sat down in the armchair across from the bed. â€œOkay, weâ€™re both decent and ready for verbal warfare.â€

â€œDoes it have to be warfare?â€ Casey asked. â€œI know we have different jobs and slightly different philosophies, but we both want the same resultsâ€”ultimately.â€

â€œUltimately.â€

â€œThe good news is itâ€™s very rare that weâ€™re working on the same case. Even when the FBI and Forensic Instincts are both involved. Thankful y, this is my teamâ€™s first child kidnapping case. Iâ€™m hoping it wil be our last. So you and I wonâ€™t be overlapping too often. Otherwise, weâ€™d probably kil each other.â€

Hutch took a swig of water. â€œYeah, wel , thatâ€™s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Iâ€™m seriously considering applying for a transfer to BAU-2. They havenâ€™t fil ed the opening Marc left when he resigned. Iâ€™d like to fil it. Iâ€™ve had about al I can stomach of crimes against children. Itâ€™s time for a change, something I can handle in the way I was trained. If Iâ€™m emotional y vested in a case, I canâ€™t do an effective job.â€

â€œSo youâ€™d be dealing with adult crimes.â€

â€œâ€™Fraid so.â€

Casey blew out a breath. â€œWonâ€™t that be enjoyable.â€

â€œLike you said earlier, we have to set some ground rules,â€ Hutch said. â€œStarting with separating business from pleasure. Itâ€™s not going to be easyâ€”assuming I get the job. Youâ€™re going to expect more of me than Iâ€™m able to give. Such as giving you a heads-up about information yet to be released to the public.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™re going to expect me to fol ow a certain path, and to report every discovery I make to the Bureau â€”to you. Itâ€™s not going to happen.â€

â€œI hear you.â€ Hutch frowned, rol ing the bottle of water between his palms. â€œI know what your job is. What I donâ€™t know is why.â€

â€œWhy what?â€

â€œWhy youâ€™re so fervent about your investigations. And I donâ€™t mean professional y. I mean personal y. You read people wel . But so do I. Something happened that lit an emotional fire in your bel yâ€”enough to make you go out on your own and start Forensic Instincts. What was it?â€

Casey was quiet for a minute. â€œYou do read people wel . Especial y me. Okay, my team knows, so why shouldnâ€™t you? Yes, there was something that changed my life, and probably my direction.â€ Another pause. â€œDo you remember how relentless I was about wrapping up the investigation my team took on right before this kidnapping?â€

â€œThe one with that psycho perv who raped and kil ed al those young women? Yeah, I remember. It was pretty gruesome. I also remember how single-minded you were about catching him. It went over and above the line of duty. Thatâ€™s what got me started thinking along these lines.â€ Hutch studied Casey intently. â€œWhy? Does that case hold special meaning for you?â€

â€œOh, yeah.â€ Casey blew out her breath. â€œWhen I was in col ege, I had a close friend. Hol y. She lived off campus. One day, she told me she had the feeling she was being fol owed. I suggested she cal the police. She did. They blew her off. A week later, she was found raped and murdered, her body tossed in a Dumpster. Sheâ€™d been there for days, buried in piles of garbage. The bastard who did that to her was never found. Iâ€™l never forget how I felt when I heard the news. It was like a horrible nightmareâ€”one that wil haunt me for life. It wasnâ€™t the policeâ€™s fault. They had nothing to go on and no manpower to invest in an unsubstantiated complaint. What Hol y needed was someone who was skil ed enough to help, but not bound by bureaucracy and red tape. Someone with the mind and the resources to sift through suspects and come up with the right answer.â€

â€œSomeone like Forensic Instincts.â€

â€œExactly.â€

Hutchâ€™s jaw tightened. â€œIâ€™m sorry you had to live through an experience like that.â€

â€œMe, too. But Iâ€™m sorrier for Hol y. She was nineteen.â€

â€œYeah.â€ Hutch lowered his head, stared at the carpet. â€œNow I understand.â€

â€œDo you? You almost ripped me a new one when I fol owed Hope Wil is to the drop site. I did that on sheer instinct, not on concrete facts I was withholding. She could have real y just been going to do an errand and it would have been nothing. I realize you were worried about my safety.

But you were also pissed that I didnâ€™t clue you in. I canâ€™t always do that. Just like you canâ€™t always release advance info to me.â€

Casey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. â€œIâ€™m not naive. This is going to test us big-time. There are times when it wil probably put a huge strain on us.â€

â€œAre you wil ing to try?â€ Hutch asked flatly. â€œBecause I am. Like I said, weâ€™re about more than great sex. Iâ€™m not wil ing to throw it al away just because weâ€™re occasional y going to be operating at cross-purposes. Weâ€™l hash it out. Weâ€™l fight. And, yeah, sometimes weâ€™l combust. Are you invested enough in this relationship to take that on?â€

Casey didnâ€™t have to think. â€œYes,â€ she responded. â€œI am. But remember, I give as good as I get. Iâ€™m not going to rol over.

And Iâ€™m not going to share confidential information with you, any more than you are with me. There are going to be secrets. Weâ€™l have to accept that.â€

â€œAs long as those secrets arenâ€™t about usâ€”the private us.â€

â€œAgreed.â€

Hutch put down his water and crossed over to the bed. â€œI think this conversation has come to a successful conclusion.â€ He unbelted Caseyâ€™s robe, slid open the sides. â€œNow itâ€™s time to celebrate our victory.â€

Casey smiled, leaning back on the bed and tugging Hutch down to her. â€œConsider this to be our toast.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Day Six

Dawn was just breaking. Most of the patients at Sunny Gardens were stil asleep.

She wasnâ€™t. She was sitting up in the chair in her room, fretting because it would be days before her baby would visit. Wednesday had come and gone, as had their time together. Now it was Saturday. Or Sunday. But whichever it was, Wednesday was far away.

She could hardly remember their visit, or what theyâ€™d talked about. Sheâ€™d asked Nurse Greene if sheâ€™d been there for any of it, and if her baby had given her a hug before she left.

The nurse had soothed her and assured her that their time together had been tender and warm, and the hug had been tight.

Why couldnâ€™t she remember?

She lowered her head into her hands and began to cry.

â€œLorna?â€

Her head came up. A plump, middle-aged nurse she didnâ€™t recognize had stepped into the room.

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ the nurse asked.

â€œWho are you?â€

â€œIâ€™m Nurse Amato. I heard you crying. Are you in pain?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know you. Whereâ€™s Nurse Greene?â€ the woman demanded.

â€œShe hasnâ€™t come in yet.â€ Nurse Amato walked over, put a hand on Lornaâ€™s shoulder. Lorna could see her name tag now.

Denise Amato. A stranger.

She shook her hand away. â€œI donâ€™t know you,â€ she repeated. â€œI want Nurse Greene.â€

Nurse Amato gave her a placating smile. â€œI understand that you donâ€™t want to confide in me. We donâ€™t real y know each other.

But I donâ€™t want to leave you sad. Would you like to take a walk? We could go to the gardens. Nurse Greene says that the flowers always cheer you up.â€

â€œShe said that?â€

â€œShe certainly did.â€

â€œBut itâ€™s noisy outside. Those men are always hammering and dril ing.â€

â€œWe wonâ€™t walk toward the new wing. Weâ€™l go in the opposite direction, and walk around back. We can get to the gardens either way.â€

Lorna wiped away her tears. â€œAl right, then. We can go to the gardens. But Nurse Greene always pushes me. Iâ€™m too tired to walk al that way.â€

â€œOf course you are. Wait right here.â€

The nurse vanished, returning a few minutes later with a wheelchair.

â€œHere we go,â€ she said cheerful y. â€œShal I help you?â€

â€œNo. I can get up myself.â€ To demonstrate that she stil had some measure of control over her body, Lorna rose and made her way over to the wheelchair. She gripped the arms and sat down.

â€œExcel ent. Letâ€™s take our walk.â€

The gardens were lovely. Nurse Greene had been right. There were pink flowers, and purple flowers, and some pretty yel ow flowers, too.

She knew what those were cal ed. She just couldnâ€™t remember. But sheâ€™d had them in a line on her front lawn. Theyâ€™d grown there a while ago. She wasnâ€™t sure how long.

Nurse Amato continued to chat as they walked. Lorna only half heard what she was saying. She was watching the sun rise, wondering if her baby was seeing the same thing. Did it rise the same way everywhere? Or did it look different from different places?

A shimmering reflection caught her eye, and she snapped back to the present.

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€ she asked in a high, thin voice. She already knew. She could sense it even before she saw it.

â€œItâ€™s the lake,â€ Nurse Amato said cheerful y. â€œThe water is calm and beautiful at sunrise. I thought youâ€™d like to see it.â€

â€œNo!â€ Lornaâ€™s heart began pounding. Sweat broke out on her body and trickled down. Scrambling wildly, she jumped out of the wheelchair, almost toppling to the ground in her haste to get away. She gripped the arm of the wheelchair to steady herself and then stumbled off toward the building.

â€œLorna!â€ Nurse Amato rushed over and gripped her firmly around the shoulders. â€œWait! Youâ€™re going to hurt yourself.â€

â€œLet me go!â€ Lorna shook the nurse off violently, lurching forward a few steps before fal ing to her knees. â€œLet me go!â€ she sobbed again, trying to crawl away.

There was the sound of running footsteps, and then the welcome voice of Nurse Greene.

â€œWhatâ€™s happening here?â€ She knelt down and put gentle hands on Lornaâ€™s shoulders. â€œShh, itâ€™s al right. Everything is al right.â€ She looked up at Nurse Amato. â€œWhy did you take her here?â€

The other nurse was clearly baffled. â€œIâ€”I donâ€™t understand,â€ she stammered. â€œI thought sheâ€™d enjoy the view.â€

â€œNext time, read the file more careful y before you take charge of a patient youâ€™re unfamiliar with.â€ Nurse Greene sounded very upset. â€œThis patient is never, under any circumstances, to be brought to the lake. That is listed clearly at the top of her file.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ the other nurse said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but didnâ€™t. And Nurse Greene didnâ€™t wait around to further discuss the issue. She just turned the wheelchair around and helped Lorna into it. â€œLetâ€™s head back,â€ she said in a soft, calming voice, starting to push the wheelchair toward the facility. â€œIâ€™l make you a nice cup of chamomile tea and you can drink it in the day room sitting near the big bay window you like so much. The flowers are in bloom. Youâ€™l love al the colors. Before you know it, breakfast wil be served. I think I saw some croissants being delivered.â€

â€œThose are my favorite,â€ Lorna said.

â€œI know. Mine, too.â€

Lorna was already starting to feel better. The water was behind her. It got farther away with each step. And that other nurse wasnâ€™t with them. Lorna didnâ€™t like her. She didnâ€™t know the things she should.

Her heart rate slowly returned to normal, and the sweating stopped. Most of al , the overwhelming sense of panic, the loss of control, was dissipating.

It would be al right now.

Soon, sheâ€™d be sipping tea and eating a croissant. Since she was early, she might be one of the lucky patients who got one with chocolate inside. She real y liked chocolate. It always tasted sweet. And it made her happy.

She hadnâ€™t been happy before.

But she could no longer remember why.

Â

Denise Amato waited until the two women were out of viewing range. Then she made her way across the opposite section of grounds, stopping at a trailer labeled Bennato Construction. She pul ed open the door and stepped inside.

â€œItâ€™s done,â€ she said.

â€œAnd?â€ Bil Parsons turned, his eyebrows arched in question.

â€œAnd the poor woman nearly had a coronary. If thatâ€™s what Tony was looking for, he got it.â€

A nod. â€œThatâ€™s what Tony was looking for. That means his information was good. And itâ€™l point the Feds, the cops and that nutcase Navy SEAL in a different direction. Thanks, Denise. I owe you one.â€

Â

Casey hadnâ€™t slept wel .

Long after Hutch was out cold, his breathing deep and even, sheâ€™d been tossing and turning, trying to figure out what was bugging her. It wasnâ€™t Hutch. If anything, tonight had been an important turning point in their relationship. Theyâ€™d set some boundaries, and acknowledged the depth of their involvement.

No, it was that damned note sheâ€™d been left, and its al -too-elusive meaning.

She got out of bed just after dawn, shrugged into her robe and walked across the hal to her little kitchenette, where she brewed a pot of coffee. Hutch found her there a half hour later, sitting at the counter, hunched over her cup.

â€œHey, the bed was cold,â€ he commented, tipping up her chin and kissing her lightly on the mouth. â€œIâ€™ve obviously lost my touch if youâ€™re running away at dawn.â€

Casey gave him a wan smile. â€œYou havenâ€™t lost anything. My body aches in places I never knew I had.â€

â€œBut the case is eating at you.â€

â€œYeah, it is.â€

â€œWel , I can give you more information, but itâ€™s not going to cheer you up. I just got a cal from Quantico. The lab finished their results in record time. Unfortunately, those results add up to a big goose egg. Zip. Nothing.â€

â€œNo fingerprints at al ?â€

â€œOh, yeah, there were fingerprints, but they were smudged. Nothing the lab could match to an entry in CODIS. So we have no way of knowing if the DNA was that of a previous offender.â€

â€œMeaning weâ€™ve got nothing.â€

â€œMaybe. Maybe not. The fingerprints didnâ€™t give us a name, but they did tel a story. They were lightly covered with dirt.â€

â€œDirt?â€ Casey straightened. â€œWhat kind of dirt? The kind you find on a lawn or in a garden, or the kind you find at a construction site?â€

â€œHard to tel . It could have been any of the above.â€

â€œDammit.â€ Casey set down her coffee cup with a thud. â€œSo weâ€™re back to square one. What family are we discussingâ€”the Vizzini family or the Wil is family?â€

Hutch was quiet for a minute as he poured himself some coffee. â€œItâ€™s a little unusual for a mob soldier to be stupid enough not to wear gloves.â€

Caseyâ€™s eyebrows drew together. â€œSo you think it sounds more like a layperson than a seasoned criminal who left me that note.â€

â€œNot sure. But my gut tel s me yes.â€

â€œSo does mine. Maybe thatâ€™s why I couldnâ€™t sleep al night. Weâ€™ve investigated the Wil ises and the Akermans from every possible angle. Yet I canâ€™t help but wonder if weâ€™re missing something. Plus, another thing occurred to me. I know that Claire isnâ€™t a scientific source of information, but not one of the visions sheâ€™s had has included anything beyond Krissy and Hope. Why isnâ€™t she picking up on the mob? She got the same feeling from Deale as I didâ€”that he was a pawn who knew nothing more than he was saying. Should we be showing her the sketches of DeMassi and his son? Would that spawn some kind of reaction?â€

Hutch drew a slow breath. â€œI canâ€™t comment on that, Casey. You know Iâ€™m not big on the whole idea of psychics. But if you think otherwise, fine. It canâ€™t hurt to show the sketches to Claire. In my opinion, however, our best tie-in to either family is Sidney Akerman.â€

â€œThe rest of the FBI team agrees with you. Peg and Don are reinterviewing Sidney this morning. Patrickâ€™s joining them.â€ Casey inclined her head quizzical y. â€œWant to be there? Because I sure do.â€

â€œOh, yeah. I wouldnâ€™t miss it.â€

Â

Peg, Don and Patrick were reinterviewing Sidney behind the closed doors of the first-floor den when Casey and Hutch arrived. Hutchâ€™s presence was more than welcome. Any light he could shed on what they learned would be greatly appreciated. And Peg had no issue with Casey being there. To her, the time for protocol was over. Al that mattered was finding Krissy Wil is.

Sidney was perched nervously in a chair, his fingers working feverishly as he addressed the questions being flung his way. Heâ€™d been ready and waiting when the others marched in. He was staying here with Hope, despite her ambivalence about having him live under her roof, however temporary. On the one hand, he was her father. On the other hand, he was probably at the heart of everything tragic that had happened to her sister, and now to her daughter. It wasnâ€™t an easy pil to swal ow, but for expediting the investigation, it was a no-brainer.

Casey and Hutch settled themselves on the leather couch, while Peg and Don stood formidably in front of Sidney, and Patrick paced the floor, listening and occasional y firing an additional question Sidneyâ€™s way. â€œYou have no idea who left Casey that note?â€ he pressed, although both Peg and Don had already asked that questionâ€”twice.

â€œOf course not.â€ Sidneyâ€™s reply was fil ed with resignation. â€œIf I did, Iâ€™d tel al of you faster than you could ask. Krissy is my granddaughter. After the way I screwed up, Iâ€™d put my life on the line to find her.â€

â€œDeMassiâ€™s in jail, and his sonâ€™s in Sicily,â€ Peg stated aloud. â€œSo if theyâ€™re responsible for the delivery of the note, they got one of their soldiers to do it.â€

Don nodded, pursing his lips. â€œThe traces of dirt suggest that it could be someone from Bennato Construction. Mr. Akerman, are you sure you didnâ€™t recognize any of the names or photos I showed you of their workers? Or, particularly, of Tony Bennato himself?â€

Sidney linked his fingers behind his neck and lowered his head in frustration. â€œFor the tenth time, I never heard of or saw any of them before. But why would I? My connection to these bastards ended three decades ago. And, even then, I barely saw anyone, and I didnâ€™t interact with any of them. Only Henry did.â€

â€œHenryâ€™s dead. Youâ€™re here. Keep thinking.â€ Patrick was at the end of his rope.

Caseyâ€™s chin came up, and she made eye contact with Patrick, silently requesting that he give her a few minutes of leeway.

At his nod, she turned to Peg. â€œMay I?â€ she asked respectful y.

â€œPlease do.â€ A sweep of the case leaderâ€™s arm.

â€œThanks.â€ Casey straightened her spine and leaned forward, intentional y conveying a power stance to Sidney. â€œLetâ€™s tackle this from another angle, Mr. Akerman. Weâ€™ve explored al your direct contacts and your knowledge of what went on with your friend Henry Kenyon. Maybe we should flip this around, and start at the personal end. Rather than dissect the mob, letâ€™s discuss you and Felicity, and maybe we can get a handle on who had access to her.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€

â€œYour ex-wife told us that Felicity was the apple of your eye, that she was very much daddyâ€™s little girl.â€

Pain twisted Sidneyâ€™s features. â€œThatâ€™s true. I loved both my girls, but Felicity and I had a special rapport. We both loved al kinds of sports. And we were both crazy about arcade games. Our local pizzeria was one of the first places to get Pong. We went there together every weekend and played. And Felicity was crazy about old-fashioned Skee-Bal . She beat me every time.â€

â€œSo you went to the same pizzeria each time?â€

â€œUh-huh. But we knew the owners. They were decent, family-loving people, not mobsters.â€

â€œI checked them out,â€ Patrick inserted. â€œThey came up clean.â€ A self-deprecating pause. â€œThen again, I missed Kenyonâ€™s mob connections. So we can check them out again. Theyâ€™re in the case file.â€

Casey nodded. â€œWhat about sports?â€ She continued questioning Sidney, covering al the bases. â€œI know Felicity was an athlete.

Were you involved with that, or was it just spectator sports you shared?â€

A hint of a smile, fil ed with nostalgia. â€œBoth. We watched hours of sports on TV. But we shared the hands-on stuff, too. Iâ€™m sure Vera told you what an amazing soccer player Felicity was. She had daily team practices, but we practiced together on top of that. We kicked the bal around at her school, on the front lawn, every place we could set up a goal cage. And she went to soccer camp in the summer, even at her age. It was day camp, of course. She came home every afternoon. But I took off from work whenever I could, just to watch her compete. She was great.

She would have gone far ifâ€¦â€ His voice trailed off.

Casey glanced down at her case file. â€œSpecial Agent Lynch spoke to al the families on Felicityâ€™s school and camp soccer teams.â€

â€œYes, he was very thorough. He covered the kids, the parents, the counselors and the coaches. And Iâ€™l tel you what I told him, then and now. Everyone loved Felicity. She was kind, bubbly and happy. I canâ€™t think of a single soul whoâ€™d want to hurt her. And I certainly canâ€™t imagine any of the people you just mentioned having mob affiliations.â€

â€œYour friend, Henry, was a regular guy, too,â€ Casey pointed out. â€œHe just got himself into a hole and chose the wrong way out. Not everyone with ties to the mob are sinister, evil people. Some are just plain desperate, and they have no concept of the potential consequences of their actions.â€

Hutch, whoâ€™d been silent up until now, spoke up. â€œSpeaking of Kenyon, hereâ€™s a reach. Your daughter might have been a kid, Akerman, but she was obviously a talented kid. And I know how competitive those sports camps can be. What other camps did they play against?

Was there any friendly betting that went on about the games?â€

Sidney blinked. â€œBetting? On six-year-olds?â€

â€œIâ€™ve seen worse.â€

Pegâ€™s eyes narrowed, and she gazed intently at Hutch. â€œGo on.â€

â€œFol owing Caseyâ€™s line of reasoning, Felicity broke her arm the summer she was kidnapped. Sheâ€™d just been given the go-ahead to play by her doctor. The cast was removed. Then she was abducted. Was her playing a threat to anyoneâ€™s pocketbook?â€

â€œWow.â€ Casey exhaled sharply. â€œThatâ€™s one I never thought of.â€ She inclined her head at Patrick. â€œI know you spoke to the staffs of al the camps Felicityâ€™s team competed with. Do you think itâ€™s possible that any of the parents or staff members could have been placing bets on the games? Did you get the feeling that anyone was hurting for cash or into gambling excessivelyâ€”anyone who might have gone the same route as Henry Kenyon?â€

Patrick wasnâ€™t pacing now. He was planted in place, thinking. â€œWeâ€™re really reaching now. If this was the World Cup, Iâ€™d jump on your line of thinking. But a kidsâ€™ soccer game? How much cash could be exchanging hands? Enough for a mob payment? My gut says no.â€ A pause. â€œStil â€¦you make a good point about the timing. Felicity was kidnapped the night before she rejoined the camp team. Is it possible that that wasnâ€™t a coincidence? Sure. Itâ€™s the why I find shaky.â€

â€œI wonâ€™t disagree,â€ Hutch said. â€œBut letâ€™s see it through, from every vantage point.â€ He turned back to Sidney. â€œHow did Felicity break her armâ€”exactly? How long was she out of commission? And who was involved in her recuperation?â€

Sidney unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He was wrung out and beaten. â€œIt was an internal game, just a practice for an upcoming competition with a neighboring camp. She was knocked down by a couple of other kids. It was an accident. She didnâ€™t even land that hard. She just landed wrong. She broke her forearm in two places. It took most of the summer to heal.â€

â€œAnd sheâ€™d just had the cast removed the day she was abducted.â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œSo someone could have been waiting for her to heal before kidnapping her.â€ Hutch looked thoughtful. â€œSomeone who knew her medical timetable.â€

â€œThat consists of the doctor who treated her, and whoever the Akermans shared information with,â€ Patrick replied. â€œThe orthopedist was highly reputable and had an alibi. I canâ€™t speak for anyone the Akermans told but didnâ€™t mention to me.â€

â€œThe entire crowd at soccer camp knew the cast was coming off,â€ Sidney supplied. â€œSo did our friends and neighbors. Felicity was so excited she practical y shouted it from the rooftops.â€

â€œWas there anyone who showed an enthusiasm that seemed over the top?â€ Casey asked.

Sidney turned his palms up in frustrated uncertainty. â€œI donâ€™t know what you consider to be over the top. Her soccer coach, Ilene Stratton, was elated. So were the other parents whose kids played on the team. And, Linda Turner, the camp nurse, gave Felicity a stuffed tiger wearing a soccer uniform. She was a very kind and compassionate woman.â€

â€œYour ex-wife mentioned her when we spoke,â€ Casey commented, glancing at her notes. â€œShe was one of the people who could tel Hope and Felicity apart. And she was also one of the women who came to the prayer vigils after Felicity was kidnapped. Vera said that she stays in touch with her.â€

Sidney didnâ€™t look surprised. â€œI wasnâ€™t aware of that. But it makes sense. Lindaâ€™s ful -time job was as an E.R. nurse at the hospital where Felicity was taken after her accident. Linda rode with Felicity in the ambulance, and met us at the hospital. She facilitated things so Felicity was seen right away. Vera never forgot her kindness. And, before you ask, I doubt Linda either needed or squandered money. She was just a simple widow who spent her time helping people.â€

â€œNone of the reactions you just described are over the top, or out of place.â€ Casey ignored the touch of sarcasm in Sidneyâ€™s voice.

Heâ€™d been gril ed constantly since he drove down to Armonk. Painful skeletons had been dredged up. He was strung out and ridden with guilt.

She had to cut him some slack. â€œSo far youâ€™ve only described the people who were elated. Did anyone seem unusual y subdued about Felicityâ€™s return to the soccer field? On edge? Worried?â€

â€œProbably the other team she was about to play. Otherwise, no.â€

â€œWeâ€™re not getting anywhere going down this path,â€ Patrick interrupted. â€œI agree that itâ€™s peculiar that Felicity was kidnapped the day she had her cast off. But it could have been because the kidnapper thought it would be too much of a pain in the ass to deal with a kid with an injury, so he waited for the cast to come off. More important, the timing of the abduction coincides with Sidneyâ€™s refusal to cooperate with the mob. Thatâ€™s the reason for the when and why. Not because of the timing of Felicityâ€™s recovery.â€

â€œProbably,â€ Don concurred. â€œBut itâ€™s interesting.â€

â€œI agree,â€ Casey said. â€œI think it should be official y ruled out by widening our background checks to include anyone who was affiliated with Felicityâ€™s camp or any of the camps she competed against.â€

â€œWeâ€™l have our support team take care of that,â€ Peg responded.

â€œGood. And Ryan wil do it simultaneously.â€ Heâ€™ll take care of it in a matter of hours, with no red tape to slow down his progress, Casey thought.

â€œWe need to see if anyone stood something to gainâ€”like moneyâ€”if Felicity was out of the picture,â€ Don continued. â€œThen we need to cross match that list with related people stil in Vera or Hopeâ€™s life. If we find someone with a gambling or other questionable monetary problem, that someone could have been involved in Felicityâ€™s kidnapping then and is being blackmailed by his or her past now. The blackmailer could have forced them to kidnap Krissy to perpetuate the attack on Sidneyâ€™s family.â€

â€œRight.â€ Hutch nodded, considering the profile. â€œAn act like that, committed by anyone with a shred of decency, would elicit guilt, which could have precipitated the delivery of that note to Caseyâ€™s door.â€

Casey saw the doubt on Patrickâ€™s face. â€œSo far, DeMassiâ€™s our only solid lead, Patrick,â€ she said quietly. â€œWeâ€™re running out of options. And time. Krissyâ€™s been gone nearly a week.â€

Lynchâ€™s lips thinned into a grim line. â€œLetâ€™s run with it.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Marc was perched at the edge of a rickety chair in Ryanâ€™s lair, half-watching his col eague at work while he himself absently scratched Heroâ€™s ears. He was a stickler for details. His training had taught him to retain every one, because any of them could be significant. In this case, the aspect that was niggling at him was the total lack of balance in the investigation.

The Forensic Instincts team, like the FBI, was now ful y immersed in Sidney Akermanâ€™s connection to the Vizzini family. Theyâ€™d bugged Bennato Construction. Theyâ€™d tracked down each mob soldier that was connected to Henry Kenyon. Now, Ryan was running background checks on every Tom, Dick and Harry whoâ€™d known Felicity Akerman while she was in camp.

It was al centered around the mob. But too many pieces were being ignored. Pieces that Marcâ€™s intuition told him mattered.

There were stil the unexplained facts that a ransom cal had been made. That a drop had been arranged, and successful y executed. That a quarter of a mil ion dol ars had changed hands. Maybe that scenario wasnâ€™t a smoke screen. Maybe that was a very real part of Krissy Wil isâ€™s kidnapping.

Then there was the note that had been left on Caseyâ€™s doorstep. Traces of dirtâ€”a common soil found nearly everywhereâ€”had been detected on it. That could suggest a construction site. But it could also suggest a front lawn.

Marc had never been comfortable dismissing Sal Diaz, the Wil isesâ€™ gardener, and his wife, Rita, their housekeeper from the suspect list. If Ryan was searching for a couple who were in debt up to their asses, the Diazes would win the prize. Plus, Sal Diaz had a history of domestic violence. He could just as easily be taking mob money as the parent of a day camper.

And he was a gardener. He worked with dirt al day. If he was freaking out about his involvement in a child abduction, he might very wel have caved and left Casey that note.

There were too many clues to ignore.

Abruptly, Marc came to his feet.

â€œCome on, Hero,â€ he muttered to the bloodhound. â€œWeâ€™re going to pay a surprise visit.â€

Â

While Ryan jumped on his background checks, Casey took photos of DeMassi and his son to Claire.

â€œHi.â€ Claire looked surprised to see Casey standing at her apartment door. â€œHas something happened?â€

â€œI wish.â€ Casey waved the photos in the air. â€œIâ€™d like you to take a look at these, tel me if you pick up anything from them.â€

She purposely refrained from identifying DeMassi, or giving Claire a hint as to what she should feel. This experiment had to be objective.

â€œOf course. Come in.â€ Claire stood aside and let Casey in. â€œI had no idea you knew where I lived.â€

A hint of a smile. â€œIâ€™m like Santa Claus. I know everything.â€

â€œIn other words, you had Ryan find me.â€

â€œExactly.â€ Casey glanced around her. Claireâ€™s apartment was much like sheâ€™d expected it to be. Muted pastels. Wicker furnitureâ€”and not a lot of it. And paintings of sweeping landscapes decorating the wal s. There was something both lovely and ethereal about the place. Just like Claire herself.

â€œHave a seat,â€ Claire invited, gesturing toward the living room. â€œI just made a pot of green tea, and I was about to review my notes on the Wil is case yet again. Care to join me?â€

â€œOn both counts, yes, thanks.â€ Casey went in and sank down on the pale aqua-and-sand-colored cushion of the wicker sofa.

â€œThe North Castle police cal ed. They told me about the note that was left for you, and that Special Agent Hutchinson had sent it down to Quantico for analysis. Did anything come of it?â€ Claire asked, carrying in a tray of tea and scones.

â€œNothing substantial. No discernible fingerprints. Just some traces of dirt on the page.â€

â€œDirt,â€ Claire repeated. A brief silence, while a veiled look clouded her eyes. â€œWhoever left that note on your stoop was frightened.

They felt trapped. Iâ€¦â€ She rubbed her forehead, trying hard to concentrate. â€œIâ€™m feeling male energy. I could be wrong, though. Iâ€™m not physical y at your brownstone. So Iâ€™m getting this far from the source.â€

â€œMaybe you should be at my brownstone.â€ Casey took her cup of tea with a nod of thanks. â€œPermanently.â€ She hurried on, shelving that discussion for later. â€œI know youâ€™re working for the police. But, Claire, I need anything you can give me. My confidence is starting to waver. Krissyâ€™s been gone for too long.â€

â€œDonâ€™t let your faith sway. Krissy is stil alive. I know it.â€

â€œI pray youâ€™re right. That feeling of yours is all Hope Wil is has been clinging to.â€

â€œBut itâ€™s not enough. I understand.â€ Claire sank down and poured herself some tea. Then she glanced at the photos Casey was holding and extended her hand. â€œMay I see them?â€

â€œDefinitely.â€ Casey passed them over. â€œTake your time. Tel me anything you pick up.â€

Claire looked at the photographs, one at a time. There were several of each manâ€”alone, with their families, even just the two of them.

Five minutes passed. Then, ten.

Final y, Claire raised her head and met Caseyâ€™s gaze. â€œIâ€™m not getting anything. Except an ugly feeling. These arenâ€™t good men. But who they are, what theyâ€™ve done, that I canâ€™t tel you. Theyâ€™re strangers to me.â€

Casey blew out a discouraged breath. â€œAny ties to Krissy? Even the vaguest sense of the younger man being in her presence?â€

â€œNothing.â€ Claireâ€™s delicate eyebrows rose. â€œWhy? Are they suspects?â€

â€œTheyâ€™re members of the Vizzini crime family. Lou DeMassi and his son, Lou Junior. Thereâ€™s a possibility that theyâ€™re connected with both kidnappingsâ€”Felicityâ€™s and Krissyâ€™s.â€

Claire studied Caseyâ€™s face with a perceptive expression. â€œBut you donâ€™t think thatâ€™s the case.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what to think. Sidneyâ€™s ties to the mob canâ€™t be ignored. But I feel as if weâ€™re trying to shove a square peg into a round hole. The connection just doesnâ€™t feel right. Although Iâ€™m stil convinced that the two kidnappings are related. I donâ€™t care if they are separated by thirty-two years. And Patrick agrees with me.â€

Claire frowned. â€œBut if it isnâ€™t Sidney Akermanâ€™s threats from the mob, then whatâ€™s the link?â€

â€œThatâ€™s the problem.â€ Casey ran frustrated fingers through her hair. â€œI canâ€™t find one. And Iâ€™ve got to.â€

Â

Ryan barely heard Marc leave. He was too busy cross-checking lists of prospective subjects and ranking them in order of importance before beginning his in-depth background checks. There was no point in striking out blindly. Some of these people heâ€™d already done topical searches on. And some of them had been back-burnered when Bennato Construction had come into play.

Such as the main players in the Akermansâ€™ personal livesâ€”players whose appearances had escalated closer to the time of Felicityâ€™s kidnapping. And players whose financial woes magical y improved after the abduction.

His adrenaline pumping, Ryanâ€™s fingers flew across the keyboard, his sharp eyes and even sharper mind taking in every piece of information that surfaced.

He happened to get lucky. Based on his calculations, one of the first names on his list popped up with something shockingly powerful.

Ryan stared at the screen in surprise. Then, he went into hypermode, digging and digging until he had a good chunk of the story in place.

There were stil pieces missing, like where the money had come from and how much it had been. Also, what psychiatric prognosis had resulted from the treatment, and exactly what people had been part of the support network. Any one of them could have been the connection to the mob.

There were lots of questions Ryan didnâ€™t have answers toâ€”yet. But he intended to find them.

In the meantime, he was already punching in Caseyâ€™s cel phone number.

Â

Sal Diaz was clipping hedges at a home that was down the street from the Wil isesâ€™ when Marcâ€™s car pul ed up. The gardener stopped what he was doing, although he made no move to run away. He simply watched Marc climb out of the car, leash up his dog and head over.

If Marc had to guess, based on Diazâ€™s body language, it was almost as if heâ€™d been expecting law enforcement to come knocking at his door.

â€œHel o, Mr. Diaz,â€ he greeted the short, squat man with the nervous dark eyes. â€œWe spoke a few days ago. Do you remember?â€

A terse nod. â€œYouâ€™re that guy whoâ€™s not the FBI or the police. You asked me a lot of questions. Rita, too. Everyone else believed me. You didnâ€™t. I could tel . Even though my wife and I both have alibis, you stil think we did something wrong.â€ He shifted uneasily. â€œI donâ€™t have to talk to you.â€

â€œNo you donâ€™t. But you wil .â€ Marc spoke in that tough, no-bul shit tone that made the hair on peopleâ€™s necks stand up.

â€œBecause if you donâ€™t, Iâ€™m going to make you very unhappy. And Iâ€™l do it where no one can see us and where there are no witnesses.â€

Diaz paled, but he didnâ€™t respond.

Hero had been sniffing the gardenerâ€™s work boots. Now, he let out a braying bark.

Marc glanced down at him. â€œMy dog seems to recognize you,â€ he told Diaz. â€œThatâ€™s interesting. Because he wasnâ€™t with me when I asked you those questions youâ€™re talking about. So how would he know you? Or, more specifical y, where would he know you from?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know.â€ Diazâ€™s Adamâ€™s apple rose and fel as he swal owed hard. â€œI never saw him before.â€

â€œMaybe not. And maybe he didnâ€™t see you either. But he sure as hel smel ed you.â€

No reply.

â€œYouâ€™re the person who left that note on our doorstep, arenâ€™t you?â€ Marc was blunt. Now wasnâ€™t the time to mince words.

â€œWhy?â€

â€œIâ€¦Iâ€¦â€ Diaz dragged a sleeve across his forehead.

â€œLook, Diaz, I donâ€™t have time to play games. A little girl is missing. The time to find her is running out. There are holes in your alibi, and your wifeâ€™s. Either one of you could have gotten into the Wil isesâ€™ house, or driven over to their daughterâ€™s school. Jobs or not, you wouldnâ€™t have been missed. Youâ€™re wel aware of al this, or you wouldnâ€™t have gotten involved and tried to throw suspicion elsewhere.

So you can either wil ingly tel me what I want to know, or Iâ€™l drag it out of you one painful word at a time. Your choice.â€ Marc took a menacing step in Diazâ€™s direction. He didnâ€™t need to. The power of his build and the blazing look in his eyes was enough.

Diaz capitulated without an argument.

â€œYes, I left that note. My wife and I are innocent. But I knew the cops would think what you did and come after us. I canâ€™t let that happen. So I pushed you in the right direction.â€

Marcâ€™s mind was racing. There was no way Diaz knew about the mob. Not unless he was connected to it, which Marc would be wil ing to bet that he wasnâ€™t. Which meant that the family he was referring to was the Wil ises.

â€œWhat right direction?â€ he probed. â€œWhat donâ€™t we know?â€

â€œOn TV, they said that Judge Wil is left the house that morning with her daughter, and didnâ€™t come back until after school. Thatâ€™s not true. I saw her come home around two oâ€™clock. She went inside while her nanny was outside checking the mail. She only stayed a few minutes. Then, she left.â€

Marc went very stil . â€œAre you sure it was Judge Wil is?â€

The gardener nodded. â€œI see her al the time. So, yeah, Iâ€™m sure. Her car was a little bit down the street and she was in a hurry, but the way she actedâ€¦â€ He paused, remembering. â€œNo, she didnâ€™t want her nanny, or anyone else, to spot her.â€

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you tel this to anyone?â€

â€œFirst of al , I didnâ€™t want attention shifting to us. And second, it didnâ€™t occur to me. Not until I saw that press conference on TV, and I heard what they were saying. Thatâ€™s when I knew they were lying.â€

Dammit. This told Marc nothing of substance. As per the BAUâ€™s instructions, the press had provided only the necessary specs to the public. That the kidnapper was a woman. That she was driving a silver Acadia. That sheâ€™d coaxed Krissy into the car during school pickup time.

Not a word had been said about the offender posing as Judge Wil is. So Sal Diaz had no idea that the woman heâ€™d seen entering the Wil is house was, in fact, the kidnapper.

He had provided them with a time frame, however. And a confirmation of how the kidnapper had gotten into the houseâ€”by slipping by Ashley Lawrence when she was outside checking the mail.

None of that added up to shit at this point. Knowing that the kidnapper had gotten inside and taken Oreo before abducting Krissy might have meant something three days ago. Now it was moot. Because nothing Diaz had said brought them any closer to Krissy Wil is.

â€œI didnâ€™t do anything.â€ Diaz had obviously misinterpreted Marcâ€™s silence to mean he believed the gardener was lying.

â€œNeither did Rita. I didnâ€™t even tel her about what I saw. Sheâ€™s a good woman. And sheâ€™s so honest. She would have gone to the police. I was afraid. Iâ€™m just a gardener. Ritaâ€™s a housekeeper. And the Wil ises are big, important people.â€

Marc nodded. He knew enough about human nature to know that Diaz was tel ing the truth. There was no point in torturing the manâ€”except where it might do some good.

â€œI believe you,â€ he stated flatly. â€œBut the only reason I flagged you as a suspect is because of your history. Get help. Keep your fists off your wife. Pay your bil s instead of throwing your money away on booze and cards. Now convince me you plan to do al that. Because itâ€™s the only way Iâ€™l tel the FBI and the cops that I believe your story.â€

â€œOkay.â€ Diaz was nodding furiously. He looked ready to agree to anything. â€œIâ€™l do it. I swear. You can check up on me.

Youâ€™l see.â€

â€œI plan to. And Iâ€™d better see.â€

Â

Casey was sitting in her car, reviewing the notes from the meeting with Sidney Akerman, when her BlackBerry vibrated. She glanced down at the cal er ID.

It was Ryan.

She hit the receive button and put the phone to her ear. â€œTalk to me.â€

â€œI may have hit the mother lode,â€ he said flatly.

â€œGo on.â€ Casey sat up straighter.

â€œLinda Turner, the camp nurse. Sheâ€™s got an interesting history. One that, clearly, no one knows about, because itâ€™s not the kind of thing you forget to mention. She had a daughter about Felicity Akermanâ€™s age.â€

â€œHad?â€

â€œYeah, had. It seems the girlâ€”Annaâ€”drowned in a lake on their property. It happened about six months before Felicityâ€™s soccer accident. According to what I could hack into, Ms. Turner fel apart after Anna died. The hospital sent her for a psych evaluation. After that, she took a leave of absence and went for counseling sessions twice a week for three months. She went back to the E.R. part-time as soon as she was deemed capable. She supplemented her income with the job as camp nurse at Felicityâ€™s day camp. But, according to the accounts I hacked into, she was hurting financial y. Thereâ€™s no doubt about that.â€

â€œWow.â€ Casey was processing al this as quickly as she could. â€œI donâ€™t understand. How could she have had a child, much less lost one, and no one knew about it? Vera sure as hel didnâ€™t. She spoke of Linda as if she were childless. And there were no obituaries? No local articles about a child drowning in her own backyard?â€

â€œEvidently, Linda was the protective type,â€ Ryan replied. â€œShe managed to keep everything out of the newspapers. Al that exists is a police report. Even when Anna was alive, Linda homeschooled her, and kept her pretty isolated from other kids her age.â€

A weighty pause that Casey recognized.

Ryan was about to tel her something significant.

â€œExcept for soccer,â€ he reported. â€œAnna loved the game. So Linda let her play in a smal league two towns over. It was private, exclusiveâ€”and damned expensive. But it was noncompetitive and low-key. She also had a private coach instruct her at home once a weekâ€”a very expensive private coach. Annaâ€™s only other love was horseback riding. Linda gave in to that. She quarter-leased a horse for her. That costs a ton. Other than that, Anna was at home with her mother. No other siblings. No other family at al .â€

â€œThe father?â€

â€œDied when she was a toddler. Linda Turner raised her daughter alone. And on a lean budget. Her husband didnâ€™t leave her much money.â€

â€œSo she wasnâ€™t flush after she became a widow. And she was an E.R. nurseâ€”an admirable but not six-figure paying profession.

Where did she get the means to give her daughter private soccer lessons, an exclusive team membership and her own horse?â€

â€œYou tel me. Also, tel me how far she would go to get her hands on that sum of money? Or what would she owe someone who gave it to her?â€

â€œAnd isnâ€™t it a coincidence that Annaâ€™s main passion was soccer, of al things? Just like Felicityâ€™s? Not to mention the timing of Annaâ€™s death in relation to Felicityâ€™s kidnapping?â€ Casey leaned back against her car seat, the phone anchored in the crook of her shoulder, her hands inadvertently gripping the steering wheel. â€œThis is big, Ryan. Itâ€™s the biggest break weâ€™ve had. And it feels right.

Where is Linda Turner now? I donâ€™t think that Veraâ€™s seen her in a while.â€

â€œAnd she probably wonâ€™t. Lindaâ€™s stil listed at the same address in a rural area of Wappingers Fal s, about an hour north of Westchester County. But her phone is disconnected, and thereâ€™s no one living there. I cal ed the local PD right away. They headed over there ASAP. The place is desertedâ€”al her clothingâ€™s gone, thereâ€™s no food in the fridge, the whole nine yards.â€

â€œSo she cleared out.â€

â€œYou got it.â€

â€œDamn.â€ Casey slammed her palms on the steering wheel in frustration. â€œNo friends. No address. Iâ€™l talk to Vera, but Iâ€™m sure she canâ€™t tel us anything we donâ€™t already know. She might have a photo of her in one of the camp pictures. And Iâ€™m sure she can give a description to a sketch artist.â€

â€œPlus you have me. Get me that photo and Iâ€™l use my age progression software to create a present-day image of Linda. Vera can proof it. And we can distribute it, along with her sketch, to every law enforcement agency in New York State.â€

â€œFine, but that takes time. Weâ€™ve got to act now. Weâ€™ve got to figure out Lindaâ€™s mind-setâ€”her real mind-setâ€”at the time Felicity was kidnapped.â€ An ambivalent pause as Casey wrestled with what she wanted and what she knew was ethical. â€œYou mentioned that Linda had counseling after her daughter died.â€

â€œYup.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t happen to know who her therapist back then was, do you?â€

â€œDo you even need to ask?â€ Ryan chuckled, ignoring Caseyâ€™s customary internal battle. â€œIâ€™ve got a name and address of his current practice. And, from my cyber stalking, I learned the happy fact that Lindaâ€™s shrink is a pack rat who keeps files from the year one. So somewhere in that office is his file on Linda Turner.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™ve already thought of a way to get your hands on it.â€

â€œI repeatâ€”do you real y need to ask?â€

This time Casey smiled. â€œNever. Not when it comes to you.â€

â€œThe psychiatristâ€™s name is Stanley Sherman. His office is in a three-story building in White Plains, not far from the courthouse where Hope presides. As soon as you and I hang up, Iâ€™l be hitting up Marc. He and Hero blew out of here a little while ago. He was a man on a mission.â€

â€œAnd that mission, I take it, is about to change?â€

â€œDamn straight.â€ Ryan was already tinkering with something in the background. Casey could hear the sounds of metal being manipulated. That meant one of Ryanâ€™s toys. And she knew exactly which one.

â€œThe little critter?â€ she asked.

â€œYup. Gecko is about to make his debut performance.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Marc met Ryan inside his van at the designated spot half a block away from Dr. Shermanâ€™s building.

â€œNice work with Diaz,â€ Ryan commented after Marc had hopped in. â€œYou didnâ€™t trust him from the beginning.â€

A shrug. â€œAl we found out was that heâ€™d left Casey the note and that he saw Krissyâ€™s abductor come and go from the Wil isesâ€™ house. Not much at this point. And it pales next to what you dug up.â€ Marc glanced over his shoulder at the back of the van to see what supplies Ryan had brought with him today. There was a packed duffel bag, along with Ryanâ€™s ever-present laptop. â€œSo how are we doing this?â€

â€œI did a quick tour of the building while you were fil ing the FBI in on Diazâ€™s story. Shermanâ€™s office is on the second floor. His receptionist is out today. So weâ€™ve got that on our side. But Shermanâ€™s in with a patient. Weâ€™l have to wait for him to go to lunch.â€

Marc grunted. â€œAt which point heâ€™l lock the office door behind him.â€

â€œYouâ€™l take care of that part,â€ Ryan continued, reaching behind him for the duffel bag. He pul ed out some tools, which Marc pocketed, fol owed by a maintenance uniform, which he passed over to Marc. â€œTime to wear service coveral s again. You should be used to it by nowâ€”and they bring out your eyes. Now go in the back and put this on,â€ he instructed. â€œIâ€™l fil you in on the rest as you change.â€

â€œDone.â€ Marc climbed into the rear section of the van and began yanking the uniform on over his clothes. â€œWhy do I know this is going to involve your little critter robot?â€

â€œBecause it is.â€ Ryan didnâ€™t miss a beat. â€œIâ€™ve been dying to try him out. Nowâ€™s my chance. Thereâ€™s a maintenance closet in the basement,â€ he informed Marc. â€œThatâ€™s where I found your uniform. Grab one of those carts so you can look authentic. Then weâ€™l time this until you can do your thing with the lock. Once youâ€™re inside Shermanâ€™s office, Iâ€™l tel you what to do.

More specifical y, Gecko wil .â€

Marcâ€™s fingers paused on a shirt button. â€œExplain.â€

â€œWhen I stole your uniform, I went up to the roof,â€ Ryan said calmly. â€œI placed my little guy inside the air-conditioning ductwork.

Iâ€™l steer him down to where we want him, inside a duct in Shermanâ€™s office. There are built-in cameras inside Gecko thatâ€™l scan the place, and a microphone that can communicate with you. So Gecko becomes your robo-lookout. And itâ€™s al connected to my trusty laptop.â€

Ryan reached back and patted the computer. â€œTogether you and I wil find the file on Linda Turner. Youâ€™l photocopy what we need, put everything back the way you found it, and get out of there. Iâ€™l steer Gecko back to safety. And weâ€™l hope that thereâ€™s something in the file thatâ€™l lead us to our suspect.â€

â€œGot it.â€ There wasnâ€™t a shred of surprise in Marcâ€™s response. He knew Ryan, knew the way his bril iant mind worked. He respected the hel out of him. And, tactical and physical skil s combined, they worked real y wel together. â€œDo I need an earbud?â€

â€œWhile youâ€™re waiting for my â€˜al clearâ€™ signal, yes. But, once youâ€™re inside the office, we can talk to each other through Geckoâ€™s mike. The earbuds alone wouldnâ€™t give me a visual. Besides, like I said, mostly Iâ€™m dying to try the little guy out. This is a cool way to do a trial run.â€

â€œReady.â€ Marc finished donning his uniform, adjusted his earbud and peered out the window. â€œYou first, or me?â€

â€œYou. I can position Gecko in ten minutes.â€

â€œThen Iâ€™m gone.â€

Â

Marc sauntered down to the maintenance closet and found a cart, which he promptly fil ed with mops, brooms, rags and various chemical cleaners. Then he made his way up the stairwel , avoiding the elevators so he wouldnâ€™t run into anyone who asked questions. He carried the cart ahead of him, until heâ€™d reached the second floor. He passed a couple of women walking down to the main corridor, laughing and heading out for a coffee break. He kept his head low and his attention on his cart, although he couldnâ€™t help but chuckle silently at the man-bashing conversation. His presence didnâ€™t slow them down a bit. To them he was invisible, so they continued their chatter. Charlieâ€”the clueless boyfriend whose head was on the chopping blockâ€”was about to be dumped. Evidently, he was an inconsiderate bastard, and lousy in bed to boot.

It was this kind of crap that made Marc glad he wasnâ€™t the heavy-relationship type.

The second-floor staircase was deserted, and Marc emerged without a hitch. The hal was a different story. There were three lawyers standing outside their offices, discussing a litigation case. Marc moved slowly past them, noting the numbers on the doors. Good. Shermanâ€™s office was around the bend. As long as the attorneys stayed where they were and Marc didnâ€™t run into anyone else, heâ€™d be able to do his job without a problem.

Almost home free.

â€œHe just left for lunch.â€

Marc heard Ryanâ€™s voice in his ear as he rounded the corner and nearly crashed into Dr. Sherman.

â€œNo shit,â€ Marc muttered under his breath. Aloud, he murmured a heavily accented, â€œExcuse me,â€ keeping his head low. Ryan almost lost it and cracked up laughing, as he heard Sherman cal Marc a clumsy idiot, before tromping off.

Marc spied Shermanâ€™s office, his name on the door in big letters. Reflexively, he gave a quick scan of the hal . Empty.

Satisfied, he pul ed on a pair of latex gloves. Then, he extracted his flathead screwdriver and file, careful y inserting them in the lock and feeling his way, listening until he heard the tel tale click. He pushed open the door and tucked away his tools. Dragging the maintenance cart in behind him, he yanked the door shut, walking through the reception area and into the main office behind it.

â€œWhat took you so long?â€ Ryan inquired through the air duct.

Marc arched a brow. â€œNice warning. Timely, too. I almost flattened the shrink. What happened to not drawing attention to myself?â€

â€œSorry. Letâ€™s get to it. Sherman takes short lunch breaks. That gives us maybe thirty minutes tops.â€ Ryan fel silent for a moment.

â€œI think I see a file room in the back.â€

â€œYup, you do. And fortunately thereâ€™s no lock on the door.â€ Marc picked up the pace, striding across the floor and shoving open the door. â€œAre you in here?â€ he asked Ryan.

â€œSure am. Thereâ€™s an air-conditioning vent to your left. Gecko fol owed you in.â€ A low whistle. â€œI knew Sherman was a pack rat, but this lends new meaning to the phrase. There are file cabinets everywhere.â€

â€œLucky me.â€ One by one, Marc scanned the labels on the cabinets, which listed the files inside by date. â€œThese only go back twenty-five years. Shit. Where are the rest?â€ He scrutinized the room.

There were loose stacks of files in the far corner.

â€œLet me try those,â€ he said to Ryan, pointing.

â€œGood idea.â€ Ryan waited while Marc squatted down and began rummaging through the files. He was careful to keep them in the same order heâ€™d found them.

â€œThese are the oldies but goodies,â€ Marc muttered, going back thirty, then thirty-plus years. â€œBingo.â€ He stopped when he saw the name: Turner, Linda. â€œI got it,â€ he told Ryan.

â€œGreat. The copying machineâ€™s in the reception area. Iâ€™m moving Gecko to the main corridor outside the office. Heâ€™l watch the door and the hal way.â€

Marc headed right for the reception room and the copying machine, which was in plain view. He turned it on, and it whirred to life. Opening Lindaâ€™s file, he took out the stack of handwritten pages, and fed them into the machine.

It took about fifteen minutes to complete the job, and three minutes to return the reassembled file to its pile in the back room.

Leaving the office, Marc shut and locked the door behind him. He looked up at the vent and snapped off a salute. â€œSee you back at the van, little guy.â€

Â

Iâ€™m scared, Mommy. Please come and find me.

Itâ€™s been a bunch of days. My cartoons have been reruns five times. I counted. She puts them on for me every day. And then she sits and watches me watch them.

Itâ€™s creepy, Mommy. Sheâ€™s creepy.

I keep crying and cryingâ€”not when sheâ€™s here, because it makes her act weird and mushy. And thatâ€™s scarier than when she watches me play or tries to play with me. I only cry when Iâ€™m alone with Oreo and Ruby.

I donâ€™t want to play the stupid computer game she gave me. She said she made it. I donâ€™t care. I want my games back. I want to play them in my room, on my computer. But every time I ask if I can go home, she says I am home. I donâ€™t know what she means. Iâ€™m in a pink room. She says itâ€™s my princess room. Iâ€™m afraid to tell her that itâ€™s not mine.

Sheâ€™s wearing your necklace. And she smells like you. I donâ€™t know why. But it makes me want to hide.

Oreoâ€™s fur is all wet. Rubyâ€™s feathers are, too. My crying did that. But they understand because theyâ€™re crying, too.

Why does she keep telling me that sheâ€™s my mommy? Sheâ€™s not my mommy. You are. But when I tell her that, she gets mad at me. She says weird stuff. Iâ€™m afraid of her. Iâ€™m afraid sheâ€™ll do something bad. So I donâ€™t say it anymore.

She keeps coming down here. I can count the stairs by the sound of her shoes. There are fourteen.

I hate that number. I hate hearing her come. Iâ€™m so happy when she goes away.

I donâ€™t know whoâ€™s upstairs. But when sheâ€™s up there, I can hear her talking to someone. Only they never come down. Only her.

Maybe theyâ€™re scarier than she is.

I wish sheâ€™d go away forever. I donâ€™t care about the ice cream and the toys and the bubble baths. I just want to go home.

Please, Mommy. Iâ€™m scared.

Please come and take me home.

Â

Casey met Marc and Ryan in the parking lot of an Armonk pub. She left her car and climbed into Ryanâ€™s van. There, she studied the psychiatristâ€™s official report for the hospitalâ€™s medical review board, declaring Linda fit to return to work. She also read through Linda Turnerâ€™s file, line by line, even though Marc and Ryan had summed it up perfectly on the phone.

There was no doubt that the poor woman had come apart at the seams right after her daughter drowned. She was inconsolable and despondent when sheâ€™d first starting seeing Dr. Sherman. Anna had clearly been her entire world. And that world had died with Anna.

Linda had made very little progress in the first months. But after intensive therapy, and a chunk of time, sheâ€™d begun to come back. Dr.

Sherman was very pleased with her progress. And, by the time heâ€™d given her the green light to return to work, heâ€™d been more than confident that she was ready to start rebuilding her life, one baby step at a time. Starting with work, which he believed would give her a sense of purpose and something to focus on besides her grief.

He had, however, recommended that Linda continue with her counseling sessions, at least on a weekly basis. And she hadâ€¦for a while.

Then, without warning, sheâ€™d stopped going. From the doctorâ€™s notes, it looked as if her insurance was no longer wil ing to cover the visits.

Dr. Sherman had offered to work out some arrangement, perhaps a reduced rate, so that Linda could continue with her sessions. But she had respectful y turned him down, assuring him that her monetary situation was fine, as was her mental health. Things in her life were looking up.

In what way? With what money?

There were no answers to Caseyâ€™s questions. Because, abruptly, the file came to an end. The progress reports stopped. So, apparently, did Lindaâ€™s association with Dr. Sherman.

That in itself was a red flag.

But the chil ing part was that Lindaâ€™s psychiatric sessions ended two weeks before Felicity Akerman was kidnapped.

Casey tossed down the file. â€œThis is it. The timeline and coincidences canâ€™t be ignored. And it changes everything, maybe even the focus of the investigation. Weâ€™ve got to act now.â€

â€œWe canâ€™t take this one on alone, Casey,â€ Marc stated flatly. â€œWeâ€™ve got to involve the FBI task force.â€

Ryan turned to Marc. â€œSince when do you worry about playing by the rules?â€

â€œHeâ€™s right, Ryan,â€ Casey said. â€œThis isnâ€™t about rules. Itâ€™s about tel ing law enforcement what they need to know, and increasing our manpower. Linda Turner has to be found.â€

â€œWe canâ€™t just turn over her psychiatric file,â€ Ryan responded. He went back to punching in information on his laptop, searching at top speed for any trail of their suspect. â€œWe got it il egal y. That means we could go to jail. Plus, the Feds canâ€™t use it in court, anyway.â€

â€œWe wonâ€™t turn over the file,â€ Marc said. Being former BAU, he had the greatest knowledge and the most experience with the FBI.

â€œWeâ€™l just act as confidential informants. Based on what we know, weâ€™l give them verbal specifics, which wil convince them to act without compromising their case.â€

â€œI agree.â€ Casey was already up and climbing out of the van, her car keys in her hand. â€œLetâ€™s go.â€

Â

Peg, Don and Hutchâ€”along with two other CARD team members, three agents, Sergeant Bennett of the North Castle P.D. and Patrick Lynchâ€”gathered in the command center in the Wil isesâ€™ media suite, listening while Casey and her Forensic Instincts team presented the facts theyâ€™d uncovered.

The reaction was much as Ryan had suggested.

Hutch jumped in first. â€œWhere did you get your information?â€

Casey met his gaze directly, unblinking, as she replied. â€œFrom the most reliable of sources. Thatâ€™s al you need to know.â€

â€œYou mean, thatâ€™s al weâ€™l want to know,â€ Peg clarified. She rol ed her eyes, torn between irritation, worry over making a potential conviction stick and the sense of urgency based on getting to a woman who might very wel have Krissy. â€œDammit, Casey, why do you insist on putting us in this position?â€

â€œItâ€™s not intentional. You know that. But itâ€™s almost a week, Peg. Krissyâ€™s life is in our hands.â€

â€œCaseyâ€™s right.â€ It was Don who spoke up. CARD team or not, he wanted to find that child. â€œWe can argue over protocol later.

Caseyâ€™s team hasnâ€™t compromised us by sharing physical evidence that might or might not have been il egal y obtained. Itâ€™s al word of mouth. Weâ€™l find a way to write this up and present it in courtâ€”later. Now weâ€™ve got to pool our resources and find Linda Turner.â€

Peg nodded, pursing her lips. â€œAgreed.â€

â€œI understand the motivation for her to kidnap Felicity Akerman,â€ Sergeant Bennett interceded. â€œBut where does Krissy Wil is come in? Itâ€™s over thirty years later. Whereâ€™s the connectionâ€”besides the obvious blood ties between Felicity and Krissy?â€

â€œIt could stil be someoneâ€™s vendetta,â€ Lynch answered. â€œIf DeMassi and his son, or another mob soldier is pul ing the strings, the choice of victims could be theirs.â€

â€œOn the other hand,â€ Hutch interceded, â€œif the psychological implications Casey is suggesting are true, then Linda Turner would have fil ed Annaâ€™s void with Felicity. And when Felicity grew up, the void would reappear. So she wouldnâ€™t need much convincing to do a repeat performance, this time with Krissy.â€

â€œKrissy would take Felicityâ€™s place,â€ Casey agreed aloud. â€œThat makes sense. And Patrick, I know Sidney was our ace in the hole. But Iâ€™m no longer convinced thereâ€™s a mob tie-in here. I think we might be barking up the wrong tree. Lindaâ€™s motivation is emotional and psychological. She wantsâ€”needsâ€”to replace her dead daughter. She could be acting on her own.â€

â€œMeaning Sidney was just a wrong-place, wrong-time scenario.â€

â€œExactly.â€ A hard swal ow as Casey turned to Hutch and steeled herself for the inevitable answer to what she was about to ask. â€œAt what age would a child like Felicity become dispensable?â€

â€œBased on your theoryâ€”which I think holds waterâ€”when Felicity reached an age where she no longer needed a â€˜mommyâ€™

and/or no longer reminded Linda of Anna. Before puberty, would be my guess.â€

â€œBut that doesnâ€™t make sense,â€ Casey persisted. â€œVera Akerman has been in touch with Linda over the years. And, at no point, did she go to pieces. How do you explain that?â€

Hutchâ€™s jaw tightened. â€œThere could be several reasons. Either the void in her life was fil ed by someone else, like a man.â€

â€œOr?â€

â€œOr there could have been other children in between Felicity and Krissy. Children that Linda abducted on her own.â€

â€œOh, God.â€ Casey felt il .

â€œWhat about the quarter of a mil ion dol ars that Hope Wil is paid?â€ Bennett asked. â€œWhere does the ransom money come in?â€

â€œIt was either a hoax generated by some arbitrary bastard cashing in on the Wil isesâ€™ panic, or a way to throw us off track,â€ Hutch deduced. â€œI doubt that Linda required a payoff. Not with motives that, as Casey said, are clearly emotional and psychological.â€ A pause.

â€œThere is one other possibility. Linda could need money to raise her â€˜child.â€™ Ransom would be a way of getting it.â€

â€œYes, it would,â€ Casey murmured. â€œEspecial y if Linda plans on keeping Krissy for years.â€

A heavy silence hung in the room.

â€œSo weâ€™re al in agreement,â€ Peg concluded at last. â€œWeâ€™ve got to find Linda Turner.â€ She glanced over at Ryan.

â€œSince youâ€™ve already jumped the gun, do you have anything for us on her whereabouts?â€

Ryan frowned. â€œSheâ€™s fal en off the map. When the local cops checked out her house, they found it deserted, the phone line disconnected. But thereâ€™s no indication that she movedâ€”no forwarding address, nothing on the internet, zilch. Iâ€™m not giving up. Iâ€™m going back to the office to start digging again. Iâ€™l find her.â€ He looked at Casey. â€œDoes Vera Akerman have a picture of Linda Turner?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. But Iâ€™l find out. I have to talk to her, Hope and Edward anyway, and fil them in on where things stand.â€

â€œTel them only what you have to,â€ Peg cautioned.

â€œI wil .â€

â€œIf you can get me a photo, Iâ€™l use my age-enhancing software to create an image of Linda as she would look today,â€ Ryan said.

â€œIâ€™l email what I come up with to your BlackBerry so Hopeâ€™s mother can see it and suggest whatever modifications are necessary.

Once thatâ€™s done, weâ€™l have something to distribute.â€

â€œGood. Because Marc and I are heading up to Lindaâ€™s house right after this meeting.â€ Casey was frank. Even if Peg gave her a hard time, she wasnâ€™t going to lie.

â€œA handful of us wil be up there, too,â€ Peg replied. â€œWe need to determine how long Lindaâ€™s been gone. Logical y, sheâ€™s with Krissy.â€ Peg shot Casey a warning look. â€œDonâ€™t impede our investigation, Casey. Youâ€™ve already stepped way over the line.â€

â€œWe wonâ€™t. When it comes to this, we know youâ€™re the experts.â€ Casey glanced respectful y at Sergeant Bennett. â€œWith your permission, Iâ€™d like to bring Claire with us. She might pick up on some energy that wil help us. And weâ€™re bringing Hero, too. Heâ€™s out in Marcâ€™s car. I want him there when ERT is col ecting Linda Turnerâ€™s scentâ€”to sniff after theyâ€™ve completed their official search,â€ she hastily added, referring to the FBIâ€™s Evidence Response Team.

â€œI have no problem with that,â€ Bennett replied.

â€œNor do I.â€ Peg turned to Hutch. â€œYou and Grace work up a new profile. Highlight the fol owing. Female in her mid-sixties. A loner.

Photo to fol ow. Seen with the five-year-old kidnapping victim whose picture we distributed. I want you to cal a meeting of the remaining members of the task force. I want every pair of eyes on the lookout for Linda Turner, or someone or something that can lead us to her. Don, pick a few of your people. Same with the North Castle P.D. Patrick, youâ€™re welcome to join us. Weâ€™re taking off now.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The wooden house looked like al the others in the area.

It was modest, with pale blue shutters and white clapboard wal s. Set back from the road, the house was surrounded by several acres of woods. The grounds and gardens hadnâ€™t been tended to, and there were weeds growing al around the lake out back.

Clearly, Linda had wanted to block out the memory of what had happened there.

The task force, along with the Evidence Response Team that Peg had summoned, went inside first, checking the place for clues as to Lindaâ€™s whereabouts. Casey and her team stayed outside, waiting to be al owed in. Ditto for Patrick, who stood as stil as a statue, his gaze fixed on the house, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Claire was with them, walking the grounds, stopping occasional y to lean over and touch the dead flowers in the garden, and concentrating intently. Hero zigzagged across the lawn, sniffing, his leash clutched in Marcâ€™s hand.

Casey paced around impatiently, frustrated at being kept out. But there was nothing else she could do until ERT had finished checking for physical evidence.

Nothing but think.

Sheâ€™d told Hope and Vera the basics before taking off. Edward had been at the office. Hope had come alive at the prospect of a real lead. Vera, on the other hand, had refused to believe that Linda was involved. She was stunned to learn about Anna, since she hadnâ€™t even known of her existence. But she insisted that Lindaâ€™s daughterâ€™s death must have made her al the more compassionate about Felicityâ€™s abduction. Nobody should have to bear the loss of a child, sheâ€™d told Vera repeatedly. And sheâ€™d attended every one of the prayer vigils after Felicityâ€™s disappearance. How could she have faked that level of concern?

Casey viewed Lindaâ€™s actions and statements in a far different light. But sheâ€™d seen reactions like Veraâ€™s before. She was in denial. Even so, Casey could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. Somewhere inside her, Vera was afraid that what she was being told was true.

And that would mean sheâ€™d befriended the very woman whoâ€™d stolen her daughter, destroyed her life and now kidnapped her granddaughter.

Having heard Caseyâ€™s request for a photograph, Vera had disappeared to her room, returning to present Casey with a photo from Felicityâ€™s soccer camp. The staff was in the back row. Vera pointed at a slender, dark-haired woman with a gracious smile that didnâ€™t quite match the sober look in her eyes and told Casey that that was Linda.

Casey couldnâ€™t help but notice that Lindaâ€™s height and build could easily have passed for Hopeâ€™s. She didnâ€™t say that aloud.

She merely thanked Vera and gave the photo to Ryan.

Vera looked il . This potential truth was almost unbearable.

But not nearly as unbearable as it would be to hear Caseyâ€™s theory about Felicity being replaced by a series of other children, al of whom would have been disposed of when they hit a certain age. A mad cycle that Krissy could very wel be taking her place in.

The very thought made Caseyâ€™s stomach turn.

The ringing of her cel phone interrupted her thoughts.

She answered ASAP. â€œYes, Ryan?â€

â€œObviously, no hospitalâ€™s computer records date back thirty years,â€ he began without preamble. â€œBut the hospital Linda Turner worked at does have archived records in storage. So I drove there, made a few friends.â€

â€œFemale, no doubt,â€ Casey inserted drily.

â€œYeah, wel , they just finished digging around for me. Itâ€™s bizarre, Casey. There are no records of Felicity at al . Not of her E.R. visit, not of her fol ow-upsâ€”nothing. There are, however, records of a girl matching Felicityâ€™s description arriving in the E.R. that day with a broken arm. Al the dates and procedures match the ones Vera Akerman gave us of Felicity.â€

â€œSo the hospital screwed up.â€

â€œIâ€™d say no to that one.â€ Ryan had that voice again, the one that said he was about to deliver a bombshel . â€œAccording to the file, the girl with the broken arm was Anna Turner.â€

Casey started. â€œOh my God.â€

â€œItâ€™s like Felicityâ€™s existence there was wiped clean, and replaced by Lindaâ€™s daughter.â€

Â

Lindaâ€™s house was barren. Her clothing and toiletries were gone. Her fridge was cleaned out. The evidence suggested that she hadnâ€™t been living here for some time now. Which meant she was probably living in the place sheâ€™d set up for Krissy.

They had to find her. She was the key to everything.

The key to finding Krissy.

The FBI task force canvassed the neighborhood. Using the photos Ryan had created, they showed Lindaâ€™s picture to neighbors, local business owners, anyone and everyone they could think of. Clearly the woman had been a total recluse. A few neighbors who were longtime residents of the area recognized her, but none of them had seen her in as long as they could recal . The local pharmacy had never done business with her. Nor had any of the local merchants. And if she had any doctors, they werenâ€™t in this area.

A core team, including Peg and Don, continued combing the house. Casey and Marc stayed with them. So did Patrick and Claire. And, of course, Hero. Marc covered the entire house with him, letting him sniff every nook and cranny, along with the scent samples ERT had col ected.

Even with her personal items gone, Linda had lived here. Which meant her scent was the one thing sheâ€™d left behind.

â€œShe didnâ€™t want to be recognized.â€ Peg stated the obvious. â€œSo whatever supermarkets, drugstores, or health care professionals she dealt with, theyâ€™re located elsewhere.â€

â€œWhat about employment?â€ Casey asked. â€œSheâ€™d need a stream of incomeâ€”assuming she wasnâ€™t the one who got Hope to part with the ransom money. Do we widen the search?â€

â€œYes.â€ Don nodded. â€œWe need to check neighboring towns. She wouldnâ€™t go far, not given how reclusive she is. But we have to act fast.â€

â€œIâ€™l get more manpower up here.â€ Peg whipped out her phone. â€œWeâ€™l expand the search area. Meanwhile, letâ€™s keep exploring the house with a fine-tooth comb. There has to be somethingâ€”a receipt, a paycheck stub, somethingâ€”that she left behind that would give us a clue as to what she did, where she shopped, what places she frequented.â€

Claire was standing at the top of the basement stairs. â€œI need to go down there,â€ she murmured. â€œI know you swept the place and found nothing. But I stil need to go down there. Iâ€™m not sure whyâ€”not yet.â€

With that, she descended the staircase.

â€œIâ€™l bet thatâ€™s where Linda kept Felicity,â€ Casey said. â€œPeople repeat patterns theyâ€™re comfortable with, and Claire keeps referring to a basement. If Lindaâ€™s holding Krissy in the basement of wherever she is, she must have done the same here with Felicity.â€

Turning and speaking to Peg and Sergeant Bennett simultaneously, she asked, â€œMay I go down with Claire?â€

Neither of them had a problem with that.

So Casey hurriedly descended the steps.

Claire was standing in the middle of the room, looking around as if she were seeing something more than an empty basement with a concrete floor and cinder-block wal s. From the distant expression in her eyes, she wasnâ€™t even aware of Caseyâ€™s presence.

Slowly, she crossed over to the far wal , pressing her palm against the surface, then sliding it up and down.

â€œA bed,â€ she said in a soft, faraway voice. â€œWith a canopy. The bedspread has roses on it. Roses, for Briar Rose. Princess Aurora. The bed is for her. And the canopy is embroidered with pictures of Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.â€

Sleeping Beauty, Casey thought. Claire was describing Sleeping Beauty.

â€œShe doesnâ€™t feel like a princess,â€ Claire continued in that same dreamlike tone. â€œSheâ€™s scared. She wants her mommy, her daddy and her sister. She doesnâ€™t understand why sheâ€™s here. And she doesnâ€™t understand her new name. Itâ€™s not hers.

Sheâ€™s not who sheâ€™s supposed to be. She just wants it to go away. She just wants to go home.â€

Casey stayed frozen in place, determined not to interrupt Claireâ€™s musings. Clearly, she was talking about Felicity. This was the room in which sheâ€™d been held captive.

Claireâ€™s words were heartbreaking. There were tears on her cheeks. â€œSheâ€™s curled close to this wal . As far away as she can get. But she knows itâ€™s not far enough. Her legs are tucked under her. Sheâ€™s afraid of the dark. And itâ€™s always dark down here. Except for the night-light and the little lamp on her nightstand.â€ Claire pressed her palm hard against the wal . â€œItâ€™s not a fairy tale. Itâ€™s a nightmare. Why did this happen to her? She doesnâ€™t understand. She doesnâ€™t want to.â€

An odd expression crossed Claireâ€™s face. â€œPain. Resignation. Acceptance.â€ Her eyes flickered open. â€œSheâ€™s gone,â€ she whispered. â€œGone for good.â€ For a long moment, she stared at her hand. Then, she let it drop to her side. She looked exhausted and utterly defeated.

â€œClaire?â€ Casey said tentatively.

Claire glanced over at her. â€œFelicity was here.â€

â€œI know. I could tel by what you were saying.â€

â€œThis wal ,â€ Claire murmured. â€œShe spent hours pressed against it, trying to emotional y escape. Thatâ€™s how I could stil pick up on her presence after al these years. A residue of her energy was left behind. Itâ€™s gone now.â€ A shaky sigh. â€œSo we know Linda Turner was the kidnapper. Or at least one of them. She kept Felicity in this basement. Thatâ€™s why sheâ€™s repeating herself with Krissy. Another basement, another princess room.â€

â€œDo you feel Krissyâ€™s energy here, as wel ?â€ Casey asked quickly.

â€œNo.â€ Claire shook her head. â€œKrissy was never here. Either Linda moved beforehand, or she chose a different location to make sure she didnâ€™t get caught. Either way, she never brought Krissy to this house.â€

Casey walked over and looped an arm around Claireâ€™s shoulders. The poor woman was shaking. This experience had taken a lot out of her.

â€œLetâ€™s go upstairs.â€ Casey spoke in a gentle voice. â€œWeâ€™l tel the task force what you felt and saw.â€

â€œAssuming they believe me,â€ Claire replied with sad resignation.

Casey couldnâ€™t argue that one. â€œWeâ€™l just have to hope ERT turns up some evidence from this room.â€

Â

For the first time, Casey understood the crippling frustration Claire endured in situations like this. It was bad enough to see the dubious expressions on the faces of the task force. What was worse was the utter helplessness of knowing there wasnâ€™t a damned thing they could do to utilize Claireâ€™s information. Casey didnâ€™t care about the inadmissibility of what Claire had seen and felt. She would have jumped on this anyway, unencumbered by the limitations of law enforcement. What she cared about was the fact that she had nothing concrete that could lead them to Linda Turner.

Only the confirmation that they were looking for the right person.

â€œDid you find anything in the house?â€ Casey asked Peg.

â€œNothing of significance.â€ Peg looked as frustrated as Casey felt. â€œA couple of take-out menus. A broken plate in the garbage. And a rol of red string in a corner of the master bedroom. We donâ€™t need any of it. ERT had more than enough to establish that Linda Turner lived here. And they dusted for prints everywhereâ€”including the basementâ€”for proof that Felicity Akerman had been here. But, when push comes to shove, even if al the fingerprints match up and everything Claire said was true, it means nothing. Not in the here and now. Felicity Akerman is gone.

We need to find Krissy Wil is.â€

Casey nodded. â€œNothing else?â€

â€œScraps of paper with nothing written on them, an empty journal and an equal y empty calendar. Obviously, Linda Turner wasnâ€™t keeping track of things, at least not in a place she left for us to find.â€

With that, Pegâ€™s phone rang.

She snatched it and answered. â€œHarrington.â€

A minute of silence, as Peg listened.

â€œGood. I want it analyzed yesterday. Cal me back with specifics.â€

Casey waited, staring at Peg. Judging from the special agentâ€™s reaction, this cal had yielded something that mattered.

â€œThat was ERT,â€ Peg said in answer to Caseyâ€™s questioning look. â€œEvidently, when they swept the medicine cabinet in the master bath, they retrieved a pil . Turns out itâ€™s definitely a prescription med. Theyâ€™re having it analyzed ASAP.â€

â€œIf it was a prescription, that wil tel us, not only what Linda Turner was taking, but perhaps what medical condition she was being treated for. With that info as a starting point, weâ€™l canvass al the pharmacies. Even if she used an assumed name, this wil help.â€

â€œI want the pharmacy and the doctor,â€ Peg replied. â€œLetâ€™s just hope itâ€™s a less common drug, and not something for insomnia or depression. If we can narrow things down, this could be the break weâ€™ve been hoping for.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It didnâ€™t take long for the FBI lab to analyze the pil .

Casey, Marc, Claire, Patrick and the entourage of law enforcement had just returned to the Wil isesâ€™â€”leaving behind a massive manhunt that spread over two countiesâ€”when Peg got the cal .

The confiscated pil was a ten-mil igram tablet of Memantineâ€”a drug used to treat moderate to severe Alzheimerâ€™s disease.

â€œAlzheimerâ€™s?â€ Casey blinked. That one had come out of left field. â€œI donâ€™t understand. How could Linda have orchestrated al this if she were suffering from such a debilitating disease?â€

â€œMaybe it was moderate. The beginnings of dementia,â€ Patrick suggested.

â€œNope.â€ Peg shook her head. â€œAccording to my medical experts, ten mil igrams is not an initial dosage. On the other hand, every patient is different. Linda could be lucid most of the time. She also could have a visiting nurse who stops by, drops off prescriptions and stays for brief enough periods of time that she has no clue thereâ€™s a child being held captive in the basement. We wonâ€™t know any of these answers until we find Linda.â€

â€œThat explains the red string we found,â€ Casey mused aloud. â€œLinda probably ties it around her finger to remember things. Itâ€™s a pretty common thing to do. And a necessary one, in her case.â€

â€œSo we know what weâ€™re looking for,â€ Bennett said. â€œWeâ€™ve already got law enforcement pounding the pavement, flashing pictures of Linda Turner at every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius. Now weâ€™ve got more than her face to go on. Itâ€™s time to get the necessary warrants to match the drug with the patient.â€

Â

Marc pul ed Casey aside the minute he could speak to her in private.

â€œCanâ€™t Ryan hack into some drug company database or somethingâ€”bypass al that crap? Especial y with the new HIPAA laws.

Weâ€™ve got to speed things up.â€

â€œRyan can hack into anything,â€ Casey replied, visibly distracted as she spoke. â€œThe problem is, heâ€™d stil have a gazil ion pharmacies to check out. And even then, weâ€™d have to hope Linda Turner used her real name. Itâ€™s very possible she didnâ€™t, since she doesnâ€™t want to be found. Which means weâ€™d be right back where Sergeant Bennett just describedâ€”taking our list of pharmacies and flashing photos of Linda to every one of them that fil ed a Memantine prescription, hoping that a pharmacist or employee recognizes her. That would take almost as long as circumnavigating HIPAA.â€

â€œYou have another idea?â€ Marc recognized the look on Caseyâ€™s face.

â€œActual y, yes. I have a possible theory. And if itâ€™s got merit, we can skip a whole bunch of steps and go to the head of the class.â€

She glanced around the room, eyeing the large number of law enforcement agents. â€œI canâ€™t get out of here without the entourage noticing.

And Peg wil have my hide if she thinks Iâ€™m up to something. Can you slip away and text Ryan? Tel him to drive up here and bring his laptopâ€”weâ€™l meet in his van.â€

â€œJust give me three minutes. Iâ€™l be gone and back.â€

Â

Ryan made it to Armonk in record time.

But it was long enough for Casey to separate herself from the pack, many of whom had disbanded to join the manhunt.

She, Marc and Ryan clustered together in the van, Hero stretched out beside them.

â€œMarc fil ed me in on where things stand,â€ Ryan began. â€œSo tel us what youâ€™re thinking.â€

Casey blew out her breath. â€œMy grandfather had Alzheimerâ€™s. Itâ€™s a horrible, debilitating disease. If Linda Turner is taking ten mil igrams of Memantine at a time, itâ€™s very likely sheâ€™s taking twenty mil igrams a day. And that means sheâ€™s not in a good place. Also, these drugs only go so far in slowing the progression of the disease. I just canâ€™t imagine her being clearheaded and cunning enough to pul off this whole kidnapping scheme alone.â€

â€œYouâ€™re saying you think she had an accomplice,â€ Ryan said. â€œAre you reverting to the mob theory?â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so,â€ Marc interjected. â€œThis is personal. Itâ€™s got to be Lindaâ€™s ideaâ€”sheâ€™d just need help with the execution.â€

â€œAgreed.â€ Casey picked up where sheâ€™d left off. â€œI donâ€™t buy the whole visiting nurse idea. I think that whoeverâ€™s getting Lindaâ€™s medicine, making her medical arrangements and assisting in her overal health issues, is also assisting in Krissyâ€™s captivity.â€

â€œOkay, Iâ€™l buy that.â€ Ryan inclined his head, studying Casey intently. She had more on her mind than what sheâ€™d already said.

â€œAre you thinking of someone in particular?â€

â€œI have no idea. But I do have an avenue I want to pursue. It could be a far-fetched dead end.â€

â€œBut you donâ€™t think so.â€

â€œNo.â€ Casey raised her chin, glanced from Ryan to Marc and back. â€œI think we need to revisit Claudia Mitchel â€™s murder.

Weâ€™ve al been operating under the assumption that it was mob related. But if the mob wasnâ€™t involved in Krissyâ€™s kidnapping, then that eliminates any motive they might have had to silence Claudia.â€

â€œWhich means someone else wanted or needed Claudia Mitchel dead,â€ Marc continued for her. â€œSomeone she surprised, rather than the premeditated murder we original y suspected. And the place where she surprised them is at the health care facility where she had her interview. Sunny Gardens. A facility that treats patients with everything from physical il nesses to dementia and Alzheimerâ€™s.â€

â€œYou think Linda Turner is a patient there?â€ Ryan asked.

â€œMore likely, a recent one,â€ Casey qualified. â€œWhich means sheâ€™d need her accomplice to come to her.â€

â€œIt also means her accomplice probably did the actual kidnapping. And that would mean weâ€™re dealing with a female accomplice.â€

Marc deduced what Casey already had. â€œDo you think itâ€™s someone in Hope Wil isâ€™s circle? Someone Claudia would have recognized?â€

â€œIt makes sense, doesnâ€™t it?â€ Caseyâ€™s reply was more a statement than a question.

Ryan let out a low whistle. â€œItâ€™s quite a theory. But weâ€™d be crazy not to check it out. The question is, how? Sunny Gardens isnâ€™t going to give us squat. Law enforcement would have a hard enough time getting privileged information, and weâ€™re not law enforcement. We have zero leverage.â€

â€œWe have Marc.â€ With absolute confidence, Casey eyed her col eague. â€œIâ€™d be wil ing to bet that, on a dime, you can come up with a plan that wil get us what we need.â€

Marc looked thoughtful. â€œWe need to verify that Linda Turner is actual y a patient at Sunny Gardens. Iâ€™l have to scale the gates and bypass the security cameras. Get around without being noticed. Blend in and disappearâ€¦not a problem.â€

â€œI could go with you,â€ Ryan offered. â€œIf I can instal Geckoâ€”â€

â€œLet me handle this one alone,â€ Marc interrupted. â€œAt least for now. Covert Ops is my thing. If Linda Turnerâ€™s there, Iâ€™l find her. And Iâ€™l find out what name sheâ€™s registered under. Weâ€™l have our answer tonight. And if weâ€™re right, then you and the little critter can go on a field trip together.â€

Â

â€œYouâ€™re planning something again.â€

Patrick came up behind Casey the minute Ryanâ€™s van and Marcâ€™s car disappeared around the bend.

Caseyâ€™s head snapped around. â€œWhere did you come from? Are you spying on me?â€

â€œI saw Marc leave.â€ Patrick stuck his hands in his pockets and stared her down. â€œThen you slipped away. I used to be a federal agent. Iâ€™m pretty good at spotting the obvious.â€

â€œMy team was just meeting to discuss our options.â€

â€œAnd the option you picked is something you donâ€™t plan on sharing with the task force. Which means youâ€™re coloring outside the lines again.â€

â€œColoring outside the lines?â€ Casey had to grin at his choice of words. â€œDoes that mean youâ€™re going to tel on me?â€

â€œThat depends. What do I have to tel ?â€

â€œNothing.â€ Casey kept her expression careful y nondescript.

Patrick didnâ€™t avert his gaze. â€œYouâ€™re a hel of a liar. Iâ€™d believe you, except that Iâ€™ve learned the way Forensic Instincts operates.â€

â€œThen youâ€™ve also learned that itâ€™s best not to ask questions. Just accept our results with grudging admiration.â€

Not so much as a blink. â€œThat puts me in an awkward position. Because I have a strong feeling that you were bugged by what we just found out, and that you meandered your way to the same possibility I did. And I have to know whether or not to share that with the task force.â€

Casey kept her cool. But she wasnâ€™t happy.

â€œWhat possibility are we referring to?â€ she asked.

Patrickâ€™s lips thinned into a narrow line. â€œIn other words, show my hand first. Okay, fine. Normal y, I wouldnâ€™t. But weâ€™re playing with a loaded gun here, and weâ€™re racing time. So Iâ€™l start. But no games, Casey. I want the truth.â€

â€œYouâ€™l get it.â€

â€œFine. You and I are both thinking that Linda Turner is in no condition to kidnap a kid. That she has a very active accompliceâ€”one who actual y did the work for her. Am I on track?â€

â€œYes.â€ Casey could read Patrickâ€™s expression as if it were a polygraph. He knew. He wasnâ€™t fishing. This was the real deal.

Time for her to give him something in return.

â€œI think Linda Turner is il enough to be confined to a facility.â€

â€œAnd you think that facility is Sunny Gardens, the place Claudia Mitchel interviewed at. You also think that when she was there, she saw someone she shouldnâ€™t have, and was kil ed because of it.â€

â€œRight. And, if Claudia recognized someone with a connection to Judge Wil is, it probably means that our accomplice is someone Judge Wil is knows from her time on the bench.â€ Casey was past wondering what Patrick knew and into worrying about what he planned to do about it. â€œI donâ€™t care how this person hooked up with Linda Turner, nor does it matter right now. We just have to find her.â€

â€œIt has to be a woman,â€ Patrick agreed. â€œBased on every description we got from the crime scene and from the gardener.â€ He stiffened, and Casey could see the FBI agent surface in him. â€œIf we figured this out, what makes you think the task force wonâ€™t?â€

â€œIâ€™m sure they wil . But theyâ€™l have hoops to jump through to get what they need. We wonâ€™t.â€ Casey let down her guard, and let her emotion come through. â€œPlease, Patrick, just buy me some time. Let me run with this. Let my team run with this. Donâ€™t tel Peg weâ€™re fol owing this lead. Youâ€™re not impeding anything, because you donâ€™t know what we have in mind. But it might save Krissyâ€™s life. Let the task force come up with this, and pursue this, on their own. Iâ€™m not asking you to stop them. Just donâ€™t fuel the fire by ratting us out. Please. We just need a little time first, to try it our way.â€

Patrick watched her from beneath hooded lids. â€œIâ€™d never say yes,â€ he admitted flatly. â€œBut I have a personal interest in this case. And Iâ€™ve seen how good you are. So do what you have to. Spare me the details. Just get it done, and get it done fast. As for Peg, I wonâ€™t tel her we talked. But I canâ€™t stop her from doing what she has to. Iâ€™d do the same, if I were her.â€

â€œFair enough.â€ Casey paused. â€œAnd Iâ€™l find a way to keep you in the loop,â€ she added quietly. â€œIn a way you can swal ow.

I know how much this case means to you.â€

â€œBoth cases,â€ he corrected her. â€œI care what happens to Krissy Wil is. And I need to know what happened to Felicity Akerman.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Marc tucked his car discreetly in a clearing surrounded by thick bushes, a good quarter mile from Sunny Gardens. He walked the rest of the way, positioning himself across from an entrance concealed behind a row of trees. He wanted at least two good hours of daylight surveil ance before he planned to scale the fence and traverse the grounds. He needed to see when the various staff members came and went. And he wanted to see the staffâ€™s routine of moving the patients from indoors to outdoors and back.

Using his military-issue binoculars, he monitored the scene and took mental notes.

First note. The security cameras. They were positioned at the main gate, and probably at the rear ones, as wel . That left long lengths of iron fence that were out of viewing range. Getting in would be no problem.

Second. Bennato Constructionâ€™s crew was starting to wind down for the day. The wing they were building was already framed, and the Sheetrock was wel under way. Between the slew of men working overtime, and the piles of construction materials in the area, Marc would have an easy place to blend in and hide, should it become necessary.

Marc turned his attention to the section of grounds where patients were situated. A smal number of them were interacting with other patients. Most of them were sitting alone, either under the patio canopy or in the neatly manicured gardens. Some were mobile. Most were sedentary. Even the more mobile patients were being supervised by nurses or nurseâ€™s aides. And those who were unable to get around on their own were attended to more closely, many of them being wheeled back to their rooms.

For al Marc knew, Linda Turner could be sitting right across the street from him.

Ryan had done his homework. Marc was up to speed on the number of patients living there, the ratio of staff to patients, and the physical size and layout of the main building itself. Ryan had emailed him both interior and exterior photos of the place. He would have gotten Marc a complete schematic, had there been time.

Despite the urgency of their situation, Marc waited. Heâ€™d learned the importance of patience. Just as he instinctively knew the right moment to strike.

The dinner hour came and went. The night shift arrived. The day shift went home. It didnâ€™t surprise Marc that the number of those driving in was leaner than those driving out. Nighttime would be quieter. The patients would be confined to their rooms. The number of staff members would be reduced.

Making Marcâ€™s job a hel of a lot easierâ€”and harder. Heâ€™d have less square footage to cover, and more risk of being caught in empty corridors. So heâ€™d made provisions for both his break-in and his presence. He was dressed in blackâ€”long-sleeved shirt and jeans, as wel as the backpack slung over his shoulders. But in that backpack was an authentic white orderlyâ€™s coatâ€”straight from the Forensic Instincts arsenal.

The sun had set, and the stars were coming out, when Marc stowed his night-vision goggles and shoved the case into his backpack. It was time.

Silently, he crossed over to the section of fence heâ€™d chosen, far away from the scope of the security cameras. He was up and over the fence in a few deft motions, landing lightly on his feet. He waited a ful minute to make sure he was alone.

The only sound was the crickets.

Avoiding the outside lights, Marc moved quickly until he reached the main building. Then he slipped around to the back. Sure enough, the delivery door had a lock on it that a ten-year-old could pick.

He got the door open, then jammed his foot in to keep it ajar. He pul ed out his orderly uniform and a clipboard, which had printed pages of blank but authentic medical forms on itâ€”again, thanks to Ryan. He tossed his backpack behind the bushes.

A minute later, he was inside.

It was eight oâ€™clockâ€”too late for dinner, too early for sleep. The patients were either in the dayroom, watching TV, or in their bedrooms, preparing for bed.

The very areas Marc planned on exploring.

He saved the dayroom for last, since that would be the most difficult place to maneuver. There was bound to be staff inside, which meant heâ€™d have to be seen and hope that the entire staff wasnâ€™t familiar with one another and, as a result, recognize him as a stranger.

He went up a flight of stairs and down Hal Bâ€”the section Ryan had reported housed the patients with specialized medical needsâ€”needs that an Alzheimerâ€™s victim would have. It was a crapshoot. Then again, this entire venture was a crapshoot.

He walked purposeful y, clipboard in hand, as if he had someplace to be. A few staff members passed him in the hal , but no one did anything more than smile and nod. He returned the gesture. Every room he passed, he glanced quickly inside, taking an instant mental picture of the occupant. No luck. He continued around the bend and finished his search. Stil nothing. He even doubled back to see if he had missed something. There wasnâ€™t a single patient who even resembled Linda Turner.

He had two choices: try another wing or risk the dayroom in that section of the facility.

Trusting Ryanâ€™s assessment, he went for the dayroom. It was situated in such a way that told him it was only for those patients who occupied Hal B.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside.

There were half-a-dozen patients gathered around the TV, which was anchored halfway up the wal so everyone could see it. There were another half dozen sitting at the panorama of windows, staring vacantly across the dark lawn. And there were two nurses in the back, keeping a close eye on everyone.

Seeing Marc, one of the nurses spoke up immediately. â€œYes?â€

â€œHi.â€ Marc shot them an easy smile, his gaze sweeping the room in one comprehensive motion. â€œI was told to check and see if there were any new dietary restrictions I should report to the kitchen staff before breakfast.â€

The nurse turned to her companion, eyebrows raised quizzical y. â€œAnything Iâ€™m not aware of?â€

The other nurse shook her head. â€œEverything is status quo.â€

â€œGreat,â€ Marc replied. â€œI appreciate it.â€ A rueful look, and another sweep of the room, this time concentrating on the patients at the window. â€œAfter a bunch of last-minute changes, itâ€™s a pleasure to find at least one status quo.â€

Heâ€™d found a lot more than that.

Sitting at the window, her face angled toward Marc, was Linda Turner. He recognized her instantly from Ryanâ€™s enhanced photo. The bone structure. The sharp features. The facial expression. The salt-and-pepper hair. There wasnâ€™t a doubt in his mind. Theyâ€™d found the one they were looking for.

Their long shot had paid off.

â€œIâ€™l be heading off for my next meal check,â€ Marc told the nurses, exhaling a frustrated breath. â€œNight shifts suck.â€

â€œTel us about it,â€ the first nurse said drily.

With a grimace of camaraderie, Marc and his clipboard left the room.

In theory, his job here was done. Stil , the more information he could give Ryan, the better.

There was a supply room across the hal . Marc slipped inside, shut the door al but an inch, and waited.

His efforts were rewarded about a half hour later, when the nurses began to escort the patients to their rooms for the night. They worked in shifts, walking some of the patients back two at a time, some of the more mobile patients in groups of three.

Linda Turner was among the second duo to be guided to her room. Marc waited until the nurses were halfway down the hal before he eased the closet door open wider. He watched careful y, counting the number of doorways the nurses passed before leading Linda into her quarters.

Sixth room on the right.

He went back into hiding, waiting until he heard the nursesâ€™ voices, chatting with each other about the great new restaurant that had opened in town, their voices growing more and more distant as they left the area and went back to the nursesâ€™ station.

When there was nothing but silence, Marc emerged.

He inched his way down the hal to Linda Turnerâ€™s room and looked at the slot beside the door. Fitted in the slot was a cardboard tab with the patientâ€™s name on it. Lorna Werner.

Lorna Werner. Linda Turner. Close enough for a woman with a fading memory to respond to. But not so close as to be recognizable. Smart choice.

Marc peeked through the glass pane on the closed door. Linda Turner was moving around, talking to herself as she sniffed some bright yel ow mums that were arranged in a vase on her windowsil . He wished he could make out her words. But he couldnâ€™t take any more risks than he already had.

A quick glance around the roomâ€™s interior.

Mostly institutional. The only personal touches were the numerous vases of flowers and a young girlâ€™s soccer jersey hanging on the wal .

If Marc harbored even a shadow of a doubt before, he didnâ€™t now.

Five minutes later, he was in his car, on his cel phone and on his way back to the brownstone.

Â

By the time Marc walked into the office, Ryan was already in high gear, and pages were being spit out on the laser printer. Hero was sitting beside the printer, barking to let Ryan know that his results were coming through.

â€œItâ€™s amazing what can be done with the right information,â€ Ryan informed Marc. â€œA simple name. Lorna Werner. And suddenly I have the medical data the FBI is trying to track down from before Lindaâ€™s move to Sunny Gardens. Her combination of medications. The dosages. Her doctor. Her pharmacy. I hacked into the Sunny Gardens system, no problem. Iâ€™ve got a record of when Lorna Werner was admitted. Just one short month ago. Until then, she was being treated independently.â€

â€œDoes it say who admitted her?â€ Marc asked.

â€œNope. The system has just basic specs logged in. No details.â€

â€œWel , I gave you al the details I could possibly dig up. The bal â€™s in your court now.â€

â€œYou mentioned vases of flowers in her room.â€ Casey was perched at the edge of Ryanâ€™s desk, having mul ed over Marcâ€™s covert excursion and picked out what she recognized as the highlights. â€œThe grounds of Lindaâ€™s house were neglected, but it was obvious that there was once an extensive garden there. And the lake behind the house was covered with weeds. Iâ€™d be wil ing to bet that, before Anna died, it was surrounded by flowers.â€

â€œYour point?â€ Marc asked.

â€œYou said that some of the patients spent the afternoon sitting in the gardens. Iâ€™d be wil ing to bet thatâ€™s where weâ€™d find Lindaâ€¦Lorna.â€

â€œMakes sense.â€ Marc nodded.

â€œAnd thatâ€™s where Gecko and I come in.â€ Ryan leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. â€œItâ€™s time for me to become CATV guy. When Iâ€™m done with my little black box, weâ€™l have a live feed from Sunny Gardensâ€™ video cameras streaming straight to our office. And if Linda Turner spends her time in the garden, weâ€™l be watching.â€

â€œI only half got that,â€ Marc said. â€œThen again, thatâ€™s usual y the case when you talk geek-speak. Iâ€™l be here for whatever.

Letâ€™s just hope our accomplice shows up for the closed-circuit video show.â€

â€œShe wil ,â€ Casey said. â€œSheâ€™l have to touch base with Linda. Because no matter who did the actual kidnapping, Linda is emotional y attached to Krissy, even if sheâ€™s not physical y with her. Sheâ€™l need to feel connected. And the only person who can offer her that is her accomplice. Sheâ€™s Lindaâ€™s stand-in. Sheâ€™s probably paying herself a healthy chunkâ€”say, two-hundred-fifty-thousand dol arsâ€”to oversee Krissy. The one thing we donâ€™t know is just how il Linda is, and how far gone her mind and memories are. It could be that her accomplice is manipulating her. For al we know, Linda thinks Krissy is somewhere at Sunny Gardens, right nearby. This is al conjecture.

Weâ€™ve got to get at the truth.â€

â€œNext question,â€ Marc inserted, addressing the eight-hundred-pound goril a in the room. â€œWhen do we cal Peg and the FBI task force?â€

â€œNot now, we donâ€™t,â€ Ryan responded quickly. â€œI need time to get some answers. Once we have those, you can tel the task force whatever you want.â€

â€œThis is going to be trickyâ€”and tight,â€ Casey murmured. â€œIâ€™m sure the task force is only a few steps behind us, and thatâ€™s only because of the red tape of having to get warrants. Once they get them, theyâ€™re going to storm Sunny Gardens like gang-busters, looking for Linda Turner. And, if sheâ€™s not clearheaded enough, that could ruin any chance of finding out about her accomplice.â€

â€œYeah, and if that accomplice knows that Lindaâ€™s been made, we can kiss finding her goodbye.â€

â€œSheâ€™s our only link to Krissy,â€ Casey said fervently. â€œI wonâ€™t let her get away. Ryan, plan on leaving for Sunny Gardens at the crack of dawn.â€

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Day Seven

Early-morning sunlight was peeking through the trees when Ryanâ€™s van pul ed up the road to Sunny Gardens. Like Marc, he left a healthy distance between his car and the facility, parking in a dirt alcove amid a wooded area where his van could blend right in. Later, heâ€™d make a more public appearance.

The good news was that construction workers began at dawn. So when Ryan trudged across the grounds in his dirt-stained jeans and white T-shirt, carrying a large toolbox, no one gave him a second look.

He went around back, as Marc had instructed, and, also as Marc had surmised, the delivery door was unlocked. It was daytime. Security measures were more lax. And deliveries were more plentiful.

He went straight down to his destination: the basement. It didnâ€™t take him long to navigate the various wiring and network connections, or to locate the video distribution feed that led to the main nursesâ€™ station.

He pul ed out his staple gun and fired a staple directly into the jacketed wire. Ryan waitedâ€”one minute, then two. After five minutes had passed, he whipped out his cel phone and cal ed the head nurseâ€™s station.

â€œYes?â€ she answered in a frazzled voice.

â€œHey,â€ Ryan greeted her. â€œThis is the security company. Are you having a problem with your closed-circuit TV?â€

â€œHow did you know? Our bank of monitors just became wavy and ful of static. We canâ€™t see much of anything.â€

â€œThe system monitors itself for trouble, and a message popped up in our office. Youâ€™re a medical facility, so youâ€™re a priority customer. Would you like me to drive over now and take care of it?â€

â€œOh, God, yes.â€ The nurse sounded as if she were being thrown a lifeline. â€œThank you so much.â€

â€œNot a problem. Who should I ask for?â€

â€œJeri Koehler. Thatâ€™s me. Iâ€™m the head nurse here.â€

â€œOkay, Jeri, you hang tight,â€ Ryan said in a reassuring tone. â€œIâ€™l be there within the hour.â€

He hung up, placed his tools in his toolbox and left the building, strol ing across the grounds and walking out the main gate.

Reaching his van, he climbed into the back and settled down. He opened the brown bag that was waiting for him, and helped himself to the protein bar and coffee heâ€™d bought himself for breakfast. While he was eating, he checked in with the office, let them know that phase one was complete.

A half hour later, he changed into a work shirtâ€”making sure to leave the top few buttons undoneâ€”got out of the back of the van, opened the driverâ€™s door and sat down behind the wheel.

He drove through the front gates and parked in the main parking lot. Checking in at the front desk was a snap.

To say that Head Nurse Koehler was happy to see him would be a gross understatement. She visibly released a breath of sheer relief when he walked over. A few of the other nurses poked Jeri, asking who the hot guy was, in low undertones that Ryan wasnâ€™t supposed to hear. She answered in a no-nonsense voice that said he was here to fix their video system, and to save their flirtations for later. Then, she showed Ryan the problem and headed off to tend to a pressing medical situation.

Ryan unpacked a few things and dismantled the monitors, listening as the other nurses muttered under their breath about Nurse Koehler. He chuckled a few times, commiserating with them about uptight supervisors and turning on the charm that came so natural y to him and that he was careful to use to his advantage in situations such as this one.

He spent just enough time searching for the problem, before announcing that he needed to go down to the basement to locate the source of the weak signal. With a wink, he promised to be back ASAP.

Once downstairs, Ryan began to repair the cable heâ€™d sabotaged an hour agoâ€”but with modifications. He inserted a splitter, routing the second video line to his personal y designed â€œblack boxâ€â€”a computer capable of streaming the closed-circuit video signal over the internet and directly to the Forensic Instincts office.

Task completed.

Ryan used his Android phone to remotely access the brownstoneâ€™s video server, checking to see if his handiwork had been successful.

A nod of self-congratulations. His black box was sending the video perfectly.

Job done. He was a genius.

Ryan packed up and headed upstairs and back to the nursesâ€™ station.

â€œHi, ladies,â€ he greeted the nurses, who were stil hanging around, waiting for his return. â€œI made a repair, but unfortunately, itâ€™s only temporary. Iâ€™l need to order a part and come back in a few days to instal it. In the meantime, the good news is, youâ€™re back in business.â€

â€œThank you so much,â€ one of them said grateful y. â€œYouâ€™re a lifesaver.â€

â€œGlad to be of service.â€ Ryan gave her a broad smile, again cranking up the charm. â€œNow Iâ€™l just need a few minutes to reassemble your monitors and clean up the mess I left you.â€

â€œTake your time.â€

Ryan did, taking as much time as he could, and chatting with the nurses as he worked.

â€œI noticed your gardens when I drove in,â€ he commented. â€œTheyâ€™re pretty impressive. My mother would be jealous.â€

â€œYes, our patients love to sit out there and enjoy them,â€ a young, pretty, blonde nurseâ€™s aide supplied.

â€œI figured as much.â€ Ryan careful y fitted one of the monitors in place. â€œDo they get to go out there a lot?â€

â€œAs much as they want. Theyâ€™re finishing breakfast now. Those who want to go outdoors wil be on their way soon.â€

Not soon enough for me, Ryan thought silently.

He straightened up and turned, dragging his arm across his forehead and giving the women a rueful look. â€œI know how hard you ladies work. And I promise Iâ€™m not being sexist. But would one of you mind getting me some water? I left my bottle in the van, and that basement was real y dusty. My throat is so dry I can barely swal ow.â€

â€œNo problem.â€ The nurseâ€™s aide scampered off, buying Ryan a little extra time.

He used it wisely, chatting up the nurses, tel ing them about his marathons and extreme sports adventures, and watching their eyes widen with awe. BASE jumping came in handy. You either impressed the hel out of someone, or convinced them that you were crazy.

Either way, it passed the time until the nurseâ€™s aide returned with a large cup of ice water.

â€œHere you go,â€ she said, handing it to him.

â€œThanks so much.â€ He began to drink, glancing at the monitor as he did.

The patients were being helped or wheeled outside, some to the patio and others to the gardens. Sweet.

Ryan made sure to drink his water slowly, taking a break here and there. Final y, he turned back to his work.

About eight or ten patients were being settled in each of the garden clusters. He scanned the monitors quickly. Not yet.

He continued reassembling. Come on, come on, he thought, glancing repeatedly at the screens. How many patients could there be going to the gardens? He couldnâ€™t stand here forever, flirting with nurses, drinking water, and looking like a moron who couldnâ€™t put a monitor back together. The minutesâ€”and his opportunityâ€”were slipping away.

There. Ryanâ€™s gaze snapped to the screen. Linda Turner was just arriving, via wheelchair, at the eastern garden. She was talking animatedly with the nurse wheeling her out.

There was a red string tied around Lindaâ€™s finger.

â€œWel , that patient certainly looks happy,â€ Ryan noted aloud. â€œIf al your patients start their days in that kind of mood, I just might check myself in.â€

The nurseâ€™s aide peered over his shoulder. â€œOh, thatâ€™s Lorna Werner. She loves that spot, and insists on sitting there every day.

Sheâ€™s normal y subdued. Today, sheâ€™s excited because sheâ€™s having a visitor this afternoon.â€ The aide pointed at the screen.

â€œSee the red string? Thatâ€™s to remind her when her daughter is coming. She tel s the entire place when thatâ€™s happening.â€

Daughter? Ryanâ€™s mind was racing. So thatâ€™s what they were cal ing kidnapping accomplices these days. He had to admit it was a clever twist on the accompliceâ€™s part. Preying on Lindaâ€™s need for a child would make her al the more open to manipulation.

He paused long enough to see exactly where the nurse was positioning Linda before she headed off to tend to the other patients. Then, he quickly finished his reassembly.

With one modification. He was careful to leave his tone generator inside the panel. It was the perfect excuse for him to make an immediate return visit.

He said goodbye to al the nurses, promised to be the technician who came back with the necessary part in a couple of days and headed out. He went straight to his van, climbed inside and shut the door. He whipped out his BlackBerry and cal ed Casey.

â€œHey, weâ€™re at the edge of our seats,â€ she greeted him. â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€

â€œYou can now access Sunny Gardensâ€™ closed-circuit video right there in our office,â€ he replied. â€œSo feel free to take a look.â€

He proceeded to give Casey the necessary instructions. â€œLinda Turner is in the garden on the east side of the grounds,â€ he continued. â€œI want to plant Gecko right near there. Evidently, Linda is having a visitor later today. Sheâ€™s wearing a red string around her finger to remind her.â€

â€œLike the red string we found at her house.â€

â€œExactly. And guess who her visitor is? Her daughter.â€

â€œDaughter?â€ Casey echoed, momentarily stunned. â€œAre you tel ing me that Lindaâ€™s accomplice is masquerading as her daughter?â€

â€œMakes sense, doesnâ€™t it? If this woman successful y posed as Lindaâ€™s grown daughter, she could get away with anythingâ€”admitting Linda to Sunny Gardens, managing her entire stay thereâ€”you name it.â€

â€œNot just managing her stay. Managing Linda, too.â€ Casey was over her surprise and on to her analysis. â€œManipulating her, getting and feeding her information, and using it al to her advantage. Remember, having a daughter is Lindaâ€™s greatest desire. She could view this person as Anna grown up, and Krissy as Anna when she was a little girl. There are so many potential psychological factors here, we could go on al day. But theyâ€™l wait. Whatâ€™s your plan?â€

â€œLike I said, I want to plant Gecko in the garden where Linda sits. When her visitor arrives, Gecko can pick up their conversation, both audio and video. Itâ€™s wel within his range to broadcast from there to my van. Iâ€™l listen in and monitor the entire interaction. Weâ€™l learn who this accomplice is. At that point, weâ€™l find a way to tip off Peg and the task force, so they can grab her. And weâ€™l find out where sheâ€™s keeping Krissy.â€

â€œYou sure as hel wonâ€™t do this alone,â€ Casey stated emphatical y. â€œMarc and I are driving up there. And weâ€™re bringing Hero with us. Since this daughter isnâ€™t showing up until afternoon, we have more than enough time to get there and join you for the show.â€

â€œI expected as much.â€ Ryan was already gathering up what he needed. â€œOkay, Iâ€™m going to set Gecko up now. Iâ€™l put him in sleep mode to save power. I left one of my tools behind to justify a return trip across the grounds. Iâ€™l make a quick stop in the garden. After Iâ€™m done, Iâ€™m pul ing the van out of the main parking lot and holing up in the wooded alcove diagonal y across the street from the facility.

Meet me there, and you can hop on in, and take in the performance with me.â€

CHAPTER THIRTY

Krissy. You need me here.

Iâ€™m so sorry I have to leave you alone.

Itâ€™s just for a little while. Todayâ€™s just an exception. Itâ€™s an emergency.

Iâ€™m worried. Iâ€™ve seen things on the news. Maybe theyâ€™re true. Maybe theyâ€™re not. I have to find out. But if they are, then photographs are being shown around. To doctors. Drugstores. They havenâ€™t reached here.

But have they reached Sunny Gardens? Have they put the pieces together? I have to know. If theyâ€™re figuring things out, weâ€™ll have to go.

Weâ€™ll find somewhere safe.

No one will find us. I wonâ€™t let them.

You belong with me.

Nothing and no one will take you away.

Â

The construction crew was in ful swing when Ryan climbed out of the van. He was stil wearing his company work shirt, and he was carrying a toolbox. Gecko was tucked safely at the bottom of that box.

With al that was going onâ€”cranes lifting building supplies, backhoes traveling back and forth across the construction site, and dozens of workmen, hammering, dril ing and cal ing out to each otherâ€”Ryan was pretty sure he wouldnâ€™t be noticed even without a disguise. But he wasnâ€™t taking any chances. Looking like a harried serviceman, he stalked over to the requisite garden and squatted down, opening his toolbox and removing various tools.

Linda Turner was sitting ten feet away from him. It took al his control not to look her in the eye and demand to know where Krissy was. But that would destroy their entire plan and kil any chance of pul ing things off without being found out and arrested. Not to mention that he had no idea if Linda was coherent enough to even know where Krissy was.

So he kept up the charade.

â€œMaâ€™am,â€ he greeted her when she turned her head his way.

â€œHel o.â€ She gazed at him with a vague expression in her eyes, and without the slightest hint of wondering who he was or what he was doing there.

â€œI wonâ€™t disturb you,â€ he provided, nonetheless. â€œIâ€™ve got a few wires to check out here. Then Iâ€™l be out of your way.â€

â€œMy daughter wil be here later,â€ she replied, as if she either knew Ryan or thought she should. â€œItâ€™s so noisy here, itâ€™s hard for us to talk. Thatâ€™s why she comes in the afternoon, when al those builders are going away. I hope youâ€™l be finished by then.â€

â€œNo problem. Iâ€™l be long gone.â€

Ryan squatted down, making sure his back was facing the main building and his side was blocking Lindaâ€™s view. Then, he began rummaging through his toolbox, flinging tools to the ground in increased agitation. To any onlooker, it would seem as if he were trying to fix something but to no avail.

Amid his flurry of activity, he pul ed out the top tray of his toolbox with one hand and grabbed Gecko with the other. Quickly, he turned the little critter on, and placed him just inside the raised, circular bed of shrubs surrounding the garden.

With a few muttered curses, he tossed his tools back into the box, snapped the clasp, rose and turned to Linda.

â€œI canâ€™t find the tool I need. So Iâ€™l be heading back to the main building. Enjoy your visit with your daughter.â€

Her lips curved into a smile. â€œThank you.â€

With that, Ryan strode back to the building, a look of sheer irritation on his face.

He marched inside and straight to the head nurseâ€™s station.

Jeri Koehler was back at her post.

â€œHel o.â€ She looked puzzled. â€œI thought youâ€™d left.â€

â€œI did. I was halfway down the drive when I realized Iâ€™d left my tone generator somewhere in here. Would it be a big problem if I looked for it?â€

â€œOf course not.â€ Nurse Koehler made a wide sweep with her arm. â€œIâ€™d just ask that you not interfere with our work.â€

Ryan flashed her a smile. â€œWithout my tone generator, Iâ€™m screwed.â€ He walked over to the panel of video monitors, pretending to search for about five minutes. Then, he looked under the panel, reached up and retrieved the missing tool.

â€œHere we go.â€ He looked and sounded utterly relieved. â€œYouâ€™re a gem. I canâ€™t thank you enough.â€ He popped the tool into his toolbox. â€œIâ€™l get out of your hair now. See you in a few days when I have the part I need.â€

With a friendly wave, Ryan made his exit.

Ruse complete. Time for Gecko to do his job.

Ryan climbed behind the wheel of the van and drove out of the parking lot. He steered diagonal y across the street, returned to the alcove behind the trees and maneuvered the van into it. With Marcâ€™s eagle eye, he and Casey would find him when they drove up, no problem.

Scrambling into the back of the van, Ryan fired up his laptop and Gecko came to life. Ryan careful y repositioned him, focusing his camera and microphone directly on Linda. If she sat either a little to the left or right this afternoon, heâ€™d readjust the little critter accordingly. But, for now, the video and audio were perfect.

He put Gecko into sleep mode to conserve power for later, when it was needed.

Then, he cal ed Casey and asked her to detour through the nearest Mickey Dâ€™s and pick up a couple of Big Macs and fries. He never ate junk food. But heâ€™d been up since before dawn. And al this activity had made the power bar and coffee heâ€™d downed earlier a distant memory. And, hey, a guy had to eat. So it was time to break a few rules. They werenâ€™t the first ones heâ€™d broken today.

The SOS cal to Casey done, he sat back and waited.

Â

Krissy heard her leave.

As always, she wriggled off the bed and searched the room, wishing with all her might that the woman had forgotten her laptop or her cell phone. Krissy knew how to use both. Her mommy had showed her. She even had a very simple cell phone with big numbers on it that she brought to school. Mommy had programmed it with emergency phone numbers. She knew which button was which. And she knew her own phone number. She could call it, even with somebody elseâ€™s cell phone.

But whenever the woman left Krissy alone, she always made sure to take everything with her. This time was the same. There was nothing down here. Nothing Krissy could use to call for help.

She scrambled up the long flight of steps and tried the door, pulling and pulling on the handle with every ounce of strength she possessed. But the door wouldnâ€™t budge.

Huge tears filled Krissyâ€™s eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

At the beginning, sheâ€™d known her mommy would come for her, no matter how many times the woman told her she wouldnâ€™t. The woman said that her mommy had moved on without her, that her job kept her much too busy to be with Krissy. And sheâ€™d told her over and over again that she was her mommy, and that sheâ€™d love her forever.

Krissy hadnâ€™t believed her. But lots of days had gone by. And there was still no sign of her mommy.

Could she really have wanted to send Krissy away? Was even Ashley too busy to play with her? She knew her daddy was.

What if theyâ€™d stopped looking?

No. No. No!

She ran down the steps, jumped on the bed and grabbed Oreo, clutching him with all her might.

Then she soaked him with her tears.

Â

Marc eased his foot off the accelerator, pul ing slowly up to the spot where Ryanâ€™s van was parked. He and Casey had taken Marcâ€™s Subaru Outback because it was black and would blend in better with the wooded area. Caseyâ€™s red Mazda Miata would stand out like a sore thumb.

The sounds of construction pounded through the air. It was midafternoon. Clearly, the crew was making as much progress as they could before quitting time. By three oâ€™clock, theyâ€™d be jumping out of their machinery, packing up their tools and taking off for home.

As Marc and Casey exited the car, Heroâ€™s leash wrapped around Caseyâ€™s hand, the large diesel engine of a construction crane roared to life. The noise was deafening. Hero made a braying sound.

â€œNot now, boy,â€ Casey told him. â€œI know the noise hurts your ears. Letâ€™s get into Ryanâ€™s van.â€

They hurried over, and Marc pounded on the back of the van. â€œItâ€™s us,â€ he yel ed over the tumult.

Ryan opened the double doors. â€œCome on in.â€

Hero needed no second invitation. He sniffed the air once, scanned the woods and then sprang into the van and away from construction hel .

Casey released his leash to give him the freedom he needed, and fol owed suit, with Marc right behind her. By the time Marc slammed the doors and plunked down next to Casey, Hero was sprawled out on Ryanâ€™s sweatshirt, panting and waiting for some water. He got it ASAP, from the Hero â€œsuppliesâ€ Ryan had started keeping in the van.

â€œBig Macs and fries?â€ Marc couldnâ€™t help ribbing him. â€œThatâ€™s more fat and calories than a ful day at the gym could burn.

And you skipped this morningâ€™s workout. Careful. Lose your six-pack and youâ€™l lose your women.â€

â€œItâ€™s a one-shot deal,â€ Ryan retorted, taking the McDonaldâ€™s bag from Casey. â€œAnd Iâ€™ve seen you scarf down two or three chili dogs when youâ€™re desperate enough. So cram it.â€

â€œCut it out, you two,â€ Casey said impatiently. â€œWeâ€™re not here to discuss your high-protein diets. Lindaâ€™s guest isnâ€™t here yet, is she?â€

â€œNope.â€ Ryan shook his head. â€œThe patients just finished lunch. Linda wil be on her way out to the garden within the hour. Her daughter should be showing up soon after. Apparently, they try to avoid the construction chaos. And, since the crew breaks up between three and four oâ€™clock, Iâ€™m expecting our accomplice around then.â€

Marc arched a brow. â€œYou found al this out from the nurses you charmed at the front desk?â€

â€œSome of it, yes. The rest, I found out from Linda herself.â€

â€œYou spoke to her?â€

â€œYup.â€ Ryan munched on a Big Mac while he spoke. â€œShe was right there when I planted Gecko. Sheâ€™s pretty out of it. And the only thing on her mind was seeing her daughter and getting us workmen out of the way in time for her visit.â€

Hero was eyeing Ryanâ€™s burger and smacking his lips.

Casey gave him a chew toy to distract him and thoughtful y scratched his ears. â€œIf sheâ€™s that out of touch with the world around her, it means her accomplice is actively running the showâ€”just as we suspected. And sheâ€™s keeping Krissy around for a reason. Iâ€™m just not sure what it is.â€

â€œUnless Linda has cash reserves we donâ€™t know about,â€ Marc proposed. â€œIf thatâ€™s the case, it would be a sweet deal for this woman. Al she has to do is feed and house a five-year-old in some secret location, probably bring Linda some photos here and there, and, at the same time, masquerade as her older daughter. Maybe she got Linda to give her power of attorney, in which case, she can do whatever she wants with Lindaâ€™s assets.â€

â€œI did a pretty thorough job of checking out Linda Turnerâ€™s bank recordsâ€”both her real and assumed names,â€ Ryan replied.

â€œNothing impressive there. But that doesnâ€™t account for jewelry, antiques or anything else of value she might have. So, yeah, Marc, your theory is definitely possible.â€ With that, he switched Gecko out of sleep mode and into active mode. â€œWeâ€™re about to find out.â€

Ten minutes ticked by.

Abruptly, Casey peered over Ryanâ€™s shoulder at the laptop monitor. â€œHere she comes.â€

A nurse was wheeling Linda Turner over to her usual spot, chatting pleasantly with her as they went. She settled her patient comfortably, promising â€œLornaâ€ that sheâ€™d send her daughter over the instant she arrived. Then, she turned and retraced her steps back to the main building.

Linda gazed peaceful y around, and began to murmur the names of the various flowers surrounding her. Some she got right, some were so far-off that she might as wel be speaking a foreign language. But she was happy and very excited.

Caseyâ€™s cel phone rang. She frowned, staring down at it. The cal er ID said â€œPrivate.â€

â€œIâ€™d better see who this is,â€ she said reluctantly. â€œIf itâ€™s Peg, and I ignore her again, Iâ€™l be in deep shit.â€ She put the phone to her ear. â€œCasey Woods.â€

â€œItâ€™s me,â€ Patrick said without preamble. â€œJust a heads-up. Peg is pissed as hel that youâ€™re nowhere to be found, since she knows very wel what that means. Meanwhile, she put the pieces together. She spoke to the woman in human resources who interviewed Claudia Mitchel . She explained the urgency of the situation and Sunny Gardens is wil ing to cooperate without a warrant, and with only Pegâ€™s promise to keep the information they share with her in the strictest of confidence. So it looks like your time is up.â€

â€œDammit.â€ Casey dragged a hand through her hair. â€œIs the task force on their way to Sunny Gardens?â€

â€œNot yet. Getting the information is one thing. Questioning the suspect is another. The North Castle cops are going for a warrant. The FBI is going to the U.S. Attorneyâ€™s Office. But between Krissy Wil isâ€™s kidnapping and Claudia Mitchel â€™s murder, I doubt theyâ€™l have trouble getting what they need. Not with time being of the essence. So whatever youâ€™re doing, do it fast.â€

â€œThank you, Patrick.â€ Casey was truly grateful for his cooperation. â€œI owe you one.â€

â€œYou owe me more than that,â€ he retorted. â€œPeg asked me where you were. I told her you were pursuing a lead, but that youâ€™d refused to give me the details.â€

â€œThatâ€™s true.â€

â€œYeah, but I left out a hel of a lot.â€

â€œYou wonâ€™t be sorry. Weâ€™re a few steps ahead of the task forceâ€”and closer to finding Krissy Wil is.â€

â€œThat better be true. Oh, and by the way, your boyfriend is ripping mad. I wouldnâ€™t count on a candlelight dinner anytime soon.â€

Casey winced. She knew exactly how pissed Hutch must be. And she wasnâ€™t looking forward to the confrontation.

â€œNo surprise,â€ she told Patrick. â€œBut I appreciate the heads-up. Iâ€™l be sure to polish up my suit of armor for the firing squad. In the meantime, I have to go now. Thanks again.â€

She disconnected the cal , her gaze glued to the computer screen as she waited for the tel tale moment.

Abruptly, the video feed from Gecko began to stutter. On its heels, the audio started to break up. Like an attack dog, Ryan leaped into action, promptly checking the wireless connection.

â€œSon of a bitch,â€ he muttered. â€œThe connection speed has dropped by seventy percent.â€

â€œWhat does that mean?â€ Casey asked.

â€œIt means that, at that rate, audio and video streaming is impossible.â€ He was already moving toward the door, crouched down so he didnâ€™t whack his head. â€œIâ€™ve got to find out what the problem is or weâ€™re screwed.â€

He pushed open the van doors and climbed out, peering in the direction of the Sunny Gardens grounds.

â€œShit,â€ he exclaimed, seeing that the huge crane had moved directly between his van and Gecko, its large steel boom interfering with his wireless signal.

Without a clear line of sight, there was no way to accomplish their goal. The crane was showing no signs of moving and they couldnâ€™t risk revealing their presence in any way.

Heâ€™d have to improvise.

â€œBad news,â€ he told Casey and Marc as he boosted himself back into the van. He fil ed them in on the problem.

â€œWhatâ€™s the solution?â€ Marc asked. â€œWeâ€™ve come way too far to give up. And the FBI task force is climbing up our asses.â€

â€œThereâ€™s nothing I can do about the timing. But I can do something about the problem. I have to turn off the streaming and have Gecko internal y record the audio and video, which we can play back at a later time.â€ As Ryan explained, he sent the instructions to Gecko. Gecko acknowledged, and the streaming video went blank, the audio silent.

â€œLater when?â€ Marc demanded.

â€œWhen you come back here tonight and retrieve my little critter. At that point, we can watch and listen to the events of the afternoon. And, with any luck, weâ€™l have what we need.â€

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Getting onto the grounds of Sunny Gardens this time was going to be a little trickier.

Marc cruised slowly by the main entrance, scanning the front lawn and pinpointing the garden where Ryanâ€™s little critter was stashed.

There was no way he could use the same section of fence as last time to gain entry. It was too far down. Last night, heâ€™d been headed around back, to a deserted section of grounds that was shielded by the construction site. Tonight, he was aiming for dead center, the most open area of the front grounds. If he went back to the remote section of fence heâ€™d scaled last time, it would require his making his way across the entire front lawn. The floodlights would pick him up in any one of a dozen spots.

Not feasible.

So that left the area near the front gates.

Marcâ€™s gaze shifted, focusing on the smal security booth at the entranceway. There was one guard inside. Fortunately, there was also one TV. And the guard was lounging in a chair, drinking a can of soda and staring at the screen. Judging from his reactionsâ€”an occasional display of annoyance and a few fist-clenching punches of joy in the airâ€”Marc determined he was watching a game. The Yanks were playing the White Sox tonight. The first pitch had been thrown out by the Yankees at eight oâ€™clock. It was nine-fifteen now.

Just to be sure, Marc pul ed over in a section of trees where he could see the guard but the guard couldnâ€™t see him. Marc turned on the radio, locating the station that broadcasted Yankee basebal . He listenedâ€”and watched the guard.

Sure enough, the Yanks pul ed off an expert double play that finished off the bottom of the third inning. Simultaneously, the security guard leaned forward in his chair, his smile broad, his lips forming the emphatic word yes!

Clearly, it was the same game.

Marc drove a short distance and made a U-turn, pul ing off the road into a cluster of bushes on the same side of the street as the facility.

Approximately two hundred yards before the main gate, the space was facing the direction Marc needed to go to head for home.

Last night, heâ€™d planned on spending a block of time inside the building. Consequently, leaving his vehicle across the road and far away where it wouldnâ€™t be spotted was imperative. Tonight was a grab and go. He needed his car as close to him as possible without being visible.

His only task was to find and snatch Gecko, and get the hel out of there.

Bearing that in mind, he grabbed the smal backpack heâ€™d brought along, and quietly left his car. He crept down the grassy side of the road, pausing just to the right of the security booth, where the guardâ€™s back was to him.

He waited for the next visibly exciting play of the game. The guard was at the edge of his seat, gripping his soda can tightly and staring at the screen.

Marc seized the opportunity.

He scaled the fence in a few smooth moves and dropped onto the grass inside. He squatted low, watching and waiting.

The guard was oblivious to anything but his evening entertainment.

Swiftly, without so much as a rustle, Marc sprinted across the lawn, moving between the gaps in the floodlight beams, until he reached the eastern garden. He squatted down and whipped out the penlight flashlight he kept in the pocket of his jeans. Flicking it on, he anchored it between his teeth and aimed it downward.

It took about two minutes to find the spot in the shrubbery that Ryan had described in detail. It took less time than that to retrieve Gecko, stick him in the backpack and retrace his steps to the fence.

Again, Marc remained crouched, waiting, sizing up the situation inside the security booth.

The guard was stretching. He scratched his head and looked idly around, using commercial time to do a perfunctory check of the area.

The game resumed. The guardâ€™s scrutiny of his surroundings ended, and his attention shifted back to whichever Yankee was at bat.

Marc was up and over the fence, and on his way to his car before the ump could cal strike one.

Â

It was after eleven when Marc strode into the brownstone.

Casey and Ryan were pacing the floors. They jumped on Marc the instant he stepped inside.

â€œDid you find Gecko?â€ Ryan demanded.

â€œYup.â€ Marc whipped the little critter out of his backpack and turned him over to Ryan. â€œNice directions. He was right where you said he would be.â€

â€œAnd no one saw you?â€ Casey asked, already knowing the answer.

Marc arched a brow. â€œA half-assed guard watching a Yankee game is not exactly a major chal enge. And the positions of the floodlights were predictable as hel . Letâ€™s face it, Casey, itâ€™s a medical facility, not a terrorist compound.â€

â€œI know. I wasnâ€™t worried about the employees. I was worried about the task force.â€

â€œNo sign of them.â€

â€œAnd I havenâ€™t heard from Patrick. So, hopeful y, weâ€™re stil ahead of the game.â€ Casey turned to Ryan. â€œWhat next?â€

â€œNext we go to the conference room.â€ Ryan was already leading the way up the stairs.

Once inside, Ryan went straight over and plugged Gecko into a special y designed connector, where he began to recharge his battery and retrieve the information stored inside the little critterâ€™s memory.

It didnâ€™t take long for the first sights and sounds to come through.

Linda, sitting in the garden. Time passing as she gazed placidly around. Then impatience, fol owed by eagerness.

Abruptly, her eyes lit up and she began to wave her entire arm. â€œIâ€™m here, baby. Right here.â€

â€œHi, Mama.â€ An eerily familiar voice reached their ears. â€œItâ€™s so good to see you.â€

Lindaâ€™s visitor came into view. She walked over, leaned down and hugged the older woman. Then, she straightened, and the camera got a ful frontal view of her.

And al three of the Forensic Instincts teamâ€™s jaws dropped.

The person visiting Linda was Hope Wil is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Day Eight

Casey cal ed Peg first thing the next morning, as she, Marc, Ryan and Hero headed up to Armonk in Ryanâ€™s van.

â€œNice of you to cal ,â€ Peg said in a chil y voice. â€œIâ€™ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.â€

â€œPeg, where are you?â€ Casey asked.

â€œAt the Wil ises. Weâ€™l be leaving to interview a person of interest in a few minutesâ€”with a warrant.â€

â€œAre the Wil ises with you?â€

â€œYes. But they wonâ€™t be traveling with us.â€

â€œI know who your person of interest is. Donâ€™t go to Sunny Gardens,â€ Casey asked fervently. â€œPlease. Not until we get to you.

Itâ€™s urgent that you waitâ€”with Hope and Edward. What we have for you is explosive.â€

â€œCasey, Iâ€™m not playing games with you anymore. We have a job to do.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™l do it perfectly once you have the missing pieces. If not, youâ€™l blow it al . Please stay put.â€

A long pause. â€œHow far away are you?â€

â€œWe can be there in forty-five minutes. Ryanâ€™s flooring the gas.â€

â€œFine. Forty-five minutes is al youâ€™ve got. Then weâ€™re leaving.â€

â€œFair enough. Weâ€™l be there.â€

Â

Patrick was pacing on the Wil isesâ€™ front lawn when the van screeched up to the curb. He strode across the lawn and met Casey as she jumped out.

â€œWhat did you find?â€ he demanded.

â€œSomething that wil help solve both cases.â€ Casey was already hurrying toward the house. â€œI donâ€™t know where Krissy isâ€”yet. But I wil . We wil . Til then, I donâ€™t believe sheâ€™s in danger.â€

â€œYouâ€™d better be right. And your information had better be good.â€

â€œI am and it is. What does the task force know?â€

â€œEverything about Linda Turner. First of al , they drew the same conclusion we did. But they needed grounds to descend on Sunny Gardens. So they got them. Since Linda was clearly trying to keep her condition a secret, the task force got a list of doctors sheâ€™d worked with when she was employed by the hospital. In no time, they found the private practice of the semiretired doctor who was treating her. The pharmacy she used was two blocks away from his office.â€

â€œWho gave them what they neededâ€”the doctor or the pharmacist?â€

â€œBoth. Al her medical records were confidential, but Peg spoke to one pharmacist who recognized Linda, and who said they hadnâ€™t been supplying her with prescription meds for over a month. The pharmacistâ€™s impression was that Linda was moving to an on-site facility.

When the task force took that information to the doctor, and impressed upon him the urgency of the situation, the doctor confirmed that heâ€™d recommended Sunny Gardens to Linda. Between that, and the fact that Claudia Mitchel was murdered right after interviewing at that facilityâ€¦â€

â€œThe task force got the warrants they needed. So they were on their way to Sunny Gardens when I cal ed.â€

â€œOh, yeah. They were furious about waiting. Peg put her neck on the line for you, amid lots of dissent. So, like I said, youâ€™d better have some hard, solid evidence to give them.â€

â€œAnd, like I said, I do.â€ Casey paused outside the front door. â€œThank you, Patrick. I know how hard this was for you, not only because of how badly you want to solve the Felicity Akerman case, but because you strayed a hair from the straight and narrow.â€

His jaw tightened. â€œI did it for one reasonâ€”I think youâ€™re good enough to crack this without being bogged down by bul shit. That doesnâ€™t mean I approve of your methods. It means Iâ€™m desperate enough to tolerate them.â€

â€œLetâ€™s get inside.â€ Marc had come up behind them, along with Ryan, who was carrying his laptop and the shocking videoâ€”if Peg chose to see it.

The whole group went inside, converging in the media room, where most of the task force, including Hutch and Grace, along with Claire, the Wil ises, and Vera and Sidney Akerman were waiting.

Hope practical y raced forward, grabbing Caseyâ€™s arm with sheer desperation. â€œDid you find Linda? Was she at that place Sunny Gardens?â€

â€œYes.â€ Casey studied Hope intently, saw the genuine emotion in her eyes. Not that any confirmation was necessary. Stil , she was relieved to get it.

â€œDid you talk to her? Did she tel you where Krissy was?â€

Casey turned to Peg. In the process, she spotted Hutch, and tried to ignore the blazing fury in his eyes.

â€œLinda Turner has a new name and a surprising accomplice. Donâ€™t ask me how I know. Just accept it as a hot tip. The sooner you can act on this, the better.â€

â€œGo on,â€ Peg said curtly.

â€œShe was admitted under the name Lorna Werner. You would have found that out the minute you showed her picture at the front desk.

You also would have found out that talking to her is useless. She drifts in and out of reality, and she didnâ€™t kidnap Krissy, although she certainly inspired it. If she has an inkling where Krissy isâ€”which I doubtâ€”sheâ€™d never be able to give us a coherent description, much less directions to where Krissyâ€™s being kept. Only her accomplice can.â€

â€œIs this accomplice mob related?â€ Sidney asked.

â€œNo. Your mob ties had nothing to do with your granddaughterâ€™s abduction.â€

â€œSo you know who Lindaâ€™s accomplice is,â€ Peg concluded.

â€œYes.â€ Casey was both frank and blunt. â€œI can tel you, which would be hearsay. Or I can show you, and say we found this evidence outside the gates of Sunny Gardens, where a good Samaritan must have dropped it. Your choice.â€

Peg glared at her. â€œShow me.â€

Ryan produced a flash drive containing the data heâ€™d copied off Gecko. He walked over to one of the FBI computers. â€œMay I?â€

â€œGo ahead.â€

He inserted the USB drive and punched in a few commands on the keyboard.

A minute later, the video recording came up. First, Linda. Then, the familiar voice. Final y, the appearance.

A simultaneous gasp fil ed the room as Linda and her accomplice launched into their visit, which included some probing questions from her accomplice, obviously fishing to see if Linda had been approached by law enforcement, leading to genuine relief when she realized that she hadnâ€™t.

â€œHope?â€ Edward turned to her, white shock on his face. â€œWhat the hel â€”â€

â€œItâ€™s not your wife, Mr. Wil is,â€ Casey interrupted. â€œWe watched this video many times and with great care. Her body language, her choice of words, her deliveryâ€”theyâ€™re al completely different. That woman is impersonating Hope. But she isnâ€™t Hope. Sheâ€™s Felicity.â€

â€œOh my God.â€ Veraâ€™s legs buckled under her, and Patrick Lynch caught her before she dropped to the floor. â€œOh my God,â€

she whispered again, staring blankly at the monitor as Patrick eased her into a chair. He himself was stark-white. â€œFelicity isâ€¦alive?â€

â€œYes.â€ Casey nodded. â€œSheâ€™s been with Linda al these years. Once we realized that, al the pieces fel into place. Why it was so easy for the kidnapper to masquerade as Hope. Why I never saw anyone but Hope come and go at the ransom drop. How the kidnapper got in here to steal Hopeâ€™s pendant and Krissyâ€™s toyâ€”and to knock Ashley out when she surprised her.â€

â€œFelicity must have used Krissyâ€™s keys,â€ Edward surmised, obviously shaken to the core. â€œThey were in her backpack, along with our alarm code and Krissyâ€™s cel phone. Al our numbers are programmed into that phone. Thatâ€™s how she managed to cal Ashleyâ€™s cel in order to bypass the phone taps and get to Hope for the ransom money.â€

â€œMoney she was probably planning to use to raise Krissy,â€ Casey continued. â€œItâ€™s also why the gardener was so convinced he saw Hope enter the house when Ashley was checking the mail. And why Claudia Mitchel had an unexpected and fatal experience at Sunny Gardens. She must have freaked out when she spotted the woman she thought had fired her. She was fil ed with pent-up angerâ€”after having to apply for a job that was beneath her, and dealing with a boyfriend who was being held by the police. Iâ€™m sure she blamed Hope for the whole fiasco. My guess? She went over to confront her, only to realize it wasnâ€™t Hope after al . Talk about ammunition. We al thought it was a mob hit.

But it wasnâ€™t. It was a desperate act committed by a desperate woman.â€

Reflectively, Don added, â€œThe mob did everything they could to get us off their backs. How ironic. The one thing they werenâ€™t guilty of was the very thing that might have gotten them caught.â€

â€œSo Felicity ran Claudia Mitchel off the road?â€ Hope asked, her voice quavering with shock and pain. â€œMy sister is a murderer?â€

Casey took Hopeâ€™s hand. â€œSheâ€™s not stable, Hope. She probably shattered completely when she thought Claudia was going to undo everything sheâ€™d done. Krissy means everything to her. Sheâ€™s transferred al the love she felt for Linda to Krissy. Sheâ€™s frantic to hold on to her. Itâ€™s the only way she can hold on to herself.â€

â€œBut she doesnâ€™t even know Krissy,â€ Edward protested.

â€œIt doesnâ€™t matter.â€ It was Hutch who spoke up now. â€œCaseyâ€™s right. Linda Turner was Felicityâ€™s mother for thirty-two years. She kept Felicity isolated from the world. Linda became Felicityâ€™s lifeline. When Lindaâ€™s il ness made it impossible for her to continue living on her own, Felicity panicked. She was losing her mother. The only way she could survive was to repeat the cycle. It gave her a sense of completion.â€

â€œStockholm syndrome,â€ Patrick said.

â€œExactly.â€

â€œBut how did she find meâ€¦usâ€¦Krissy?â€ Hope asked weakly.

â€œThat I donâ€™t know,â€ Hutch replied. â€œOn some level, Felicity knew who she was. She knew she had a twin. If she kept tabs on you that easily, my guess is, she isnâ€™t far away. Especial y if she visits Linda every week.â€

â€œDear God.â€ Vera buried her face in her hands. â€œLinda comforted me. She became my friend. And al the time, she had my baby.

My Felicity.â€

â€œThatâ€™s probably why she inserted herself in your life,â€ Casey said. â€œShe wanted to stay on top of the investigation, to make sure no one suspected her.â€

â€œAnd no one did.â€ Patrickâ€™s tone was grim. â€œIncluding me. I always held out hope that Felicity was alive. But not this way.â€

â€œNone of us saw this coming.â€ Peg turned to Casey. â€œThatâ€™s why you didnâ€™t want us going to Sunny Gardens.â€

Casey nodded. â€œIf youâ€™d burst in there with a warrant, youâ€™d risk upsetting Linda enough to cal Felicity and blurt out something.

Clearly, Felicityâ€™s already wary. She must have heard rumors. Thatâ€™s why she made that extra trip to see Linda yesterday. She customarily visits every Wednesday. But she wanted to see if law enforcement had been poking around. Right now, sheâ€™s probably feeling relieved. Which means sheâ€™l have no reason to grab Krissy and run.â€

â€œTodayâ€™s Tuesday,â€ Peg said. â€œWednesdayâ€™s just one day from now.â€

â€œSo we wait,â€ Don qualified. â€œWe remain patient and sit tight. Then, tomorrow, we stake out Sunny Gardens. We let Linda and Felicity have their visit. And when Felicity leaves, we fol ow her. Sheâ€™l lead us straight to Krissy.â€

â€œHow can we do that?â€ Hope asked, tears coursing down her cheeks. â€œI know that Felicity is my sister, and God help me for saying this, but weâ€™re leaving an unbalanced woman with my five-year-old child. Who knows what sheâ€™s doing to her, and what she could keep doing to her until tomorrow afternoon?â€

â€œSheâ€™s not harming her.â€ Claire spoke up for the first time. â€œKrissyâ€™s scared. But sheâ€™s safe. Felicityâ€™s created a virtual princess suite for her. She tried to replicate the one Linda made for her al those years ago. Itâ€™s her idea of a safe haven.â€ Claire paused, sage realization flickering in her eyes. â€œNow I understand my visions. I kept getting images of Hopeâ€”or the person I thought was Hopeâ€”interspersed with my images of Krissy. I couldnâ€™t understand why. Or why I never got so much as a glimpse of the kidnapper. Now I realize I was seeing the kidnapper. Only it wasnâ€™t Hope.â€

â€œBut Krissyâ€™s safe?â€ Hope asked Claire pleadingly. â€œYouâ€™re sure?â€

â€œSheâ€™s frightened. And she doesnâ€™t understand why you havenâ€™t come. But sheâ€™s physical y unharmed.â€

â€œAnd psychological y?â€

â€œPsychological y sheâ€™s a lot better off enduring one more scary day than a long, scary lifetime,â€ Hutch stated flatly. â€œSheâ€™s only been gone a little over a week. I know that seems like a lifetime to you. But sheâ€™l recover. On the other hand, if we miss this chance, we could lose her for good.â€

â€œWe donâ€™t have a choice.â€ It was Edward who spoke, his tone hard and determined. â€œI want my daughter back. We lose nothing by waiting, since we have no clue where Felicity is hiding her. I donâ€™t see a choice.â€

Hope was stil openly weeping. â€œSheâ€™s scared, Edward. She probably thinks weâ€™ve abandoned her. Plus, she sees me, yet she knows itâ€™s not me. Can you imagine how confusing and devastating that is to a child of five? Another day like thatâ€¦it kil s me that she has to go through this.â€

â€œKeep your eye on the prize,â€ Casey said quietly. â€œIt wonâ€™t ease your fear or worry, but it wil give you the strength to go through with this. Itâ€™s the only way, Hope. The task force wil surround the building. Theyâ€™l alert the Sunny Gardens staff. The minute Felicity arrives, theyâ€™l know her car and her license plate. Theyâ€™l put a GPS tracking device on it. Thereâ€™l be plainclothes police and agents posted on the street. Sheâ€™l be fol owed and tracked from every direction. Thereâ€™s no chance of her getting away.â€

â€œI want you and your team there,â€ Hope stated flatly. It wasnâ€™t a request. It was a demand that was aimed at the task force.

â€œAnd I want to go with you.â€

â€œNot a good idea, Judge Wil is,â€ Peg intervened at once. â€œWeâ€™re perfectly capable of handling this alone. If there are too many people present, it could alert Felicity to the stakeout.â€

Hopeâ€™s tearstained stare was unflinching. â€œForensic Instincts did an extraordinary job of solving this case thus far. Iâ€™m sure they can manage to situate themselves on the scene without being spotted. As for me, Iâ€™m Krissyâ€™s motherâ€”and Felicityâ€™s sister. I might be needed to defuse the situation. You canâ€™t force me to stay away.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right. I canâ€™t. But I can strongly advise you. Youâ€™re emotional y involved. You have no objectivity, much less training.

Youâ€™re more apt to jeopardize this operation rather than assist it.â€

â€œPeg is right, Hope,â€ Casey inserted. â€œYou have my wordâ€” Forensic Instincts wil be there every step of the way. But sheâ€™s right about you accompanying us. Youâ€™re way too close to the situation. You could wind up putting yourself, and this stakeout, at risk. I agree with Pegâ€™s advice. Stay here. Be patient. Weâ€™l cal you the minute we have something.â€

â€œAdvice received,â€ Hope returned without so much as a pause. â€œAnd rejected. Iâ€™d go crazy here, wondering what was happening. I donâ€™t want updates. I want to be there. And I wil be. Iâ€™m paying your fee. That entitles me to occasional y cal the shots. This would be one of those times. Iâ€™m going to Sunny Gardens. And you and your team are going to take me.â€

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Day Nine

It was 2:40 p.m.

The task force, BAU and local police were positioned al around Sunny Gardens. Ryanâ€™s van containing the entire Forensic Instincts teamâ€”plus Hope Wil isâ€”was parked in the wooded alcove on the east side of the grounds near the gardens where Linda was sitting.

Theyâ€™d been banished there, since the task force wanted to utilize al the prime areas that gave them a ful view of the front and rear parking lots.

That was just fine with Ryan, since the Sunny Gardens administration had agreed to al ow minimal video surveil ance, and Ryan had arranged for Gecko to be part of that surveil ance. Given the little critterâ€™s range, the alcove was perfect for keeping an eye on Lindaâ€”and her guest.

Ryan made sure that Gecko was primed and ready.

The facilityâ€™s senior staff had been told only that one of their visitors was a person of interest in a law enforcement matter, and that they were to say nothing to anyone about the FBI and police presence. Their instructions were issued casual y, as if the basis for the inquiry was standard rather than high priority. They were to make sure there was no disruption to their patients, and no panic among the rest of the staff.

Two forty-five.

The three-oâ€™clock shift was arriving, and the task force, along with Sunny Gardens security, was monitoring the arrival of each vehicle.

The visitor lot was separate from the employee lot. Both were being heavily surveil ed. Nothing seemed amissâ€”yet.

Inside the van, Casey slanted a quick, anxious glance at Hope. The waiting game had depleted her to the point of near-col apse. Her complexion was sal ow, her eyes were haunted and she was gaunt from having eaten next to nothing al week. Sheâ€™d said very little during the ride up, just sat in the backseat of the van, twisting her hands in her lap and staring out the window. But her spine was stiff, and her entire body was rigid with worry.

Casey had sat beside her, offering an occasional word of reassurance, but mostly remaining quiet, aware that nothing she could say would ease Hopeâ€™s anguish. The only cure for her torment would be having her daughter home. And thatâ€™s what this stakeout was al about.

The minutes ticked by, and three oâ€™clock came and wentâ€”along with Felicityâ€™s perfect opportunity to drive through the gates and get lost in the lineup of cars. Caseyâ€™s whole team was starting to get antsy, even Hero, who whined with the keen instinct of knowing something wasnâ€™t right.

â€œWhy isnâ€™t she here yet?â€ Hope asked in a high, thin voice. â€œThe chief administrator said she always arrives between two and three.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ Casey said honestly. â€œMaybe she hit traffic.â€

Hope swal owed hard. â€œOr maybe she got wind of whatâ€™s going on and is staying away.â€

Casey wasnâ€™t happy. There was merit to Hopeâ€™s concern. But there was also budding hysteria in her voice. And that could result in nothing but trouble.

â€œHope, listen to me,â€ she said quietly. â€œYou canâ€™t al ow yourself to panic. Weâ€™re going to find Krissy. Think positively. And donâ€™t go to pieces on me.â€

A tight nod.

â€œWeâ€™re in business,â€ Marc suddenly announced from the passenger seat. He pointed out the window where a blue Ford Fiesta was rounding the curve. It slowed down and turned into the main parking lot. The license plate and the driverâ€™s profile told them al they needed to know.

â€œItâ€™s Felicity.â€ Hope made a move toward the door, and Casey pul ed her back, signaling to Marc with her eyes.

He locked the doors.

â€œDonâ€™t even think about it,â€ Casey warned Hope in as gentle a tone as possible. â€œIf Felicity sees you, itâ€™l blow everything weâ€™ve worked for. Just stay put.â€

â€œSheâ€™s scanning the area,â€ Ryan noted. He was sitting in the back of the van with his laptop, ready to send the necessary signal to Gecko.

â€œMaybe thatâ€™s why sheâ€™s late,â€ Marc commented. â€œSheâ€™s not a stupid woman. Even though it would be harder for us to spot her in a crowd, itâ€™s far easier for her to spot us in the quiet aftermath of a shift change. Ryanâ€™s right. She is scanning the area.â€

Clearly, both men were right. Because Felicity parked in the visitorsâ€™ lot, then exited her car carrying a shopping bag, with a tote bag slung over her shoulder. She looked both ways several times, then turned to peer behind her.

Satisfied that no one was lying in wait, she picked up the pace, crossing over to the front walk and heading into the main entrance of the building.

Ryan glanced at his watch. â€œShe should be showing up in the garden in the next five minutes.â€ He cued Gecko up, gave him the necessary command. â€œAl set. Now we just sit back and watch the video show from inside the van.â€

As he spoke, a view of the gardenâ€”and Lindaâ€”appeared on the screen. She looked tired, her head resting against the back of the chair, her gaze fixed on the red ribbon around her finger. â€œSoon,â€ they heard her tel the string. â€œMy baby wil be here soon.â€

As if on cue, Felicity began to walk over. Even before the monitor confirmed that fact, it was apparent by Lindaâ€™s reaction. She sat up straighter, smiling and waving her hand.

â€œHel o, Mama.â€ Felicity leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Then she sat down in the opposite chair and gave her the shopping bag, simultaneously placing her tote bag beside her on the grass.

â€œI brought you some of your favorites,â€ she announced, gesturing at the shopping bag. â€œApples straight from the apple orchard, a box of cider doughnuts and two new nightgowns, both sleeveless and nylon, just the way you like them. I also brought you some new books to read, and this monthâ€™s gardening magazines.â€

That made Linda happy. She leaned forward, lighting up as she surveyed the contents of the bag. â€œYouâ€™re so good to me. Such a good girl.â€

â€œHereâ€™s some more red string.â€ Felicity reached into her tote bag and produced a large spool of it. â€œMake sure you have them tie a piece around your finger next Wednesday morning.â€

â€œI never forget,â€ Linda said proudly. â€œI always remind them.â€ She gazed firmly at Felicity. â€œDid you finish al your math homework? I can check it for you now.â€

â€œThatâ€™s okay.â€ Felicity looked like a smal child seeking her mommyâ€™s approval. â€œI already checked the answers in the back of the book. I got most of them right. Thatâ€™s because you helped me last time.â€

â€œI did, didnâ€™t I?â€ Linda beamed. â€œAnd I know you never look at the answers before you finish. Youâ€™re such a good girl.â€

Felicity sat up straighter. Oddly, there were tears in her eyes, as if she knew on some level that the mother sheâ€™d loved was slipping away. â€œDo you know what else? I got a hundred on my spel ing test. I wrote down al the words you taught me and the right way to spel them. I double-checked them when I was finished. I even used the dictionary. They were al right.â€

â€œIâ€™m so proud.â€ Linda clapped her hands together.

Felicity reached into her tote bag again, and pul ed out some computer-generated photos. â€œI brought you pictures of our little girl. I know how excited you are about seeing her. I duplicated the photo that came out best, and put it in a frame. Itâ€™s in your shopping bag. You can keep it right beside you on your night table.â€

Linda took the photos excitedly, perusing them, one by one. â€œShe looks so much like you!â€ she cooed. â€œAnd Iâ€™m so glad you have her so youâ€™re not lonely.â€ A flicker of sadness. â€œI wish I could see her. But you mustnâ€™t take her out. Not anywhere. You know how scary the world is. And how bad things happen.â€ Linda leaned even closer, placing her index finger across her lips in a gesture of secrecy.

â€œOne of the nurses tried to take me down to the lake the other day. I wouldnâ€™t let her. I know I would have fal en in. I would have died. I donâ€™t want to die.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™re not going to,â€ Felicity said adamantly. â€œI wonâ€™t let you. Weâ€™l share Krissy. Weâ€™l both love her. And Iâ€™l keep her safe. I promise.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve kept her inside?â€

â€œJust like you kept me. In her princess room. I even made her a special game for the computer. She likes computers, Mama. Just like me. Maybe sheâ€™l be a web designer someday, like I am. Sheâ€™l get money without ever having to go out. Til then, I have the money in the big gym bag to take care of her. Sheâ€™l be fine. Youâ€™l be fine. Iâ€™l take care of her, like you take care of me. And if anyone tries to find us or hurt us, Iâ€™l take her away. No one wil know where we are but you.â€

â€œOh God.â€ Inside the van, Hope gripped the back of the seat. Sheâ€™d been watching the scene over Ryanâ€™s shoulder.

â€œSheâ€™s going to run away. Weâ€™ve got to stop her.â€ She made a sharp move toward the van door.

Casey put an arm across her, stopping any sudden movements. Even though Marc had locked the buttons, she had to take Hope down a notch. Otherwise, she could start pounding on the windows and making a scene.

â€œDonâ€™t,â€ Casey instructed. â€œPlease, Hope. Let us do our jobs.â€

Hope whirled around. â€œWhat if she takes Krissy and runs away? My daughter would be gone forever.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not going to happen. The task force is prepared for anything. Itâ€™s not an accident that theyâ€™re letting this scene play out. If they storm in and grab Felicity, she might never reveal Krissyâ€™s location. The kind of maternal commitment she feels for Krissy would make her put her own freedom and safety at risk before sheâ€™d risk endangering the child she thinks of as her own. The best way of making sure we find Krissy is to fol ow Felicity and let her lead us to your daughter.â€

â€œBut if thatâ€™s true, how could she leave Krissy alone in that prison? Who does she think is caring for her?â€

â€œFelicityâ€™s not thinking rational y. Sheâ€™l convince herself that somehow sheâ€™l get back to her baby. We canâ€™t trust the sanity of her reactions. We have to find Krissy firsthand.â€

â€œWhat if Felicity panics and Krissy gets hurt?â€

â€œFelicity is right here at Sunny Gardens, Hope. Sheâ€™s not with Krissy. Which means that your daughterâ€™s not in any imminent danger. Donâ€™t fal apart on me now.â€

â€œThereâ€™s an awful lot of staff mil ing around,â€ Ryan noted with a frown. â€œI donâ€™t know how much they were told, but I wish theyâ€™d go about their business. We want things to look as normal as possible.â€

At that moment, Felicity rose, tel ing Linda that she needed to use the ladiesâ€™ room. She left everythingâ€”her tote bag, and the shopping bag with al the goodies sheâ€™d broughtâ€”for Linda to enjoy. She then disappeared in the direction of the main building.

â€œGood,â€ Ryan said. â€œSheâ€™s going inside. Letâ€™s use this time. Iâ€™l give Jeri Koehler, the head nurse, a cal , and tel her to page some of her personnel. That way, when Felicity gets back, she wonâ€™t have an audience waiting for her.â€

He made the phone cal on the private line Jeri had given him.

Soon afterward, the area around Linda began to clear.

â€œSmart move,â€ Casey praised Ryan. â€œWe donâ€™t want Felicity catching on to the surveil ance.â€

Fifteen minutes later, Casey wasnâ€™t so sure.

â€œWhere the hel is she?â€ she muttered. â€œIt was a trip to the bathroom, not to the supermarket.â€

â€œShe might have stopped to talk to Lindaâ€™s doctor,â€ Marc suggested. â€œShe left her tote bag, so I think weâ€™re safe. Women donâ€™t travel without their pocketbooks.â€

â€œNo, they donâ€™t.â€ Casey was scooting over to the door, her reaction the antithesis of Marcâ€™s. â€œNot even to the bathroom.

Marc, unlock the buttons. And sit here with Hope.â€

He complied at once, looping around and sliding in on the opposite side of the car, so Hope had no chance of fol owing Casey.

â€œWhere are you going?â€ Hope asked Casey in alarm.

â€œTo make sure Iâ€™m not overreacting.â€ She wasnâ€™t.

Because before Casey had taken her first step out of the van, she saw Peg jump out of her car and head over to Donâ€™s, leaning in the window and waving her hand as she spoke. A minute later, a handful of agents and cops got out of their cars and scattered, some scrutinizing the parking lot, others making a beeline for the front door.

The top brass met Peg there, the hospital administrator clearly distraught.

Casey raced across the street and through the gates, charging up to the front door. â€œWhatâ€™s happened?â€

Peg turned to her. â€œOne of the nurses was knocked out in the ladiesâ€™ room,â€ she replied tersely. â€œHer cap and uniform are missing. So are her car keys. And Felicity is nowhere to be found.â€

As she spoke, Bob and Hutch flung open the doors and exited the building. â€œThe nurseâ€™s car is gone,â€ Bob reported. â€œOur offender must have used the electronic button on the key fob to find it. She took off out the back door. Iâ€™ve got the carâ€™s make and model and the license plate.â€

â€œDammit.â€ Peg turned to the group of agents and cops around her. â€œDivide up. Guy, cal the locals to cover the immediate area.

Don, cal the state police to patrol the highways. Wil , check the closest car rentals, in case she does a dump and run like last time. And Jack, assemble a team to check the train and bus stations. Sheâ€™s not getting away.â€

Caseyâ€™s features tightened. â€œPeg, let me col ect scent samples from the tote bag and chair in the garden for Hero to sniff. Heâ€™s a former Bureau dog. Heâ€™l become familiar with Felicityâ€™s scent. We might need it.â€

Peg gave a hard nod. â€œGo.â€

As Casey turned, a restraining hand clamped down on her forearm. She turned, staring into Hutchâ€™s blazing eyes. â€œYou can do your thing,â€ he bit out. â€œBut thatâ€™s al . No creative tactics. Not this time. As for Hope Wil is, keep her in that van. We donâ€™t want her to leap out and screw this up. And we donâ€™t want any of our people being put in the position of having to figure out whoâ€™s Hope and whoâ€™s Felicity.â€

â€œI hear you loud and clear, Hutch.â€ Casey glanced down at her arm. â€œNow if youâ€™d let me go, Iâ€™l get to work.â€

He released her at once.

Casey turned and sprinted back to the van, yanking open the door and giving this assignment to her Navy SEAL. â€œMarc, take Hero and get over to the garden,â€ she directed. â€œVery careful y, col ect scent samples from everything Felicity touched.â€ She made brief eye contact with Marc. They understood each other perfectly. â€œGo now.â€

â€œDone.â€ He was out of the van and around back, harnessing Hero and taking off. Simultaneously, Casey jumped into the backseat, and Ryan climbed out of the rear and ran around front, sitting in the driverâ€™s seat and locking the buttons.

Hope was only frozen for an instant. Then, she turned to Casey. â€œFelicityâ€™s gone?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œYou said this couldnâ€™t happen. Your promised me thatâ€¦â€

The rest of Hopeâ€™s sentence was swal owed up by the screaming sound of an ambulance, which raced by and veered into the entrance of Sunny Gardens.

â€œWhoâ€™s hurt?â€ Hope demanded.

â€œA nurse. Felicity did to her the same thing she did to Ashley. Then, she stole her uniform and her car and left through the rear entrance.â€ Casey seized Hopeâ€™s hands. â€œI know what I promised you. And, yes, Felicity was more clever than we expected. She either spotted an agent, or noticed the unusual number of staff members nearby. I donâ€™t know. What I do know is that weâ€™l find her. The entire task force is on it, plus every state and local cop within the three neighboring counties. Sheâ€™s only been gone five or ten minutes. She couldnâ€™t have gotten far.â€

â€œOh, dear God.â€ Hope shifted in her seat. â€œIâ€™ve got to do something.â€

â€œYes, you do. Youâ€™ve got to fight the urge to act. If you interfere, it could blow this entire rescue. Especial y if you try to take on Felicity. The agents wonâ€™t be able to tel you two apart. That could have horrible results. Just fol ow my instructions. Weâ€™l get Krissy back.â€

They watched as the lineup of unmarked law enforcement cars took off, traveling in different directions.

A few minutes later, Marc ran Hero back to the car. Heâ€™d brought one of Felicityâ€™s scent pads from the garden so her scent would remain under Heroâ€™s nose. â€œLetâ€™s go. Weâ€™l navigate the local roads, and cover a five-mile radius. The streets are curvy and narrow. She couldnâ€™t have gone far.â€

â€œIâ€™l use my new GPS,â€ Ryan said. â€œItâ€™s sophisticated enough to register even the smal local streets.â€ Heâ€™d already turned on the ignition and was shifting gears, waiting only until Marc was inside the vehicle before roaring off.

As Marc had predicted, the country roads were winding and narrow. If Felicity was familiar with them, then she had a definite advantage.

Theyâ€™d covered a half mile of territory, when Caseyâ€™s phone rang.

She glanced down at the number as she answered. â€œHutch?â€

â€œThey found the car she stole,â€ he reported. â€œIt was abandoned in the woods across from the railroad station, two miles west of Sunny Gardens. I figured youâ€™d want to know.â€

â€œThank you.â€ Casey got it. Hutch was extending an olive branch after his harsh display at Sunny Gardens. Last time, heâ€™d passed on the task forceâ€™s update to Marc. This time he was going directly to herâ€”furious or not. â€œWeâ€™re on our way.â€

Casey hung up and shifted forward on the seat, staring at the GPS. â€œHead for the Garrison train station. About a mile and a half from here. There.â€ She pointed at the railroad tracks on the GPS monitor. â€œShe dumped the car and hopped a train.â€

Ryan nodded, taking off like a bat out of hel .

They arrived at the station along with a bunch of agents and cops.

â€œThe train left ten minutes ago,â€ Hutch informed them. â€œIt goes from Garrison to Poughkeepsie, and makes three more stops along the way. Thereâ€™s no way we can reach each of those in timeâ€”the first is four minutes from here. The next is eight minutes farther. And the last, seven minutes from the previous stop. After that, itâ€™s seventeen more minutes to Poughkeepsie. The roads suck. Peg is having the transit authority hold the train in Poughkeepsie. Some of us are heading straight there. Three cars are driving, one each, to the three local stops. The agents wil show photos around, hope that someone recognizes Felicity. Itâ€™s a long shot. Itâ€™s midday on a Wednesday, and very few people are around. But weâ€™ve got to cover al our bases.â€

â€œYouâ€™re going to Poughkeepsie?â€ Casey asked.

â€œYes.â€

â€œWeâ€™l do the local stops and let Hero sniff one of Felicityâ€™s scent pads. Heâ€™l sniff out each of the areas and tel us if she got off the train. If you cal and tel me that Felicityâ€™s on the train in Poughkeepsie, weâ€™l drive straight there and let Hero take over. Hope brought along one of Krissyâ€™s T-shirts. And, as I said, we have Felicityâ€™s scent pads. This is it, Hutch. Felicity didnâ€™t just take some arbitrary train. Sheâ€™s going home. She plans to grab Krissy and run.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not going to happen. Iâ€™l cal you.â€ Hutch strode back to his car.

Casey ran over to the train station and grabbed one of the schedules that was hanging outside. She glanced down at the locations of the stops as she returned to the van. Cold Spring. Beacon. New Hamburg.

She gestured for Ryan to lower his window. He complied. Casey leaned inside, thrust the schedule into his hand and pointed. â€œMap these three stops.â€

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Hero had finished sniffing out the station at Cold Spring, and the team was racing to Beacon when Caseyâ€™s cel phone rang.

â€œWeâ€™re in Poughkeepsie,â€ Hutch updated her. â€œSheâ€™s not on the train. We manned every exit, searched every car, questioned every passenger. No one noticed her. Sheâ€™s gone. So she had to have gotten off somewhere between Garrison and here.â€

â€œI doubt it was Cold Spring. I know you have agents here, doing their thing. But Hero hit a dead end. And we took him everywhereâ€”inside the station, up and down the stairs, across every platformâ€”you name it. Weâ€™re on our way to Beacon.â€

â€œThat means itâ€™s probably either Beacon or New Hamburg. Weâ€™ve got agents at both stations. Theyâ€™re showing Felicityâ€™s picture around, and asking questions. Iâ€™m sure youâ€™l run into them there. Either way, keep me posted.â€

â€œYou do the same.â€ Casey ended the cal and fil ed in her team.

A minute later, they pul ed into the Beacon station.

The place was deserted, with just one person and no employees in sight. The members of the task force were walking around, trying to do their thing.

Ryan took off to start looking around. Marc harnessed Hero and began their search. And Casey, reluctantly, stayed behind to babysit Hope.

She had no choice. Despite the warning Casey had given her, Hope was at the edge of her seat, craning her neck to see a signal from anyone indicating that Felicity had exited the train here. And if she got that signalâ€”wel , that would be a nightmare waiting to happen.

Casey fidgeted in her seat, wishing she could get the hel out of there and assist with the investigation.

As she contemplated her dilemma, a slew of teenagers came sauntering along, laughing and drinking sodas. It looked as if theyâ€™d been there for some time. So theyâ€™d have to be questioned. Ryan was at the other end of the station. And the kids were about to leave.

Talk about being careful what you wished for. Casey was screwed.

â€œHey, you stay put,â€ a muffled voice cal ed from outside the van. â€œIâ€™l talk to them.â€

Caseyâ€™s head whipped around, and she blinked as she saw Patrick standing beside the van.

He gave a half smile at the stunned expression on her face. â€œI might not be Claire, but I have a sixth sense for knowing when Iâ€™m needed. Besides, I wanted to be a part of bringing this thirty-two-year nightmare to a close. So I drove up here. You hang out with Judge Wil is. Just lower the window on her side. Iâ€™l interview the kids.â€

Youâ€™re a lifesaver, Patrick. Casey mouthed the words, but Lynch got them. He turned and waved down the teenagers in that authoritative way of his that made people stop in their tracks. Pointing at Hopeâ€™s side of the van, he fired some questions at the teens. Clearly, he was asking if theyâ€™d seen a woman who looked like the blond lady sitting in that van.

They al looked over. But there wasnâ€™t a shred of recognition on any of their faces.

Ryan had no better luck, returning to the van and shaking his head, adding that the agents and cops heâ€™d run into were drawing the same blank as he was. A few minutes later, Marc and Hero returned, and Casey could tel by the grim expression on Marcâ€™s face that they, too, had come up empty.

Leaving the task force to continue their work, the Forensic Instincts team left the station for New Hamburg, with Patrick fol owing behind in his car.

â€œThis is our last chance.â€ Hopeâ€™s desperation was a palpable entity. Hysteria was bubbling up inside her and the dam was about to burst. â€œWhat if we come up with nothing in New Hamburg? What if Felicity found another way, another train, or car, or direction, to go? What if Krissy isnâ€™t even in this vicinity, and Felicity was just trying to throw us off track?â€

â€œThatâ€™s not the case, Hope.â€ Casey spoke with as much conviction as she could muster. â€œFelicityâ€™s prime consideration is Krissy, not playing cat and mouse with the FBI. Sheâ€™s not going to leave Krissy unattended, especial y not now, when she knows weâ€™re onto her. Weâ€™l be in New Hamburg in fifteen minutes. Have faith.â€

â€œFaith,â€ Hope replied bitterly. â€œIâ€™m not sure I know what that is anymore.â€

Â

Krissy heard the commotion from upstairs. It was louder than it had ever been. It scared her.

She curled onto the bed, pressing herself as hard as she could against the wall, as if its solid presence could protect her. She hugged Oreo and Ruby fiercely, her terrified gaze fixed on the door.

More banging and crashing.

Was the woman angry at her? Had she done something wrong? Had the woman figured out that sheâ€™d been trying to twist off the doorknob every time she was left alone?

Was she going to hurt her?

Trembling violently, Krissy cringed farther away.

The door swung open, and the woman raced down the stairs, her heels making quick, loud clicks on each step.

â€œKrissy, get up,â€ she ordered. Her voice wasnâ€™t gentle and nice the way it usually was. It was high and shrill. Her face looked strange.

â€œWhy?â€ Krissy asked.

â€œWeâ€™re moving to another house right away.â€ The woman reached over and grabbed Krissyâ€™s hand. â€œCome on. We have to hurry.â€

â€œOw, that hurts.â€ Krissy held back, clutching Oreo and Ruby even tighter. â€œWhere are we going?â€

â€œDonâ€™t ask questions,â€ the woman snapped, although she did relax her grasp. â€œNot now. We donâ€™t have time. Iâ€™ll explain everything later. And Iâ€™ll create another princess suite later. But not here.â€ She pulled Krissy off the bed and onto her feet.

â€œLetâ€™s go.â€

â€œNo!â€ Krissy wrenched her hand with all her might.

It paid off. The woman wasnâ€™t ready for Krissy to fight back. Her grip had loosened. Krissyâ€™s hand was free. And so was she.

Sheâ€™d run up the stairs so many times. But the door had always been locked.

Now it wasnâ€™t. It was wide open.

She raced toward the staircase as fast as she could.

â€œWait!â€ the woman yelled. She was running now, too, coming up quickly behind Krissy.

But Krissy had youth and speed on her side. She blasted up the stairs, nearly tripping over a suitcase. She looked wildly around, finally spotting the kitchenâ€”and the door that she saw led outside. She was through it in seconds.

Fresh air. Woods. Trees everywhere. No open spaces.

It didnâ€™t matter. Krissy didnâ€™t pause. Even if she ran smack into a bear, it would be better than this. She had to get away.

She tore off into the woods, winding her way through the clusters of trees, and vanishing from view.

Â

The New Hamburg train station was different than the others.

There was no set of stairs or overpass connecting the two platforms, or connecting the platforms to the parking lot. Instead, there was a tunnel that al passengers had to walk through to get from place to place. That made it more difficult to locate al those who had to be interviewed.

The task force was already on it. Given the added complexity, they welcomed Ryan and Patrickâ€™s help.

As before, Marc led Hero through the parking lot, into the tunnel and on to the opening of the train station platform. He harnessed the bloodhound and let him sniff Felicityâ€™s scent pad. He kept Heroâ€™s lead taut, but let him explore at wil .

They were barely inside the tunnel, when Hero started pul ing Marc, sniffing the ground, straining in his harness to keep moving forward.

Marc tightened his grip on the leash, letting Hero sniff the length of the tunnel. The bloodhound moved swiftly, giving sharp, repeated barks.

It was al the confirmation Marc needed.

â€œGood boy,â€ he praised. â€œLetâ€™s go.â€

He sprinted Hero back through the tunnel and across the parking lot to the van. â€œSuccess!â€ he cal ed out to Casey, giving her a thumbs-up. He gestured to Ryan and to Patrick, as wel as to the task force. â€œFelicity got off the train at this station. Thereâ€™s not a doubt in my mindâ€”or in Heroâ€™s.â€

â€œThatâ€™s it.â€ Hope practical y jumped off the seat. â€œWe have to find her. I have to go.â€

â€œNot yet.â€ Casey was already cal ing Hutch on speed dial. â€œRacing off without a strategy wil only increase the time it takes to find Felicity and Krissy. We need to get organized. Then weâ€™l act.â€

â€œCasey?â€ Hutch answered.

â€œItâ€™s New Hamburg. Hero picked up her scent in the tunnel and on the platform. Marc is sure. And if heâ€™s sure, then Iâ€™m sure.â€

â€œWeâ€™re on our way.â€

Â

Felicityâ€™s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. Her legs ached. Her throat was sore from shouting Krissyâ€™s name.

Tears filled her eyes, trickled down her cheeks. Oh, Krissyâ€¦Krissy, my baby, where are you?

She stopped running long enough to push her hair off her face and peer around. Her face was scratched and bleeding from the branches sheâ€™d shoved out of her way. How long a stretch of woods had she covered? It all looked the same. Dirt. Rocks. Trees.

But no Krissy.

Oh, Krissy, why did you run away? I told you Iâ€™d keep you safe. I told you weâ€™d find a new home, that Iâ€™d build you a new princess suite. What were you so afraid of that made you run?

I did everything right. I know I did everything right. Mama said I did everything right.

But itâ€™s my fault. Mama kept the world away. She kept me safe.

I couldnâ€™t do that for you, Krissy. The world wouldnâ€™t leave us alone. Those horrible FBI people wonâ€™t go away. They gave up when it came to me. Why wonâ€™t they give up when it comes to you? Why wonâ€™t they understand that youâ€™re happy? That weâ€™re both happy? That youâ€™re where you belong?

You saw me be afraid. Thatâ€™s why you ran. It scared you. Mothers are supposed to hide their fear. To control themselves. To be in charge. To be strong.

I didnâ€™t do that. I was weak.

It wonâ€™t happen again.

Please, Krissy, let me help you. Iâ€™ll make it better. Iâ€™ll take you away. Mama will understand. She knows what you need. You need me. Only me.

But I canâ€™t find you. I have to find you.

Mamaâ€™s leaving me. Youâ€™re all I have. Youâ€™re my whole world now.

And I let you down.

Gasping for breath, seized by panic, Felicity resumed tearing through the woods, zigzagging from tree to tree and shouting Krissyâ€™s name.

Nothing answered back but the wind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The hamlet of New Hamburg was smal .

Stil , the surge of law enforcement officials spread out fast, intent on covering every square inch as rapidly as possible. They were ful y aware that only a short time had passed since Felicity had arrived.

But a lot could happen in that brief interval.

Patrick joined the search party, going from house to house and street to street. Ryan joined them, but he was also glued to Hope Wil isâ€™s side as her appointed bodyguard and warden to make sure that she didnâ€™t take off on her own and do something stupid.

Hope fought her confinement tooth and nail. But, in the end, she had no choice. She couldnâ€™t outsmart Ryan, and she certainly couldnâ€™t overpower him. And, if it was a choice between waiting in the van or not being nearby when they did find Krissy, there was no decision to make.

Casey teamed up with Marc, took Hero and began their search. Marc had the professional rescue skil s, and Casey had the trailing experience with bloodhounds. As a human scent evidence dog, Hero was the most qualified of al . The three of them made a formidable team. And they were hel -bent on finding Krissy.

â€œLinda kept Felicity in a quiet house in the country,â€ Casey said as she and Marc let Hero guide them. â€œFelicity would want to replicate that environment as closely as possible.â€

â€œThat describes most of this hamlet,â€ Marc returned.

â€œTrue. But Ryan checked the map. Thereâ€™s a section of houses in wooded areas, with little visibility to neighbors. Thatâ€™s where Iâ€™d start.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure thatâ€™s where Ryan is starting, too.â€

â€œBut heâ€™s limited by his duties as a bodyguard. Weâ€™l probably beat him there. If not, weâ€™l al split up by street.â€

Hero was already pacing along, sniffing intently as he did.

â€œHow much geographic territory can Heroâ€™s nose cover?â€ Marc asked.

â€œFrom what Hutch has told me and from what Iâ€™ve read, itâ€™s pretty awesome. He can search fifteen linear miles, maybe more, and narrow it down to half a block.â€

Marc whistled. â€œThatâ€™s amazing.â€

â€œIt certainly is.â€ A half smile. â€œThen again, he is a member of Forensic Instincts.â€

â€œTrue,â€ Marc said drily. â€œWe are an extraordinary bunch.â€

Once they reached the wooded area Casey had described, the terrain became difficultâ€”rocks and dirt covering the ground, the sharp branches of trees impeding their progress and scratching their faces.

Caseyâ€™s cel phone rang.

â€œWe found the house,â€ Ryan told her. â€œBut thereâ€™s no one here. The basement is set up just the way Claire described. And the back door is open. They definitely took off in a hurry.â€

â€œWhere are you?â€ Casey demanded, checking the map Ryan had printed for her.

â€œThirty-nine Pine Street. But thereâ€™s no point in coming here. The task force cal ed ERT. Theyâ€™l examine the crime scene.

Weâ€™ve got to get out there and find Krissy.â€

Casey was scanning the map. She stopped when she found Pine Street. â€œWeâ€™re not al that far.â€ She glanced at her handheld GPS. â€œWeâ€™re in the woods just west of you.â€

â€œOkay, wel you should be joined by a handful of agents in a matter of minutes. So donâ€™t freak out when you hear them coming. But keep looking. Felicity took Krissy in one of two directionsâ€”east or west. Theyâ€™re the only sections surrounding her house that are wooded.

There are trees to the north and south, but they lead to the street and, eventual y, to other houses. A group of local cops are covering that territory, but I doubt itâ€™l lead to anything. Peg took a team to the east. Bob and Hutch are moving west. Patrick and I are about to join them.â€

â€œWith Hope in tow?â€

â€œNo choice,â€ Ryan replied in a clipped, coded response.

â€œGot it.â€ Casey snapped to as Hero began to strain at his lead. â€œRyan, Iâ€™ve gotta go. Heroâ€™s picked up a fresh scent trail.â€

â€œIâ€™m on my way.â€

Marc was already fol owing Heroâ€™s lead, winding his way through the woods as quietly as he could. Casey hurried until she caught up.

There was the definite crunch of footsteps in the not-too-remote distance. It could be the agents. Or it could be Felicity.

Judging from Heroâ€™s reaction, it was the latter.

Hero was most emphatical y â€œin odor,â€ as the FBI cal ed it. He climbed over the rocks and weaved through the trees, pul ing at the lead until Marc had to pick up speed.

â€œKrissy?â€ cal ed out a frantic female voice just ahead of them. â€œIs that you? Please, princess, answer me!â€

Everything happened at once.

Hero lunged forward. The pounding of a surge of footsteps raced up behind them. And a streak of movement flashed through the trees in front of them.

A woman. Blonde. Slim. Frantic.

Felicity.

â€œFBI! Stop where you are!â€ Casey heard Hutchâ€™s command even as she felt him rush by her, weapon raised. Peg and a dozen other cops and agents fol owed suit, forming a half circle around the immediate area.

The woman froze.

â€œHelp me,â€ she begged plaintively, not even trying to escape. â€œI canâ€™t find my daughter.â€

â€œWeâ€™l find her for you.â€ Peg marched over to Felicity, holstering her gun and drawing Felicityâ€™s hands behind her back so she could handcuff her.

Felicity stood by docilely, her face scratched and tear streaked, her eyes glazed, damp with worry. She looked like a frail, broken dol .

â€œWhere did you last see yourâ€¦daughter?â€ Hutch went along with the charade, more than aware that now was not the time to slam Felicity with reality.

â€œIn the house. She ran away. I donâ€™t know where she is. She could be hurt. Oh, God, this is al my fault. Please, please find her. I canâ€™t leave her out there. The world is ugly. And Krissy is beautiful. A princess. Save her.â€

â€œWe wil .â€ Hutch turned to Marc. â€œDo you have anything of Krissyâ€™s with you?â€

â€œI do.â€

Before Marc could answer, a shaken voice brought their heads around. Hope was walking slowly toward them, Krissyâ€™s T-shirt extended. She was staring at Felicity. Her mouth opened and closed several times, as if she wanted to say something but didnâ€™t know what or how.

Felicity gazed back at her, confusion and wonder flashing across her face. â€œHope?â€ she asked in a faraway voice. â€œAre you real? I thought that was you at the house. Mama said it wasnâ€™t. She said I was imagining it, that I was just picturing Krissy and me together. But she was wrong, wasnâ€™t she? Youâ€™re real.â€

â€œYes, Felicity, Iâ€™m real,â€ Hope answered in a shattered voice. She released Krissyâ€™s T-shirt into Hutchâ€™s hands, watching as he ran forward and waved it under Heroâ€™s snout.

He and Marc took off with the determined bloodhound.

Hopeâ€™s stare shifted back to Felicity. She studied her sisterâ€™s depleted state, her mental deterioration, and al the accusations and venom sheâ€™d been harboring drained out of her. â€œDid you take good care of her?â€ she managed, remembering the laughter of a six-year-old twin whoâ€™d been stolen from her life.

â€œI tried.â€ Tears were sliding down Felicityâ€™s cheeks. â€œBut not hard enough. She got away. Iâ€”I donâ€™t understand.â€ She lowered her head, breaking down entirely. â€œI donâ€™t understand.â€

Hope raised her head, and her gaze met Caseyâ€™s. She looked il . â€œWil they find Krissy?â€ she managed. â€œPlease?â€

â€œThereâ€™s not a doubt in my mind,â€ Casey replied. â€œShe canâ€™t be far.â€

Â

Hero air-scented Krissy within minutes.

The instant he began pul ing at the lead, Hutch and Marc began cal ing out.

â€œKrissy!â€ Hutch shouted. â€œWeâ€™re the FBI. Policemen. Weâ€™re here to help you.â€

There was a slight rustle from the left.

â€œKrissy, itâ€™s okay,â€ Marc cal ed out. â€œWe caught the woman who looks like your mommy. She canâ€™t hurt you. And your real mommy is here. She wants to take you home.â€

â€œBut first you have to tel us where you are.â€ Hutch gestured to Marc, pointing at a cluster of trees diagonal y ahead of them by about thirty feet.

Marc nodded.

Hero was already heading in that direction.

â€œKrissy?â€ Hutch cal ed out again. â€œWhere are you, honey?â€

Hero rounded the circle of trees and began braying.

His outburst clearly startled Krissy, because she let out a soft cry.

â€œItâ€™s okay,â€ Marc repeated, going up to the terrified child, who was cringing against the tree trunk. He squatted down so he was at her level. â€œThis is Hero. He works with us. Heâ€™s very friendly. And he is a hero, because he helped us find you.â€

The little blonde girl hugged her stuffed panda and robin, gazing at Marc with huge eyes. She had cuts on her arms and face, her clothes were torn and her hair was disheveled. But she was alive and unharmed. â€œIs he real y a police dog?â€ she whispered.

â€œEven cooler,â€ Hutch said, coming around the bend. â€œHeâ€™s an FBI dog. That makes him even more famous. And heâ€™s here just for you.â€

â€œWow.â€ Krissy leaned forward and tentatively petted Hero, who was now quiet and rol ing over to get a bel y scratch, having completed his task.

The bloodhound licked her palm.

â€œIs that woman real y gone?â€ Krissy asked in a smal , frightened voice. â€œAnd is my mommy real y here?â€

â€œYes and yes,â€ Hutch supplied. He extended his hand. â€œWould you like to see her?â€

She put her smal trusting hand in his big one and nodded her tousled head, her lashes spiked with tears. â€œYes.â€

They made their way through the trees, retracing their steps.

â€œLook whoâ€™s here,â€ Marc announced, as he, Hutch and Hero reappeared, walking Krissy into the clearing where Hope waited.

â€œMommy!â€ Krissy had no trouble recognizing her mother. She ran past Felicity, giving her one terrified glance, and then dashed straight into her motherâ€™s arms, crushing Oreo and Ruby against her.

â€œOh, baby. Oh, Krissy. Thank God.â€ Hope lifted her daughter, openly sobbing as she hugged and kissed her again and again.

â€œYouâ€™re not hurt, are you?â€

â€œMy scratches burn.â€ Krissy was sobbing, too, her words barely discernible as she buried her face against her motherâ€™s shoulder.

â€œBut Felicâ€”the woman who took youâ€”she didnâ€™t hurt you, did she?â€

Krissy shook her head back and forth. â€œShe tried to hug me. But I said no. And she stopped. She wouldnâ€™t go away. But she wouldnâ€™t take me home.â€

â€œThank God.â€ Hope buried her lips in her daughterâ€™s hair. â€œI love you. I love you so much.â€

â€œI love you, too. And I missed you. I was so scared. Oreo and Ruby missed you, too.â€ She held up the rumpled stuffed animals.

â€œAnd I missed them.â€ Hope planted a kiss on each of their heads. â€œBut I know they took good care of you.â€

â€œThey did. They slept with me every night.â€ Krissy leaned back, gazing at her mother for corroboration. â€œAre we real y going home?â€

â€œWe real y are.â€ Hope looked past her daughter, taking in the entire crowd of professionals, her grateful stare lingering on Casey.

â€œThank you,â€ she managed, her voice quavering with emotion. â€œThank you al from the bottom of my heart.â€

Her gaze shifted to Felicity, who was standing there like a lost soul, pain and sorrow etched on her face.

â€œKrissy,â€ Hope said to her daughter. â€œWould you stand right here with Agent Hutchinson? Just for a minute. I need to talk to the woman you were with.â€

Renewed fear flashed in Krissyâ€™s eyes. â€œBut what if she takes you, too?â€

â€œShe canâ€™t take me. See? Her hands are chained behind her back. The police and FBI are with her. She canâ€™t take anyone.â€

A painful pause as Hope inspected every inch of her child. â€œYouâ€™re going to be fine, baby. We al are.â€

â€œCome on, Krissy.â€ Ryan stepped forward, sticking out his hand. â€œIâ€™m a friend of your Mommy and of Agent Hutchinson. I spend lots of time with Hero. How about coming with Agent Hutchinson and me so that Hero can show you some of the cool tricks he knows.â€

That was an excel ent incentive.

Krissy let her mother lower her feet to the ground. Then, she ran over and took Ryanâ€™s hand. She went with him over to Hutch, Marc and Hero, where she squatted down to play with the bloodhound and see what amazing feats he could do.

Certain her child was in good hands, Hope walked toward Felicity, stopping when the two sisters were face-to-face. â€œYou are my twin,â€

Felicity managed, stil staring at Hope as if she were part of a fairy tale. â€œYou arenâ€™t made-up. Youâ€™re realâ€¦. Mama was wrong. The dreams I used to have are real. When I was littleâ€¦when I was scaredâ€¦al that real y happened. Just like it happened to Krissy. I shouldnâ€™t have taken that car. I shouldnâ€™t have hurt anyone, taken anything or tried to be you. But Mama said I was confused. She said I had to do these things so I could have my princess. She said it was the only way I wouldnâ€™t be lonely when she left me forever. But it was al wrong, wasnâ€™t it? Mama made a mistake.â€

â€œYes, Felicity, she did.â€ Hope was holding herself together by a thread. â€œHow did you know how to do al those things? How did you know how to be me?â€

â€œMama helped me plan itâ€¦. Sometimes sheâ€™s not so sick. Sometimes sheâ€™s Mama. And sheâ€™s so smart. Iâ€™m smart, too. I take after her. She always says so. So we wrote down the plan. I had to become me. I had to take my baby. But I wasnâ€™t me, was I? I was you.â€ Felicity gave a hard shake of her head. â€œIâ€™m so confused.â€

â€œHow could you not be?â€ Hope replied. â€œYou were kidnapped when we were six. Youâ€™ve lived in another world since then. I canâ€™t imagineâ€¦â€ She broke off, her throat clogged with emotion. â€œWeâ€™re going to get you help. Then youâ€™l remember.â€

Felicity began twisting and tugging at her fingers. â€œWhat about Mama? Sheâ€™s sick. I canâ€™t desert her. She never deserted me.â€

â€œSheâ€™s getting care. That wonâ€™t change.â€ Hope restrained herself from screaming out that Linda Turner was not Felicityâ€™s mother. That her real mother had died a thousand deaths since the kidnapping. And that both her parents would be weak with gratitude that their daughter had been restored to them, however damaged.

â€œCan I stil visit her?â€ Felicity asked. â€œShe needs to see me. Iâ€™m al she has. For al the time she has left.â€

Hope glanced over at Peg.

â€œWeâ€™l talk about that later,â€ Peg replied.

â€œThank you.â€ Felicity bit her lip. â€œI know Iâ€™ve been bad. I didnâ€™t mean to be. Iâ€™m usual y a very good girl.â€

â€œFelicity.â€ Hope put a hand on her sisterâ€™s shoulder. â€œItâ€™l be al right.â€

â€œWe have psychologists en route,â€ Peg informed Hope quietly. â€œOne who specializes in victims of childhood abductions like the one Krissyâ€™s been through. Sheâ€™l meet you at your house. And a specialist for Felicity, whoâ€™s definitely suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Sheâ€™l be waiting at the New York Field Office when we arrive.â€

â€œI appreciate that,â€ Hope said. â€œMy parents wil , too.â€

â€œOnce Krissy understands that Felicity is her aunt, that she was also taken by someone when she was a child, and that she was in that scary situation for years and years, sheâ€™l start to feel empathy rather than fear,â€ Casey added. â€œChildren bounce back quickly when thereâ€™s been no physical or emotional abuse. It wil be tough going for a while. But Krissy is one strong little girl. Sheâ€™l be fine. As for Felicityâ€¦â€ A slow inward breath. â€œSheâ€™s going to need a lot of help. Sheâ€™s lived a lifetime like this, not a week. And, in addition to professional help, sheâ€™l need her family, especial y after Linda is gone.â€

â€œSheâ€™l have us.â€ Hopeâ€™s face was damp with tears again as she turned back to her sister. â€œA lot of people love you,â€

she said fervently. â€œNone of that has changed.â€

A vacant expression crossed Felicityâ€™s face. â€œLove me?â€

Hope nodded. â€œYes, Felicity, love you. Youâ€™re my sister. My twin. Weâ€™re connected. You wanted to love Krissy as your own, not to harm her. I know youâ€™re confused. But your memories wil come back. Iâ€™l remind you of the good times. I promise.â€ She stepped away, as Peg indicated that it was time. â€œGo with the FBI,â€ Hope instructed her. â€œIâ€™l drive down to see you later.â€

â€œDo you promise?â€

â€œI promise.â€

Felicity nodded her acceptance, pausing for a second before relinquishing herself to the task force. â€œI real y do love Krissy,â€ she whispered.

â€œI know you do.â€

Torn between anguish and relief, Hope watched as Felicity was led off.

For a long moment, she did nothing. Just composed herself, so she could give Krissy the love and strength she needed.

Then she turned, beckoning to Krissy, who was playing a game of tug-of-war with Hero. Her T-shirt was definitely the loser.

â€œLetâ€™s go, sweetheart,â€ Hope cal ed. â€œWe have to cal Daddy. And itâ€™s time we went home.â€

Krissy raced over to her instantly and glued herself to her motherâ€™s side. Hope clasped her hand securely in her own.

Then they walked slowly back to the van, and to the life they would fight to recapture.

EPILOGUE

The Forensic Instincts team sat around the brownstoneâ€™s conference table, raising their glasses of champagne in triumph.

â€œTo a job wel done,â€ Casey toasted. â€œAnd to an amazing team of prosâ€”both our original threesome, and our two new additionsâ€”Claire and Hero.â€ She tipped her champagne flute in Claireâ€™s direction. â€œWelcome. Iâ€™m so glad you decided to leave the world of the straight and narrow, and take a walk on the wild side.â€

â€œMe, too.â€ Claireâ€™s eyes twinkled. â€œThe straight and narrowâ€™s not al itâ€™s cracked up to be. A walk on the wild side wil be very refreshing.â€

With a return grin, Casey lowered her gaze to the floor, where Hero was sprawled at her feet, taking a wel -deserved, and much-needed, nap. â€œAnd you, my friend, are the man of the hour. A true hero.â€

He acknowledged her praise with a snore.

â€œHeroâ€™s got the right idea. Sleeping it off.â€ Ryan gave a huge yawn. â€œWhen was the last time any of us got a ful nightâ€™s sleep?â€

â€œUh-oh.â€ Claire rol ed her eyes. â€œYouâ€™re tired. Does that mean youâ€™re about to turn into Mr. Hyde again?â€

Ryan shot her a look. â€œTread careful y, Claire-voyant. I stil think Casey gives way too much credit to those visions of yours. Gecko had just as big a role in this investigation as you didâ€”and he doesnâ€™t talk back.â€

â€œHe also doesnâ€™t complain. Successful, talented and a clutch performer. Careful, Ryan. Gecko might just put you out of business.â€

â€œAnd so it begins,â€ Marc concluded, polishing off his champagne. â€œFasten your seat belts, fel ow voyagers. The bumpy ride has just shifted into hyperdrive. Be prepared for it to blast you right out of your seats.â€

â€œAnd to think Iâ€™m going to miss the opening fireworks.â€ Hutch appeared in the doorway, his travel bag slung over his shoulder.

Heâ€™d been upstairs in Caseyâ€™s apartment, col ecting the handful of personal items heâ€™d left in her bedroom. â€œIâ€™l have to get back here for a visit ASAP. Quanticoâ€™s not nearly as exciting as this.â€

Marcâ€™s eyebrows drew together quizzical y. â€œAre you heading out?â€

â€œYup. Grace is driving down to pick me up. Then, itâ€™s a long trip home. Iâ€™ve got to be at my desk at seven tomorrow morning.â€

â€œSounds like hel . Hey, did you and Casey make up?â€ Ryan asked bluntly, looking from Casey to Hutch. â€œOr are you two stil kil ing each other?â€

Casey and Hutch exchanged a quick, intimate glance. The hour theyâ€™d spent together before everyone piled into the brownstone had been anything but combative. Theyâ€™d ironed out their residual anger in about five minutes. Then theyâ€™d spent the rest of the time in bed, securing their pact.

â€œLooks like they made up,â€ Claire determined.

Ryan eyed her speculatively. â€œAnother psychic insight?â€

â€œNope. A simple observation.â€

â€œAnd an accurate one,â€ Hutch confirmed. â€œAl is wel . In fact, if itâ€™s okay with you, Iâ€™d like to borrow your boss to say goodbye.â€

â€œIâ€™m not hanging around here for another hour,â€ Ryan warned them. He was starting to get cranky. â€œSo make it quick, and keep it clean.â€

â€œYes, sir.â€ Casey snapped off a salute as she rose. â€œIâ€™l walk you downstairs,â€ she told Hutch.

The two of them descended to the first floor, where Hutch dropped his bag onto the floor and hauled Casey into his arms.

â€œYouâ€™re one sexy pain in the ass,â€ he murmured, kissing her.

â€œRight back at you.â€ She smiled against his mouth. â€œAny free time coming up?â€

â€œNot sure.â€ He kissed her again. â€œHow about you?â€

â€œNot sure.â€ She wrapped her arms around his neck. â€œMaybe I can sneak away for a weekend in between cases.â€

â€œYeah, when wil that be?â€

â€œWhen I show up on your doorstep.â€ She deepened their kiss. â€œI like to keep you on your toes.â€

â€œNo worries on that score.â€

A horn sounded from outside.

â€œThat must be Grace,â€ Hutch said. â€œAnd the parking here sucks. So Iâ€™d better get going.â€ He tunneled his fingers through Caseyâ€™s hair, gave her one more lingering kiss, then released her. â€œStay out of trouble.â€

â€œIâ€™l do my best. You do the same.â€

â€œYou got it.â€

Â

Casey was halfway up the stairs when the doorbel rang.

Puzzled, she retraced her path and peeked through the peephole. Not particularly surprised, she opened the door. â€œHel o, Patrick.â€

â€œHey.â€ He strode past her, pausing at the foot of the steps. â€œI assume your team is upstairs celebrating.â€

She nodded. â€œSecond-floor conference room. Youâ€™re welcome to join us.â€

â€œI plan to.â€ He headed upstairs, Casey fol owing right behind.

â€œWe have a new guest,â€ she announced, gesturing for Patrick to join the group. â€œHelp yourself to a glass of champagne,â€ she invited.

â€œSounds good.â€ Lynch walked over to the table, nodding his hel os and taking the champagne flute Marc proffered.

Hero picked his head up and brayed.

â€œEasy, boy. Iâ€™m not an intruder,â€ Patrick assured him. â€œJust a friend and fel ow law enforcement officer.â€

With a thorough sniffâ€”and an equal y thorough slobberâ€”of Patrickâ€™s shoes, Hero seemed to be convinced. He resettled himself, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

â€œHave a seat.â€ Casey indicated one of the empty chairs around the table.

Patrick lowered himself into the chair, then raised his glass. â€œTo al of you. For solving two casesâ€”including one thatâ€™s been haunting me for over three decades. I canâ€™t even imagine how many laws you broke, and I donâ€™t want to know. Al I care about is that a little girl is home with her parents tonight. And a woman whoâ€™s more a victim than an offender is about to get the help she needs. Thatâ€™s the best outcome we could hope for under the circumstances.â€

â€œWere you at the Wil isesâ€™ til now?â€ Marc asked. The Forensic Instincts team had stayed only long enough to witness the touching family reunionâ€”one that gave them the rare chance to see Edward Wil is break down and weep, and to see Krissy meet her grandfather. Then theyâ€™d wrapped things up with the task force, and said their goodbyes. Hope Wil is had fol owed them outside, insistent on giving them an overly generous check right there on the spot. Theyâ€™d graciously accepted, asked to be kept posted on how Krissy was doing and left.

â€œYeah, I came here straight from Armonk,â€ Patrick confirmed. â€œKrissy stil hasnâ€™t said very much. But thatâ€™s to be expected.

She was with the FBI child psychologist when I left.â€

â€œAny news on the charges against Felicity and Linda?â€

â€œNot yet.â€ Patrick frowned. â€œBoth situations are difficult. Both have extenuating circumstances. Neither woman is fit to stand trial.

Obviously, Linda is by far the guiltier of the two, since she set this whole nightmare in motion. Iâ€™m sure sheâ€™l be transferred to a high security health facility, where sheâ€™l be treated for Alzheimerâ€™s. And Felicity wil need intensive therapy, and a lot of emotional support. I hope the sentence imposed on her wil reflect her lifelong trauma.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure it wil ,â€ Casey replied. â€œEspecial y given Hopeâ€™s compassionate heart. Sheâ€™l intervene on her sisterâ€™s behalf. Sheâ€™s adamant that a ruined life is more than enough price for Felicity to pay.â€

A nod. â€œOh, one interesting twist I got from Peg before she left with Felicity. Apparently the mob was so worried that weâ€™d dig up something unrelated but incriminating on them, that they got one of the Sunny Gardens nurses to do some preemptive damage control.â€

â€œEven though they had nothing to do with the two kidnappings?â€ Ryan looked amused. â€œGlad to make a mobster squirm, but what happened with this nurse?â€

â€œDenise Amato,â€ Patrick supplied. â€œSeems sheâ€™s sleeping with Bil Parsons, Tony Bennatoâ€™s construction foreman. Peg got her to talk. She didnâ€™t know a lot. Only that Bennato got inside info that warranted his ordering Parsons to try and find a way to point the Feds, the copsâ€”â€ a pointed look in Marcâ€™s direction â€œâ€”and I quote, â€˜and that nutcase Navy SEALâ€™ in a different direction. So, on Parsonsâ€™s instructions, Amato wheeled Linda Turner down to the lake, where Linda promptly went to pieces, screaming and crying and toppling her wheelchair to get away.â€

â€œI guess Bennato knew about Claudia Mitchel â€™s confrontation with Lorna-slash-Linda, and dug up dirt on Lindaâ€™s past,â€ Marc said, trying to keep his lips from quirking.

â€œYeah, and I guess you paid Parsons a less than cordial surprise visit on your own.â€

â€œDo you want me to answer that?â€

â€œNope.â€

â€œI didnâ€™t think so.â€

Patrick cleared his throat. â€œThat brings me to the other reason Iâ€™m here.â€

â€œGee,â€ Ryan said, â€œand here I thought you just came by to tel us how awesome we are.â€

â€œNope. Like I said, youâ€™re great at what you do. No arguments there. Your methods, however, leave a hel of a lot to be desired. You need supervision and restraint. Iâ€™ve decided to offer you both.â€

â€œPardon me?â€ That brought Caseyâ€™s head up.

â€œYou need me. And Iâ€™m bored by the freelance assignments that come my way. So Iâ€™ve decided to come on boardâ€”and keep you out of jail.â€

â€œYou want to join Forensic Instincts?â€ Casey had to make sure she was hearing right.

â€œSurprised?â€

â€œThril ed.â€ Casey shot Patrick a huge grin. â€œYouâ€™d be the perfect counterweight to a bunch of out-of-control mavericks.â€ She glanced around the room. â€œI know we ordinarily make these decisions in private,â€ she told her team. â€œBut since this interviewâ€”and job acceptanceâ€”were just conducted in public, and since we know that Patrick has no ego problem, how do you feel about adding another new member to the team?â€

â€œSweet,â€ Ryan replied at once. â€œRenegade Marc and by-the-book Patrick, battling it out. I smel a comic book series. The possibilities are endless.â€

â€œAnd balanced,â€ Marc added, ignoring Ryanâ€™s taunt. â€œI think itâ€™s a great idea. A little more structure and discipline. I can handle the infighting if you can, Patrick.â€

â€œBring it on,â€ Patrick replied.

â€œAnd with Claire-voyant on board, we can use another person who has his feet on the ground.â€ Ryan slanted a look in Claireâ€™s direction. â€œWhat do you think?â€

â€œI think Patrickâ€™s experience and maturityâ€”â€ Claire underscored the last word â€œâ€”wil add a lot to the mix. Iâ€™m a newbie myself, but if my vote counts, I say, yes, absolutely.â€

â€œAnd the piÃ¨ce de rÃ©sistanceâ€”Hero likes you,â€ Casey said with a grin. â€œOr, at the very least, he likes your shoes. He doesnâ€™t slobber on just anyone. If thatâ€™s not a yes, I donâ€™t know what is.â€ She extended her hand to Patrick. â€œWelcome to the team, former Special Agent Lynch. Weâ€™re honored to have you.â€

â€œYouâ€™l be eating those words a lot,â€ Patrick replied. But he was grinning, too, as he shook Caseyâ€™s hand. â€œBut I look forward to working with you al .â€

Casey lifted her glass again. â€œTo the new and improved Forensic Instincts. Onward and upward, and may we not kil one another in the process.â€

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With deepest gratitude to al those amazing professionals who so graciously gave of their time and helped provide me with the authenticity I needed to write The Girl Who Disappeared Twice. The list is long, and in no specific order. I thank each and every one of you.

Angela Bel , Public Affairs Specialist, FBI Office of Public Affairs (Angela, youâ€™re the exception to my ruleâ€”youâ€™re always first, because youâ€™re the most extraordinary central contact I could ever hope for!)

Arthur Cummings I , Former Executive Assistant Director, FBI National Security Branch SSA James McNamara, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit 2

SA Konrad Motyka, FBI New York

SA James Margolin, FBI Office of Public Affairs, New York Field Office

SSA Michael Harkins, Coordinating Supervisor, Violent Crime/Gangs Branch, FBI New York Field Office SSRA Michael Ferrandino, FBI Long Island Resident Agency

SSA Leonard Johns, Formerly of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit 3

SSA Thomas Lintner, Chief FBI Laboratoryâ€™s Evidence Response Team Unit

SSA Rex Stockham, Program Manager for FBI Laboratoryâ€™s Forensic Canine Program SSRA Edward McCabe, FBI White Plains Resident Agency

SA Tonya DeSa, FBI Newark Division National Academy Coordinator, NCAVC Coordinator, Assistant Training Coordinator SA Laura Robinson, Senior Team Leader, Evidence Response Team, FBI Newark Field Office SA Maria Johnson, NCAVC Coordinator, FBI New York Field Office

Retired SA Richard DeFilippo, Violent Crimes Task Force, FBI New York Field Office Robert Dâ€™Angelo, Chief of Police, North Castle, New York

Retired FBI SA Richard Mika

SA Ann Todd, FBI Office of Public Affairs

Retired Detective Mike Oliver, NYPD

Jennifer Michelson, New Jersey Search and Rescue Dog Task Force

Hil el Ben-Asher, M.D.

In addition, I want to thank Adam Wilson, for being a true editorial partner, and Andrea Ciril o and Christina Hogrebe, for being agents and advocates extraordinaire.

And last, but always first, I want to thank my family, whoâ€™s there from start to finishâ€¦and then some. I love and appreciate you more than youâ€™l ever know.

ISBN: 978-1-4592-0526-0

THE GIRL WHO DISAPPEARED TWICE

Copyright Â© 2011 by Rainbow Connection Enterprises, Inc.

Al rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Mira Books, 225 Duncan Mil Road, Don Mil s, Ontario, Canada M3B

3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authorâ€™s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at Customer_eCare@Harlequin.ca.

MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

www.ÂMIRABooks.Âcom

Table of Contents

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER THIRTY

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE