Chapter 9
Ryan’s apartment
Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York
Claire lay quietly in Ryan’s bed, her head pillowed on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
The sense of peace that pervaded them was a godsend.
The wake had been hell—for Ryan, for his family, and, most of all, for Kennedy. Her tears had been interminable, her pain something no child should have to endure.
The funeral parlor had been quiet, with only family, fellow FBI agents, former NYPD detectives, and a couple of Hutch’s Special Agents overseeing the event to make sure that no dangers presented themselves.
The aura of death, exacerbated by the violence that had preceded it, hung like a heavy cloud over the room, extinguishing any nostalgic stories or cherished memories that usually accompanied such a meaningful occasion.
Claire had tempered the darkness to the best of her ability.
She’d weaved her way among the members of Ryan’s family, conveying as much of her positive energy as possible.
But overall, she stayed with Ryan, her fingers linked with his as she offered him her closeness, her strength, and her support.
She’d felt his pain as her own, even as she watched him manage to stay strong, especially for Kennedy, who alternately wept against Ryan’s shoulder and buried her face in his mom’s loving arms.
The whole event had been heartbreaking, including the family gathering at the McKay house afterwards.
Ryan had held it together until, several hours later, when he and Claire finally left his parents’ house.
He was unsettled about leaving, since he was worried that Kennedy might need him.
But Maureen felt otherwise. She’d given Ryan and Claire a firm wave of her hand, her expression clearly stating that they needed time alone for Claire to comfort Ryan while he gave in to his own grief.
By that time, Kennedy was curled against Maureen’s side, half-asleep, and there was nothing more that could be done tonight.
Tomorrow at the funeral, Ryan and Claire’s strength would, once again, be called upon, and they required some recoup time.
The drive home had been silent, Claire letting Ryan stay inside his own head, grappling with his memories and his feelings. Once inside his apartment, she shut the door and turned to him. “Do you need to be alone?”
Ryan gave an adamant shake of his head, his tough veneer cracking. He reached out and drew Claire against him. “Come to bed with me,” he said, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I need you. I need us.”
“You have both,” Claire replied softly.
Their lovemaking was intense and urgent, a deep manifestation of their love and a reaffirmation of life. Even after their passion was spent, Ryan held Claire to him, unwilling to release her and to, once again, be inundated with the pain of loss.
Claire tipped up her chin, her gaze meeting his. “I love you,” she whispered. “You’re not alone.”
“I know.” Ryan’s eyes shut, as he let the balm of Claire’s love ease his emotional torture. “I also know that, since this nightmare began, I’ve been asking way too much of you.”
“No you haven’t. Not even a little.” She kissed his shoulder. “Besides, I just got a reprieve. This more than made up for that booty call we never managed to have last night.”
A hint of a smile curved Ryan’s lips. “It was just a start. We have the rest of the night for encores.” He pressed his lips into her hair, all humor having vanished. “I don’t want to think. Not until tomorrow. For tonight, I just want to make love to you.”
Claire looped her arms around his neck. “That sounds ideal.”
Asia
Location: unknown
Time: unknown
The room was dark, except for the glow of several large displays.
Inside, the operative shoved aside his half-empty can of Red Bull and leaned over the keyboard. He’d received his orders. Penetrate the FBI database and exfiltrate the necessary information.
Swiveling around, he glanced over at the refrigerator humming in the corner. He rose, checked the contents behind its dirty glass door. It was well-stocked with shelf upon shelf of liquid human fuel.
Given the intense security he needed to penetrate, it would be at least a three-can night.
He shut his eyes and began the journey into hell.
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
First floor conference room
Monday, 7:00 am
The team—John Nickels included—had already helped themselves to coffee, and were gathered around the room in tub chairs, iPads open and ready.
“Welcome, John,” Casey began, a twinkle in her eye. “Given the role you customarily play with the team, I feel safer already.”
John didn’t smile. “That’s kind of you, considering I fell down on the job when you needed me most,” he replied. “I’m so sorry, Casey. I never saw that bullet coming.”
“Neither did Hutch and he was right beside me,” Casey responded without missing a beat. “You’re the best there is, John. It all happened too fast for anyone to stop. And I’m just fine. So toss the guilt.”
“Consider it tossed.” John’s rigid posture eased. “As for running the NYPD aspect of this investigation, I’m looking forward to the challenge. And I can still be FI’s lead security guard, as needed.”
The whole team knew that was true. John was always Patrick’s go-to person when security of any kind was needed.
Not only was he as professional and conscientious as they come, his track record was superb.
Plus, he looked the part. At well over six feet tall, John had the body of a linebacker, and an icy stare that could freeze a criminal in their tracks.
As for the NYPD, he’d served in the homicide department for two-and-a-half decades before retiring.
During his successful career, he’d also worked a few joint task forces with Patrick.
So when the time came for John to say good-bye to his old life, Patrick had cleared it with Casey and snatched John up for Forensic Instincts.
There’d never been any regrets—not from either side. John fit right into the group, and they called on him time and again, sometimes to protect clients, sometimes to protect team members themselves. He was smart, he was shrewd, and he knew when and how to fly by the seat of his pants.
Now, Casey leaned forward, interlacing her fingers on the workstation in front of her and addressing Patrick. “What did you and John work out?”
Patrick was ready with his reply. “First of all, other than emergencies, I’ve relieved John of his security responsibilities and substituted strong replacements in his stead until this case is solved.
Much as I know he can handle both, I want his efforts focused on the NYPD aspect of this investigation. ”
“I totally agree,” Casey responded.
“John and I amassed a long list of his current and retired allies in a multitude of precincts, and not only homicide cops,” Patrick continued.
“He’ll start reaching out to them today.
I was stunned by the number of people he knows, and how many of those people he’d feel comfortable approaching about Shane. ”
Ryan jumped in at this point, turning to face John.
“That’s great. I already hacked into the NYPD’s database, and Yoda and I compiled a list of Shane’s cases, as well as the cops who worked with him and the criminals who were involved.
Tomorrow, you and I can start cross-referencing them with your contacts.
Anything else you need as we move along, just tell me.
I’ll get back into the NYPD system and dig up answers.
Sporadically. So I don’t raise suspicions. ”
John nodded. “We’ll accomplish what we need to. Count on it. And Ryan, it goes without saying how sorry I am about Shane.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Casey cleared her throat. “We’ve all got a lot to do today, since yesterday was a bust other than Emma working on the list of Caitlin’s friends.
” Casey’s gaze shifted to Emma. “Judging from what I’ve seen so far, you’re doing a great job.
I’m looking forward to getting the complete list. And I’m proud of you. ”
Emma beamed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll analyze the entirety of what you put in the cloud as soon as it’s there. Then, I’ll take it all to Maureen McKay, the instant she’s up to seeing me. Given her nuclear role in the McKay household, I have a strong feeling she’ll contribute a lot to pinpointing what’s necessary.”
With that, Casey paused, her lips thinning into an annoyed line.
“Just so you all know, I’ll be here today only until after Marc has his Zoom meeting with SA Adams. Hopefully, by then he’ll also have heard back from James Harkins.
I doubt he’ll have collected what Claire needs at the Walshes’ house—it’ll be too early.
I’m going home to rest before two o’clock, per my husband’s request. I reminded him that I’d relaxed and worked in a recliner under an afghan most of yesterday, but that didn’t seem to help.
So I’ll take a late-afternoon nap, eat dinner, and be available by Zoom this evening. Let’s make it seven-thirty.”
Marc’s lips twitched at the irked note in Casey’s voice. “Got it. Seven-thirty it is. We’ll fill you in on anything you miss.”
A tight nod. “I’ll be back in the office at the crack of dawn tomorrow. In addition, we’re moving back to the main conference room next week. That’s where we have our team meetings, not to mention that it’s also my office. Things need to get back to normal. I can manage one flight of stairs.”
Marc didn’t argue. “Just make sure to run it by your surgeon.” His lips twitched again. “And your sentry.”
Casey shot him a look. “I will. And I’m not amused.”
“I’ll also be in first thing tomorrow,” Claire announced. “I want to connect with whatever Marc brings me from Shane and Caitlin’s house as soon as possible.”