Chapter 9 #2
“And I’ll be with Claire,” Ryan said. “It’ll be time for me to get back to work.
Casey, I’ll pull my mom aside tonight and make sure she’s okay with your calling her tomorrow and setting up meetings—first with her and then with Kennedy.
We’ll still be mourning in our hearts. But we’ve got to move forward with this investigation. ”
Casey studied his face. “Are you sure it’s not too soon?”
“Positive.”
“Then I’d appreciate it. Claire, when I go to the McKay house, I want you with me,” Casey continued.
“Given your gift of claircognizance, it would be the right decision under any circumstances, but especially under these. You spent time with Kennedy. You were at the house when the FBI broke the horrible news to her, and again at the wake and now the funeral. Given who and what you are, I’m sure she already feels comfortable with you. You can ease the way through our talk.”
Claire nodded. “Of course. I’ll also be with you when you interview the rest of the family. We can work those meetings around the all-important ones with Ryan’s mom and with Kennedy.”
“All my siblings and my dad will be on board,” Ryan assured them. “You can call them tomorrow, as well, and get things rolling.”
“That’s ideal,” Casey responded. “Thank you, Ryan.” She glanced from one team member to another. “So we’re all set?”
Nods across the board, although Ryan looked upset and torn.
“You’ll be back at full steam tomorrow,” Casey said gently. “Today you’re needed elsewhere—the same elsewhere you need and want to be. Go. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.”
Podgorica, Montenegro
6:05 PM CET
Owen Willard slammed the empty whiskey glass down on the table in disgust. His two guys, who were surveilling the house from that nearby apartment over the store, had turned up shit.
Just hour upon hour of boring conversation.
And the video was worse. Just the family marching in and out.
Mostly, that stupid overbearing hen clucking around the kid.
He swore under his breath, leaned back in his chair, and massaged his temples.
The drink hadn’t done anything to ease his migraine or his stress.
He might have killed the FBI guy, but that didn’t end the problem.
His boss was all over his ass about the threat the fucking agent had left behind, and leaning on him to finish the job.
Easier said than done, especially since he couldn’t handle the situation firsthand.
But a return trip was not in the cards. Thanks to his fuck-up, he’d be stuck in this bullshit country for the rest of his life, the only good thing being that he couldn’t be extradited, tried, convicted, and sent to a supermax prison.
That wouldn’t keep him safe from his boss. He had to do something to get the wife to resurface—and fast. Increased pressure might up the incentive. He’d kick-start that right now.
Maybe that would ruffle the feathers of that old hen and make things happen.
East 236th Street
Woodlawn, Bronx, New York
12:15 pm
Ryan and Clare had left Manhattan early and were about to turn onto the McKays’ street.
The entire family was meeting at the house before the funeral.
Being together to share in the somber mood of the day and the personal agonizing everyone was going through was as important as being at the church.
This way, they could travel there, car by car, in a line and as a unit, as tight as any family in crisis could be, lending strength to each other and standing as one to endure the ordeal of saying good-bye to Shane.
As they neared the house, Claire reached over and took Ryan’s hand. “I’ll be wherever my instincts tell me to go,” she said softly. “But mostly I’ll be by your side. I’ll know when you need me.”
Ryan squeezed her fingers. “What would I do without you?”
“Don’t waste your time on that one. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ryan had just opened his mouth to reply, when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then, brows drawn in puzzlement, pressed answer. “Hi, Mom. You okay?”
“No.” Maureen’s voice was trembling. “Where are you?”
“Driving down your street.”
“Thank God. I need you here. Now. I just got a text message. I don’t know from whom. But it’s thrown me. Please just get here.”
Ryan accelerated. “Give us two minutes.”
Claire and Ryan were out of the car almost before it came to a stop.
Maureen was standing on the outside step, her expression grim, her cell phone clasped in her hand.
She walked across the lawn to meet them. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this,” she began. “Not yet. Especially Kennedy. She’s falling to pieces as it is.” With that, Maureen handed her phone to Ryan, the text she’d received open and ready.
Wordlessly, he scanned the message, which was comprised of two cryptic sentences:
I’m watching Kennedy. Are you?
“Shit,” Ryan muttered, his jaw clenched.
“A pointed threat about Kennedy’s safety, sent, no doubt, via a burner.
Either Kennedy herself is a bigger threat to the killer than we thought, or they’re using texts like this to draw Caitlin out.
Or both.” He turned off the phone and pocketed it.
“I’ll need to take this back to the office with me, Mom.
Use your home phone for both incoming and outgoing calls.
I’ll reroute your cell calls to that number here, as well.
I want things to seem like business as usual. ”
“But it won’t be,” Maureen said, her forehead creased with worry. “You’ll be trying to trace the text and do whatever else you need to do. The problem is that there will be FBI agents stationed at the church. Don’t we have to share this with them first?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not today. Today is about saying good-bye to Shane. No one will expect us to address the investigation, or even to check our phones. Give me tonight. I’ll get what we need.
Then first thing tomorrow, you can share the text, and your phone, with the Bureau.
Tell them you just checked your cell and found the message. ”
Claire was looking unsettled. “Hutch would be furious.”
“He won’t find out. I’ll work all night. My mom can have her phone back by dawn.”
Claire was still visibly uneasy. “Okay.”
Ryan turned to her and frowned. “You think Hutch will somehow figure it out?”
“No.” Claire massaged her temples. “But something isn’t right. Something about the text message. And about the danger that exists.”
Maureen blanched. “Is Kennedy at immediate risk?”
Claire took her hands away from her forehead, confusion and anxiety clouding her expression. “I don’t think so. At least not from the text.”
“Or the person who sent it?” Ryan demanded.
At that, Claire nodded.
“So the sender isn’t the killer,” Ryan surmised, brow furrowed. “They could be a hired hand, some flunky. But the killer is out there, threatening, not only Caitlin, but Kennedy, as well.”
“Yes.” Claire was looking more and more confused. “I…maybe I’ll hold the cell phone on our drive home tonight—if that’s okay with you?” she asked Maureen.
“Of course,” Maureen replied. “I’m grateful for any help you can offer.”
Claire placed a hand on Maureen’s arm. “Ryan will figure this out. You’ll see.”
Maureen fought back tears. “I know.”
From the corner of his eye, Ryan saw his father and Nolan hovering at the open doorway, looking puzzled.
“Let’s go inside,” he urged his mother. “I don’t want you to have to answer questions as to what was going on out here. We’ll just say you came out to hear if we had any updates. Then we’ll drop the subject and turn our attention to Kennedy and the day ahead.”