Chapter 15 #2
“Yup. Exactly.” Ryan swallowed. “It’s not very uplifting, but at least it eases my angst a little. Caitlin must be going through hell. The last thing she needs is to be haunted by Kennedy’s pale, tear-streaked little face.”
“I agree one hundred percent,” Casey concurred, choking up as she spoke. “Just watching Kennedy grieving yesterday broke my heart.”
She cleared her throat, brought herself under control.
“On to you, Claire. Obviously, I was with you at Ryan’s parents’ house, as well as with our interviews of the rest of the McKays—which yielded no new information—so no need to restate that.
But none of us knows anything after that.
So tell the team about what took place when we were with Kennedy, and then fill us all in about the rest of the day. The floor is yours.”
Claire explained her talk with Kennedy, as well as the perceptions that had steered it in the right direction. Then, she went on to tell them everything about her interaction with Shane’s and Caitlin’s personal items, and what she’d deduced from that.
John spoke up first. “Are you suggesting we back away from our NYPD interviews?”
Claire shook her head. “No. I’m not suggesting we back away from anything.
I’m definitely not ready to rule out Shane’s law enforcement connections as part of the puzzle.
Not until I can zero in on what the exact threat is and who it’s coming from.
It’s just that I keep getting the sense that this atrocity was personal as well as—” She broke off, her gaze growing faraway.
“Claire?” Casey asked at once. “What is it?”
Claire gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m not sure.
But I’m getting the oddest sensations. Caitlin’s aura is growing stronger, clearer.
Her presence is intercepting my other sensory perceptions—even those involving Shane.
It’s like she’s fighting to get through…
” Abruptly, Claire turned to Ryan. “Arrangements are in the process.”
“She’s sending me what I asked for,” Ryan deduced, gazing steadily at Claire, who he’d quickly filled in on his plan. “Which means it will show up earlier than expected. I’ll be out of here by ten thirty, and arriving an hour later. I’ll tell my mom to expect me for an early lunch.”
The McKay Residence
East 236th Street
Woodlawn, Bronx, New York
Wednesday, March 15, 11:55 a.m.
Ryan jumped out of his Corvette and slammed the door, locking it as he did.
He’d hit traffic and he was ripping. He’d called his mom three times from the road to make sure no package had arrived for him.
She’d assured him the answer was no. He’d cut off her questions until she’d wisely stopped asking them.
No one else on the team had had crucial recaps. There was no word from any hospitals of someone matching Caitlin’s description who had required treatment, and no significant forward motion on the NYPD. So Ryan had taken off, only to be stuck behind one asshole after another.
Finally, he was here.
He strode up to the front door, his sharp gaze sweeping the steps. Nothing. Not that he expected there to be. Someone would have to be home to receive the package. Caitlin couldn’t use a credit card, so it would be COD.
Ryan rang the bell, turning to look up and down the street. No van of any kind in the vicinity. If Caitlin was doing as he asked—and, after what Claire had said, he had no doubt that she was—her tasty gift had yet to arrive.
Maureen opened the door. “Lunch is on the table,” she said without preliminaries. She could sense that Ryan was practically vibrating.
“Thanks, Mom.” He glanced past her. “Where’s Kennedy?”
“In the den.” Maureen pointed. “Watching some martial arts movie while she waits for you.” A quick once-over. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Ryan replied. “Just follow my lead. I’ll fill you in later.”
“Ryan!” Kennedy rushed into the hall and hugged him as if she hadn’t just seen him the night before.
“Hey, sunshine.” He gave her a hard squeeze. “I hope the movie is good—but not too good. You’ll have to put it on pause. Aunt Maureen is worried that you and I are both starved and withering away.”
A hint of a smile. “No chance of that. I had bacon and eggs for breakfast.”
Maureen scowled. “And left over more than half of it. Lovey…” She stroked Kennedy’s head. “You must eat. For my sake, if not for yours.”
Kennedy gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, I will.”
“You sure will—but not too much,” Ryan stipulated. “Don’t forget our upcoming contest. After lunch, we’ll be heading over to the Old Ice Cream Shop.”
“Where I’ll humiliate you,” Kennedy fired back.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Ryan—you’re a bad influence,” Maureen retorted, gesturing for them to take their seats at the table. “Time for a good meal. Hot potato soup. It’ll stick to your ribs and warm your insides enough to brace you for mounds of ice cream.”
Kennedy and Ryan caught the twinkle in her eye, and they both laughed, heading for the table while Maureen hurried into the kitchen to dole out the portions of soup.
While they ate, Ryan and Kennedy continued their bantering, even though he could feel the tension emanating from her—a tension that exploded when the doorbell rang.
“Is that Agent Barkley?” she asked, nearly leaping out of her seat and running off. “Do you think he’s here early?”
Ryan shook his head, then rose, heading for the front door. “That’s not the FBI’s style,” he reassured her. “More likely, it’s the postal carrier with something that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox. I’ll check.”
Mentally, he crossed his fingers, and went to find out.
Sheer relief flowed through him when he opened the door. A brightly decorated van was in the driveway, motor running, and a lanky teenage boy stood on the front step. As soon as Ryan appeared in the doorway, the kid held out a pastry-sized box.
“Ryan McKay?” he asked.
“That’s me.” Ryan dug in his pocket. “How much do I owe you?” As he pulled out the requisite cash plus a generous tip, he noted that the box looked larger than expected. But most important, there was a small white card-sized envelope tucked in the red and white wrapping strings.
Heart racing, Ryan thanked the kid and pocketed the card—which he’d read later—before turning to shut the door behind him and carrying in the box.
Kennedy’s expression turned from frightened to curious. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan winked at his mother as if she knew exactly what the delivery was, despite the fact that he was aware she was clueless. “Let’s take a look.”
Kennedy caught Ryan’s wink. “Is it a surprise?” she asked. She watched as he cut the strings and opened the box.
Inside were three pastries: a huge Guinness brownie, which was Ryan’s sweet-tooth downfall; a sugar-drizzled cream puff, which he recognized as his mother’s dessert of choice; and an enormous chocolate chip cookie, Kennedy’s most cherished snack.
Bless you, Caitlin, Ryan thought. You thought of everything.
Kennedy was squealing and snatching the cookie from the box. “Thank you, Aunt Maureen!” she exclaimed, hugging her aunt before rushing back to her chair. “How did you remember how much I love these, especially when they’re straight from the bakery all warm and gooey?”
Ryan shot his mom a purposeful look—one she acted on right away.
“I’m like an elephant,” she replied to Kennedy, playing her part to perfection. “I never forget.” Her brows knit. “But I didn’t expect these to arrive until late this afternoon.”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Ryan said. “There’s no time like the present.”
“Not this time.” His mother folded her arms across her breasts. “Not until every bit of lunch is gone.”
Kennedy shifted impatiently in her seat and Ryan’s lips twitched.
“We’d better listen, sunshine,” he advised Kennedy. “Besides, we don’t have a leg to stand on since we’re having two desserts this afternoon.”
“Correction: one and a half,” Maureen countered. “It’s the rest of lunch and then half a cookie. If you still have room after your ice cream fiesta, you can eat the other half after dinner.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.
“Okay, Aunt Maureen.” Clearly, Kennedy knew when to stop pushing. She picked up her spoon and resumed eating her potato soup.
Ryan was torn between roaring with laughter and excusing himself so he could read the card.
His curiosity won that war.
“I’ll be right back.” He pushed back his chair. “Then I promise to finish off every spoonful of my soup.”
He walked to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and shut and locked the door.
There he pulled the card out of his pocket, and read:
Bean—dessert, debris, pat’s, late four.
Ryan reread the coded words three times until he had them memorized in order, complete with punctuation.
Then he stuffed the card back into his pocket.
The decoding process was going to have to wait.