The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

This time Claire’s flashes of insight didn’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 smells 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, rolling over and over, spiraling downward. Thudding against the craggy terrain. A violent stop. Flames. The smell of gas. The blast of an explosion.

The icy stillness of death.

Fear. Krissy’s face. Tears coursing down her cheeks. Hope’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, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees. She tried to make sense of what she’d experienced. Clearly, the first part was Claudia Mitchell’s murder. But the second part, the harsh, alternating flashes between Krissy and Hope-that had to mean something.

Krissy was still alive.

She knew that in a flash. The child was traumatized, withdrawn, afraid.

But still alive.

Instantly, Claire reached over and picked up her phone.

Casey was in the living room of the brownstone, drinking her fifth cup of coffee of the day. She’d hung around the Willises long enough to hear what she already knew from Marc.

Peg and the task force members had returned from Sunny Gardens, where they’d spoken to Ms. Babick in Human Resources and learned about the great interview Claudia Mitchell had had that morning. The poor woman had been shocked to learn about Claudia’s tragic, fatal car crash. The task force further reported that Bennato Construction was on the premises, building a new wing. They’d questioned the construction crew, particularly the foreman, who was an emotional wreck.

Casey had smiled at that part. Bill Parsons had been a wreck, all right. But not because he knew anything. Because Marc had pinned him to the wall, pressed his forearm across the guy’s neck, and threatened to crush his windpipe if he didn’t tell him what he knew.

Parsons had spewed all kinds of information-the names of the construction crew, the length of time they’d been working the project, the corners they’d been told to cut.

None of it gave them a clue about Krissy Willis’s abduction.

But Parsons did know Joe Deale, and he had heard he was locked up. Between that, and his terror over Marc’s death grip, he was more than happy to swear that he’d keep his mouth shut about Marc’s little visit if the Feds came around.

Casey wasn’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 they’d squeezed out the fact that Parsons’s brother Ike was one of Tony Bennato’s fair-haired boys-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 hadn’t laid eyes on any of the grown women who’d once been Felicity’s childhood friends, and Vera didn’t recognize the older renditions of those children’s parents.

Even Patrick was stumped, although he did remember interviewing almost all the parents in the photos. He was frustrated as hell, but not surprised. He might have missed Sidney Akerman’s mob connection, but he hadn’t missed the obvious. He’d grilled the neighborhood suspects again and again those thirty-two years ago, until they cringed every time he knocked on their doors.

Casey was still deep in thought, when her phone rang.

“Casey Woods,” she said into the mouthpiece.

“Casey, it’s Claire.” Claire’s voice was shaky but certain. “Krissy Willis is still alive.”

Casey’s head shot up. “You’re sure?”

“As 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. She’s sobbing her heart out. This experience has badly scarred her. But whoever has her didn’t break her. Not yet. And they definitely didn’t kill her.” A stymied sigh. “Every time I get close to sensing who the kidnappers are, or what they plan to do to Krissy, the vision is eclipsed by Hope Willis’s pain. I just can’t get around it. I keep seeing Hope, time and again.”

“That’s not a shock. Hope is coming apart at the seams. And who can blame her? Her daughter’s been missing for more than four days. She knows the statistics. In fact, I’m not sure whether or not I should tell her about your vision. Would it help? Or would it give her false hope?” Casey hastened to qualify her statement. “I’m not questioning your abilities. I’m relieved as hell to hear what you sensed. But to tell a mother…”

“I understand,” Claire said. “And I’m not offended. Casey, no matter how strong your faith in clairvoyance is, you can’t help but doubt what you can’t see. Nonetheless, I’d tell Hope if I were you. She needs something to cling to. And, if by some sick twist of fate I’m wrong, the loss of her daughter won’t be any less unbearable.”

“You’re right.” Casey had to agree that what Claire said made a world of sense. “I’ll call her now. There’s no need to put her through another agonizing night. Not if I can ease the pain a little.”

A half hour later, Casey was still feeling a sense of well-being at Hope’s reaction to her phone call. How grateful she’d sounded. How many indebted tears she’d cried.

Now, Casey could only pray that the hope she’d given the Willises 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 followed behind, glancing at her watch as she did. It was ten o’clock, too late for the team, too early for Hutch.

“Who is it?” she called.

No answer.

“Who’s there?” 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 small 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 carefully 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 wall and carefully 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 Willis case, she didn’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 Willis family? And if he or she knew something, why weren’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 Mitchell 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 willing to take some illegal 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 still standing there, contemplating the message, when another knock on the door sounded.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

“Me.” It was Hutch’s voice.

Relieved, Casey opened the door. Hutch was standing there, looking tired and stressed-out, but no less sexy.

“Hi,” Casey greeted him. “I’m glad you’re here. Although I didn’t expect you for hours.”

He stepped inside and squatted down to scratch Hero’s ears. Clearly, the bloodhound was agitated by his arrival. “The team broke up early. Ken got a break on the Sicilian whereabouts of DeMassi’s son. He’s following 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 works-DeMassi could have kidnapped Felicity, and his son could have kidnapped Krissy. At least it’s a continuum that makes sense.”

“Plus, if Lou DeMassi is serving a lengthy sentence, it’s an added impetus for his son to want to avenge his father’s imprisonment.”

Hutch nodded. “Anyway, if the lead materializes into something concrete, or if anything else surfaces tonight, I’ll get a call from the task force. If not, you and I can have that talk.” He frowned as Hero continued to growl under his breath. It wasn’t characteristic for him to show such hostility toward Hutch.

“It’s okay, fellow,” Hutch soothed. “I’m the one who brought you to your new lady. Remember?”

Hero gazed past Hutch and out into the darkened street.

Raising his head, Hutch gave Casey a quizzical look. “What’s going on?” he asked, picking up on the tension that was rippling through her. Simultaneously, he spotted her latex gloves, and the letter she was holding.

“This is what’s going on.” Casey held out the letter for him to see. “I found it outside my door a little while ago.”

Hutch squinted and scanned the letter without touching it. “Do you have another pair of gloves?”

“Sure.” Casey went and got him a pair.

Once his gloves were on, Hutch took the page and studied it.

“The family,” he muttered. “Does that mean the Willises or the Vizzini crime family?”

“My question exactly.” Casey waved her arm in non-comprehension. “I don’t see how it could be the Willises. Not even slimy Edward. We’ve investigated the hell out of them. Your team and mine. And we’ve found nothing.”

“Unless the writer of this message means Sidney Akerman. He’s the newest piece of the puzzle and the one with the mob ties. Maybe those ties run deeper than we’ve uncovered.”

“That’s the only possibility I see, and it’s one we’ll have to address. Next question-who’s giving us this tip?”

Hutch scowled. “The 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.”

“Or that his or her own hands aren’t clean,” Casey added. “I thought of both those things.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Look, Hutch. As you can see, I’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 will talk another time.”

Hutch scrutinized Casey thoroughly, then shook his head. “That would waste precious time. I’ll call Peg. I’m sure she’ll authorize me to messenger this straight down to Quantico. They’ll 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. There’s nothing in this note that would change that course of action. As for Sidney Akerman…”

“I can call Patrick,” Casey said quickly. “He’ll grill Sidney till 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 all the way. Whenever my team crosses the line, he refuses to get involved. He’s an ethical, law-abiding man.” A hint of a smile. “As opposed to Forensic Instincts, the big, bad wolves of the private sector.”

“Not big, bad wolves. Maybe well-meaning wolves that roam too far into dangerous territory.”

“But with proven results.”

“I won’t argue that point. I can’t agree with your methods, though.”

“Fair enough.”

“But speaking of big, bad wolves…” A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted. “This 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.”

“Before we talk?”

“Definitely. After that, the mood might be shattered.”

“True.”

The two of them pulled out their cell phones and made the necessary arrangements. Then, they put the letter and envelope in a Ziploc, and packaged it for transport. That done, they pulled 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 pulled Casey’s sweater over her head. “A couple of hours off,” he murmured. “That’s all I’m suggesting. We’ve got other people working round-the-clock to find Krissy Willis while we recharge our batteries.”

“Recharge our batteries.” Casey’s eyes twinkled as she unbuckled Hutch’s belt. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“With us? We call it sensory overload.”

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 other’s clothes and tumbled onto the bed, their breaths coming fast and uneven. There was a sexual pull 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 all the way inside her-and then some.

It erupted in an explosion of nearly painful pleasure, Casey crying out as she contracted all around him, and Hutch shouting her name as he poured into her. They drew out the moment as long as they could, before collapsing in each other’s arms, weak and drained and utterly sated.

“Can we stay like this for a couple of weeks?” Casey mumbled into Hutch’s shoulder, when she’d caught her breath.

He chuckled. “A nice thought. Shutting out the world, the job pressures and the conflicts. Just you and me and this.”

“Not viable, huh?”

“Unfortunately not.” Hutch propped himself on his elbows and gazed down at her. “We’ve never come right out and said it, but you do know that what’s going on between us is about a lot more than sex, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. That’s what’s going to make this conversation that much harder.”

“We’re worth fighting for, Casey. Whatever label you want to give our relationship, we both know it doesn’t happen every day. So, no matter how heated a debate we end up having, I’m not walking away. Not unless you ask me to.”

“I’m not stupid.” Casey traced his jaw with her fingertip. “I’m not going to end things over our careers. I’m just going to defend what I believe in.”

“Which is that the end justifies the means.”

“Within reason, yes. My goal here is to find Krissy Willis. I don’t give a damn about the right way to go about it. Any way I find her is the right way.”

Hutch rolled away and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to grab some water for this talk. You depleted all my reserves.”

Casey smiled. “Now that I doubt. But grab a bottle for me, too. I’m parched. Plus, I think we should have this conversation with our clothes on. Otherwise, we won’t talk at all.”

“Agreed.” 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. “Okay, we’re both decent and ready for verbal warfare.”

“Does it have to be warfare?” Casey asked. “I know we have different jobs and slightly different philosophies, but we both want the same results-ultimately.”

“Ultimately.”

“The good news is it’s very rare that we’re working on the same case. Even when the FBI and Forensic Instincts are both involved. Thankfully, this is my team’s first child kidnapping case. I’m hoping it will be our last. So you and I won’t be overlapping too often. Otherwise, we’d probably kill each other.”

Hutch took a swig of water. “Yeah, well, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m seriously considering applying for a transfer to BAU-2. They haven’t filled the opening Marc left when he resigned. I’d like to fill it. I’ve had about all I can stomach of crimes against children. It’s time for a change, something I can handle in the way I was trained. If I’m emotionally vested in a case, I can’t do an effective job.”

“So you’d be dealing with adult crimes.”

“’Fraid so.”

Casey blew out a breath. “Won’t that be enjoyable.”

“Like you said earlier, we have to set some ground rules,” Hutch said. “Starting with separating business from pleasure. It’s not going to be easy-assuming I get the job. You’re going to expect more of me than I’m able to give. Such as giving you a heads-up about information yet to be released to the public.”

“And you’re going to expect me to follow a certain path, and to report every discovery I make to the Bureau -to you. It’s not going to happen.”

“I hear you.” Hutch frowned, rolling the bottle of water between his palms. “I know what your job is. What I don’t know is why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you’re so fervent about your investigations. And I don’t mean professionally. I mean personally. You read people well. But so do I. Something happened that lit an emotional fire in your belly-enough to make you go out on your own and start Forensic Instincts. What was it?”

Casey was quiet for a minute. “You do read people well. Especially me. Okay, my team knows, so why shouldn’t you? Yes, there was something that changed my life, and probably my direction.” Another pause. “Do you remember how relentless I was about wrapping up the investigation my team took on right before this kidnapping?”

“The one with that psycho perv who raped and killed all 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. That’s what got me started thinking along these lines.” Hutch studied Casey intently. “Why? Does that case hold special meaning for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Casey blew out her breath. “When I was in college, I had a close friend. Holly. She lived off campus. One day, she told me she had the feeling she was being followed. I suggested she call the police. She did. They blew her off. A week later, she was found raped and murdered, her body tossed in a Dumpster. She’d been there for days, buried in piles of garbage. The bastard who did that to her was never found. I’ll never forget how I felt when I heard the news. It was like a horrible nightmare-one that will haunt me for life. It wasn’t the police’s fault. They had nothing to go on and no manpower to invest in an unsubstantiated complaint. What Holly needed was someone who was skilled 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.”

“Someone like Forensic Instincts.”

“Exactly.”

Hutch’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry you had to live through an experience like that.”

“Me, too. But I’m sorrier for Holly. She was nineteen.”

“Yeah.” Hutch lowered his head, stared at the carpet. “Now I understand.”

“Do you? You almost ripped me a new one when I followed Hope Willis to the drop site. I did that on sheer instinct, not on concrete facts I was withholding. She could have really 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 didn’t clue you in. I can’t always do that. Just like you can’t always release advance info to me.” Casey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not naive. This is going to test us big-time. There are times when it will probably put a huge strain on us.”

“Are you willing to try?” Hutch asked flatly. “Because I am. Like I said, we’re about more than great sex. I’m not willing to throw it all away just because we’re occasionally going to be operating at cross-purposes. We’ll hash it out. We’ll fight. And, yeah, sometimes we’ll combust. Are you invested enough in this relationship to take that on?”

Casey didn’t have to think. “Yes,” she responded. “I am. But remember, I give as good as I get. I’m not going to roll over. And I’m not going to share confidential information with you, any more than you are with me. There are going to be secrets. We’ll have to accept that.”

“As long as those secrets aren’t about us-the private us.”

“Agreed.”

Hutch put down his water and crossed over to the bed. “I think this conversation has come to a successful conclusion.” He unbelted Casey’s robe, slid open the sides. “Now it’s time to celebrate our victory.”

Casey smiled, leaning back on the bed and tugging Hutch down to her. “Consider this to be our toast.”