The Line Between Here and Gone

  Whatever broad investigation the FBI was conducting, Congressman Mercer and Lyle Fenton were key players in it.

  “Casey,” Hutch added in a grim tone, “I don’t think I did you any favors by pushing this with the Bureau. Now that they’ve been clued in to the fact that you’re on a major manhunt for Paul Everett, they’re going to do everything they can to block you.”

  “Did they come right out and tell you that?”

  “No, or I couldn’t be repeating it. But you and I are both smart enough to figure it out. It’s one thing for them to see an amateur YouTube video that was shot by your client. It’s another thing to have one of their own reaching out to a handful of insiders, pressing for answers. My relationship with you is hardly a secret among the agents I know. This whole situation isn’t good.”

  “It was a risk we had to take,” Casey replied. “And don’t tell me to back down, because I won’t. The FBI can join the crowd who’s watching us. At least we know they won’t shoot to kill.”

  “Very funny.” Hutch scowled. “I’m not even going to try to talk you out of it, because I’d be wasting my breath. But I can’t be a part of it, either—except to worry about you.”

  “Fair enough.” Casey was as blunt as he was. “By the same token, I can’t pass along another shred of information to you. I’ve already done enough damage to my client by telling you as much as I did. But from here on in, you’re out of the loop.”

  “Fine.” Hutch was still scowling. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Aren’t you due back in Quantico in a day or two?”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  Casey attempted a smile, but didn’t manage to pull it off. “Nope. You’re too good in bed.”

  “I’m not laughing, Casey.” Hutch’s jaw tightened another notch. “I don’t know who all the key players are here. But you could be walking into a minefield.”

  “Then let’s hope I tread carefully. Because I’m finding Paul Everett.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  John Morano was in the process of setting up his replacement computer system, trying to make it fit within the confines of the narrow trailer he’d hastily bought as a substitute office, when Lyle Fenton walked in.

  “Good. You’re not missing a beat,” Fenton pronounced, marching inside. “I like that in the people I do business with.” As he spoke, Fenton glanced out the side window of the trailer, nodding in approval as he scanned the close proximity of the bay. “Smart idea to stay put. From experience, I know it’s important to be on-site. It keeps the construction crew on their toes.”

  “I didn’t stay put,” Morano said, angling his computer monitor. “I moved to the other side of the marina. The stench of burned wood and gasoline were more than I could take. Plus, that area is a crime scene.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally.” Fenton had that hard edge to his voice—and it was unsettling enough for Morano to stop what he was doing and straighten up to regard Fenton.

  “Sorry if I’m grouchy,” he apologized. “It wasn’t exactly the best night of my life.”

  “I assumed not.”

  “So what brings you by?” Morano attempted a weak smile. “Did you bring me a housewarming present?”

  Fenton didn’t smile back. “The news reports said that the police are ruling this arson.”

  “It was pretty much a no-brainer,” Morano replied. “So is trying to figure out who did it.”

  No change in expression. “The mob.”

  A shaky nod. “I shut them down, told them I wasn’t paying up anymore. So they gave me an unmistakable warning. Hey, at least they didn’t kill me—yet.”

  “You’re being very flippant, under the circumstances.”

  “Flippant?” Morano’s voice was hollow. “I’m a nervous wreck. Yeah, I anticipated they’d do something. Their flunky made sure to tell me that during our last visit. I just didn’t know what they had in mind. Now I do. The only good thing is that the cops, who wouldn’t do a fucking thing until now, are sending out extra patrol cars to police the area and to keep an eye on my apartment. Those are the only two places I plan on being. No detours for me—not for a long time.”

  “It took balls to provoke them the way you did,” Fenton stated. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?”

  “Neither. I was being squeezed to the point where I couldn’t breathe.” Morano looked like a trapped bird. “Believe me, I’m not suicidal. But I’m not a multimillionaire, either. I don’t have the kind of money they’re demanding. Do I keep wondering if this is what happened to Paul Everett, and that, when he put on the brakes, he wound up dead? Damned straight I do.”

  “I would, too.” Fenton was never one to sugarcoat things. “That’s why I hired round-the-clock security for you.”

  “What?”

  “You asked why I came by. I came by to protect my investment. I don’t know what the hell happened to Paul Everett, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. You and I just signed a contract—a very lucrative one for me. I don’t plan on seeing you get killed. The cops can’t watch you 24/7—there aren’t enough tax dollars for that. So I’m taking care of it. You’ll have eyes on you at all times until this hotel is finished and up and running.”

  “That’s going to be two years.”

  “Less,” Fenton corrected. “Seventeen months. I want it open at the start of the season after next. You can have a grand opening Memorial Day weekend. As for how long you’ll need a bodyguard, don’t worry. I can afford it.” He glanced around the trailer. “Is everything important safe?”

  A nod. “I keep all my electronic documents backed up. And, given how rickety that old shack was, I took home my important files every night. With the bunch of teenagers who hang around the bay smoking up until the wee hours of the morning, I couldn’t risk losing anything during a break-in. So we won’t have any delays.”

  “Good.” Fenton nodded. “Then I suggest you kick your ass into high gear. The guard that my security company sent over is in his car across the street. The permits are taken care of. The mob will be happier once the union members are working. So it’s time to break ground.”

  “I agree. And thanks.” Morano looked more than a little relieved at the knowledge that he was being safeguarded, even if it was just because Fenton was safeguarding an important business asset. “I’ll set things in motion within the week.”

  “Do that.” There was no give in Fenton’s tone.

  * * *

  Casey called a team meeting just as soon as Patrick could make the necessary arrangements for a relief shift at Sloane Kettering. Amanda was okay with him going, once she met Roger and saw how professional he was. Besides, she was in with Justin every minute, and not as focused on the bodyguard situation.

  The entire team gathered around the conference room table. The atmosphere was tense, which announced to everyone that Casey had something important on her mind.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” Yoda greeted them. “Will you be needing any assistance?”

  “Yes, Yoda,” Casey said, shutting the conference room door and walking over to her place at the head of the sweeping oval table. “But first we need some discussion time. Then we’ll be calling on you.”

  “Very well, Casey. I’ll be on standby.” Yoda fell silent.

  Casey sat down, aware that all eyes were on her. Even Hero, who was stretched out at her feet, was gazing expectantly up at her, keenly aware that something was going on.

  “You all know that I asked Hutch for his help in finding Paul Everett,” Casey began, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “He spent a good portion of the day making phone calls and sending out emails. He came back with nothing.”

  “So Everett’s not in the FBI’s internal system,” Marc mused aloud. “That surprises me. I
tried to connect with Hutch, but he was locked in the office doing his thing. Given how long it was taking, I assumed he was getting some significant information. Guess I was wrong.”

  “You weren’t wrong.” Casey had that no-bullshit look about her. “I’m sure he got an earful.”

  Claire looked puzzled. “But you just said he came back with nothing.”

  “They shut him down.” Marc was watching Casey as he spoke. “Whatever Paul Everett is connected to, the Bureau doesn’t want us poking around in it. So whatever they did tell Hutch, he can’t pass it along to us.”

  “That’s the gist of it.” Casey nodded. “I’m sure there’s plenty they didn’t even reveal to Hutch. But, whatever he found out, he can’t share it. My bringing him into the loop was a mistake. If anything, I hurt us—and Amanda—by sharing details with him. Now he knows how far we’ve gotten in our investigation, and what our trump cards are. If he feels compelled to, he can pass that on to the Bureau. You know how principled he is. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

  Ryan and Claire exchanged glances—the first time they’d looked at each other since he’d left her apartment. But this glance was one of understanding. Now they knew what was causing the negative energy Claire couldn’t shake, and what the unintended deception was that she’d sensed.

  Claire gave Ryan a quick nod of affirmation, before turning her attention back to the team. He got her message loud and clear. No need to poke around further. The team was, once again, in sync.

  “You didn’t screw up, Casey,” Patrick was saying. “We all knew you were bringing Hutch on board—and that includes Amanda. We took a risk. Marc and I are both former FBI—we know how it works. If this is a classified case, then Hutch’s hands are tied.”

  “Yes and no,” Marc amended. He gave Casey a long, hard look. “What exactly did Hutch say—or not say?”

  A hint of a smile touched Casey’s lips. As always, Marc was right on her wavelength.

  “What I inferred from his responses is that Paul Everett is a key player in a broader—and classified—federal investigation. What’s more, Fenton and Mercer are both touchy subjects, too, which tells me that they’re subjects of interest in this case, too. In what capacity or how deeply they’re involved, I don’t know. What I do know is that Paul Everett is definitely alive. Whatever Hutch’s contacts told him, I can tell he believes that. And, if he believes that, it’s true.”

  “Did you get the feeling that either Fenton or Mercer knew about Everett?” Ryan asked.

  “No.” Casey shook her head. “I’m not saying they didn’t play a role in his disappearance, but I don’t think they know where he is now. If they did, the Bureau would be hauling their asses in.”

  “They’re not the same,” Claire pronounced.

  “Who?”

  “Mercer and Fenton. They have different levels of involvement. Fenton’s aura is dark. Mercer’s is much grayer. It’s also more muddied, as if he’s torn between dark and light.”

  “He sounds like a friggin’ Jedi knight,” Ryan muttered.

  Claire shot him an irritated look. “No. He’s torn, part victim and part offender. I feel sorry for him.”

  “You would.”

  “Ryan, cut it out.” Casey was in no mood for this. And, frankly, she was surprised. Ryan didn’t sound teasing, he sounded downright obnoxious—a line he rarely crossed, especially during intense team discussions.

  He seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same moment, because he looked sheepish and unusually off balance. “Sorry, boss. I’m just on overdrive since the fire last night.”

  Casey’s gaze flickered from Ryan to Claire and back, but she accepted his explanation with a nod.

  “I agree with Claire,” she said. “Mercer’s like a fly in a web. I’m sure he’s playing dirty politics. But I don’t think he’s in this thing anywhere near as deep as Fenton.”

  “True. Even so, I don’t think Fenton knows where Everett is,” Marc noted. “If he did, he’d get him here to save Justin.”

  “Well, someone knows where Everett is,” Patrick replied. A long, thoughtful pause. “Unless, of course, Everett faked his own death and disappeared on his own. Anybody considered that?”

  “Yes.” Casey answered that one right away. “I considered many things. That’s the other reason I called this team meeting. I want to explore various scenarios, and either eliminate or confirm them, one by one.”

  “Getting our answers by whatever methods necessary?” Marc asked quietly.

  “Getting our answers by whatever methods necessary,” Casey replied. She knew exactly what Marc was implying. She also felt Patrick’s scowl. Still, she didn’t hesitate or back down. “We’re moving forward with one goal in mind—saving Justin’s life by finding his father. I don’t care how we do it. But it has to be fast.”

  “Casey…” Patrick interjected.

  “I know where you stand on this, Patrick.” Casey waved it away. “But the circumstances have changed. We’re operating at a federal level now. The FBI now knows we’re all over this, and that we’re not going to stop. They’ll thwart us every chance they can. We’ve got to anticipate their attempts to do so and sidestep them before they can gain traction.”

  “You have a targeted plan?” Marc asked.

  “Yes. And you’re all going to help me fast-track it to completion.”

  With that, she swiveled her chair around to face the wall. “Yoda, please create a virtual workspace.”

  Yoda responded instantly.

  “Creating a virtual workspace, Casey,” he said. A minute passed, and the video wall came alive, bathing the room in an electric-blue glow. “Virtual workspace created and ready.”

  “Please create topics as follows: Criminal Offender, Fugitive, Confidential Informant, Dead, Witness Protection.”

  She pivoted again to glance around the table. “Anything else?”

  “He’s not an illegal. He’s not a military deserter. I think you’ve covered it all,” Marc replied.

  “That should do it, Yoda,” Casey informed him.

  “Topics created,” Yoda announced.

  Immediately, the master video wall was divided into five equal sections, each section headed up by one of the topics Casey had requested.

  “Good.” Casey spread her notes out across the table. “Okay, team, let’s brainstorm each topic. Yoda, please transcribe all our comments. Summarize the points of consensus and disagreement. Display our progress in real time on a whiteboard for each.”

  “All right, Casey. I am ready.”

  “Team, let’s begin by addressing the option of Paul Everett being a criminal offender.”

  “Wait,” Claire interrupted. “The moment you spelled out the topics, and then again when I saw them in writing, I got that powerful sense of binary energy again. The pull is way too strong for us to ignore. Casey, whatever he is, Paul Everett is not dead. I understand you have to explore every option, but that should be our last. Not only because I know I’m right, but because it’s futile to pursue an avenue that’s of no use to Amanda. Finding out that Justin’s father isn’t alive defeats our purpose, and hers. Frankly, it’s a waste of time.”

  The rest of the team nodded. Even Ryan didn’t dispute Claire’s argument.

  “We all seem to be in agreement,” Casey replied. “Adding Hutch’s reaction to the equation, let’s shelve ‘dead’ for the very end and concentrate on the other scenarios.”

  “You can save time on the Witness Protection debate,” Patrick said with great reluctance. “Ditto with the fugitive discussion. Either possibility is strong, given the possible mob connection and the fact that whoever made Everett disappear went to great lengths to make it convincing.”

  “And?” Casey prompted.

  Patrick cleared his throat, fiddling with his pen and keep
ing his gaze lowered. Whatever he was about to say, he clearly did not want to say.

  “I have an old buddy with the U.S. Marshals,” he replied at last. “He owes me a bunch of favors. I’ll call one in. He can do the necessary digging to find out whether or not Paul Everett is in the Witness Protection Program or a known and wanted fugitive. He’s not going to like it. I don’t like it. But he’ll do it.” A defensive pause. “I’m not asking him for any details,” Patrick clarified. “So don’t press me for them. I’m just looking for a yes or no on both counts. That’s the best I can do.”

  “It’s great.” Casey knew how much Patrick loathed going this route. It went against every straight-and-narrow grain in him. “We don’t need to know your friend’s name or any specifics about Paul’s situation.” A brief pause as Casey tested the waters. “Do you think your friend would be willing to get a message to Paul? Would you be comfortable asking?”

  Another scowl. “I doubt that Everett’s in the Witness Protection Program. If he were, he’d still have internet access. Which means he’d have seen the YouTube video and reacted. If he’s a fugitive, however…” A thoughtful pause. “Then we’re probably screwed. But, rather than speculate, I’ll make the phone call and ask the question. I’ll do it right after our meeting breaks up.”

  “Thank you.” Casey turned back to the screen. “That leaves us with two options to discuss and pursue. Criminal Offender and Confidential Informant. Let’s throw out the pros and cons. We’ll take our assignments from there.”

  They discussed and debated those two possibilities until they’d slimmed down the options Everett could have taken within each, and decided on the best ways to proceed.

  Marc and Ryan were going back to the Hamptons that night and installing Gecko in Morano’s trailer. Ryan was simultaneously going to fine-tune, intensify and finish his in-depth study of Morano’s and Everett’s histories, going as far back as necessary to find a connection between the men or an inconsistency in Everett’s background.