“Away?” Amanda gave him a quizzical look. “Where are you going?”
“On a business trip. I have to check in with some of the Fenton Dredging operations on both coasts. I have several large maritime contracts in the works.”
Fenton paused. “In any case, tending to my empire has made me think about the future of my company. Because of that, I’ve made some changes in my will.”
“Don’t do anything for me, Uncle Lyle,” Amanda couldn’t stop herself from saying. “In your world, money might be a panacea. Not in mine.”
“It’s not a panacea. But it does help. It’s also not about you, although you’ve been well-provided for.” Fenton didn’t avert his gaze. “I’ve set up two separate trust funds for Justin, both of which you’ll manage until he comes of age. The first will pay for any health-related issues that might arise because of his condition. You’d be surprised how many items slip between the medical insurance cracks. The second will provide for his future—college, grad school, anything else he might need. It’s a substantial sum.”
Amanda hadn’t been prepared for that. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. On the one hand, she hated taking anything from her uncle. On the other hand, the money was for Justin. Altruism was one thing. Real life was another. If anyone had learned that in the past month, it was she.
However, if any of that trust fund money was dirty…
“Thank you,” she said simply. “That’s a very generous gesture on your part. But I’ll have to think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about. It’s done. And it’s not about generosity.” Fenton wasn’t finished yet. “It’s about blood ties. Justin is your son, and my great-nephew. He’s also the future of Fenton Dredging.”
Amanda blinked. “Pardon me?”
“I’m leaving my entire empire to him,” was the blunt response. “I have no grandchildren. But I do have a great-nephew. And I have a business empire that I built from the ground up. It’s my legacy, the only one I have. I want it in the family. So I’m leaving it to Justin.”
This time Amanda had an immediate reaction. “That’s way over-the-top,” she said. “It’s also unrealistic. We have no idea what Justin’s goals or interests will be. He might not have any desire to be a business mogul. And, if he does, he may have no affinity for dredging or for building jetties or docks. I don’t want to saddle him with that responsibility.”
Fenton sucked in his breath. “It’s not a responsibility. It’s a gift. If I don’t leave it to Justin, it will just become part of my estate, which will go to the two of you anyway. I prefer to believe your son will keep my business empire going—no, thriving—even if he opts not to take an active part in running it. It’s not just a gift, it’s a favor. In a sense, Fenton Dredging is my only child. I want it to flourish. So please don’t refuse my wishes. Should the time come and should Justin refuse to have any part of my legacy, he can sell it or dissolve it as he sees fit. At least I won’t be alive to know about it.”
Amanda had never heard her uncle speak so fervently or so emotionally. It took her aback.
“All right,” she agreed, studying his face and wondering how many facets of Lyle Fenton existed. “I won’t make that decision for Justin. He can make it himself when he’s old enough to do so. That’s all I can promise you.”
“That’s all I’m asking—and one thing more.”
“Which is?”
“I’d like to see Justin before I leave.”
Amanda stiffened. “He’s in a reverse isolation unit, Uncle Lyle. You know that. No one but a restricted few are permitted in there. Plus, he’s on a ventilator and he has a chest tube. He’s very sick. There are no visitors allowed. Period.”
“I didn’t plan to go inside,” her uncle replied. “I just want to see him through the window.”
“You just saw him the other day.”
“Humor me.” Fenton shifted, casting a quick, uncomfortable glance at the FI team. Their lack of reaction to his presence was starting to unnerve him. Especially Devereaux, who’d rejoined the group a little while ago. Why was he just standing there? The last time they’d been in a room together, the SOB had practically crushed his windpipe. Was it the restraining order? Was it the fact that there were other people around and he couldn’t risk physical violence?
Whatever it was, Fenton wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
“I’m going to be away for a while,” he told his niece. “I’d like to see my great-nephew before I leave.”
A tight knot formed in Amanda’s stomach. “Is this your way of saying goodbye, just in case…” She didn’t finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want any of that negative energy around my son. We’re all thinking positive thoughts.”
“As am I.” Fenton shook his head. “Would I have gone to so much trouble to provide for Justin’s future if I believed we were going to lose him? No. I just need to do this. Call it a solidification of my plans.”
A long pause, during which her gaze darted quickly to Marc, then at the clock on the wall.
Marc got it. Amanda was asking him what to do. Paul was due back. And she didn’t know that precautions had already been taken.
He let her know.
Mouthing the words, “no problem,” he gave her a thumbs-up, indicating that things were fine, that they had the situation covered.
That was the only reassurance Amanda needed.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll walk you down there.” She turned and, staying two steps ahead, led her uncle down the corridor.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Ryan muttered, averting his head. “What next?”
“Hutch is on it,” Marc said simply. “He’s also with Evans, so we have that base covered. As for Fenton, let’s buy Hutch some time.” He glanced at Patrick. “Go to your usual security position. Watching Amanda and Fenton will be your job. Keeping Fenton here will be ours.”
“Are you going to finish what you started at his estate?” Claire inquired. “Because I don’t advise it. There are people around. Assault is a crime, and Fenton already has a restraining order against you.”
A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “Thanks for the concern. But, no, I won’t be beating the shit out of him this time. He’s scared enough of me so I can manipulate him just by getting in his face. As for the restraining order, I doubt it’ll hold much water next to warrants for federal crimes.”
“Scaring him off is not our goal here,” Casey reminded Marc. “Keeping him here is. You can leave that part to me. Once he walks out of that PICU, I’ll keep him occupied and off balance until the Feds show up.”
* * *
Fenton stood at the window for a good five minutes, just staring at Justin.
“You’re his mother,” Fenton finally said to Amanda. “So you see your struggling baby. I’m his great-uncle and a successful businessman. I see the kind of fight that makes a real leader. He’s going to beat this enemy. Winners always do. Percentages and odds mean nothing. Take it from one who knows.”
Amanda didn’t answer. The words of encouragement were nice. The analogy was sickening. Justin was going to be fine. But he’d never be like his great-uncle.
She shifted uneasily, wondering where Paul was and who was ensuring that he and her uncle didn’t run into each other. She couldn’t count on a disguise to protect Paul’s anonymity, not where her uncle was concerned.
Fenton stepped away from the window and glanced down at his watch. “My pilot will be waiting. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. But I’ll be checking in to get updates on Justin’s condition and to see if you’ve found a donor.”
“That’s fine.” Amanda wanted to push him down the corridor and out the door.
When they finally did emerge into the waiting room, Patrick was standing at his post, stony-faced. Marc, Ryan an
d Claire were nowhere to be found, and Casey was sitting and reading a magazine.
She rose as soon as she saw Amanda and Fenton walk out, and headed over to them.
“Hello, Mr. Fenton,” she greeted him coldly. “Did you come to visit Justin? Or to see if Amanda was still in your corner?”
Once again, Casey’s assertive demeanor threw Fenton off balance. He worked in construction, which was still a man’s world. Strong women were not something he often encountered.
And Casey was well aware of that.
Fenton cleared this throat. “It’s none of your business, but I came to see Justin and to talk to Amanda. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” Casey loved seeing the rapid pulse beating at his neck. He might be afraid of Marc physically, but she intimidated the hell out of him mentally. “Did you have information to pass along to her, or were you just on a fishing expedition?”
His eyes glittered. “I’ve made provisions for Justin. Amanda needed to know.”
“My uncle is leaving on a business trip,” Amanda provided, gazing quizzically at Casey. Now was hardly the time for an interrogation. They had to get her uncle out of here before Paul returned.
“Is he really?” Casey’s brows arched. “Where will you be headed, Mr. Fenton?”
“To my various subsidiaries.”
“Hmm. I assume your itinerary is available, should it be needed.”
Red splotches were forming on Fenton’s cheeks. He was livid. And he was starting to feel trapped.
“I don’t really see—”
“Amanda,” Casey interrupted, inclining her head in Amanda’s direction, “make sure you know how to reach your uncle. You’re bound to have good news to share with him. In which case, he’ll want to know immediately, especially given his attachment to Justin. Who knows? Maybe Congressman Mercer will be a donor match.” Her curious gaze flitted back to Fenton. “Or will he be going on this business trip with you?”
“Of course not,” Fenton snapped. “Why would he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he just needs a little getaway.”
“Hardly. His kids are coming home from school. He’ll be with his family.”
“Right. His family.” Casey’s stare bore right through Fenton. “The congressman strikes me as a loyal and devoted husband and father. I’m sure the same applies to him as a son—if his father is deserving.” A purposeful pause. “From what I hear, his father is a tough and demanding man. I’m sure the congressman’s loyalties can only be pushed so far. Don’t you agree?”
Fenton started. Clearly, Mercer hadn’t mentioned to him that Forensic Instincts knew about their blood ties. That was to the congressman’s credit. It meant he’d been sincere when he told FI he’d be keeping his eye on—and his distance from—Fenton’s suspicious activities.
But Casey had just taken care of that omission in grand style. It had to throw Fenton big-time to know that Mercer wasn’t quite the lap dog he’d assumed, and, more important, that Forensic Instincts had uncovered yet another secret of Fenton’s—this one explaining the leverage he used to “encourage” congressional support for Fenton Dredging.
His hostile expression said it all.
“You’re acquainted with Warren Mercer, right?” Casey asked, the vision of innocence. “Although, if I recall correctly, the two of you haven’t spoken in many years.”
“Warren and I lost touch, yes. But Cliff is a fine man, so I’m sure he’s a fine son.” Fenton was trying. But, hostile or not, he was panicking. Casey could see it in every gesture, hear it in every syllable.
Amanda, meanwhile, was staring at Casey as if she’d lost her mind. And Casey could certainly read hers: why the hell was Casey making small talk, however useful, when Paul was about to return to the PICU and run smack into Fenton?
Casey wished she could explain.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to.
The waiting room door opened, and a man and a woman walked in. They didn’t warrant a second look—just average professionals, with a brisk Manhattan stride and everyday business attire.
Except that Casey’s trained eye spotted the pistols clutched subtly at their sides. Even without that giveaway, she’d know they were plainclothes FBI. She’d interacted with the Bureau long enough to recognize the demeanor. All the tells were there—the sense of purpose, the sharp look in their eyes as they sought out and found their target, and their casual yet intense way of closing in.
Fenton had his back to them, so he didn’t react. And Amanda noticed nothing unusual about the pair, so she didn’t react, either—not until she saw Marc, Claire and Ryan clustered in the corridor, standing to the side as a set of three armed plainclothesmen stepped just inside the doorway.
Spotting the M4 rifles, Amanda’s eyes widened, and her whole body tensed.
Casey remained intentionally relaxed, and she didn’t meet Amanda’s gaze. She simply watched the SWAT team position themselves along the periphery of the doorway, their M4 rifles raised.
Fenton saw his niece’s expression and started to turn around.
He didn’t have the chance.
The two agents had raised their pistols into ready gun position, the female agent announcing in a clear, firm voice, “Lyle Fenton. FBI. You’re under arrest for racketeering and corruption.” A moment later, his arms were pulled behind him and handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists.
The male agent then searched him for weapons and contraband.
“This is outrageous,” Fenton snapped, too stunned to struggle. “I want my attorney.” He shot a scathing look at Casey. “You bitch,” he muttered between clenched teeth.
“I’ve been called worse.” Casey gave him a saccharine-sweet smile. “And I’m happy to oblige. Thank you both,” she added, speaking to the FBI agents.
“Our pleasure,” the female agent replied. “We have a car waiting out back with Mr. Fenton’s name on it. Let’s go,” she addressed Fenton, urging him toward the door.
“Amanda…” Fenton opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Don’t talk to me,” Amanda replied in a hard, livid voice that Casey had never before heard her use. “Just go. Justin and I don’t need you or your money. Get out of my sight.”
His jaw working violently, Fenton said nothing more, forcing himself to go quietly with the agents.
“Who are those other armed men?” Amanda asked Casey, pointing to the doorway.
“A plainclothes SWAT team,” Casey supplied. “My guess is there are probably two other teams at choke points, probably at the top of the stairwell and the elevator banks.”
“My God.” Amanda was visibly dazed. “You were purposely stalling my uncle. That’s why you were making small talk. You knew the FBI agents were coming.”
Casey nodded. “I also knew that Agent Hutchinson and Agent Shore were keeping Paul in the lab, so there was no chance of him running into Fenton. As soon as I get a phone call saying the FBI team has left the premises, I’ll have Paul brought upstairs, and the two of you can visit with each other and with Justin.”
Amanda was still trying to absorb what had just happened. “Racketeering? Corruption? Do I even want to know?”
“It’s just as well if you don’t, because you can’t.” Casey was blunt. “The U.S. Attorney’s Office is building a case. Until the facts become public record, the details can’t be discussed. Just accept the fact that your uncle has a lot to answer for. Oh, and I wouldn’t count on that inheritance. I doubt it was obtained legally.”
A disgusted shudder. “I don’t want his dirty money—not for me and not for my son. We’ll do fine without it.”
“I know you will.” Casey paused. “One suggestion. Don’t press Paul too hard. He’s not going to be at liberty to tell you too much. Concentrate on the fact that he loves you, that he lo
ves and wants Justin, and that he’s here to do all he can—and to stay. The details of his assignment are unimportant in comparison.”
Amanda nodded. “I understand. And I agree. I’ll listen to whatever Paul can and chooses to share. And I won’t interrogate him. I’m just so grateful to you for finding him and bringing him home.” Tears clogged Amanda’s voice.
“A few days ago, I told you not to thank us until we found Paul. Now I’m telling you not to thank us until he’s saved Justin.” Casey meant every word she was saying. “Knowing Justin will be well is all the thanks my team and I need.”
EPILOGUE
Winter was clinging on with a vise grip, as March did indeed come in like a lion, showing no signs of relenting. Two weeks into the month, the wind was blowing fiercely, menacing gray clouds hung overhead, and snow was in the forecast.
Bundled up and shivering, the entire Forensic Instincts team hurried into Sloan Kettering and down the hall to the first-floor hospital chapel. They wanted to get there early, to help make the necessary preparations.
They shrugged out of their winter coats, scarves and gloves, and hung them all away, surveying the solemn interfaith chapel and thinking about how many times Amanda had visited this sanctuary over the past three months, praying for her son’s recovery. And about how many times the team itself had been in this hospital.
From the time Amanda had hired them last December, there had been more hours spent here than any of the FI team cared to count—painful hours, emotional hours, tension-filled hours, prayerful hours.
This time it was none of the above.
This time the hours would be joyous.
The whole team, together with others who were near and dear, were gathering together to celebrate two extraordinary events, both of which were long overdue and which no overcast skies could eclipse.
The first would be taking place at nine o’clock this morning.
The exact timing of the second was still under discussion.