“I was a big part of the last investigation,” Emma reminded Casey, referring to the near murder of Madeline Westfield, Marc’s incredible fiancée.
“Yes, you were,” Casey agreed. “But this time you’re getting a turn at the driver’s seat. So shift cautiously.”
Emma knew what that meant. She was getting her first chance to prove herself as a full-fledged team member. She’d better not blow it.
The front doorbell sounded.
“We’re on,” Claire said, disconnecting the line. She walked to the front door, punched in the security code, and opened it.
She recognized Miles and Lisa from the photos Ryan had showed her.
So did Yoda. But that didn’t stop him.
“Miles Parker and Lisa Barnes, who currently goes by the name of Julie Forman, have arrived,” he announced.
“Thank you, Yoda.” Claire kept her smile in place, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at how very Ryan Yoda was. She extended her hand, first to Lisa and then to Miles. “Hi. I’m Claire Hedgleigh. Welcome to Forensic Instincts.”
Miles was looking around as he met her handshake. “Hi. Great AI system. Yoda. Great name, too. I’m guessing Ryan designed it.”
“He did,” Claire replied. “And we’ve come to believe that Yoda is human and omniscient.”
“Nice combo.”
Claire turned to Lisa, who shook Claire’s hand but who looked completely out of her league—and a hell of a lot more like Julie Forman than she’d looked in her original photo.
“Are you all right?” Claire asked gently, seeing—and sensing—the fear and uncertainty emanating from the poor young woman.
“Not really.” Lisa was blunt. “I’m not sure we should be here. I’m not sure we can trust you. But Milo feels otherwise. And I do trust him. So we’re here.”
“Fair enough.” Claire pressed the intercom button that connected with the lair. “Ryan? Our clients are here.”
“I’m on my way up,” he replied.
Claire gestured toward the stairs leading to the second floor, where all the conference rooms were located. “The team is all gathered together. We’ve got coffee, tea, and water inside. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, that’s good,” Lisa said. Again, she looked nervously around. “The whole team? Shouldn’t we just talk to Ryan?”
It didn’t take a psychic to sense Lisa’s trepidation. She wasn’t being dismissive; she was being self-protective.
“We always work as a full team,” Claire explained. “We’re most effective that way. But not to worry. There are only six of us, seven counting Yoda. With the exception of him, we’re all nice, regular people.” A smile. “We won’t overwhelm you, I promise.”
“You’re far from regular people, from what I’ve read.” Miles was as blunt as Lisa. He took his friend’s arm and urged her to the stairs. “But I know how you work. Your method is fine with us—as long as you’re working with us.”
They reached the landing just as Ryan bounded up the stairs and joined them.
“I’m glad you decided to take us up on our offer,” he said. “Let’s go inside and have a seat.”
He and Claire showed them into the conference room that was diagonally across from their main conference room. It was more compact, and the decorum was completely different. This room was more eye-popping—done in sharp blacks, whites, and reds. In contrast to the more traditional main conference room, this room was very contemporary, and, at the same time, very appealing. The table was black oak, the chairs were red leather, and the walls were white with thin red and black lines running horizontally across where the wall right-angled with the ceiling. A combination of classy and trendy—perfect for certain clients, including the ones who’d just walked in.
Sure enough, Lisa eyed the room and said, “Nice. Whoever designed it has good taste.”
“That would be me, and thanks.” Casey stood, extending her hand to each of them. “I’m Casey Woods. Ryan’s told me a lot about you and your situation. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
“Ah, the boss lady.” Milo shook her hand. “Your credentials are impressive, but you won’t need to read my body language. I say everything I think.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Casey replied. “That’s a refreshing trait.” She indicated the team members seated at the table. “You’ve already met most of us—Ryan, Marc, Claire, and now me.”
“And Yoda,” Milo added. He shot Ryan an appreciative look. “Very cool. Well done.”
Ryan shot off a salute. “I aim to please.”
“This is Patrick Lynch,” Casey introduced, waiting as Patrick shook hands with each of them. “The magnificent bloodhound lying over there and staring at you is Hero. And over here is the team member who’s responsible for getting you here—Emma Stirling.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emma’s head shot up. Casey was giving her full credit and opening the door for her to lead the way. Emma couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her down.
Composure in place, Emma rose to shake their hands. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “I know we can help you.”
Miles and Lisa both looked puzzled by this turn of events and taken aback by Casey’s announcement.
“I thought Ryan was our ticket in,” Milo stated bluntly.
“Nope.” Ryan shook his head. “I was second on board with this case. Emma zeroed in on you, did all the initial research, and brought the case to me—to us. She’s a very tenacious and loyal investigator. You’re very lucky; she came to your rescue before you even knew you needed rescuing.”
“You lost us,” Lisa said.
“Not completely,” Milo corrected her. “I did a background check on each of you. Emma’s past bore a striking similarity to ours, Lis. Foster care and all.”
“Oh.” Lisa was clearly surprised.
“I’ll fill in the blanks,” Emma offered. “Let’s all sit.” She paused, then figured what the hell. She didn’t have to be a receptionist to be cordial. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”
“We’re fine.” Lisa was already settling herself at the conference table, sitting next to Emma and directly across from Ryan and leaving the empty seat beside her for Milo.
Once they were seated, Emma explained everything, touching briefly on her own previous life but concentrating mostly on how she’d stayed connected to Chicago, and how, as a result, she’d found Lisa’s obit.
“The rest was obsessive on my part,” she said in her endearingly shoot-from-the-hip manner. “I was so pissed that Lisa Barnes was being dismissed like a strung-out junkie because of a juvie record and a life in foster care that I couldn’t leave it alone. I didn’t know about Miles—all the detailed discovery was on Ryan’s part—but I knew that Lisa deserved better than what she got. I had so many questions, and I felt such a strong connection to her—to you,” she amended, addressing Lisa, “that I couldn’t let it go. Thankfully, my team is exactly that—a team. They all jumped in to help me. Which is how Ryan found the connection between ScoobyDoo and Miles, and between Miles and Lisa. When he and Marc visited you in Upper Montclair, they saw you were freaked out and in trouble.”
“Wow,” Lisa said. “That’s nothing like the story I was expecting to hear. We thought you were working for whoever’s after us. And all along this was happening because you felt like we were kindred spirits.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“A lot has happened since we saw you, and before we saw you,” Milo told Ryan and Marc. “But I want you to sign a confidentiality agreement. And we’ll sign whatever contract you need us to.”
“They’ve been prepared.” Casey slid several sheets of paper across the table. “Ours are already signed. The contract is waiting for your signature.”
Milo too
k the pages and scanned them, passing them to Lisa. “Just so you know, this whole situation found us. We’re innocent of any wrongdoing.”
“That’s not quite true,” Marc said. “You’re guilty of identity theft. But we’re not the police. So that information stays in this room.”
“I appreciate that,” Lisa said, signing the documents and passing them back to Milo. “And, for the record, the identity swapping was completely spontaneous and all me. Milo wasn’t involved. I saw Julie Forman shot dead. Given some of the things I’ve done—”
“Your drug running,” Ryan supplied.
A brief pause. “Yes. Anyway, I assumed it was my past coming back to haunt me. So I was desperate to have the people I’d worked for think I was dead. I took Julie’s wallet and cell phone, and planted mine on her. I was too freaked out to function. I ran to Milo.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I always have and I always do.”
“And Miles did the rest,” Emma murmured. “He cleaned up after you and created new identities and new lives for you.”
“Exactly.”
“How did you meet Julie Forman? You were obviously close if you were living in her apartment.”
“Not at all. We only knew each other for a week.” Lisa went on to explain Julie’s part in getting her a job at the gym and giving her a temporary place to live. “Our resemblance to each other was a fluke.”
“So you think the cartel figured out the truth and they’re now after you?” Patrick asked.
“That’s what we thought at first,” Milo replied, sliding the fully-executed agreements across the table to Casey. “And it’s still possible. But there’s a hell of a lot more going on here than we knew. We walked right into a completely separate but potentially explosive situation.”
“Which is?” Casey asked.
Milo hesitated. He glanced at Lisa, seeking her permission to fully confide in the Forensic Instincts team. “I trust them, Lis,” he stated frankly. “But you have to also.”
Lisa chewed her lip and then nodded. “Emma sealed the deal. Knowing who set the wheels in motion—and why—convinces me that she and her team are in our corner. So, yes, I trust them. Go ahead.”
Emma was practically glowing. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll come through for you, I promise.”
“I believe you.”
With that, Milo told the team everything, from the private messages sent by Shannon—including the audio tape she’d attached of her argument with Jim Robbins—to her impending runaway trip to Upper Montclair, to their visit from the Montclair police.
“Now we’re leaning toward the fact that it really was Julie they wanted to kill, not Lisa,” Miles concluded.
Casey leaned forward. “Let’s dismiss the audio tape. From what you’ve told us, there’s nothing solidly incriminating on it. Lisa, tell us what you remember about the shooting. You obviously were up close at some point if you swapped IDs with Julie. Did you see her approaching the apartment? Did you see the vehicle or its occupants? Anything you can remember could help.”
Lisa dragged nervous hands through her hair and stared down at the table. “I haven’t wanted to relive that day, that moment. It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Try. You’re in a safe place now.”
Swallowing, Lisa forced the memories to resurface. “I was sitting outside on the front steps of the apartment. I saw Julie coming. But she wasn’t herself. She was furious, shaking, striding to the apartment like she was about to punch someone. I remember that, because I was scared to death that she’d found out about my past. She was gripping a bag and her purse. In a nanosecond, a dark car came speeding down the street and right up to her. The passenger door opened, and a big, creepy guy with tattoos on his arms got out. He was holding a gun. Before Julie even had time to react, he put two bullets straight into her head.”
“Two gunshots and no one came running?”
“I guess he used a silencer. He had to, because the shots were like muffled pops. Julie crumpled. Everything in her purse flew out. Blood was splattered everywhere. The guy jumped back into the car, and they took off.”
“You’re sure no one else was around?”
“Very sure.” Lisa’s eyes were damp. “I double-checked before I ran to the body. There was blood pooling all around her head. She wasn’t breathing. I checked her pulse. I had to make sure…but she was dead. That’s when I took what I needed from the stuff that had been in her purse—her wallet, her cell phone, her keys, her checkbook—anything tied to her identity. I planted my ID on her body and bolted.”
“Did you take the bag?” Marc asked.
Lisa blinked, processing his question.
“You just said she was gripping a bag,” he reminded her in a quiet tone that pressed her just enough to get answers without flipping her out. “It must have fallen out of her arms. Did anything spill out? Did you do a quick check to see if there was anything in it you should have? Did you take it? Leave it?”
Prodded into remembering, Lisa shook her head from side to side. “It wasn’t there.” She paused. “The guy who shot her took it.”
“So you have no idea what was in it?”
“No.”
“Which is probably why you’re still alive,” Marc said. “They figured that nobody else knew anything.”
“I didn’t—not then.”
“Okay,” Ryan interrupted. “So Julie must have, unfortunately, walked into a situation involving a dangerous PED distribution ring—the one that that young gymnast, Shannon Barker, was PMing you about.”
As Ryan spoke, he was already thinking about the next steps he had to take. “Yoda,” he said. “Do a cursory search on Shannon Barker and Jim Robbins…”
“Yoda doesn’t need to waste his time,” Milo interrupted. “I’ve done an in-depth search on both Shannon and Robbins, as well as on the Apex Olympic Gymnastic Center, where Shannon trained, and on Yuri Varennikov, who was Shannon’s manager.” Milo pulled out his laptop, flipped it open, and turned it on. While it booted up, he glanced quickly at Ryan’s business card to verify his email address. “I’ll send you everything I have right now.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Should I cc Yoda?”
“Was that humor, Ryan?” Yoda inquired. “Or is a response in order?”
“It was humor, Yoda,” Ryan replied. “Not to worry. I’ve got this.” He frowned thoughtfully as Milo began to email material to him. “You hit a brick wall so far on who Robbins could have been working for?”
Milo nodded. “But, like you and Marc said, whoever it is, Julie must have found out more than she should have.”
“Agreed.” Ryan was still frowning. “But how did Julie get involved in the first place? For Shannon?”
“Her actions were a part of who she was.” Claire had that faraway look in her eyes. “Julie Forman was a nurturer. She took Lisa in and got her a job, and Lisa is a grown woman. Shannon, on the other hand, is a teenager and one of Julie’s charges. Julie felt committed to finding out the full scope of who was responsible for harming Shannon—and to doing something to stop them.”
“All of which spells trouble,” Marc said, rolling his coffee mug between his palms. “Julie must have found some paper trail—physical evidence that was in that bag she was carrying. The big guns had to get that bag and shut Julie up before she had a chance to share what she’d found with anyone else.”
“Where do the Montclair police fit in?” Lisa asked, her palms upturned in question. “Why did they show up at my door? Do they really think I’m a murderer? And who tipped them off to me? I can’t imagine it was Shannon—that doesn’t fit.”
Ryan shook his head. “Shannon’s all about being under Julie’s protective wing. She’s her only ally. The last thing she’d want is to turn her over to the cops. No, the police were just doing their job.
I hacked into the Chicago Police Department records, specifically to read the Lisa Barnes homicide file. It was being kept open pending finding Julie Forman and eliminating her as a suspect or a witness. My guess is that they found out where Julie was and asked the Montclair police to pay her a visit. Their energy on this seems pretty low, so I’m guessing they’re not really investigating hard-core.”
“We’ll coach you on what to say if they show up again,” Marc added. “But I agree with Ryan. I think they’ll give Chicago their report, and they’ll all call it a day.”
“Of course,” Emma muttered. “Why bother with a thorough investigation of a piece of trash like Lisa Barnes?”
“Hey, kid, don’t knock it,” Ryan said. “I know how passionate about this you are, but the best thing for Lisa is if the cops go away. There’s enough of a tangled web here for us to sort out, and enough enemies we have to find and expose.”
Casey rose and poured herself another cup of coffee. “Let’s get to your next hurdle,” she said to Lisa and Milo. “Shannon Barker. She’s showing up on your doorstep tomorrow. She’s going to see that you’re not Julie. She’s going to have a million questions and be completely freaked out. We need to coach you on how to handle her so that you keep her contained and on your side. It’s more than doable; you just need the right method to do it. That’s where I come in.”
Milo nodded. “I guess I was wrong. I do need a behavioral specialist, maybe not to read my body language but to teach me how to read somebody else’s.”
“This isn’t just about body language,” Casey corrected. “You’re going to have to guide her in her thinking, as well as her actions.”
“I wish we knew more about Julie’s thought process when she was killed—what she found, what she planned on doing with it—things like that. It would help a lot in handling Shannon’s insecurities. As it is, we’re kind of shooting blind,” Milo said.
“That’s where I come in,” Claire responded. “Hopefully, I can give you some of those answers so you know more about what you’re dealing with. How many of Julie Forman’s personal items do you have? And I don’t mean her ID, cell phone, and computer. That’s the tech stuff, Ryan’s department. I mean truly personal items—clothing, family photos, jewelry, even her perfume. Those are the tools I need.”