The Murder That Never Was

  Good to know that she’d tired him out.

  With that, she reached over to her computer stand and picked up her laptop, simultaneously switching on the nightstand lamp. She propped her back against the headboard and began reading through the reports her team had been inputting on a daily basis.

  It had been a grueling week for them all. They’d been working their butts off as they raced the clock to get a solid lead on this damned PED case. During this time, they hadn’t risked another meeting with their clients; it was simply too dangerous. Casey had no doubt that Lisa’s gym, her apartment, and her excursions were being monitored. Ditto for Miles and Shannon. The three of them were still alive only because they’d done nothing to indicate to the killers that they were a real threat. Bad enough that Shannon had raced halfway across the country to be with “Julie”—an action that Casey was certain had raised a few red flags, not to mention causing a tightening of surveillance. But that wasn’t cause for three messy murders. However, if “Julie” and crew met up with a high-profile investigative team?

  That would be suicide.

  So it was imperative that distance be maintained.

  Ryan had supplied enough burner phones to everyone to keep the lines of communication open between FI and its clients. Since then, he’d been sequestered in his lair, hacking into delicate systems and trying to compile intricate information. Casey could hear an occasional bang, clang, or swear word coming from down there, but she only smiled, knowing that Ryan was working on some contraption that would ultimately help them.

  The key word there was ultimately. Not as soon as Casey wanted.

  For her part, Emma had truly stepped up to the plate. She’d been talking to Lisa and Shannon several times a day, strengthening her bond with Lisa, and creating one with Shannon. Their chats kept Lisa focused and calm, and Shannon diverted and amused. Emma related really well to teenagers—partly because she was a master at endearing herself to people and partly because she was barely out of her teenage years herself. By making herself the emotional go-to, she was allowing the rest of the team to do their jobs without interruption.

  Claire was the most frustrated of the bunch. She’d been spending hours in her yoga room, trying desperately to pick up some helpful energy from Julie’s personal items and, most of all, from Shannon’s stopwatch.

  The watch was cold. Icy cold. That’s all she’d gotten, and that’s all she’d given to Casey.

  But they both knew what that probably meant.

  Seeing Claire’s intensifying frustration, Casey had curbed her own impatience. She knew that Claire had no control over her gift. Sometimes things came quickly, other times not. Unfortunately, this was one of those “not” times.

  Patrick was keeping a watchful, if invisible, eye over their clients.

  And Casey and Marc were strategizing over how to best use their skills to gain buried information out of their clients, given the limitations of phone contact, which made body language impossible to read. Even videoconferencing didn’t convey enough.

  So as of now? They’d basically gained no ground.

  Casey sighed, chewing her lip in irked frustration.

  “Hey.” Hutch’s voice was gravelly with sleep. “I think I’m insulted. A night like last night and you’re awake, working, and irritable?”

  “Hey back, and don’t be insulted.” Casey shut her laptop and set it aside. “I’m irritable a lot these days—other than when you’re casting your sexy spell over me. Our case is spinning in neutral. And you know how impatient I can get.”

  “You? Impatient?” Hutch grinned. “Gee, I’ve never noticed.” His smile faded, and he propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you want to talk about it—even theoretically? Maybe I can toss in a helpful suggestion or two?”

  Casey’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “I’m not sure what I can say, and not just because the case is confidential. Because we’re dealing with a dangerous and volatile situation, and the bad guys aren’t showing enough of their hands for us to play, much less to win.”

  Hutch digested that quietly. “I’ve been there. My suggestion? Sit down with Marc and start from Ground Zero. Lay out the facts and personalities from the beginning. You’ll find a thread that you missed when you were dealing with the case as a whole. And, even if that doesn’t happen, it’ll get your juices flowing. That’ll break through the wall you’re banging your heads against.”

  “Good idea.” Casey couldn’t go into any more detail, so she dropped the subject, instead wriggling over and reaching for Hutch. “Let’s say good morning the right way,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That’ll get my juices flowing, too.”

  A low chuckle vibrated in Hutch’s chest. “Your wish is my command.” He pulled Casey over him, and all thoughts of work were silenced for a while.

  Marc was in before eight. That wasn’t an accident.

  After giving Maddy a quick see-you-later kiss, he’d gratefully left her alone, pausing only to grab an energy bar before he’d hurried out of the duplex.

  So much for making love to his beautiful bride-to-be. He was heading for the gym to lift weights and work off some stress, and then to the office.

  For Maddy’s mother was in town.

  Maddy and Constance weren’t close—in fact, Maddy hadn’t even contacted her during those terrifying months when her life was in danger. But since she’d called to tell Connie she was marrying Marc, her mother had been like a kid in a candy store.

  Maddy and her first husband, Conrad, had been married for several years and hadn’t been the kind of passionate love couple her mother wanted for her daughter. Therefore, all wedding plans had been tepid, at best. But now that she knew Maddy was marrying the love of her life? She was in wedding heaven.

  She was also an early riser, and Maddy had spent the past hour on the phone with her, rolling her eyes and listening to the elaborate floral arrangements her mother had in mind for the reception.

  Marc had listened until he couldn’t take it anymore. Thank heavens Maddy had talked that exclusive wedding planner into coming on board at the last minute, to manage the wedding and Maddy’s mother. A professional like that was worth every penny she got. Let her run the show. All Marc wanted was his ring on Maddy’s finger and hers on his. He wasn’t sure why flowers and table settings seemed to be dominating the process. And he wasn’t hanging around the duplex to find out.

  He’d arrived at the brownstone to hear banging, clattering, and an enthusiastic “Yes!” echoing upstairs from Ryan’s lair. Okay, now his curiosity was piqued. He walked downstairs and knocked.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “Door’s open,” Ryan called back.

  Marc stepped inside and was immediately whacked in the face by a TRX that was anchored to and hanging from the door. He ducked and then grimaced at the clutter that dominated the room.

  All the desk and computer surfaces were filled—printouts scattered all over them. Papers were strewn on the chairs and had overflowed onto the floor, where they remained, untouched. And another TRX was swinging from a post in the back of the lair. Ryan had clearly skipped the gym and done his workout in here.

  Taking up the most space of all were the mechanical gizmo parts thrown everywhere, literally swallowing up the rest of the room.

  “You’re working on something,” Marc said, weaving his way through the clutter to where Ryan was seated on a workbench.

  “Not just something,” Ryan replied. He stopped tinkering with his latest contraption and looked up with a broad grin, holding it up for Marc to admire.

  Marc eyed the thing. It was a ten-inch-long brown cylinder with two wires coming out of it.

  “Meet Otter,” Ryan said.

  “Okay, I give.” Marc took the bait. “What does this new invention do, and why is it called Otter? I don??
?t see any tail, fur, or feet.”

  Ryan gave an exasperated sigh, although he still looked both proud and smug. “Otter is my latest and greatest way to gather intelligence. As for his name, he’s modeled after a North American river otter pup—same size and body build. More importantly, otters are intelligent, highly curious, and handsome animals. We have a lot in common.”

  Rolling his eyes, Marc snorted. “Humble as ever.”

  “Just speaking the truth.”

  “Right. Go on.”

  “Anyway, Otter is brilliant in his intelligence gathering.” Ryan leaned forward in excitement. “Here’s the deal. We plant him in a company that has information we want to find out, especially when we need to sift through large amounts of data contained in a database.”

  “Like a cell phone company.”

  “Exactly.” Ryan pointed at the two wires. “This plug goes into a network connection, and this one goes into an outlet. The key is to find a place behind a desk or cabinet where no one will look. Otter will slowly but surely gather information, encrypt it, and relay it back to Yoda through a zigzag path across the Internet. No one will be able to connect the information leak to us. Amazing, huh?”

  “Wrong, Kemosabe.” It was Marc’s turn. “How did you plan on getting Otter inside the targeted company? I don’t see any legs, wheels, or tank treads.”

  A scowl. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.”

  “Well, you won’t work it out, because it can’t be done. That’s where the skills of a clandestine operative can’t be replaced by an electromechanical contraption. You need human skills to get past security. Human skills to scan the environment for an opportunistic place to locate…uh, Otter.” Marc bit back a smile as he said the name. “Human skills to improvise in real time, making split-second decisions that turn defeat into victory.”

  “I assume you’re referring to yourself?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re not a whole lot humbler than I am,” Ryan pointed out. A gleam came into his eyes. “On the other hand, we do make a great team. We’ve pulled this kind of thing off together more than once.”

  “Sure have.” Marc’s brows drew together in thought. “I take it we’ll have to go to Chicago to plant Otter in the appropriate place?”

  “Yeah, and we can’t fly, not with all this electronic equipment that Homeland Security will not understand.”

  “Then we’ll drive. It should only take about twelve hours.” Marc was already heading for the door. “I’ll run this by Casey. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

  “As soon as the boss says yes.”

  Sitting in lotus position in her living room, eyes closed, Claire cradled Julie’s locket between her palms. Cradling. That was always the word that came to mind when she held this delicate piece of Julie’s past. The locket was a gift from her parents. She’d lost them three years ago in a car crash. A drunken driver had taken them away. She would have given anything to have them back. They’d been a close, loving family. The locket emanated tenderness and sadness. With their deaths, Julie felt very much alone.

  Claire sighed. In some ways, Julie was as lost as Lisa.

  Putting down the locket, Claire picked up a pair of small diamond studs. Again, a birthday gift from Julie’s parents. Julie had worn them now more than ever; she felt closer to them when she did.

  Abruptly, an image flashed through Claire’s mind, and she clutched the earrings more firmly, shut her eyes more tightly. Julie. At the gym. Wearing these. Sitting at her desk. Livid with anger. Claire was inside Julie’s head, feeling her turmoil, knowing its cause. Shannon’s health. The reason for its deterioration. The consequential demise of her hopes and dreams.

  Jim Robbins.

  All Julie’s thoughts converged into one. She wouldn’t let this go. She’d get into the Apex Center. She’d find a way past security. She’d dig up evidence on the son of a bitch, evidence that would get him thrown in jail, where he couldn’t do this again. Maybe he was already doing it with his other trainees. How many of them had he laced with this stuff? Son of a bitch. No one else could suffer like Shannon.

  Poor Shannon. Poor Shannon. Poor Shannon…

  Claire felt tears seep from beneath her closed eyelids, trickle down her cheeks. The emotions were intense—rage at Jim, compassion and protectiveness for Shannon.

  A modern building with several stories and large rooms of sophisticated equipment.

  The Apex Center.

  Claire could see it, walk inside it.

  Quickly, she snatched up another of Julie’s possessions, this time one that was all business. Her wallet. She’d had it on her when she’d gone to the Apex Center.

  She was inside the building. Claire could sense her presence. Closeted in Jim Robbins’ office. Rifling through his files. Finding papers of some kind—papers incriminating enough for her to make copies. She took them. She had them with her in a bag. Hurry home. Hurry home.

  Flashes of activity. A car. A tattooed man. A gun. Oh, God—the searing pain in her head as the bullet penetrated her skull. Life oozing out of her body. Pain. Blinding pain. Blackness. The coldness of death.

  Claire’s eyes flew open. She was gasping for air. Her entire body was in a cold sweat, and she was shaking uncontrollably.

  She could still see the scene playing out. The tattooed man snatched up the bag of papers. The killers drove off as rapidly as they’d arrived.

  Russian. That realization came to Claire in a flash of insight. They were Russian.

  She couldn’t see the shooter clearly, not yet. Nor could she make out his tattoos to the point where she could draw them.

  But she wasn’t letting go of this wallet until she could give Casey descriptions of both.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It had been only a few hours since they’d left New York, but Marc and Ryan were like two little boys as they fought over which radio station to play. Marc preferred classic rock like Whitesnake. Ryan preferred hard rock like Nickelback. If SiriusXM were tracking their station changes, the company would be afraid the satellite signal would crash, and they’d automatically terminate the account.

  “I’m the one at the wheel; I should have final say,” Marc pointed out.

  “Well, I’m the one doing the technical research…” Ryan held up his laptop. “So I need the right inspiration.”

  “Fine.” Marc turned the dial once more and was happy to hear Bon Jovi playing. “Good compromise?”

  “I can live with it. On a prayer.” Ryan grinned at his own cleverness.

  Marc rolled his eyes. “Done.” Happy to be finished with this bullshit battle, he turned the radio down a notch and switched his attention to the mission ahead of them.

  “I’m clear on my role once we get to Chicago, but how is Otter supposed to tell us the necessary information about cell phone calls?”

  “So glad you asked,” Ryan replied. “As you know, Shannon was able to provide me with Jim’s cell phone number. I checked. Jim used U.S. Cellular for cell phone service. I was able to grab the last month of cell phone records before their intrusion detection systems shut me down. From there, I found a few phone numbers of interest. Some of them were to other trainers in the area. Those guys generally had regular cell phones. Maybe they were friends, colleagues, or maybe they were drug dealers like Jim. That’s part of what your investigative skills will need to determine when we interview them. But one number in particular kept popping up—and with greater frequency right before Julie was murdered. I traced the number to a TracPhone. Nontechnical types and some senior citizens prefer TracPhones, but a disposable cell phone—a burner phone—is the communication tool of choice for criminals. Phones are purchased with cash and tossed when the minutes run out.”

  “Boy Genius, I was with the FBI, remember? I know what a burner phone is a
nd how it’s purchased. In fact, I’m pretty sure everyone who watches TV crime shows knows that.”

  “Sorry.” Ryan had the decency to look sheepish.

  “Forget it. Let’s get back to your analysis. So Jim called his distributor’s TracPhone. How are we going to find out who this guy is?”

  “Otter.”

  Once again, Marc rolled his eyes. “So Otter is clairvoyant like your girlfriend?”

  Ryan shot him an irritated look. “Careful with your choice of words. Claire and I are…well, Claire and I. No label’s been assigned to it.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Go on.”

  “Otter’s not psychic, just curious.” Ryan stopped talking to glance out the window, his attention temporarily focused elsewhere. “Before I give you more than you can absorb in one shot, I need an Egg McMuffin and a large cup of coffee. Pull off at the next exit. The golden arches I just saw made me hungry.”

  “No health food today?”

  “Not unless you know of a health food restaurant right off the highway with a drive-through window. I’ll have to make do.” A grin. “Plus, your body needs an Egg McMuffin every once in a while.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm. I’m starving. And I need some coffee, too.” Marc pulled into the right-hand lane, cruising until the exit ramp appeared and those familiar golden arches rose through the trees, beckoning hungry travelers.

  They zipped through the drive-through, grabbing their food and getting right back on the road, this time with Ryan at the wheel. He was the king of eating, talking, and driving, all at the same time.

  “To continue. Otter will navigate the digital rivers of Verizon’s Chicago network operations center, which TracPhone uses to handle its customers’ calls. He’ll find every cell tower that was ever involved in handling a call to or from that TracPhone number and send all the detailed information stealthily back to Yoda. Yoda will align the cell phone call information with cell tower log files using time stamps recorded down to microseconds.”