The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel

by Andrea Kane

  “That’s kind of what I am. But I’m one of the good guys. You have my word on that.”

  Shannon studied her, clearly not sure what to think. But Emma’s Alice in Wonderland appearance had a way of doing the trick.

  “Okay,” the girl said. “I’ll eat. And I’ll listen.” She rose. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

  “Of course.” Lisa gestured toward it, fully aware that the tiny window in there wouldn’t provide access for escape. “And Milo will put your backpack in your room. Then we’ll eat and talk.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Once alone, Lisa and Milo exchanged a worried look and then turned to Emma.

  “What do you think?” Lisa whispered.

  “You did great,” Emma replied. “She’s on the fence, but she’s not running. Let’s take that as a positive and move on from here.” Emma gestured for Milo to move away from the door. Then she headed for the kitchen. “I’ll help you serve. Miles, you set the table. I don’t want Shannon to think you’re standing guard. Patrick is ready for action if he’s needed. You both need to take it down a notch and relax. It’s the only way to get Shannon to relax.”

  “Easier said than done,” Lisa muttered, following Emma into the kitchen. She pulled on some mitts, opened the oven, and slid out a large Pyrex dish. “Put out four plates and four sets of silverware,” she instructed Milo. “Tonight we’re going to eat like human beings—on a table, not the sofa.” A quick gesture toward the small table in the equally small dining area. “There are even paper napkins and glasses, all ready for you to arrange.”

  “Wow. Martha Stewart.” Milo gave an appreciative sniff. “I don’t get it. You were never into cooking, except for your famous meatballs.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Lisa replied, setting the dish on a coaster. “I follow recipes well. And the Internet’s full of them. You’re getting lemon chicken, rice pilaf, and a small Greek salad. Pretty good, huh?”

  “I’ll let you know after I taste it.”

  Lisa stuck her tongue out at him, feeling a great deal more relaxed by the normalcy it elicited. Between that and Emma’s presence, she was beginning to think she could pull this off. She felt even more relaxed when Shannon reappeared in the kitchen entranceway, the tears washed off her face, her hair brushed and retied, and her expression wary but not terrified.

  It was a huge step.

  “Let’s eat.” Lisa gestured for Shannon to join Emma and Milo in the dining area. “I’m sure you’ve never touched a drop of soda, so I put a pitcher of water with lemon on the table. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Shannon hovered by the table, torn between sitting down and helping Milo arrange things.

  “Sit,” Lisa instructed her. “Dinner’s all ready. So there’s nothing to do but eat.”

  “And talk,” Shannon added.

  “Of course. And talk,” Emma assured her.

  Lisa started carrying in food, intent on making Shannon feel okay in their company. “I hope you like chicken.”

  Another tentative nod, almost as if Shannon were suddenly realizing how hungry she was.

  “I didn’t think I’d be able to eat,” she murmured.

  “Well, you can, and you have to.” Lisa used a spatula to place a boneless chicken breast on Shannon’s plate, after which she drizzled some lemon sauce over the top. “You, of all people, know how important it is to take care of your health and your body.”

  The girl lowered her gaze.

  “I know you can’t compete anymore, Shannon,” Lisa said softly. “And I know what it feels like to have your whole life ripped out from under you. But you will have a future—maybe a different one than you expected, but a happy future just the same.”

  Swallowing hard, Shannon said, “That’s what Julie told me.”

  “She was right. But first we have to get you—and us—out of this nightmare we just found ourselves in.” Lisa finished serving the food, and they all sat down around the table. “Now let’s eat and we’ll all fill you in on what we know.”

  Bensonhurt, Brooklyn, New York City

  Hutch carried the last of his boxes into Marc’s—now his—second-floor apartment. The place was great: high ceilings, lots of windows, two bedrooms, an updated kitchen, a spacious living and dining room, which opened to a huge private deck. Not only that, the apartment was in move-in condition, thanks to Marc leaving all his furniture and to being former military all the way—fastidiously neat. There wasn’t even a damned scuff mark on the gleaming brown-and-tan tile floor.

  “This place looks even more meticulous than I remember,” Hutch commented, looking around. “I never understood how Marc managed to live in an apartment for years without leaving so much as a scratch on the walls.”

  “Me, either. But that’s Marc—a SEAL to the core.” Casey used a box cutter to slice open some boxes and, seeing what they contained, she carried them into the master bedroom. “All clothes,” she called out. “I’ll do these. You can do the kitchen stuff.”

  “How about we forget both and do the sheets?” Hutch called back, a suggestive note in his voice. “I can think of all kinds of ways to put them to good use.”

  “Can you?” Casey stood in the doorway, arms folded across her breasts, regarding him with a coy expression she rarely wore but found herself liking. In fact, she liked everything about Hutch’s move to NYC. “So can I. But work comes before play. Besides, heightened anticipation is exciting.”

  “Heightened anticipation?” Hutch’s brows shot up. “We’ve spent two years going months at a time without seeing each other. I’ve taken more cold showers than I can count. How about some throw-you-on-the-bed, impulsive sex for a change?”

  The image made Casey draw in a breath. Refusing Hutch’s offer was definitely costing her. All she wanted to do was to drag him into that bed, welcome him to NYC, and not come up for air for two weeks. But this easy banter, where time was on their side, was new, and it was fun. It was bringing out a playful side of her she never knew she had.

  Not to mention, she knew they wouldn’t be alone for long.

  She gave Hutch a mouth-watering look. “Nope. I want to see those hot muscles of yours at work—and, after you’ve lifted and emptied all those boxes, to make sure your stamina hasn’t lost its mojo.”

  “My stamina is going to ensure you pay for making me wait, Ms. Woods.” Hutch gave her a very sexy, very pointed look before he returned to his tasks. “I doubt you’ll be able to make it to work tomorrow.”

  “I doubt I’ll want to.”

  Their exchange was interrupted when the buzzer from downstairs sounded.

  “Don’t look so crestfallen,” Casey said, going over to find out who it was. “There’s another perk to waiting until we have all night. Leisurely diversity. I just took a quick peek, and there’s a huge stall shower and a sunken tub in that awesome master bathroom. So think about that while you’re unpacking. I promise to make waiting worth your while.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Please do.” Pressing the intercom button, Casey asked, “Yes?”

  “It’s the welcoming committee,” Marc responded. “Maddy and I brought a bottle of wine, dessert from the best bakery in Brooklyn—plus two extra pairs of hands to unpack.”

  “Now that’s an offer we can’t refuse.” Casey buzzed them up immediately.

  Two minutes later, Hutch opened the door to Marc and his fiancée, Madeline Westfield—a lovely, dark-haired, totally put-together class act. The Marc who stood by her side was a completely different Marc than the one who showed up at FI every day. This was head-over-heels-in-love Marc, who kept a possessive arm looped around Maddy’s waist, even as he handed over a large box of pastries.

  “Just inhale them,” Maddy said. “Marc was practically drooling from the minute we parked—which was a full block down on Eighteenth Avenue.” She smiled up at him, and it was obvious that the head-over-heels thing was reciprocated. The two of them had w
aited ten years to be together, and, now that it had finally happened, they weren’t about to take it for granted.

  “They’re worth drooling over,” Marc informed Casey and Hutch. “Villabate has been here in Brooklyn for over three decades. They make Sicilian bread, cakes, cookies, pastries—you name it—that bring crowds of people in there to stand in line.”

  “It really is like Disney World in there,” Maddy agreed. “The artistry of their creations.” She gestured toward the box. “We bought a variety, from cannoli to chocolate mousse to cream puffs—and a few others I can’t even pronounce but love to eat—and a bottle of Chianti to go with them.” She handed Casey the bottle of wine. “So let’s get to it.”

  She slipped out of her jacket, sizing up the amount of work to be done. She was very familiar with Marc’s apartment, so she glanced down the hall toward the bedroom.

  “Oh, good. You organized which boxes go where. That’ll make it easy. Hutch, you and Casey can do the bedrooms and master bath, and Marc and I will do the kitchen and the powder room.” Her forehead creased in thought. “Do you have any paintings you want hung? Marc is a pro at that.”

  Hutch scanned the walls ruefully. “I made this move and transfer happen fast, so I’m severely lacking in personal touches. Plus, interior decorating is definitely not my forte.”

  “Well, it is mine.” Maddy was an ER nurse, but she also had an uncanny eye for design. “I’d be happy to pick out some things for you. Casey knows your taste. We can do it together.”

  “Done,” Casey said.

  “Great, thanks.” Hutch gazed from one of them to the other. “Who opts for dessert first and unpacking second?”

  Four hands went up.

  “I’ll get the plastic plates and cups,” Casey said, heading for the kitchen. “We’ll have great friends, great food, and mediocre place settings. Sounds like the perfect compromise to me.”

  The buzzer sounded again.

  “We’re very popular tonight,” Hutch said, walking over and pressing the intercom. “Who else is coming to our rescue?” he teased.

  “We are.” It was Claire’s voice at the other end, followed by Ryan calling out, “It depends on why you need rescuing. Should we go away?”

  Hutch began to laugh. “No, Mr. One-Track-Mind. Come on up. Marc and Maddy are here.”

  “So are we.” This time it was Patrick’s voice coming through the intercom. “And Adele cooked all day, so we’ll be stocking your fridge.”

  “I’m not going away no matter what you’re doing,” Emma chimed in. “I brought flowers and homemade banana bread.”

  Hutch blinked, although he was clearly touched. “Come on up and join the party,” he said.

  The entire team—plus Patrick’s charming wife, Adele, trudged in, carrying everything a newly moved-in person could want. Ryan even brought a leashed-up Hero, together with toys to keep him busy.

  Hero had spent many a night in this apartment with Marc, so, the instant he was unleashed, he found his favorite spot near the kitchen and plunked down.

  “Hero might not be working, but we are.” Adele walked over and gave Hutch a peck on the cheek. “Welcome. I made all your favorite meals, as per Casey’s list.”

  Hutch shot Casey a quick look. So this was why she’d put off their own private welcome. She knew they’d be having visitors.

  Casey smiled at him from the kitchen and then went back to work. She arranged the mouthwatering pastries on a big plastic serving plate and gathered up a small box of plastic plates, utensils, and glasses. Stopping only to scoop up some napkins, she returned to the living room, where everyone had congregated—all except Adele, who passed Casey on her way to the kitchen as she hurried to stock Hutch’s fridge.

  “Don’t be long, Adele,” Casey called back over her shoulder. “Or I’m afraid the crowd will have devoured your share of the pastries.”

  “Not to worry,” Patrick assured his wife. “I won’t let them.”

  With that, everybody got up, taking things from Casey and setting up the coffee table for a celebratory dessert. Emma went into the kitchen to assist Adele so that she could more swiftly join in the fun. And, in no time at all, everyone was toasting Hutch’s arrival, ooh-ing and aah-ing as they dived into the Villabate pastries.

  They were well sated, and busily unpacking boxes, when Marc’s cell phone rang.

  He glanced at it. “Work,” he said, setting down the pots and pans he was holding, and striding off to the smaller bedroom for some privacy.

  Ryan, who’d been in the living room programing Hutch’s TV, walked out and shot Casey a quizzical look. “Anything I should know?”

  “I’m not sure.” Casey, too, had left her unpacking to exit the master bedroom and gaze into the second bedroom, watching Marc. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to interpret Marc’s body language. Marc wasn’t an easy read. But whatever he was discussing, it was intense.

  A few minutes later, he hung up, stepping out into the hallway—where, by this time, the entire FI team was waiting for him—and giving Casey a triumphant look. A look she knew and appreciated only too well.

  “That was my buddy at Midtown North,” he told her. “You can call Mr. Worster and tell him he’s safe. Turns out that Ryan—and Yoda—were right. Number one suspect, Lee Jarvis, is our man. The cops followed up on the anonymous tip they received. They entered the scumbag’s apartment and confiscated his computer. Sure enough, they found all the threatening emails that Jarvis sent to Worster, which he sent through a proxy server.”

  “Which is why I couldn’t track his IP address,” Ryan said with a nod.

  “Exactly. And talk about a disgruntled investor. Jarvis thinks Worster screwed him out of millions, so he planned on tormenting and then killing him. Nice.”

  “So Jarvis has been arrested? He’s at Midtown North now?” Casey asked.

  “Being booked as we speak.” Marc nodded. “The detectives are calling Worster now, but I’m sure he’d rather hear from us.”

  “Agreed.” Casey rose. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  Hutch eyed the group as Casey walked away, cell phone in hand. “And what was the tip that this anonymous caller provided?” he asked. While he might not know the details of the case, he did know FI.

  Marc shrugged. “Something about a home office full of slashed photos of Mr. Worster. And an unregistered gun, which was apparently just sitting out on our suspect’s desk.”

  “And who would have the access needed to supply this timely anonymous tip?”

  “The ‘who’ is a mystery. That’s why they call it anonymous,” Marc replied dryly. “My money is on the maid. She works there six days a week.”

  “The maid.”

  “Yup.”

  “Right. And the convenient timing of this incriminating and oh-so-visible evidence that elicited the anonymous tip—do I want to know your ideas on how it got there?”

  Marc took a deep swallow of Chianti. “Nope.”

  Hutch rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think so.” He was no stranger to the unorthodox methods of this amazing team. Still, he was a federal agent. He couldn’t know about illegal activities, no matter how altruistic. So the Forensic Instincts team did their best not to put him in any untenable positions, and Hutch did his best to not ask questions he didn’t want the answers to.

  Although they all knew he’d walked the finest of lines in the past, especially when it came to Casey’s safety.

  “This is excellent news,” Ryan declared. With great enthusiasm, he refilled his glass. “Now we’ll be able to put all our resources into our new case.” He glanced from Adele to Hutch. “Sorry, I can’t talk about it, because it’s ongoing. But it’s a really interesting one.”

  Hutch pursed his lips, glancing into the kitchen in time to see Casey punch off her phone.

  “Well, since we can’t talk about your new case, and since we’ve worked up a sweat from unpacking and pretty much polished off every speck
of food on this table, not to mention an extra bottle of wine courtesy of Claire and Ryan, I’m thinking we should call it a night.” He rose. “I can’t thank you enough for the welcome, the food, and the help.”

  “Aren’t you subtle?” Ryan muttered. “I just poured myself another glass of Chianti. Can I at least drink that?”

  “Take it on the road,” Claire said. “Let’s let Casey and Hutch have some privacy.”

  Everyone hastily stood up, tossing their plates and utensils into a giant trash bag and gathering up their things.

  “We really thank you guys,” Casey said, returning to the living room. “Sorry for Hutch’s bluntness. I think he’s exhausted from the long drive and the whole settling in thing.”

  “Tired, my ass,” Ryan commented wryly. “He looks like a hungry wolf about to pounce on you and—”

  “Good night, Ryan,” Casey interrupted him. “You know the way out.” She glanced over her shoulder at Hero, who was snoring in his favorite spot. “Hero can spend the night here, since that’s where I’ll be.” She yawned—a yawn that was about as convincing as a criminal’s not guilty plea. “I guess I’m pretty beat, too.”

  Adele began to laugh. “Shoo, everyone. Casey and Hutch want to share some intimacy.” Her eyes twinkled as they met Casey’s. “I may be sixty, but sixty is the new thirty. I know when it’s time to let a couple have their space.”

  With that, she scooted everyone out the door, then slipped her arm through Patrick’s and followed suit. She turned to give Casey a quick wink.

  Casey grinned. “See you all tomorrow, and thanks again,” she called after them.

  Having locked the door, she turned to find Hutch shrugging off his shirt. “Payoff time, Ms. Woods,” he said in a low, sexy tone. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get into that bed. It’s ready and waiting—I made it myself.”

  With a soft laugh, Casey scooted past him into the bedroom, pulling her sweater over her head and tossing it out into the hall. “Make that twenty seconds, Agent Hutchinson.”