The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts)

by Andrea Kane

  “Are you back in the office?” she asked.

  “Nope. In the car. Why?”

  Instead of an answer, Claire asked another question. “In the car—where?”

  “On the way back to the city with Marc.” He sounded more attentive now. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m also not sure why I called you about it. But would it be possible for Marc to drop you off at my place?”

  “Now that sounds intriguing.” The familiar teasing note was back in his voice.

  “It is. But not for the reasons you mean.” Claire didn’t banter back the way she normally would. She was too preoccupied.

  A slight pause. “Sure. We’re almost home anyway. And I’ve been working since we left Westhampton Beach. I can take a milk-and-cookies break.”

  “I have soy milk and organic wafer cookies. I also have full leaf tea and three different kinds of all-natural juice.”

  “How will I choose?” Ryan asked wryly. “How about a Blue Moon?”

  “What?” Claire was genuinely puzzled. “I can’t conjure up a blue moon. They only occur on the rare seasons when there have already been three full moons and…”

  “The beer, Claire, not the lunar phenomenon.”

  “Oh.” Claire was quiet for a moment, digesting that piece of information. “I’ll have a Sam Adams. My father drinks those.”

  “Thank God for your father. Sam Adams it is. I’ll be there in about a half hour.”

  * * *

  Claire was still pacing around her studio apartment when Ryan arrived.

  “Hi,” Claire said as she let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem.” Ryan was surveying the place, which was so the antithesis of his computer and gadget-crammed apartment, it was almost funny.

  Shutting the door behind Ryan, Claire turned to say she would get him his beer when she noticed what he was doing and realization struck.

  “You’ve never been here before,” she announced. She’d been so consumed with her sense of unease that she’d forgotten all about that fact. She’d also forgotten to give Ryan her address.

  “Yeah, I know.” Ryan strolled into the living-room area, still taking in the uncluttered, softly decorated apartment. “Nice place. Very you. Am I allowed to sit on the sofa? Or is that only for show? Do I have to go for lotus position on the floor?”

  Claire ignored his taunts. “I never gave you my address. How did you know where I lived?”

  Ryan’s smile reached his eyes. “Didn’t Casey tell you? I hack into everyone’s personnel files when they first come on board. It makes me feel more connected to my teammates.”

  “That’s reassuring. Isn’t it also illegal?”

  “Isn’t lots of what we do?”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Good thing I have nothing to hide. Have a seat—on the sofa, since it’s allowed. I’ll get your beer.”

  She headed into the galley kitchen, returning a minute later with a bottle of Sam Adams and a plate of cookies. “Isn’t it a little early in the day for a drink?” she asked, handing him the bottle and setting the plate on the coffee table.

  “Normally? Yes. After the night I’ve had? No.”

  “Understood.” Claire sat down across from Ryan, her brows knit in concern. “Watching that office burn to the ground must have been pretty unnerving.”

  “Not nearly as unnerving as wondering if Marc and I were going to be able to escape the scene without being killed by whatever nutcase torched that shack.” Ryan tipped back the bottle of beer and took a healthy swallow. “And now Amanda got a threatening phone call. I’m sure Casey told you.”

  “She did. I called into the office this morning. The threatening phone call doesn’t surprise me. I’m constantly bugged by the sense of being watched—not just Amanda, but all of us. We must be getting closer to some truth or we wouldn’t be scaring people. I was more upset about Justin’s setback.”

  “Yeah, that poor little kid. I hope he can hold on.” Ryan’s lips thinned into a grim line. “I never thought I’d be the team member who had to keep it together for the group, at least not outside my area of expertise. But Casey is a wreck, and Marc is practically apoplectic. Even Patrick’s getting emotionally involved, I guess because he’s a father. And you’re always a walking testament to empathy and compassion. So that leaves Hero and me. Oh, and Hutch, who’s doing some unofficial poking around for us.”

  Claire didn’t argue the point. The fact that everyone was acting out of character didn’t please her. Not in light of what she was sensing.

  “So why the urgency for us to talk?” Ryan asked. “You sounded pretty freaked out on the phone.”

  “I am.”

  “And you came to me. Should I be shocked or flattered?”

  “Neither. I came to you because your energy is positive—at least where it comes to this.”

  “You lost me.” Ryan made a gesture of noncomprehension. “What is ‘this’?”

  Claire took a deep, cleansing breath. “Here’s a ridiculous request for me to make to the guy who hacked into my personnel file, but I’m making it anyway. Please keep this between us. It matters.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said simply. She met Ryan’s curious gaze. “I’m getting some unusual negative energy. It’s persistent or I’d chalk it up to stress. But it’s real. And it worries me—a lot.”

  Ryan did a double take. “You called me over here to discuss your psychic vibes? You sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I called you over here because, as I said, the negativity isn’t coming from you. But it’s coming from inside the team. And that worries the hell out of me.”

  After giving Claire a long, hard look, Ryan set down his beer. “Are you saying that someone at FI isn’t acting in the best interests of the team? Because then I know you’re crazy.”

  Claire dragged a hand through her hair. “It’s not as black-and-white as that. It’s not necessarily that someone on the team is deceiving us. He or she could just have an additional, separate agenda—one that’s not being shared with the rest of the team. Our synchrony is out of whack. I’m sure of it. I’m just not sure of the details. Or of who’s throwing our rhythm off.” She gave Ryan a pleading look. “Don’t dismiss what I’m saying, not without checking it out.”

  “Checking what out?” Ryan was beyond frustrated. “I’m not looking for a traitor at Forensic Instincts.”

  “Ryan, you’re not listening to me. I’m not suggesting any one of us is a traitor. I’m saying that every one of us is reacting strongly to this investigation, in most cases uncharacteristically so. We’re all good at pushing boundaries. We need to find out who’s pushing in a separate direction. It could be for altruistic reasons. Maybe to protect the rest of the team. I don’t know. But something’s going on. And I can’t figure it out without help.”

  Softening somewhat, Ryan picked up his beer again, rolling the bottle between his palms. “If it’s altruistic, why is it negative energy you’re feeling?”

  “Because it’s hurting, not helping, what we’re trying to accomplish. The person doing it might not realize that, or, if they do, they’re keeping it from the team for a reason. I’m just speculating. But I need you to check into what everyone at FI has been up to these past few days—when they’re not with the group. Or even when they’re with the group, but can be doing their own thing simultaneously.”

  “You’re one of the most ethical people I’ve ever met,” Ryan replied. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this.”

  “I can’t believe it, either. But I have nowhere else to turn. And it’s necessary. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

  “Shit.” Ryan gulped down the rest of his beer and stood up. “Do you know what’s even crazier than what you’re asking me to do? The fact that I’m going to do it for you.”

  “I really appreciate it,” Claire said, coming to her feet. “I feel as horrib
le about this as you do. If I thought there was another way…but there isn’t.”

  “Fine.” Ryan shook his head. “I don’t even believe in this crap. Auras. Energy. Flashes of who-knows-what. I must be as nuts as you are.”

  “Maybe you have a modicum of faith in me.”

  “Maybe I don’t know what the hell I have when I’m around you.” A pause. “And maybe I don’t care.”

  Without warning, Ryan reached over and hauled Claire into his arms. He was kissing her before she could breathe, much less protest, and by the time it registered, protesting was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “You drive me crazy,” Ryan muttered against her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair, anchoring her head so he could deepen the kiss.

  Claire wasn’t sure who started undressing who first, nor was she sure who started backing them toward the bed. All she remembered was feeling the mattress under her back and Ryan’s weight pressing her into it as he dragged off the rest of her clothes.

  They both knew that if they thought about what they were doing they would stop. And stopping was the last thing they wanted. So they didn’t think. They just shut down their minds and let their bodies take over.

  Frantic urgency clawed at them both. Yet they refused to give in, instead savoring each caress, each hungry exploration of the other’s body. Ryan was an amazing and experienced lover, but Claire matched him touch for touch, taste for taste. By the time Ryan moved between her thighs, pushing all the way inside her, they were both shaking, desperate for completion.

  Their jagged breaths, their harsh moans and the rhythmic squeaking of the bedsprings were the only sounds in the room. And then Claire gave a wild, thin cry, arching up as her entire body shattered into spasms. Ryan was right there with her, thrusting deep into her climax and shouting as he gave in to his own.

  They both collapsed, Claire sinking into the bed, Ryan’s full weight pinning her in place. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going anywhere. Her limbs felt like water, and her entire body was quivering with aftershocks. Her breathing was as ragged as Ryan’s, who was still shuddering from the impact of his orgasm. Clearly, he was in no condition to move.

  Claire hadn’t the faintest idea how much time passed. The two of them might have dozed, or they might just have floated in a semiconscious state. Claire had no idea. But at some point, she felt Ryan push himself up on his elbows and gaze down at her. Her own eyes were shut, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to open them. Right now, she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to address what had just happened. But once she opened her eyes, all that was going to change.

  “Claire.” Ryan wasn’t giving her a choice.

  Her lashes fluttered, and with a great effort and even greater reluctance, she cracked open her lids.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding as bewildered as she felt. The expression on his face was one of sheer incredulousness.

  “I don’t know,” she managed. “Are you?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  Clare swallowed, turned her head away as the reality she’d held at bay came crashing down like a boulder. This was Ryan. Ryan. What in the name of hell had she been thinking? Why had she made herself vulnerable to him? Talk about exposing one’s soft underbelly. She’d all but put the pitchfork in his hand.

  “We should get up,” she said woodenly.

  “Yeah, we should.” Ryan rolled away, rising to collect his hastily discarded clothes and to pull them on. He turned, studying Claire from beneath hooded lids.

  Damn the guy. Even sweaty and disheveled, he was sexy as hell, with enough charm to melt an iceberg. Meanwhile, she was lying there naked, with nothing but a sheet to cover her. Between that and his looming over her, she felt even more raw and exposed, at a total disadvantage.

  “This was a mistake,” she pronounced. Wow, she’d managed to sound somewhat normal, and to speak in a relatively strong tone.

  “I agree. Probably a big one.” Ryan was visibly and totally out of sorts—Claire’s only consolation at the moment. He leaned his head back, and blew out a long, uneven breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Let’s not say anything. The less we talk about it, the less significance we’ll be assigning it.” Claire sat up, holding the sheet against her, trying to display the same nonchalance that Ryan’s God-knew-how-many-other bed partners displayed. “We acted on impulse. It was dumb. Now it’s over. Let’s just move on, okay?”

  Ryan nodded. “Okay.” He finished getting dressed, ran his hands through his rumpled black hair. “I’ll head back to my place, shower and change. Then I’ll go to the brownstone, where I’ll start checking out the activities of our coworkers, and hope you’re wrong.”

  “I hope so, too. But I’m not.”

  Ryan nodded again. He crossed over to the door, then paused, glancing back at her. “Listen, Claire…”

  “See you at the office,” she interrupted. Whatever he’d been about to say, she didn’t want to hear it.

  He took the hint. “Yup. See you.”

  He walked out, closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  The handwriting was on the wall, and what it said was beginning to be unmistakable.

  Still, Hutch wasn’t ready to give up.

  He’d taken steps in a dozen different directions, tapped into more avenues than he could count. There was a pattern forming, one that was making him distinctly uneasy. Curiosity and determination warred with reason.

  He pounded the proverbial pavement a few hours longer, being as thorough and creative as he knew how. Ultimately, he went to the highest ranking contact he had in the Criminal Enterprise division.

  The answer was the same. Scripted. Terse. Immovable.

  Creating an impenetrable wall.

  He’d never expected this outcome. But he had to live with it.

  And so would Casey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ryan set aside his sleuthing into Paul Everett’s and John Morano’s pasts long enough to do what he’d promised Claire. He felt like a shit doing it. There was no “nice” way to justify prying into the lives of his team. He trusted them all with his life.

  Still, Claire hadn’t accused them of deception, not of the malicious kind. She was concerned that one of them was employing an iffy tactic while trying to protect the others. Was that possible? Sure.

  He did a little poking around in the FI phone records, found nothing, and then gave it up for a while. He was too preoccupied to bury himself in work. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t just forget about what had happened between him and Claire.

  Talk about an inferno. They’d practically set the sheets on fire. How the hell was he supposed to forget about that, much less make sense of it?

  “Well, I came down here for nothing,” Marc commented, poised in the doorway of Ryan’s lair, studying him intently. “I was going to ask you what Claire wanted to see you about. But judging from the expression on your face, you didn’t do much talking.”

  Ryan shot Marc a look. “Casey’s the expert with tells. You’re out of your league.”

  “Maybe. But I’m right.”

  “Drop it.”

  “That off-the-charts, huh? I’m not surprised. Now what? Where are you going from here?”

  “Back to work.” Ryan leaned over his computer, deliberately shielding the screen from Marc’s view.

  “Where’s Claire?”

  “No idea.”

  “You’re even pissier than you were before. She really got to you that bad, huh?”

  Ryan shrank the window he’d been working in on his computer, spun his chair around and faced Marc with a hard expression. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you? You, who are so private no one knows your shoe size?”

  “Fair enough.” Marc shrugged, unfazed by the verbal attack. “You just look pretty strung out. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t even know what it is. And I definitely
don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No problem. But, for the record—and because I have ten years on you—don’t overanalyze it. Just let it be whatever it is. You’re a smart guy, Ryan. You knew damn well it wasn’t going to be a quick lay. You two are way too combustible for that.”

  Ryan’s jaw was working. “I hear you. Can we let it go now?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “And not a word to anyone.”

  “That’s not my style, and you know it. But I wouldn’t expect it to get by Casey.”

  “If she figures it out on her own and says something, I’ll shut her down, too.”

  Marc nodded. “Since Claire’s not the type to ask for a booty call, my original question remains. Why did she need to see you so urgently?”

  This, Ryan had been prepared for. “She had some weird vibes about the investigation.” Stick to the truth. There’s less to remember. “All she was sure of was that it had to do with what I’m currently checking into.”

  “Everett’s and Morano’s backgrounds?”

  “That’s what I’m working on. So that’s what it must be.”

  “Did she give you any specifics?”

  “Nope.” Ryan shook his head, swiveling back around to face his computer. “She hated like hell having to call me at all. She knows how little value I place on psychic insights. But I’m the genius who’s going to dig up everything there is to know about Everett and Morano. So she had no choice but to turn to me.”

  “Got it.” Whether or not Marc believed him was anyone’s guess. Nothing ever showed on Marc’s face—he was a pro at that. “Then I’ll leave you to your digging. By the way, how do you want to follow up on our plan to bug Morano’s office?”

  “Give it a day,” Ryan replied. “Morano’s already in the process of renting a trailer to operate out of. I’m sure he salvaged a good chunk of his work. He’d be an asshole not to have backed it up on a flash drive and taken it home with him—just in case. He’ll be up and running in no time. Gecko will just have a different hiding place to do his reconnaissance.”

  Marc chuckled. “Right. And I have no doubt that Gecko will adapt beautifully.” He headed toward the door. “Just let me know when we’re heading back out to the Hamptons. I have some follow-up to do here.”