The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts)

by Andrea Kane

  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 loves 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.

  But it would be soon.

  “The candles add a nice touch,” Claire announced, having arranged a line of them on at the head of the room. She stood back, assessed her handiwork, then nodded. “Just the right balance of elegance and warmth. A roomful of positive energy.”

  “No occasion is complete without positive energy,” Ryan replied drily.

  “Don’t play Scrooge with me.” Claire didn’t so much as blink at the subtle taunt. “Not when you called me at some ungodly hour and asked me to rush over to the lair and check out three ties so you’d know which one worked best.”

  “Now that’s a moment I would have paid to see.” Marc chuckled. “The debonair Ryan McKay, seeking fashion advice.”

  Ryan shot him a look. “I usually avoid these kinds of parties. My wardrobe lends itself to less reverent occasions.”

  “So, Claire, you were in the office—and down in the lair—at dawn.” That one hadn’t gotten by Casey. “Just to choose a tie? Because you two seem to spend a
lot of alone time downstairs these days.”

  “Not cute, Casey,” Ryan warned. “Also not work related.”

  “Not work related? Funny, I always thought that’s what offices were for. I assumed you two were having meaningful strategy sessions, the union of spiritual and scientific input.”

  Ryan looked like he might hit her.

  Casey arched a brow. “Did I put my foot in my mouth? Sorry. But I do own Forensic Instincts. I have to ensure that all the team members’ hours are spent effectively.”

  “Not to worry. They are.” Ryan turned his back and walked over to the table they’d set up on the side, making sure the champagne they’d been given permission to serve was chilling.

  Claire’s cheeks were pink, but she ignored the conversation entirely. Her relationship—or whatever it was—with Ryan was not something she wanted to talk about. It was all wrong, except when it was all right. It had no definition and it made no sense. It was sporadic and it was extreme, and its ambiguity was driving her crazy.

  “I like the floral arrangements, don’t you?” she asked Casey, changing the subject even as she arranged the vases. “I think the pastel colors suit the couple.”

  “I agree.” Casey nodded. “I think you did a beautiful job. I think Amanda and Paul will be very touched.”

  “After all they’ve been through, they more than deserve it.”

  Casey nodded again. It was hard to believe that three months had passed since they’d found out Paul was not only an adequate donor match for Justin, he was a strong one. Starting with that reality, and adding the scientific advancement of the purification process, it gave them solid reason for hope.

  The next five days had been intense as Paul’s injections and preparations commenced, and he and Amanda hovered over Justin, continually praying that their tiny son would be strong enough to hang on.

  He did. Somehow that precious little one-month-old baby continued to fight, as if he knew that help was on its way.

  The big day arrived.

  First, the four-hour procedure where Paul’s stem cells were collected. Next, the grueling ten hours of waiting while the stem cells were processed and enriched.

  And finally, the crucial procedure they’d been waiting for—the IV infusion of Paul’s stem cells into Justin’s body.

  It had been the longest fifteen minutes that Amanda and Paul had ever lived through.

  They’d known it would be at least two weeks before they saw any evidence that engraftment had taken place. And even though Justin was closely monitored by the entire transplant team for any sign of complications, the ticking clock had been unbearable. Fortunately, there’d been no signs of graft versus host disease.

  And then came the fateful day, four weeks later, when the heavens smiled down on them. Justin’s tests came back, revealing some good cells with early function—enough so that his oxygen requirements were decreased, and the chest tube could be removed.

  A month after that, he’d been off the ventilator. And now, three months after the transplant, the infections were gone and Amanda and Paul were sitting down with Dr. Braeburn to discuss discharging Justin from the hospital.

  There would be frequent follow-ups, but Justin was out of the woods and ready to begin his life—with his mother and father.

  Who were ready to begin their lives as a married couple, and as a family. A fully healthy family, since Amanda had already undergone three months of her six-month treatment to cure her hepatitis C.

  Even the cynical Ryan McKay couldn’t deny that this was the ultimate happily-ever-after.

  The chapel was theirs to use for the brief but meaningful ceremony. Patrick was giving away the bride, and Marc was acting as Paul’s best man. Amanda’s dear friend Melissa was the matron of honor, and two of Paul’s close friends at the Bureau were driving in to attend the wedding.

  But the most important guest of honor would be the four-month-old baby boy who’d be brought in by a nurse and allowed to remain in attendance as his parents were joined in matrimony.

  It was the most precious wedding gift Amanda and Paul could be granted.

  Immediately following the service, Justin and his newlywed parents would return to the pediatric unit. Very little in their routine would change between then and release day. Amanda and Paul would sit by Justin’s side, holding him, playing with him and marveling at the wonder they’d created—and the strength he’d exerted to survive.

  But homecoming was imminent. Dr. Braeburn had given Amanda the green light, so long as she brought Justin in for his regular follow-up checkups. They were just waiting for some final blood results, and for a slightly less blustery day. Then, Justin would be securely buckled into his car seat and driven to Hampton Bays, and his new nursery in Paul’s cottage.

  The small bedroom adjacent to the master had gone through a major renovation during these past months, and was now a bright and cheery room for a baby to thrive in. Amanda’s apartment would go back to serving as her workplace—a photojournalist’s studio, keeping the nursery for Justin to use on those occasions when he was with her while she worked.

  The wheels of justice were turning, as the AUSA prepared his case against Lyle Fenton and key members of the Vizzini family. Congressman Mercer had resigned from office, citing family issues as the cause, and had privately agreed to testify against Lyle Fenton in exchange for not being prosecuted. The truth was that any favors Mercer had done for his “father” had been done under duress. He’d used his influence to sway political decisions, but he hadn’t bribed anyone or committed any egregious crimes. His guilt fell in the area of gray, and it was far easier to accept his resignation and his agreement to help the U.S. Attorney’s Office nail Fenton than it was to go after him and lose the sway his witness testimony would provide.

  Paul was still working for the Bureau, only now he was in the Counterintelligence division at the Long Island Resident Agency. His undercover days were over, which suited both him and Amanda just fine. From here on in, he could be Special Agent Paul Evans, and Amanda could openly become Mrs. Amanda Evans. And Justin’s name was being legally changed on his birth certificate to read Justin Gleason Evans.

  For the first time, Forensic Instincts was truly ready to consider this case closed.

  Which was a good thing, considering how busy they were.

  “This one hit hard,” Patrick commented, coming up behind Casey and reading her expression. “It took a lot out of all of us.”

  “Not nearly what it took out of Amanda,” Casey replied.

  “You know what I mean. An innocent baby whose life was in our hands. Quite a responsibility—one that we each personalized in our own way. Today is a celebration for Forensic Instincts, too.”

  Casey turned to give Patrick a knowing look. “You’re full of it, Mr. Former FBI. You were so invested in our last case—your first big one with us—that you ate, drank and slept it.”

  “Different circumstances,” Patrick responded. “That kidnapping was a long-term thorn in my side. It haunted me for years. This case was another thing entirely.” He paused. “But you’re right. I do internalize our cases. We all do. That’s part of what makes us the team we are.”

  “Even I was on shaky ground this time,” Marc freely admitted as he walked over to join them.

  “You had your reasons.” Casey didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. Marc’s background and his Achilles’ heel were common knowledge among the FI team. “Plus, you brought this case to us—as a fait accompli.” She couldn’t help but add the slight dig.

  “Yup. My overstepping of the boundaries. My rule-breaking. My responsibility.” That’s how it was with Marc. Short and to the point. “Just another reason I wasn’t going to fail.”

  “Among others.”

  Marc nodded, that sober, faraway look in his eyes. “Among others.”

  “This time we made a difference,” Casey reminded him quietly. “It can’t erase past atrocities. But it can make one family very happy and give one b
aby the life he deserves.”

  “You’re right.” Marc snapped back to the present, acknowledging the feat they’d accomplished.

  “We done good,” Ryan announced, strolling over. “We should make one toast to ourselves. Too bad dogs aren’t allowed in hospital chapels. Hero should be here to share in the celebration.”

  “Not to worry,” Claire assured him, still arranging flowers as she spoke. “I left Hero an interactive toy filled with treats. He’ll be wrestling with it all morning to extract his prizes.” She shot Ryan a look. “And, no, they’re not loaded with fat. He won’t gain an ounce. Besides, he was part of this victory. He sniffed out Paul. He helped us bring down Fenton. He deserves a reward.”

  “No arguments, Claire-voyant.” Ryan gave her that lazy grin. “Each of us gets some of the credit for this one—even you and your energy-sensing.”

  “Wow. A compliment.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Can I get that in writing?”

  “Nope. I reserve the right to deny everything—especially if you piss me off during our next case.”

  “Which I’m sure I will.”

  Casey shook her head, laughing as she did. “We make quite a team. No wonder the FBI wants to choke us half the time.”

  “Ah, but that other half of the time…” Ryan was as smug as always. “Look at our track record. Look at our rep. Enough said.”

  “For now.” Casey the boss kicked in. “Let’s celebrate this hard-fought victory. Then it’s back to reality—and to work.”

  * * * * *

  AUTHOR NOTE

  The Shinnecock Indian Reservation is located on the east side of Shinnecock Bay in the town of Southampton. While the Shinneock Indian Nation’s gaming authority is planning for a long-awaited casino, that casino does not yet exist. When it does, it will not be built on their reservation, which is their ancestral home, but elsewhere on Long Island. Therefore, the casino in The Line Between Here and Gone is a fictitious place, the product of this writer’s fertile imagination.