The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

Halfway to the door, Claire paused, looking at Casey as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. “You’re very insightful.”

“So’s my whole team,” Casey replied. “It’s something that you and I should discuss—when the time is right.”

Claire’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Okay. We will.”

Just after Claire left the room, Casey’s BlackBerry rang. She glanced down at the caller ID. No surprise at what she saw.

She punched on the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” said a deep, masculine voice. “I wanted you to know that I’m in your neck of the woods. I’ve got a case in Westchester County. I’m not sure when I can break away, but when I do, can we get together? Maybe later tonight?”

“Oh, a lot sooner than that,” Casey assured him. “I’m at the Willises’ house right now. I assume that’s where you’re headed?”

A sharp intake of breath. “They hired you already?”

“What can I say? They’ve got good taste. Just like you.” Casey’s light banter vanished. “I’m glad you’re coming. We’ve got to find Krissy Willis before she’s killed—or worse. Hurry.”

Casey got the Willises alone before the BAU-3 team arrived to prep them.

“After your TV statement, my team and I are going over to Krissy’s school,” Casey told them. “We’ll be interviewing a few specific staff members.”

“Why just a few?” Hope interrupted. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Please, Ms. Woods, don’t skim the surface just because the authorities are pressuring you. I hired you because of your creativity, your track record and your freedom to push the boundaries. Edward and I are both lawyers. We know the drill. Law enforcement is bound by rules that you can circumvent. So circumvent them. Do whatever you have to. Do it thoroughly. And do it fast.”

“I intend to.” Casey spoke as quietly as her client. “Don’t confuse specificity with reticence. If I think someone on your list is a person of interest, I’ll delve into their background, even if our investigation overlaps with the FBI’s. But if my instincts tell me they’re a dead end, it would be a waste of time to pursue them when I could be devoting my attention to more likely suspects, or people who could lead me in the right direction. I especially want to talk to Liza Bock, the car-pool mom who saw Krissy jump into the kidnapper’s car. I also want to talk to her daughter, Olivia, and all Krissy’s other friends. Kids very often know more than they think they do. The FBI task force will cover the gamut.” Particularly the sex offenders, she thought silently and grimly. “Let us cover the probable.”

Hope nodded. “All right.” She handed Casey a stack of papers, including everything she’d given to Peg Harrington: a full list of personal names and each individual’s relationship to Krissy, and pages and pages of professional names that Hope and Edward had come up with as potential enemies, resentful plaintiffs and/or defendants, parents who’d lost custody of their children, and all the other people who might hold a grudge against them.

“I’ll review all this and get started,” Casey said. She thumbed through the pages. “First come the angry parents. An eye for an eye would be strong motivation. Ferreting through that part of the list and interviewing the right candidates will be my job. I’ll have Ryan concentrate on trimming down the list to the most logical thinkers among those. Whoever orchestrated this was sharp, focused and intelligent. And Marc will zero in on those who have the greatest access to you, your home and your day-to-day lives, plus anyone with a criminal record. You have no idea how fast and thorough we are. Have faith.”

“I’m trying.” Tears slid down Hope?

??s cheeks. “But she’s my baby.”

“I know,” Casey replied gently. “And, on all fronts, you’ve got the best of the best working for her safe return.”

“Hey.” Marc came up behind Casey. “Speaking of which, the BAU’s here. They sent Hutch.”

Casey half-turned. “Yes, I know. He called a little while ago.” She watched as the familiar, commanding presence of SSA Kyle Hutchinson filled the room. For a man who epitomized the word reserved, Hutch managed to take charge without even trying. There was a natural, compelling quality about him that screamed leadership. From the power of his build, the innate confidence he exuded, even the jagged scar across his left temple—a souvenir of his days as a Washington, D.C., police detective—the whole package yanked everyone’s gaze his way and told them he was someone of significant importance.

He never gave credence to those reactions. As always, he had just one purpose in mind. Doing his job.

He pressed forward, his sharp blue eyes focused on the Willises. Right behind Hutch was his partner, SSA Grace Masters, who was every bit as formidable as her partner. Anyone fooled by her slender build or wavy, light brown hair was an ass. She had a steel-trap mind, guts and grit to spare and an unflappable personality. Hutch’s expressions were unreadable. Grace’s were well thought out and executed. The two pros had worked together for years, and now brainstormed with the ease of a long-term partnership, and the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

“Marc. Casey.” Hutch nodded at each of them, then shifted his attention to the Willises. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson and this is my partner, Supervisory Special Agent Grace Masters. We’re from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He and Grace shook the Willises’ hands.

“You’re here to profile the bastard who took my daughter,” Edward stated.

“We’re here to behaviorally analyze the crime to help the investigative team do their job,” Grace replied. “But, yes, we’ll zero in on motivation, personality types, number of offenders—anything that will lead us to your daughter’s kidnapper or kidnappers.”

“Let’s put off the details for now.” Hutch nipped Edward’s questions in the bud. “We’ve got to deal with the immediate. You’re going on TV in ten minutes. So let’s get you prepped and ready.”

CHAPTER SIX

Claudia Mitchell was ironing and watching a rerun of one of her favorite TV comedies when a special report interrupted. Breaking news. An Amber Alert had been issued. Krissy Willis, the five-year-old daughter of Family Court Judge Hope Willis and prominent defense attorney Edward Willis had been kidnapped.

The parents appeared on-screen, ready to speak.

Quickly, Claudia turned off her iron and set it down on the stand, hurrying over to turn up the volume. The Willises were issuing a statement, a plea, begging for their child’s safe return. Claudia stared at Judge Willis, the woman to whom she’d been court clerk for years. In all the time she’d known her, Claudia had never seen or heard her like this. No makeup. Panicked. A lost look in her eyes. Choked sobs in her voice. For a woman who was always put together and in complete control, it was a startling sight.