A Face to Die For (Forensic Instincts 6)

Gia tackled each disaster with adrenaline-induced intensity. She didn’t stop to think, just acted totally on autopilot. She held on to that intensity, carrying it from event to event. And at last, when the final task had been completed—and her final bill had been paid—she could crash.

Tonight was crash night.

She polished off her Lean Cuisine and glass of Pinot Grigio and then treated herself to a whopping bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. She deserved it. She’d go to the gym tomorrow morning and work it off, before heading into the office and turning in her reports and checks to Ashlyn Cushing, the owner of Shimmering Weddings. Ashlyn was a tough but fair boss, with a pencil-thin figure and the natural blonde beauty of a California Miss America contestant, despite having

just turned forty-five. She made no secret about the fact that she considered Gia to be her star employee—uniquely talented and with a brilliant future ahead of her. She’d even privately hinted about someday giving Gia a small piece of the company.

Gia wasn’t foolish enough to tell Ashlyn that she had plans of her own—using this experience to someday open her own wedding planning business.

Someday was a way off. Tonight, she was too exhausted to even think about her dream.

She contemplated taking a hot bath and wondered if she had the strength to walk upstairs to the master bathroom. Ultimately, her body aches won out over her fatigue, and she took her replenished glass of wine and headed up to turn on the faucets. She hadn’t paid extra for the Jacuzzi; it had just come with her townhouse model. But, damn, did she thank heaven for it, time and time again.

After stripping off her clothes, she pinned her hair on top of her head, grabbed a bottle of body wash, and paused to place her glass of wine and her cell phone on the bathtub ledge. Pain-in-the-ass cell phone. She wished she were one of those lucky people who could survive without having it as an appendage. She wasn’t. It was partly her job and partly her OCD tendencies, but she had to stay connected twenty-four seven.

With a sigh, she climbed into the tub, leaned back, and let the jet sprays do their job. The body wash could wait a few minutes. All she wanted was to soak in her steamy tension-cure. She shut her eyes, cracking them open once in a while to reach for her glass and take a small sip of wine. Otherwise, she just languished, wondering if there was such a thing as a Jacuzzi-potato.

She was about to start the getting-clean process when her phone went br-r-r-ing. It wasn’t the text bing or the email buzz, and it definitely wasn’t the repeated vibrating of an incoming call. Every one of Gia’s functions had a separate and distinct sound. This musical tone was assigned to Facebook—either a message or a comment.

Normally, Gia would find that an ignorable annoyance. But after a weekend like this one, she could use the diversion. She hadn’t been plugged in to social media all weekend long. Time to see what was going on with her Facebook friends and to kick back and catch up on announcements, recipes, and plain old gossip.

She dried her hands on the towel she’d strewn over the side of the tub. Then she picked up the phone, raising her knees and stretching the towel across them as a kind of lap desk to cradle the cell and keep it from dropping into the water—every cell phone fanatic’s worst nightmare.

She tapped the Facebook icon. A slew of notifications greeted her, along with the private message that had just signaled its arrival. Curious, she opened it.

Her eyebrows arched when she saw who it was from.

Hi, Gia, Danielle Murano wrote. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you, but when Sarah told me what happened and showed me your photo, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to do something intrusive like call or email you, or something lame like send you a friend request, so I’m messaging you. Actually, I’m not even sure what to say, except that I couldn’t resist reaching out to someone who looked so much like me. Kindred spirits maybe? If you’re as intrigued as I am, give me a shout. Dani

Gia had almost forgotten about her Friday afternoon meet-up with Sarah Rosner and the bizarre coincidence that conversation had yielded. At the time, Gia had considered contacting Danielle Murano herself, but then wedding-planner mania had ensued, and all else had been forgotten. So Danielle—Dani—had beaten her to the punch. It was kind of cool that she’d been so proactive about following up. A do-it-now person. Something Gia could definitely relate to.

She pressed reply and typed:

Hi, Dani. I’m glad you contacted me. If it hadn’t been such a crazy weekend, I would have done the same right after I left Sarah. How weird is this whole thing? I think we should friend each other, just for fun, and then keep messaging. I’d love to know more about you; I know you’re a veterinarian and that you live in Minneapolis. And you know that I’m a wedding planner and that I live near Manhattan. Let’s see what else we have in common besides our looks: tastes, interests, etc. It should be a great diversion for us both. Share as little or as much as you want to. Hope to hear from you soon, Gia.

Gia pressed send.

Offices of Forensic Instincts

Tribeca, New York

Emma was sitting at her desk, her brow furrowed as she tried to absorb everything Ryan was explaining to her. But how could she when her brain was fried and on weekend mode? It was ten o’clock on a Sunday night. She should be out with her friends or home watching something cool on Netflix. Instead, here she was, having to process Ryan’s plan for her role in solving Brianna Mullen’s case.

“Emma, are you listening to me?” Ryan was leaning over her shoulder, looking really pissed. And Emma guessed he had reason to be.

“Sorry,” she said, feeling especially guilty because she really did want to help Brianna. “My mind wandered. But, yes, I’m listening.”

“Good. Consider this a training ground. You want to be a full FI investigator. I’m teaching you to be one. So look, listen, and learn.” He pointed at the intricate map of NYU he’d created. It featured a zoomed-in area of buildings that was the Stern School of Business—classrooms as well as professors’ offices, all of which included typed names of the various buildings.

“Oh, God.” Emma blanched at the intricacy staring back at her.

“I know it looks overwhelming, but it’s not,” Ryan replied.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re a genius.”

“You don’t have to be a genius to memorize this. I know NYU is a city unto itself, but the Stern grad school isn’t big. There are only eight hundred full-time MBA students covering this small section of buildings near Washington Square. And you’re registered for the summer session for part-timers, which means five hundred students, tops. Forget the student housing; you’re not living there. Forget the undergrads; you’re not going to be one of them. And forget the full-time Stern grad students; they’re not allowed to use summer courses toward their degrees. It’ll just be a small group in a limited environment. Stick to the area I sectioned off.”

Ryan traced that area with his pencil. “Your class will be held here.” He circled a building. Then, he shifted his pencil point. “And this is where you’ll find Hanover’s office.” Again, he shifted his pencil, circling a second building, just a short distance from the first. “Second floor. Three doors down to the left of the staircase. That’s where I need you to be, several times a day. Check out traffic patterns—times of day when the halls are crowded, when Hanover’s in his office, that kind of stuff.”