A Face to Die For (Forensic Instincts 6)

“You mean Bandit’s former nesting home? Brianna’s NYU T-shirt.”

“Gray? With purple and black lettering and an insignia that’s partly worn away?”

“That’s the one.” Lina looked über-impressed. “Bandit’s claws did the damage. Wow. You really are good.”

Claire was lost in thought. “Brianna frequently wore it on campus when she went running—until Bandit inherited it a month ago. So it actually moved from her personal space to her academic space and back. Does she still have it?”

Lina glanced around. “It’s here somewhere. Brianna will find it in a minute. She’d never part with that shirt. She reclaimed it after Bandit went upscale. The only thing is, the T-shirt’s been washed a bunch of times since then. Is that okay?”

“Hopefully, yes,” Claire replied. “What I need goes a lot deeper than the washing machine and dryer.”

A key turned in the lock, and Brianna walked into the apartment, carrying a small brown bag and giving everyone an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The gourmet pet store finally got in the higher-protein food I’ve been waiting to give Bandit. If I’d waited, it would have been gone.” She gave Casey a tentative look. “I hope you’re not upset that I went out alone. Normally, I stick with Lina or other friends. But the pet store is just a few blocks away. And it is daytime.”

“No problem,” Casey replied. “And not because I’m happy with your decision. But I knew you were safe. The day after we took your case, I assigned a security guy to you: John Nickels, one of our best.”

Brianna blinked. “I never saw anyone.”

“That’s the idea. I’ll introduce you to John before we leave.”

“I… Thank you.” Brianna sounded as taken aback as she did grateful.

“This is serious stuff, Brianna,” Casey reminded her. “We don’t want to give Hanover any opportunities to get close to you. We’ve got eyes on him, too.”

Brianna shivered. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try to make Mr. Nickels’ job easier by sticking to the rules.”

“Wise idea.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Five minutes,” Casey assured her. “You didn’t miss anything. Go ahead and feed Bandit while we settle in. But first, do you remember where you put your NYU T-shirt? The one Bandit used to sleep in before the scarf took over?”

“Sure.” Brianna put down the bag and headed across the living room to a small suitcase—one of two that sat open in the corner. Neatly, she moved a few articles of clothing and pulled out the shirt. “Here it is. A little worse for wear but still functional.” She handed Casey the shirt, giving her a questioning look. “Why do you need it?”

Casey let Claire reiterate what she’d just told Lina.

“That’s amazing. Feel free to examine it all you want.”

Claire took the shirt and walked over to the corner where Brianna’s suitcases were. There, she sank down to the floor and settled in cross-legged. “I want as much proximity to your things as possible,” she explained. “Now all I need is a little quiet. Not silence,” she added, a smile tugging at her lips as she heard Bandit dashing around at the sight of his new food. “Just minimal soft conversation.”

“You got it,” Lina said.

Claire lay the T-shirt across her lap, then shut her eyes, moving her fingers lightly over the material. Instantly, she got an image of Brianna running. At first, it was recreational jogging, pacing along as she cleared her head and strengthened her body.

Abruptly, it changed, and Claire’s fingers stilled where they were. Brianna was no longer exercising. She was fleeing, running away, her chest pounding, no longer with exertion but with fear. In the shadows stood a man. Tall. Lean. Smoking a cigarette. First watching, then striding straight in Brianna’s direction. Coming after her. Closer. Closer. Not a threat, a reality.

The man was evil. And he was closing in fast.

Claire’s eyes fluttered open. She realized she was tightly gripping the T-shirt.

And she was clutching it right where Brianna’s heart would be.

CHAPTER 8

It was Wednesday, and the world’s conventional workweek was halfway gone. To Gia, that meant that the crux of her work week—Friday and its weekend frenzy—were just around the corner. She had two more days of scheduled meetings and venue scouting before the onslaught of weddings and rehearsal dinners began.

She had to be crazy to thrive on this. But thrive she did.

She was shrugging into her blazer, ready to head out of the office for a final run-through with the electrical engineer who’d be handling her Friday night wedding, when the Facebook Messenger tone on her iPhone binged.