The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“I can’t.” But Casey could already feel her body responding. When it came to Hutch, it always did.

“Try.”

She did, and with great success. It wasn’t a surprise; she was as starved for him as he was for her.

The problem was, with Hutch stationed in Quantico, Virginia, and Forensic Instincts deeply entrenched in Manhattan—not to mention both hers and Hutch’s insane schedules—they only got to see each other once a month, if they were lucky. And that was just too damned long to be apart.

The tension over this tough obstacle in their relationship was intensifying. They were both feeling the strain.

Neither of them was a child. They’d been together a long time, close to two years. Casey was thirty-two, and Hutch was coming up on thirty-five. This wasn’t the story of two teenagers going to two separate colleges. They were two adults, very much in love, very committed to each other, and struggling with a virtually insurmountable situation.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t discuss it. They did—a lot.

This visit’s conversations were even more difficult, and more raw, than most.

Maybe it was Marc’s upcoming wedding that was making them feel more sentimental. Maybe it was their growing feelings for each other. And maybe it was whatever was on Hutch’s mind these days—some new, unspoken preoccupation. It was personal, yes, but it was primarily work related, which confused Casey about how their relationship factored into it. But she knew the drill. She couldn’t and wouldn’t pry. If it was BU business, it was classified and unable to be shared.

But it was taking things to a whole new level of emotional strain.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Hutch leaned over and kissed Casey gently on the lips.

“Nothing exciting. I’m just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” Disbelief laced Hutch’s tone. “Let’s get up, take a shower, and have a meaningful talk. No bullshit and no interruptions.”

Casey tensed. It wasn’t that it was unusual for Hutch to read her mind. It was just that his words told her that this wasn’t going to be an average I-miss-you conversation. This was going to be some indiscernible moment of truth.

God, was she ready for whatever was about to come?

Only one way to find out.

“Okay, I’ll get up,” Casey agreed. Her heart was slamming nervously against her ribs. At the same time, her legs were still wobbly from their lovemaking. Quite the contrast.

She struggled for levity. “But forget any ideas you have about us showering together. If we do, it’ll be noon before we have our talk.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it—not this time.” Hutch didn’t sound teasing. He sounded very serious.

Casey swallowed hard.

Gingerly, she slid to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side.

A handsome red bloodhound rose from his dog bed and plodded over, nuzzling Casey’s hand with his jowls.

“Morning, Hero.” Casey smiled, stroking his head and silently thanking him for giving her a moment to compose herself. “Hutch will take you out while I shower.”

Hero was a full-fledged member of the Forensic Instincts team. A retired FBI human scent evidence dog, Hero could sniff out anything for miles and miles and help the team track down anyone. He’d only left the BU because he wasn’t a good traveler, which made it impossible for him to continue on in the Canine Unit. But he was smart, he was expertly trained, and he was loving—and, since the day Hutch had brought him to Casey as a gift, he’d become not only her teammate but her beloved pet.

“C’mon, boy.” Hutch was already out of bed, pulling on his sweats. “Let’s do our business, and then I’ll get you some breakfast while I put up coffee.” Hutch met Casey’s gaze. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”

Hutch took Hero on a productive jaunt around the block. He didn’t belabor the walk—not this time. They were back at the brownstone and up on the fourth floor, where Casey’s apartment was, in fifteen minutes. The coffee was brewing, and all the ingredients for vegetable omelets were laid out beside the carton of eggs when Casey emerged. She’d thrown on sweats and was towel-drying her hair.

“I was going to make breakfast while you showered,” she said.

Hutch’s brows rose. “Burnt Eggo waffles again?”

She made a face. “You don’t have much faith in my culinary skills. Then again, you’re right. I can’t even crack an egg without getting pieces of shell in it. So I’ll just blow-dry my hair and wait for you to shower. Then you can whip up one of your amazing omelets for us.”

“Grab a cup of coffee. I won’t be long.”