The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“Are you going to tell me what this investigation is about or not?” Hutch demanded. “Because I know you, Case. Even though you feel ultimately responsible for the safety of your team, you feel equally responsible for resolving things for your clients. You have no intention of backing away. Well, I’m sure as hell not sitting around while you put your life in danger—again.”

Hutch’s emphasis was clear. While Casey was very protective when it came to the lives of her team, she sucked when it came to safeguarding her own life.

“Point taken,” she replied, chewing her lip as she weighed her options. “I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. You know I can’t divulge anything without talking to our clients. And they know less than you do about this whole organized crime thing. If they knew, they’d freak, and that would blow our entire investigation. We need them to keep it together.”

“You’re obliged to tell them everything,” Hutch reminded her.

“I realize that.” Casey dragged a frustrated hand through her hair. “And I will. Just not as explicitly as we’re discussing here. Our job is to solve their case and to keep them in one piece.” A brief pause. “I also have another responsibility, and that’s to watch your back. Which means keeping the things I share with you on the straight and narrow. I’m sure our clients would welcome you with open arms. But I have to make sure I don’t violate your ethics or your responsibility to the Bureau.”

A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted. “I appreciate you looking out for me, sweetheart. But I’ve gone out on a limb before. When it comes to your safety, my loyalties seem to run a little murky.”

“A little?” Ryan looked distinctly amused. “I’d say a lot. But, hey, that works for me. I want you on board.”

“I’m waiting for some additional information from another source,” Casey said. “That should complete the picture. Once I have it, I’ll get our clients’ permission to bring you fully into the loop.”

“Get their permission now,” Hutch responded. “That way we’ll be good to go the minute your other source comes through.” He met Casey’s gaze with insightful certainty. “Aidan works as quickly as I do.”

Casey’s lips twitched. “Duly noted, Agent Hutchinson. I’ll call them now.”

Burlington, Vermont

Max was in a meeting with Dmitry discussing the accommodations and various regimens for their new training arrivals when the call came through.

The only reason Max even acknowledged the ring tone was because it came in on his private line. Only a few people had that number. And given that Slava was now orchestrating a major initiative, he had to be mindful of everything.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Dmitry asked.

Max glanced down at the phone, unsurprised to see that the number was blocked. No one who had this number wanted to be recognized. And Max was adamant that it stay just that way.

“I’ll take the call.” He punched on the phone and put it to his ear. “Yes?” he said, purposely not reverting to Russian until he knew who and what he was dealing with.

“Hello, Max.”

The voice at the other end spoke Russian, even though he also spoke perfect English, as well. It was Ilya Andropov, Max’s mole in the Ministry of Economic Development of the Russian Federation. Ilya was an essential asset, protecting the anonymity of Max’s ownership in RusChem. He reported back to Max on all inquiries that were made regarding the company, swiftly identifying any and all problems or potential infiltrations. In return, he was extremely well compensated—as well he should be.

Whatever this phone call was about, it was important.

“What is it, Ilya?” Max asked, switching to Russian himself.

“A red flag. It seems there have been some inquiries into RusChem. The inquirers were sent on a wild goose chase, but I wanted to advise you of the situation immediately.”

“Who made these inquiries?” Max demanded. “And what, specifically, did they pertain to?”

“I wasn’t privy to the information, although I haven’t given up trying. I do know that they were made anonymously. That means it’s someone with internal connections. I don’t think anything was divulged. That doesn’t mean the avenue wasn’t pursued.”

“Son of a bitch.” Max gritted his teeth. Whoever was in charge of protecting Shannon Barker was delving deep—and they had the connections to do so. “Find out whatever you can. I want to know every detail that transpires.”

He slammed down the phone.

“What is it?” Dmitry asked.

“RusChem. Someone’s probing into it. Ilya doesn’t know who, and he’s having trouble finding out.”

“Does Ilya know what it is that they’re looking for?” Dmitry asked.

“Not yet.” Max rose and began stalking around the room, trying to displace his agitation. “This is bad, Dmitry. It’s more than just a police investigation, and it extends way beyond the protection of one Olympic hopeful. This is being run by a well-connected adversary. And it’s a direct threat to my research—and to me.” A dark scowl. “From this point on, anyone is expendable.”

East Village, New York