The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“Exactly.”

“This is the first and only time, Marc. Understood? Never again, and only because it’s Emma.”

“Heard loud and clear.”

“I want Madeleine to stay with Abby. How soon can she get here?”

“I’m calling her now. She’ll be there by the time you pack up your gear. She won’t leave Abby’s side until you walk back through your front door.”

Aidan didn’t doubt that. Madeleine was amazing with Abby, and his little princess adored her. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

“You know the coordinates of where we’re headed,” Marc said. “We’re already an hour ahead of you, with four more to go. We’ve got one stop to make in Burlington. Get on the road as soon as Maddy arrives. And let me know our meeting place after you make your phone calls.”

Claire had been holed up in her yoga room for over two hours.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to calm down enough to channel her energies where they needed to go.

She’d set the stage perfectly, shutting the blinds and turning on the room’s low, soothing lights. She’d then seated herself in lotus position on her mat, placed Emma’s things in front of her, and begun taking deep, cleansing breaths. She had to make this happen. But she also knew that what she was striving for couldn’t be forced.

Finally, her mind shifted into that wide-open, ethereal place where white light dominated her being, and she knew she was ready.

Eyes closed, she allowed the energy to flow. She reached out, and her fingers found Emma’s “emergency-hot-guy bag”—a faux suede pouch that held all the essentials Emma felt were necessary if a last-minute date opportunity arose.

Unzipping the pouch, Claire removed the shimmery pale peach lip gloss that Emma claimed went with everything. She unscrewed the top and pulled out the wand with the soft tip that was moistened with gloss.

Slowly, she slid the pad of her finger over it, feeling the sticky substance coat her skin.

Emma.

Her image slid into Claire’s head and immediately took shape. Emma. Bound. Gagged. Crumpled on a leather seat. Crying. Hurting. Her body trying to curl into fetal position. Bruises on her face and at her wrists and ankles, where she was bound. And the terror. It was overwhelming. Thoughts of torture and sexual assault and dying all crashing into Claire at once.

Oh, God, poor Emma. How much of that had happened already and how much was yet to be?

Claire shifted her concentration to Emma’s surroundings—the tan leather seat and the tightly enclosed quarters.

It wasn’t a room. It was small and contained. A cabin. Filled with noise. A loud, thrumming sound that pounded inside Claire’s head. A motor? No, an engine.

Emma was on a plane—a plane bound for Burlington, Vermont.

She’d be there soon.

It was making its descent now—Claire could feel the pressure build in Emma’s ears, see the tops of the lush green trees draw nearer. She didn’t need to call on her gift to know that Emma was being taken to Maxim Lubinov’s compound.

Marc and Ryan didn’t have much time.

It was after nine o’clock on a moonless night when the FI van arrived in Burlington, and Marc and Ryan broke into the Department of Land Records in City Hall.

Quickly and efficiently, they used their flashlights to rifle through the file cabinets. Ryan’s search of the tax records revealed the lot and block number of Lubinov’s estate: Block 026-4, Lot 001. Quickly, they pulled the architectural plans for the buildings that made up Max’s compound, spread the sheets out across a tabletop, and took pictures in rapid fire.

“We’ve got more than enough,” Ryan said at last. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Marc nodded, already returning things to their proper spots and shutting the drawers and cabinets.

He and Ryan left the building, easing the door shut behind them until they heard the telltale click that signified it was locked. Then, they jumped into the van. Marc checked in with Aidan for the third time in the past few hours and carefully explained the plan to Ryan as he drove.

“Are you listening to me?” he demanded, seeing that Ryan was studying the photos.

“I’m listening. I’ve got my part down pat. No worries.” A pause, as Ryan continued to pore over the diagrams. “The master bedroom suite is in the northwest corner of the manor,” he murmured. “By the time you and Aidan are ready to move in, my guess is that that’s where Lubinov will be.”