The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Soon. But, trust me, you can relax. Fenton Dredging’s got a strong reputation and a wide regional presence. It didn’t take any arm-twisting to get my recommendation unanimously approved.”

Okay, so Fenton was seeking U.S. government maritime contracts. Made sense. His company was a maritime construction company, and landing government contracts would mean big money—money that Mercer was helping him achieve. One hand washing the other. More evidence that Fenton had used his leverage to get Mercer elected.

The arrangement might be sketchy, but it was an everyday occurrence in politics. Unless there was more to it. How deep in Fenton’s pocket was Mercer?

As if to answer Patrick’s question, Mercer continued.

“Where do things stand on the Southampton hotel? I’m getting pressure from both sides—the ayes and the nays.”

“Which side is exerting more of that pressure?” Fenton inquired. He didn’t sound too concerned.

“It’s pretty damned close to fifty-fifty. And both sides have solid reasons to back them up. The financial gain versus the intrusion to their way of life. Hey, I’d love to see the profits and the job opportunities for my constituency. But I’m a local myself. I get it. No matter how I position myself, this is going to cause a major outcry—one it’ll be up to me to keep a lid on. I need to know which side you want me to come out in favor of. Are you signing onto this project or not?”

“You know the answer to that. I’m a businessman. To me, profit trumps resistance to change.”

“Then why the hesitation, first with Everett, now with Morano?”

“I had my reasons.” Fenton sidestepped the question, blatantly stating that he planned to keep those reasons to himself. “But all that’s about to be resolved. My plans are to sign the contracts and take on the dredging project. That hotel is going to rake in millions. And if I let another dredging company do what mine can do better, I’ll lose out big-time.”

Mercer blew out a resigned breath, although he showed no sign of surprise. “So Morano’s ferries and chartered yachts will have a direct route to a newly constructed hotel dock.”

“Yes, they will. And a professionally dug channel to get them there.” Fenton shot Mercer a purposeful look as their food arrived. “So, if I were you, I’d start preparing my district for an influx of capital—and people.”

“Don’t worry. Strategies are already in place for whichever way you go. I wasn’t about to put myself behind the eight ball and have to improvise at the last minute. Although I guessed which way you’d turn.”

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah.” Mercer paused again, toying with his silverware as the waiter arranged their plates, then placed Fenton’s glass of wine in front of him and opened a bottle of sparkling water.

Patrick studied the congressman as the waiter filled his glass. He could be waiting for privacy. But Patrick didn’t think so. That elephant was back in the room. Was that elephant more about the hotel contracts, or was Mercer pulling other strings for Fenton, as well?

Taking another bite of his Angus burger, Patrick enjoyed a bit of his lunch as the waiter finished his work at Mercer’s table, asking the usual hospitable questions, and then disappeared with his empty tray.

A few silent moments passed, during which Patrick waited with curious anticipation. Fenton was sipping his wine. Mercer was staring into his glass of sparkling water.

At last, he looked up, swallowing as if he’d steeled himself to broach a very difficult topic.

What came next was the last thing Patrick had expected.

“Your niece—Amanda—how is her baby doing?”

Fenton set down his wineglass. For the first time in this conversation, he showed a strong emotional reaction. “Not well.” A muscle twitched at his jaw. “Amanda’s son is losing this battle a little more every day. I’m not sure he can hang on much longer.”

There was steel in his tone. Clearly, he was furious—whether at the situation, the doctors, or his own inability to fix things, Patrick wasn’t sure.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mercer replied—carefully, as if he were walking a very fine tightrope.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Cliff. I need more.”

The almost-military command made the congressman do a double take. “More? What more can I offer you? You don’t need my money…”

“No, I don’t.” Fenton stopped him in his tracks. “I need a donor match. And I need one now.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers tightly in front of him. “Amanda’s hired some investigative firm to find out if Paul Everett is alive and to hunt him down. We both know I can’t wait for that to happen. I need you to be tested. Immediately.”

Mercer did another double take. “Why? To sidetrack Amanda from searching for Everett?”

“You know damned well why—and why you could quite possibly be a match. Besides, my reasons aren’t in question. The bottom line is, my great-nephew is my last shot to hand my business empire over to blood. I’m not going to lose it. So just do what I say.”

“And how will I justify my sudden involvement—not only to the world, but to Mary Jane?”