The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Nope. Just me and my to-do list. Casey’s out working the case with Marc, Claire and Hero, and Patrick’s pounding the pavement. What time is she expecting you?”

“We have a dinner date. Till then, I’m on my own. Which is fine with me, because I’m beat. I slept a little on the plane, but not enough to make a difference. I think I’m going to crash in Casey’s room, and then take that shower so I can be human when she gets home.”

“Good plan. I’m taking a break myself. I’ll be heading over to the gym. I need a two-hour workout to get my brain in gear—but I’ll settle for one. The fallout from Yoda’s phone call robbed me of that second hour.”

“An unfortunate necessity, Ryan,” Yoda said. “I apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Yoda. You did the right thing. Then again, I programmed you.”

“Again, that’s correct.”

“In any case,” Ryan told Hutch. “My brain is on overload. Time to pump some iron.”

Hutch nodded. Everyone knew what a gym rat Ryan was. Hutch just found it amazing that his full-scale workouts plus his eight hours of sleep a night left him time to be as productive as he was. But the guy managed to do it all, and do it better than any technology pro Hutch had ever seen in action.

“You need my key?” Ryan asked. “You’ll either have to go out for food or get something delivered. I doubt Casey has much in her fridge.”

“Nah. I’d rather sleep. I’ll make up for the lack of food at dinner.” Hutch picked up his overnight bag, yawning as he did. “Oh, and Yoda? I promise to use warm blankets. My body temp will rise in no time.”

“Very good, Hutch.”

Hutch headed for the stairs. “Enjoy your workout,” he called over his shoulder to Ryan. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

* * *

The two men met in a private office. Neither of them was happy.

“Have you seen the video?” The stockier of the two wasted no time on small talk.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it” was the equally terse reply.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“I know. A big one.”

“We need to have that video blocked. We can’t risk him seeing it.”

“That’s no problem. He won’t. But the rest of the world already has. Someone’s going to say something to him. It’s just a matter of time—and probably not a lot of it.”

“Have him isolated,” was the order. “And fast. It’s the only way.”

The second man nodded. “I’ll figure something out and make it happen.”

“Make it happen today.”

* * *

The Starbucks near Republic Airport was crowded just like every other Starbucks Casey had ever been in. She sometimes wondered if the regulars actually lived there with their laptops, having their first cup of Pike Place at 6:00 a.m. and their final decaf latte at closing time, all the while clinging to the brownies and the Wi-Fi until they were forcibly removed from the store. It was even worse now, since it was lunchtime, which meant that there was a line for paninis that spilled out into the street.

Casey scanned the packed café, wondering how she was ever going to find the man they were here to see.

She needn’t have worried. He found them.

Even in the lunchtime crush, Detective Jones had spotted the FI team and was now gesturing them over to the table he’d obviously claimed a long time ago. His venti coffee cup was sitting on the table, half-empty, along with a partially eaten blueberry scone and an official-looking manila folder. Customers were glaring at him and the three extra chairs at his table as they passed by, but he ignored them. And the few patrons who went up to the counter to complain were spoken quietly to, after which they shut their mouths and went away.

Okay, so the staff knew who and what Jones was. And no one wanted to mess with the State Police.

Jones was a middle-aged guy with a lean build and a balding head. He was wearing a white shirt and a staid red tie with dark blue stripes. The BCI were plainclothes detectives, and Jones epitomized the word average.