The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Yes, sir.” The thin, uneasy-looking man disappeared.

“Why did you bring Ms. Hedgleigh with you?” Fenton demanded right away. “She wasn’t there when you broke in and trespassed on my boat with your trained bloodhound.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Marc’s expression was nondescript. He glanced around the room. “I hope you’re not stupid enough to have this room bugged. Your admissions, or lack thereof, are a lot more incriminating than mine.”

“The room’s not bugged. I’m an average man, Devereaux, not a spy.”

“An average man?” This time, Marc raised a brow. “I wouldn’t use that term to describe you. As for Claire, she’s my colleague, and a trusted judge of character. I asked her to be here.”

“She’s a psychic.”

“Yes, I am,” Claire confirmed. “I pick up on all kinds of energy, good and bad.”

“Bad energy isn’t admissible in court,” Fenton mocked her.

“I wasn’t plannin

g on testifying. Why? Should I be?”

Marc bit back a smile. He’d never seen this side of Claire. She was damned good.

“Stop dancing around the issue.” Fenton planted his palms flat on his desk. “I know what happened tonight. My guard at the marina regained consciousness. Nice of you to pull the gag out of his mouth so he didn’t choke, and loosen the ropes so he could free himself. The minute he did, he took off after you. Of course, you were already gone. But he called me on the spot. And he described you and your dog to a tee.”

“Yet you didn’t call the police.” Marc looked thoughtful. “Interesting. If my property had been broken into, I’d be on the phone with the cops. Then again, I’m not a criminal scumbag like you.”

Without so much as a pause, Marc tapped Claire’s shoulder and pointed to the marble-framed photograph on the wall. “That’s the ship I was telling you about,” he said conversationally. “Big Money. Impressive, isn’t it? It travels to Fenton’s dock in Bayonne on a regular basis, retrieving containers as it goes. And it lives up to its name. It rakes in huge money—doesn’t it, Fenton?”

Fenton wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “My entire company is successful.”

“I’m sure it is. Transporting illegal cargo really rakes in the cash.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, but I do. It’s a sweet deal. Your fleet is out there dredging anyway. Why not help out the mob and reap some extra profits at the same time?” Marc took a few menacing steps forward, his sarcastic tone turning cold as steel. “Did you plan on doing the same thing with your ferry service to the new hotel? Is that the deal you made with the mob? To take along their stash of guns or drugs while you transported tourists to the luxury resort? Is that why it took you so long to sign those contracts with Morano—because you were working out the specifics with the mob while they blackmailed him in the meantime?”

Fenton had gone sheet-white.

“It backfired, didn’t it? When Morano couldn’t afford his blackmailers anymore, they burned down his office. People could have been killed. I bet you didn’t plan on adding murder to your list of crimes, now, did you?”

“I’m not listening to another word,” Fenton barked. “You don’t have a shred of proof to back up any of these outrageous charges.”

“Fortunately, I don’t need any.” Marc’s tone was now low, threatening. “My job is not to bring you to justice, much as I’d love to. I work for Forensic Instincts, not law enforcement. My job is to find Paul Everett. As it turns out, he was on your private yacht, Lady Luck, right before he disappeared. And that I do have proof of. Solid, admissible proof.” Marc stretched the truth—and it worked.

“So you were on my yacht,” Fenton burst out. “You

admit it.”

“Why? Because I know her name? Public record, Fenton.” Marc leaned over the desk, his eyes ablaze, his stance ominous. “Are you denying that Everett was there?”

Fenton shrank back. Marc was more than a little scary when he looked like this. “No, I’m not denying it. We had a business meeting there.”

“One you never mentioned?”

“Why would I mention it? You asked if Everett and I were business colleagues. We were. We had several meetings. One of them was on my yacht. Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

“Did Everett figure out what you were up to? Is that why he conveniently disappeared? Was it your call or was it the mob’s?”

Fenton’s pupils dilated, and his jaw literally dropped. “You think I killed Paul Everett?”