The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you just made sure he was somewhere else, out of the way.”

Fenton was starting to sweat profusely. “My niece’s child—my great-nephew—is dying. His father is the only real hope he has. Do you honestly think I’d take away his best chance to live?”

“Justin wasn’t born when Paul Everett vanished,” Claire reminded him. “So it might have been too late when you realized how vitally important Paul Everett was to his son’s life.” She pursed her lips. “Very dark energy, Mr. Fenton. Very dark, and very ugly. You’re a despicable man.”

Fenton raked both hands through his hair. “This is insane. I didn’t kill anyone. And I didn’t stash Paul Everett away. I don’t know what happened to him or who’s responsible. But it wasn’t me.”

That spurred Marc into action.

He grabbed Fenton by the lapels, dragged him forward. “What did Everett find when he was on your boat? Did he overhear a conversation? Did he put together the pieces? Or did he find something concrete—like the containers themselves? Tell me, you son of a bitch, or I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Fenton struggled to free himself. But Marc’s grip was unbreakable.

“Let go of me,” Fenton commanded.

“I’m just getting started. Now it’s only your designer suit that’s in danger of being torn apart. In a few minutes, it’ll be a whole lot more. Now talk.” Marc shook him hard. “What happened when Everett was on your boat?”

“Nothing.” Fenton was starting to get scared. The expression on Marc’s face was lethal. “We talked about the hotel. We talked about Amanda.”

“How touching. I’m sure he confided his innermost feelings to you.” Marc’s grip tightened again, and he yanked Fenton forward until he was halfway across the desk. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. You didn’t discuss Everett’s social life. He spent the time trying to convince you to sign onto his hotel project. And you kept him at arm’s length—for the same reason you were doing it with Morano. How much in kickbacks did you get from the twenty grand they each paid the mob every six weeks?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know…”

Marc was around the desk in a microsecond. He pinned Fenton to the wall, digging his elbow into his throat, keeping the threat real. “Yes, you did. You knew everything. Just like you profited from everything. Now, am I going to do some serious damage to your body, or are you going to answer me?”

Fenton gazed past Marc, giving Claire a frightened look. “Are you going to just stand there and let this barbarian physically assault me?”

“Hmm.” Claire pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Yes,” she replied. “I am.”

“I’m not admitting to anything,” Fenton gasped as the pressure of Marc’s elbow intensified. “Nothing except the business meeting on my yacht. But I swear I didn’t have anything to do with Paul Everett’s disappearance.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. You don’t ask certain people those kinds of questions.”

“I’ll bet you don’t.” Marc lifted Fenton by the throat and threw him down to the floor, discarding him like a piece of trash. “I’d love to kick the crap out of you. But it doesn’t suit my purposes—not right now. Right now, all I care about is finding Paul Everett. And you don’t know shit about his whereabouts. But you’re going to find out. You’re going to dig as deep as you have to, ask the scariest people you know. And, if you’re lucky, they’ll have my answers.”

Fenton stared up at Marc, his forehead drenched in sweat. He made no move to stand up. “Do you know what they’ll do to me if I accuse them, or even press them for answers?”

“Do you know what I’ll do to you if you don’t?” Marc loomed over Fenton, eyes blazing like fire. “Uncle Sam trained me well. I can kill you anytime I want to—no matter where you are or who’s protecting you. Do you know what a SEAL is capable of? Bin Laden never stood a chance. Which means you sure as hell don’t. Get me information. Tonight. Then I might show you some mercy by only breaking body parts you never knew you had. And afterward, just for laughs, I’ll make an anonymous call to the cops and get you thrown into jail for smuggling—plus a whole list of other crimes you don’t even know I’m aware of. I may not be law enforcement now, but I was once FBI. One phone call f

rom me, and they’ll take care of the rest.”

With that, Marc turned and headed for the door, gesturing for Claire to join him. “I’ll be in touch in the morning, Fenton. Make sure you have answers.”

* * *

“Okay, you’re officially terrifying,” Claire commented as they headed toward the van.

“And you are a whole lot tougher than I realized.” Marc snapped off a salute. “I’m impressed.”

“That man is scum,” Claire replied. “Every time you accused him of something, I got a flash of violence and dirty money. The only thing I got nothing on was each time you asked about Paul Everett’s whereabouts. I kept coming up blank—well, almost blank. I’m pretty certain that Paul disappeared because of Fenton, but not by his hand.”

“I agree.” Marc nodded, opening the van door so Claire could climb in. “I’m not even sure he knows who to go to for answers. But he’ll torture himself trying. He’s going to have one miserable, sleepless night—and put himself in a shitload of danger. Plus, we’ll get leads from the calls he makes, since Ryan’s monitoring his phone records. That’s good enough for me right now.”

“He didn’t know where Everett is?” Ryan surmised from the tail end of the conversation.

“Nope. But he’ll be busting his ass to find out.”