The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“Go on,” he said.

Patricia told him the entire story, omitting no details. She didn’t want him to be blindsided by a single thing that might and would be said when CUORC held its emergency meeting.

Richard listened without saying a word. When she was finished, he asked, “I just want to be clear about this—are you saying that if CUORC votes in favor of the Bureau and against the individual, you’ll override our decision?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Patricia spoke calmly and with authoritative finality. “I’m instructing you to hold the emergency meeting today, and I’m giving you the responsibility of shaping the outcome so as to avoid any confrontation. This way, the decision will be CUORC’s and no one will be the wiser. That said, if you come to me with any other recommendation, rest assured, I will overrule it. I’d prefer it not come to that, which is why I’m giving you a heads-up.”

Richard studied her unyielding expression. “Why this time?”

“Simple,” Patricia replied. “I will not be the one responsible for letting an innocent baby die. And I will not allow the FBI to be held responsible in the court of public opinion for letting an innocent baby die.”

* * *

Hutch was still asleep when Casey left the brownstone the next morning. But he’d clearly gotten up sometime during the wee hours of the morning, when she’d been out for the count, because his overnight bag was unpacked and his toothbrush was back in the bathroom.

Casey smiled. Tough as the situation was, she was glad he’d decided to stay. He had to be back at Quantico tomorrow anyway. And if they could grab one more night together, it would be worth the professional tension that permeated the air whenever their careers collided.

Nothing good was waiting for her at Sloane Kettering.

The minute she arrived at the PICU, Patrick warned her that Amanda was in a highly depressed state. Justin had had a fitful night, and Dr. Braeburn was concerned that there had been no improvement in his breathing or in his overall condition. The antibiotics should be doing their job by now.

Casey nodded, and then went down the hall.

She stood on the other side of the window, watching Amanda try to hold Justin. It was next to impossible with the ventilator and the chest tube in place. And she was clearly terrified about inadvertently jostling any of the apparatus, for fear that it would cause them to stop working—even for an instant.

It broke Casey’s heart to see Amanda bow her head and brokenly sob over this tiny little person who had endured so much in his few short weeks of life. Her shoulders quaked with emotion as she stroked his face, his downy head. Tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto the railing of Justin’s crib.

Dammit, Casey thought, squeezing her own eyes shut. Why couldn’t the FBI understand this? Why couldn’t she drag the whole miserable lot of them into this PICU to see the consequences of their actions, to see the result of their impeding FI’s search for Paul Everett? What if it had been their child whose life was on the line? What in the name of heaven could matter more? Some stupid case?

Tears brimming in her own eyes, Casey turned away. She’d lost all objectivity where it came to the FBI’s handling of this investigation. Obviously, whatever they were pursuing was major. But that wasn’t this poor baby’s fault. He deserved the right to live, to thrive. And—if he was lucky enough to do both—he deserved the right to know his father.

Amanda glanced up and spotted Casey outside, her back turned toward her. She resettled Justin in his crib and rose, walking slowly out to where Casey stood.

“Hi, Casey,” she said quietly, a tremor still in her voice. “How long have you been here.”

“I just arrived.” Casey dashed away her tears and turned around. She wasn’t fooling anyone with her show of bravado, but it was her job to appear strong. So strong she would be. “No change?” she asked, fully aware of the answer.

“None.” Amanda eyelids were puffy, and there were deep, dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked as if she’d aged ten years this week. “Have you gotten any information from my uncle?”

“Nothing concrete. Marc met with him last night. He’s going back again this morning. We honestly don’t believe he knows where Paul is. But it’s possible some of his colleagues do. We won’t let it go until we find out.”

“His colleagues,” Amanda repeated. “Yes, those were the words Patrick used. But I’m not a fool. What you’re saying is that my uncle has mob connections.”

Casey blew out her breath. “All we have is speculation to go on.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re too thorough of a woman to fly by the seat of your pants. You know something.”

“And when that something translates into hard facts, you’ll be the first to know it.” Casey raked a hand through her hair. “I realize how much we’re asking of you. But please trust us. We’re pushing this to the limit. If any of your uncle’s associates knows something, we’ll get at it. In the meantime, just promise me you won’t contact him. And don’t take his calls. It would only complicate what’s already a delicate situation.”

“I won’t.” Amanda’s lips thinned. “But if I find out he had any part in Paul’s disappearance—or even if he knew a thing about it—I won’t be responsible for what I’ll do.”

“I don’t blame you. Just do it after we find Paul.”

* * *

Marc called Casey as she was driving home.

“What’s up?” she asked, emotionally drained and bone weary.