The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

“You’re screwing things up,” Marc commented as he walked out to the patio and perched beside Ryan, who was doling out seconds.

Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Why? Is your meat too rare?”

“You know what I’m talking about. And it’s not the food.”

For whatever reason, that infuriated Ryan more than he already was. His head snapped up and he glared at Marc. “Are you about to give me relationship advice? You, who haven’t been involved with a woman in as long as I can remember?”

Marc was unperturbed. “Yup. Because, whether or not you admit it, your relationship with Claire is more than casual—which means you have parameters to adhere to.” He paused. “And for the record, just because I like to keep my private life private, it doesn’t mean I spend my nights alone.”

“Fine.” Ryan took it down a notch. “Point taken. Actually, both points taken. How the hell am I supposed to convince Claire-voyant

that I’m not hitting the sheets with Leilah?”

“You could start by not being so responsive to her flirting. It doesn’t take a body-language specialist to figure out that she’s trying to rekindle whatever you once had. And you’re not exactly discouraging it.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, having strolled over to join the men. “Cut the charm. I know you eat, drink and sleep it, but it’s not doing you any good tonight.”

“So what am I supposed to do—blow her off?”

“Just cool it, take it down a notch,” Hutch advised. “I don’t know what kind of arrangement you and Claire have, and it’s none of my business. But even if you’re keeping it light and easy, doesn’t mean she wants another woman shoved in her face. Do what you want, but do it on your own time—not when Claire’s around.”

A corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted. “Our boss has really taught you well. Nice analysis of the female brain. Okay, I’ll try my best.”

* * *

Back in the dining area, Claire sat by herself, playing with her couscous, and trying to deal with her own new and raw emotions. She was being unreasonable, and she knew it. Ryan had every right to renew whatever personal involvement he had with Leilah. There were no promises between them, no labeled relationship and no exclusivity clause. Still, all Claire could see was a beautiful, dark-haired woman all over Ryan. It was clear that they’d been hot and heavy at some point, and equally clear that Leilah was interested in picking up where they’d left off. As for Ryan, he was being too damned accommodating, despite needing Leilah’s help.

She had no idea how to approach this one.

“Hey.” Casey came over and sat down beside her. “You okay?”

“I guess not. But you already know that.” Claire shot her a helpless look. “Why am I letting myself feel this way and how do I stop it?”

“I’m not sure you can.” Casey’s smile was wan. “Relationships are hard. They’re complicated and confusing. And they make you feel and act like you usually don’t.”

“Leilah’s gorgeous,” Claire blurted out, listening to the tinkling laughter of the curvaceous, dark-haired beauty as it emanated from the kitchen. “Even Hero’s transfixed.”

“Hero’s transfixed by her family recipe. But, yeah, she is gorgeous.” Casey wasn’t going to lie to her friend. “And she’s being pretty obvious about what she wants. But it takes two to make that happen. And I think Ryan has too much respect for you to respond to Leilah’s one-liners.”

“We’re like day and night,” Claire said, referring to herself and Leilah. “And I’m not about to compete, no matter how crappy this makes me feel.”

“You don’t have to compete.” Casey paused, carefully weighing her next words. “Ryan cares about you a lot more than even he realizes. He hates clingy women. Before you, he’d never think of giving any woman he was involved with an explanation of his actions. It wouldn’t even be on his radar that she might be hurting. And if it was, he wouldn’t feel any responsibility to alleviate that hurt. I see a whole new Ryan these past months.”

Claire fell silent. “You’re right,” she said at last. “Relationships are hard. I liked it better when I was—” She broke off, dropping her plate to the carpet and letting out a gasp. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Casey recognized the frightened, faraway look in Claire’s eyes.

“It’s happening again,” Claire whispered, still staring off into space, her breath fast and ragged. “Another woman. Feeling terror. And pain. She’s clawing to get away. But she can’t. She can’t.” Claire covered her face with her hands, as if by doing so she could block out the images.

Casey’s own heart was racing, the fear that had dominated her life all week consuming her yet again. “Can you see the surroundings? Think, Claire. Try to concentrate. Is it indoors? Outdoors?”

“Indoors,” Claire said in a shaky whisper. “Institutional setting. Cinder-block walls. Woven multicolored area rug. He’s dragging her down onto it. There’s nothing she can do.”

Casey’s mind was processing. Institutional setting with cinder-block walls. Not an apartment. A college dorm? Maybe. But which college? Which dorm?

They could call the police. But they had nothing to give them, nothing concrete.

They were helpless.