The timing of all this had to be perfect, like a well-choreographed ballet. Glen was setting up an exit strategy. And Rand was a key player in keeping that strategy on track.
Glen punched in the number on his burn phone and waited.
One ring. Then two.
“Yeah?” the gruff voice at the other end said.
“It’s Fisher. You’re expecting me.”
“I got word. What do you need?”
“Three new identities, inc
luding one for me. Full sets of papers for each.”
A low whistle. “That doesn’t come cheap.”
“I know. I’ve got twice your normal fee, since I need them twice as fast.”
“How fast?” Rand sounded much more amenable once he’d heard that.
“As quick as you can turn them over.”
“Then let’s get started. Be at my shop tonight at eight. Use the back door. Bring all the necessary information. I’ll take your picture. The other two will have to come in separately to get theirs.”
“Not a problem. I’ll arrange it.”
Glen disconnected the call, very pleased.
* * *
He wasn’t so pleased when Jack called him much later that night, as he was getting back from his meeting.
“We have a problem,” Jack said, leaning against his bicycle, which he’d tucked in a narrow alcove about two blocks from the Forensic Instincts office.
“I don’t want to hear that.” Glen shut the door to the apartment.
“I’m sure you don’t. But it’s true. I’ve spent the whole day checking out the Forensic Instincts building and the activities of Casey Woods—which, by the way, are nonexistent. She’s holed up in there with her army of guards and her FBI boyfriend. Even the rest of her team doesn’t come out too often—just for quick errands or to walk the dog. There’s no way we’re getting our hands on that bitch. I can’t even get close to the building, that’s how many video surveillance cameras there are. This sucks.”
Ingesting that information, Glen went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. “Chill,” he instructed Jack. “Just keep watching and keep track of all the comings and goings. The rest you’ll leave to me. Trust me. I’ll get our firecrotch where we want her.”
“If you say so.” Jack sounded dubious.
“I do.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The FI team disbanded late that night, and everyone went home to get some much-needed rest.
Ryan had been eyeing Claire all night—her pallor, her tight expression—and he knew exactly what she was thinking. He wasn’t planning on letting her think it.
When she left the brownstone, he fell into step beside her. He hopped on the subway that went to her stop, exited along with her and walked her home.
They didn’t speak a word the entire way.
Once they were inside her apartment, Ryan marched her over to her wicker sofa, put his palms on her shoulders and pressed her down into a sitting position. Then he poured her a glass of wine and pushed the glass into her hands.
“Drink.”