The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

It read: Bennato Construction Company.

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared in confused disbelief. Then, she pulled herself together. She reminded herself that Bennato was involved in construction projects all over New York State. Any connection between Joe and them had nothing to do with her, or today’s job interview.

She was overreacting. She had to be.

She turned away. That’s when she was hit with her second surprise of the day.

This was no coincidence.

She considered retracing her steps and forgetting she’d ever seen what she did. But she couldn’t. She was too unstrung. So she didn’t think. She just marched straight into the eye of the storm. And she had the confrontation before she could chicken out and walk away.

She left the nursing

home with a sense of awareness and dread that far eclipsed the positive impact of her upbeat job interview.

Hurrying to her car, she jumped in and turned over the engine. She couldn’t get home fast enough. What she’d learned in her face-off could change everything.

So stunned was Claudia with her newfound, overwhelming knowledge, that she failed to spot the dark sedan following a short distance behind her.

It waited until she was a quarter mile from the sharp hairpin turn atop the mountain to pick up speed. Then, the driver floored the gas. The car flew up to Claudia’s in seconds. Just as quickly, it moved to the left and astride hers. The driver lost no time, slamming the sedan’s passenger side directly into Claudia’s driver’s side.

She screamed and clutched the wheel, swerving from side to side and trying to get out of the way. But there was nowhere to go—not with the steel divider to her right, separating her from the steep decline that plunged down from the mountaintop.

The sedan wouldn’t let her go. It struck her car over again and again—hard, purposefully—nudging it closer and closer to the railing. Claudia veered wildly, trying to escape the inevitable.

She lost the fight.

With the sickening sound of tearing metal, Claudia’s car tore through the divider and plummeted over the side of the mountain. It flipped over four or five times before crashing into a tree.

Seconds later, the car burst into flames.

Ryan was still at his desk when Casey came down late that morning, Hero at her heels. Ryan’s five-o’clock shadow told her he’d been at it all night. The dark circles under Casey’s eyes told him the same.

“Where do things stand?” she asked.

Ryan leaned back in his chair. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Rough night?”

Casey shrugged. “I’ve been buried in the Felicity Akerman case file.”

“Hutch must be pissed.”

“Nope. He pulled an all-nighter of his own. The BAU is busy modifying their profile in light of the potential Vizzini connection.” Casey put a lid on the chitchat about her private life and changed the subject. “What have you got for me?”

Ryan took the hint and reverted to business. “I’ve aged the images of all the kids you gave me to work with—Felicity’s friends, the neighborhood kids she played with, the girls she went to soccer camp with. I’m in the process of tracking them down. So far, there’s nothing impressive to report. No parents with mob connections. No sleazy backgrounds. Just normal middle-class families. And the kids, now men and women, are scattered around the country—different careers, different marital statuses, different lives.”

He handed Casey some printed pages. “Those are the adult images I came up with. Each page has a small corner photo of that person as a child. That gives us the continuity we need when we show the pictures to Vera Akerman and Hope Willis. See if either of them recognizes a familiar face. Particularly Hope. Have her rack her brain for anyone who’s been hanging around, maybe visiting as an alleged repairman or someone canvassing for a religious organization or political candidate. That would have given them access to the house and to the Willises—maybe even to Krissy. And if Hope does recognize someone, and if Vera recalls them from childhood, we might have a lead.”

Casey glanced toward the center of the room, taking in the copying machine. “It looks like you’ve been busy working more than one lead.”

“Yeah. I know we haven’t gotten anything incriminating off Joe Deale’s computer. And I know the guy’s low on the Vizzini totem pole. So I figured we’d step up our investigation, take it to the next level—the Bennato Construction Company.” Ryan walked over, patted the copier. “As of four this morning, this baby’s ready to go.”

Marc was in his office at the Forensic Instincts brownstone, getting ready for the visit he and Ryan had planned, when his BlackBerry rang. The call was short. But it was a shocker.

He made his way to Casey’s office, calling down to Ryan to join them.