The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

I try not to think about what’s being taken from you, day after day. I try to remind myself of the instructions. But things are different. The caring is different. No one can help or protect you but me.

I’ve got to remember that. I’ve got to have patience.

But for how long?

Hutch pulled Casey aside the minute she and Hero made their way downstairs.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

She gave him a cool look. “Hero and I were just doing a once-over in Krissy’s room. I wanted him to be able to sniff out—”

“I know what you were doing with Hero,” Hutch interrupted. “I meant, what’s with the icy treatment? What are you so pissed off about?”

Casey glanced around to ensure they were alone. “Apparently, it’s okay to sleep with me, but not to give me a major heads-up like the fact that Claudia Mitchell was murdered. I’d understand if the information was classified, but it wasn’t, and you had no problem calling your buddy, Marc. So you weren’t keeping it from Forensic Instincts, just from me.”

“That’s what you’re ripping mad about?” Hutch sounded incredulous. “Obviously, I knew Marc would tell you. Your team is tighter than our squads.”

“But?” Casey prompted. “I’m not a former BAU-er? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it.” It was Hutch’s turn to glance around. Then, he dropped his voice to protect their privacy. “It’s because of our personal relationship that I didn’t call you directly. The Bureau understands my continued contact and loyalty towards Marc—we were once colleagues. But you and I are different. You’re the private sector, earning big bucks without having to follow the rules. It’s bad enough that half the world knows we’re involved. The last thing I want to do is ruffle feathers to the point where the FBI stops feeling so magnanimous toward Forensic Instincts. Up until now, it’s been an amenable, if rocky, road. But your team walks a fine line between acceptable and off-limits. My giving you a direct jump on Claudia Mitchell’s murder would definitely rock the boat.”

Casey waved her hand in frustrated disbelief. “So even though the entire task force knows that Marc is going to come straight to me with the news, it’s okay because Marc is former BAU and because the two of you aren’t hitting the sheets together.”

Hutch’s lips twitched at her succinct conclusion. “That about sums it up.”

“Unbelievable.” Casey dragged her fingers through her hair. “Another reminder of why I hate bureaucracy. Fine.” A thoughtful pause. “You and I really have to have a talk. In retrospect, I should have anticipated this kind of thing, but, since this is the first case we’ve worked so closely together on, I didn’t. We need to set some ground rules. Otherwise, we’ll combust.”

“I agree—and not just about this case. We have to get on the same page about a lot of things.”

Casey didn’t ask him what those “things” were. She merely nodded.

“Tonight,” Hutch stated flatly. “I’ll come by late, after we’re both too exhausted to work. Then we can talk.”

This time, Casey’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That sounds productive, but not very inspiring.”

“Oh, I’ll be inspiring. You can count on it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

This time Claire’s flashes of insight didn’t come in a dream.

They did come while she was in bed, however. When she was lying there, staring off in the darkened room and contemplating the idea of joining Forensic Instincts.

Her mind began to wander, drifting from one team member to the other. She envisioned her role in the company. Her relationships with the people.

Suddenly, those images were gone, replaced with the sights, sounds and smells of tragedy.

A medical facility with negative energy surrounding it.

That image faded. The darkness persisted.

White panic. A car. Veering wildly. The grinding screech of failing brakes. Tearing metal. The car, rolling over and over, spiraling downward. Thudding against the craggy terrain. A violent stop. Flames. The smell of gas. The blast of an explosion.

The icy stillness of death.

Fear. Krissy’s face. Tears coursing down her cheeks. Hope’s face. Pain and frustration carved into her very soul.