The Line Between Here and Gone (Forensic Instincts 2)

“How the hell did you see that?” he asked Marc. “Never mind.”

It was a stupid question. Marc had the instincts of a predatory cat.

“Is it the same arsonists about to do a repeat performance?” he asked instead.

“Uh-uh.” Marc shook his head. “I’d say it’s either the cops or private security. My guess? Private security. The cops would be patrolling, not sitting in the bushes, doing surveillance. And they can’t afford SUVs. Morano’s probably scared shitless. He must have hired someone to watch his new makeshift office.” A frown. “We need a distraction.”

He whipped out his cell phone and pressed Casey’s number on speed dial.

“It’s me,” he said without preamble. “We have company out here. A black SUV, parked diagonally across from Morano’s trailer on the Hampton Bays side of the marina.” He gave Casey the exact location. “I need you to call 9-1-1 and report it as a suspicious vehicle. When the cops show up to check it out, and while they’re busy interrogating the driver, Ryan and I will get inside the trailer. We’ll be out and gone by the time they leave.”

“We will?” Ryan asked incredulously as Marc punched off his phone.

“Yeah. We will.” Marc stayed crouched down, indicating to Ryan that he should do the same. “Follow my lead. When the cops show up, we go. Fast. I’ll get us in. You get Gecko installed. We’ll be gone in three minutes tops.”

“Shit. You’re tougher than my MIT professors.”

Marc gave a hard grin. “Get used to it. Real life is tougher than any Ivy League school. Now stay put.”

It didn’t take five minutes before a patrol car came speeding down the street and stopped behind the SUV.

Marc waited until the cop had gotten out of his vehicle and approached the SUV, his back turned toward them.

“That’s our cue,” he told Ryan. “Let’s go.”

They sprinted over to the trailer. Marc had the lock picked in thirty seconds. Then they were inside.

“I’ll keep watch,” Marc said. “You do what you have to.” He went to the trailer window and stared out.

Ryan quickly scanned the space, focusing on the area of the ceiling where Gecko would have the widest visibility. Perfect. A gap in the ceiling tile that would allow Gecko’s tiny video camera to see the whole room. He climbed onto Morano’s desk, used his palm to push the tile up and to a side, and placed Gecko in position. Then he lowered the tile back into place.

“Done,” he announced.

Marc was standing like a statue at the window, not moving or making a sound, just continuing his lookout. The cop and his partner were still talking to the driver of the SUV, probably checking out his credentials.

“Good.” He spoke to Ryan without turning. “Let’s get out of here.”

They crept to the door and slipped out, making sure to lock the trailer door behind them.

There was one more tricky feat to accomplish before they took off.

Ryan stopped at the van long enough to extract the all-important small black box and to pull on his boots with the ankle gaffs and his leather gloves. Next came the body belt and safety strap. Once all his gear was in place, he climbed noiselessly up an adjacent telephone pole—away from the view of the cops—where he mounted the black box. That baby would receive Gecko’s audio and video signal, encrypt them and transmit them over the internet via a secure tunnel opened between the black box and their firewall.

And Forensic Instincts would be able to watch and hear everything Morano did or said.

* * *

They drove away quietly, headlights off until they reached the main road. Then, Ryan flipped on the headlights, accelerated to a normal speed and steered the van around to the Southampton side of Shinnecock Bay where the marina and Fenton’s yacht were located.

While Ryan was finding a hidden spot to park the van, Marc shrugged into a down parka. The hunter-green jacket was bland enough to be less than memorable, but contrasting enough so he didn’t look like a cat burglar. For this second of his two break-ins, he wanted to seem like a regular guy taking a stroll with his dog.

Ryan parked the van in a desolate area a few hundred yards from the marina. He unbuckled his seat belt and snapped off a salute to Marc.

“Have fun, you two,” he said, indicating Hero. “I’ll be in the back of the van with my computer doing the real work.”

“Good to know I’m getting off easy,” Marc retorted, zipping up his parka. “I’ll try not to worry about you.”

Ryan grinned. Marc didn’t waste his time worrying. He just planned, executed and succeeded.