The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“Sure have.” Marc’s brows drew together in thought. “I take it we’ll have to go to Chicago to plant Otter in the appropriate place?”

“Yeah, and we can’t fly, not with all this electronic equipment that Homeland Security will not understand.”

“Then we’ll drive. It should only take about twelve hours.” Marc was already heading for the door. “I’ll run this by Casey. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“As soon as the boss says yes.”

Sitting in lotus position in her living room, eyes closed, Claire cradled Julie’s locket between her palms. Cradling. That was always the word that came to mind when she held this delicate piece of Julie’s past. The locket was a gift from her parents. She’d lost them three years ago in a car crash. A drunken driver had taken them away. She would have given anything to have them back. They’d been a close, loving family. The locket emanated tenderness and sadness. With their deaths, Julie felt very much alone.

Claire sighed. In some ways, Julie was as lost as Lisa.

Putting down the locket, Claire picked up a pair of small diamond studs. Again, a birthday gift from Julie’s parents. Julie had worn them now more than ever; she felt closer to them when she did.

Abruptly, an image flashed through Claire’s mind, and she clutched the earrings more firmly, shut her eyes more tightly. Julie. At the gym. Wearing these. Sitting at her desk. Livid with anger. Claire was inside Julie’s head, feeling her turmoil, knowing its cause. Shannon’s health. The reason for its deterioration. The consequential demise of her hopes and dreams.

Jim Robbins.

All Julie’s thoughts converged into one. She wouldn’t let this go. She’d get into the Apex Center. She’d find a way past security. She’d dig up evidence on the son of a bitch, evidence that would get him thrown in jail, where he couldn’t do this again. Maybe he was already doing it with his other trainees. How many of them had he laced with this stuff? Son of a bitch. No one else could suffer like Shannon.

Poor Shannon. Poor Shannon. Poor Shannon…

Claire felt tears seep from beneath her closed eyelids, trickle down her cheeks. The emotions were intense—rage at Jim, compassion and protectiveness for Shannon.

A modern building with several stories and large rooms of sophisticated equipment.

The Apex Center.

Claire could see it, walk inside it.

Quickly, she snatched up another of Julie’s possessions, this time one that was all business. Her wallet. She’d had it on her when she’d gone to the Apex Center.

She was inside the building. Claire could sense her presence. Closeted in Jim Robbins’ office. Rifling through his files. Finding papers of some kind—papers incriminating enough for her to make copies. She took them. She had them with her in a bag. Hurry home. Hurry home.

Flashes of activity. A car. A tattooed man. A gun. Oh, God—the searing pain in her head as the bullet penetrated her skull. Life oozing out of her body. Pain. Blinding pain. Blackness. The coldness of death.

Claire’s eyes flew open. She was gasping for air. Her entire body was in a cold sweat, and she was shaking uncontrollably.

She could still see the scene playing out. The tattooed man snatched up the bag of papers. The killers drove off as rapidly as they’d arrived.

Russian. That realization came to Claire in a flash of insight. They were Russian.

She couldn’t see the shooter clearly, not yet. Nor could she make out his tattoos to the point where she could draw them.

But she wasn’t letting go of this wallet until she could give Casey descriptions of both.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It had been only a few hours since they’d left New York, but Marc and Ryan were like two little boys as they fought over which radio station to play. Marc preferred classic rock like Whitesnake. Ryan preferred hard rock like Nickelback. If SiriusXM were tracking their station changes, the company would be afraid the satellite signal would crash, and they’d automatically terminate the account.

“I’m the one at the wheel; I should have final say,” Marc pointed out.

“Well, I’m the one doing the technical research…” Ryan held up his laptop. “So I need the right inspiration.”

“Fine.” Marc turned the dial once more and was happy to hear Bon Jovi playing. “Good compromise?”

“I can live with it. On a prayer.” Ryan grinned at his own cleverness.

Marc rolled his eyes. “Done.” Happy to be finished with this bullshit battle, he turned the radio down a notch and switched his attention to the mission ahead of them.