A Face to Die For (Forensic Instincts 6)

CHAPTER 2

Brianna Mullen was a striking young woman with high cheekbones, a long mane of curly black hair, and wide dark eyes. Beneath those dark eyes were even darker circles, and inside their depths was sheer terror.

So much for her misreading the threat. This girl was genuinely traumatized.

“Hi, Ms. Mullen—or may I call you Brianna?” Casey rose and extended her hand. “I’m Casey Woods, president of Forensic Instincts.”

“Yes, call me Brianna,” the girl said in a quiet voice, shaking Casey’s proffered hand. “It’s such a relief to meet you.”

Casey introduced the rest of the team and then gestured toward the chair they reserved for clients. “Have a seat. Can we get you anything—coffee, tea, water?”

“No thank you.” Brianna sat down. She crossed her legs—rigidly, so as to still their trembling—and placed tightly interlaced fingers in her lap.

Leaning forward before retaking her seat, Casey handed Brianna some paperwork. “That’s our contract. Please take your time and review it before you sign.”

As if on autopilot, Brianna took the papers, barely scanning them before placing them on the floor beside her purse. “They’re fine. Do I pay you now?”

“First, let’s talk. Do we have your permission to videotape this meeting? If we don’t come to a mutual agreement today, we’ll delete the recording and it will be wiped from our database.”

Alarm flashed across Brianna’s face. “You have to take my case. I have nowhere else to go. Please,” she begged. “I’m being stalked by a psycho who’s taking steps toward hurting me—or worse. I’m not paranoid,” she added, gazing around the room with the realization that she sounded as if she were exactly that. “I don’t have many hard facts. But I do have some—along with strong feelings and instincts.” She turned her gaze to Claire. “I heard that you’re a psychic. That has to mean that you trust in things you just know but can’t prove. I’m appealing to that now. Please don’t turn me down.”

A flash of compassion crossed Claire’s face. She hated that Forensic Instincts had become so successful that they’d captured the media’s attention. Less anonymity. More revelations. Much had been made about her claircognizance—the metaphysical sense of clear-knowing—although she’d stayed as far out of the limelight as possible. Still, her gift was publicized enough for potential clients to be aware of it and to seize the feeling of hope it provided.

That part sucked. But right now her every instinct was screaming that Brianna’s fears were as real as her desperation. And Claire just couldn’t ignore that.

“I’m open to what you have to say,” she finally replied, balancing her answer so as to calm Brianna without sealing the deal on their services. “I can see how distraught you are.”

Brianna was fumbling in her purse, her attention now turned back to Casey. “I have enough money to make an initial payment. Tell me your total fee and I’ll take a second job to pay the full amount. I’ll take a semester off if I need to. And if I can’t pull that off, I’ll go to my parents... I didn’t tell them anything because I didn’t want them to go crazy with worry… But if I have to…”

“Stop.” Casey held up her palm. “We’re not turning you away. We just want to get all your facts—and your feelings—before we make this a fait accompli. As for our fee, it’s negotiable depending on the financial well-being of our client. So put that concern aside. We’ll work something out.”

Brianna visibly relaxed. “Thank you. And, yes, you’re free to videotape our meeting.”

“Good. Yoda?” Casey summoned him.

“Yes, Casey,” the computerized voice responded. “Shall I turn on the video-recording devices now?”

“Please.”

Brianna was looking around, as startled as all their clients were when they first “met” Yoda.

“Our virtual team member,” Casey explained briefly. “Now let’s get started.”

“Okay.” Brianna sucked in her breath. “As I told you on the phone, I’m a grad student at Stern. I just completed my first year. The professor who taught my marketing class this spring was Dr. Thomas Hanover.” She visibly shuddered at the mention of his name. “A little over a month before the semester ended, he started making sexual advances toward me—first subtle, then overt.”

“Can you be more specific about subtle versus overt?” Casey asked.

A nod. “He’d brush up against me or lean over my shoulder to look at my computer screen while his gaze was pinned to my breasts. It made my skin crawl. But I kept telling myself I was imagining it.”

Brianna stopped to swallow back tears. “Then one day he asked me to come see him about my work during office hours. I made sure it was daytime and that the building was full. Not that it mattered. He didn’t touch me at all. He didn’t even blackmail me with a bad grade. He simply said he wanted me and that he knew the feelings were mutual. He flat out stated that we should act on those feelings, immediately but discreetly—not only to protect his job but his family. He has a wife and two young kids. His eyes were flat and empty when he told me that. It’s like his family was information, not people. I can’t explain it. But it was eerie. And as for his plans for me—they weren’t a request. They were an order. One that was repeated three times after that.”

“He propositioned you four times?” Ryan asked.

“Yes. His office was the first time. Then, twice in empty classrooms, where I was the last to leave and he obviously followed me. And once right outside the ladies’ room in an empty corridor. Each time his tone was rougher, and the look in his eyes was scarier than the time before. Especially when I turned him down. The last time his teeth were clenched, and I swear there was a vein pulsing at his f

orehead. He looked so crazy that I was braced for him to grab me.”

“But he didn’t,” Casey said. “He wanted to keep it at his word versus yours. Any physical assault would have given you tangible evidence to share with the police and probably generate some interest on their part. What happened next?”