“Don’t force it,” Casey said. “You always tell me that’s the worst thing you can do.”
“That’s true.” A hint of a smile curved Claire’s lips. “Thanks for reminding me of what I should always remember but don’t.” Her smile faded. “I’m just so desperate to get to the heart of this. The sense of danger surrounding Dani and Gia is weaving in and out in an odd way. It’s as if whoever’s after them is waffling in his approach. He’s panicking. That’s a bad sign. It means he could get impulsive and do something rash.”
“You said Dani and Gia.” Patrick looked thoughtful. “I notice you didn’t mention Lina. Is she in less danger than her sisters?”
A shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe her energy is fusing with Gia’s and Dani’s. I can’t be sure.”
“Up until now, we’ve kept Lina in the dark. It’s time that changed,” Marc stated flatly. “We’ve got to talk to her—but not until after we confront Joseph. If we go to Lina first, she’ll run straight to her parents and we’ll lose the element of surprise.” A frown. “Still, we can’t confront Joseph Brando without being supported by ironclad facts. He’s a lawyer. He’ll either clam up or spout some well-rehearsed bullshit at us.”
Casey sighed. “You’re right. Lina and her parents have to be spoken to. But we do need proof. How do you suggest we get it? Joseph Brando isn’t about to offer up a DNA sample.”
“We don’t need him to,” Marc replied. “We need to prove the girls are triplets. That will call Lina’s birth certificate into question—along with the claim that she’s an only child—and it will disprove the elaborate story Lina told Emma about her birth. All that will force Joseph’s hand—to be tested or to tell the truth. We already have Gia’s and Dani’s DNA analysis. We just need Lina’s.”
“And you think she’s just going to open wide and give us a cheek swab, no questions asked?” Ryan asked wryly.
“Obviously not. We’ll have to figure out another way.”
“I’ll get her DNA sample,” Emma said.
Everyone’s head snapped around in surprise, and all eyes were on Emma.
“Stop looking so stunned,” she responded to their startled expressions. “You keep forgetting how resourceful I am. Pickpockets have deft fingers. Plus, I’ve done my research. Ryan taught me that skill when we worked Brianna’s case.”
“Go on,” Patrick said.
“As you know, there are other ways to get a DNA sample. One of those ways is through a strand of hair.”
“Emma,” Marc said patiently. “I’m impressed by your resourcefulness. But I don’t think you realize what getting a hair sample means. You can’t just pluck a stray hair off Lina’s shirt. You—”
“Need the hair root,” Emma supplied. “Yes, I know. And I’ll get it.”
“How?” Now it was Casey who sounded intrigued. “Don’t you think she’ll notice if you pluck an entire strand of hair out of her head? Trust me, it hurts like hell.”
“Uh-huh.” Emma grinned like the Cheshire cat. “And how would you know that?”
“Because I’ve done it myself. If I happen to spot a…” Casey’s voice trailed off as realization dawned in her eyes. “You’re going to notice an imaginary gray hair in Lina’s head and do her the great service of getting rid of it.”
Emma tapped her nose in a spot-on gesture. “One trip to the ladies’ room—which is guaranteed since we’re female—and I’ll get the job done. I’ll drop the hair right in a paper envelope, seal it, and give it to you to send out for lab analysis. I won’t use a Ziploc, since those don’t allow the proper airflow. Envelopes are recommended, so an envelope it is. I know a cheek swab is the best way to go, but this method has a high success rate if handled correctly. So, with a modicum of luck, we’ll have the proof we need.”
Marc’s brows rose in a rare show of admiration. “Nice research and smart, creative thinking. You’re right—we don’t give you enough credit. We keep forgetting we have our own in-house Artful Dodger.”
“Terrific plan, Emma,” Casey praised. “Now the only problem will be getting the lab work done faster than ASAP without providing any specifics or raising any red flags. That’s going to require pulling some strings and going to the right facility.”
“I think I have the answer to that one,” Marc replied.
Casey held up a palm. “Please don’t suggest Hutch. I can’t compromise him by asking for FBI resources again, not for something like this.”
Marc arched a brow. “I used to work with Hutch at the BAU, remember? I know the FBI’s rules, and I only ask him to break them in extreme circumstances—like the time when your life was on the line. Hutch is a close friend—one I introduced to you if you recall. No, I wasn’t even thinking of him. The person I was thinking of is Aidan.”
“Aidan.” Casey was nodding even as she spoke. The choice was logical. Marc’s brother was responsible for troubleshooting the labyrinthine communications infrastructure at Heckman Flax, the largest investment bank in the world. He was also former Marine Special Ops, with specialized training in communication and intelligence. Between the two roles, Aidan had a wealth of contacts worldwide and more resources than Marc could count. If some of those resources seemed outside the box, Marc didn’t ask and Aidan didn’t say. But he’d assisted FI on more than one of their cases, most recently orchestrating a life-threatening rescue.
“Will Aidan do it?” Casey asked, skipping over the word can, since they all knew Aidan could do pretty much anything. “And is he in the country?”
“Yes and yes.” Marc’s mind was already on the best way to get Aidan alone long enough to elicit his help. “We’re going to see him in about an hour.”
Casey blinked. “He’s attending the Brando party?”
“Not happily, but he’ll be there representing Heckman Flax. They’re big on the philosophy that a strong technology infrastructure is important for business, particularly their business. As a result, they’re big supporters of Joseph’s campaign. One of their high-level execs had to be roped in to be the face of the company. And my lucky brother fit the bill.” Marc whipped out his cell. “Give me a second.” He tapped the Aidan button and put the phone to his ear.