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“The family,” he muttered. “Does that mean the Willises or the Vizzini crime family?”
“My question exactly.” Casey waved her arm in non-comprehension. “I don’t see how it could be the Willises. Not even slimy Edward. We’ve investigated the hell out of them. Your team and mine. And we’ve found nothing.”
“Unless the writer of this message means Sidney Akerman. He’s the newest piece of the puzzle and the one with the mob ties. Maybe those ties run deeper than we’ve uncovered.”
“That’s the only possibility I see, and it’s one we’ll have to address. Next question—who’s giving us this tip?”
Hutch scowled. “The operative word here being us. The us in question is Forensic Instincts. Which means that whoever left that envelope at your door is someone who chooses not to give it to law enforcement. And that suggests that he or she prefers non kosher methods be used to get at the truth.”
“Or that his or her own hands aren’t clean,” Casey added. “I thought of both those things.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Look, Hutch. As you can see, I’m not keeping any secrets from you. The FBI lab is far superior to anything we have. So go ahead and take this back to the task force ASAP so it can be analyzed. You and I will talk another time.”
Hutch scrutinized Casey thoroughly, then shook his head. “That would waste precious time. I’ll call Peg. I’m sure she’ll authorize me to messenger this straight down to Quantico. They’ll get us answers in a matter of hours. In the meantime, the task force is already deep into investigating the Bennato Construction Company, and their role in the Vizzini family. There’s nothing in this note that would change that course of action. As for Sidney Akerman…”
“I can call Patrick,” Casey said quickly. “He’ll grill Sidney till the cows come home. No one in this investigation knows Sidney better than he does. And before you protest, Patrick Lynch is as straight as an arrow, former FBI all the way. Whenever my team crosses the line, he refuses to get involved. He’s an ethical, law-abiding man.” A hint of a smile. “As opposed to Forensic Instincts, the big, bad wolves of the private sector.”
“Not big, bad wolves. Maybe well-meaning wolves that roam too far into dangerous territory.”
“But with proven results.”
“I won’t argue that point. I can’t agree with your methods, though.”
“Fair enough.”
“But speaking of big, bad wolves…” A corner of Hutch’s mouth lifted. “This one thinks that, after we take care of this letter, we should set the case aside for a few hours and adjourn to the bedroom.”
“Before we talk?”
“Definitely. After that, the mood might be shattered.”
“True.”
The two of them pulled out their cell phones and made the necessary arrangements. Then, they put the letter and envelope in a Ziploc, and packaged it for transport. That done, they pulled off their gloves and waited for the FBI messenger to arrive.
A half hour later, the evidence was on its way, and Hutch turned and pulled Casey’s sweater over her head. “A couple of hours off,” he murmured. “That’s all I’m suggesting. We’ve got other people working round-the-clock to find Krissy Willis while we recharge our batteries.”
“Recharge our batteries.” Casey’s eyes twinkled as she unbuckled Hutch’s belt. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
“With us? We call it sensory overload.”
He swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her fourth-floor apartment, not letting her feet slide to the floor until they were in the bedroom.
They finished tugging off each other’s clothes and tumbled onto the bed, their breaths coming fast and uneven. There was a sexual pull between them that had sparked to life the instant they met, and only intensified as the months had passed.
Now was no exception.
They made love with a passion and intensity that was theirs and theirs alone. Neither of them was foolish enough to believe that a connection like this grew on trees. Their bodies moved in a rhythm that was sheer unison, escalating to a frantic need for completion.
Casey wrapped her arms and legs around Hutch, gasping his name and arching her body hard against his, taking him as deep as she could. Hutch responded by urging her legs higher up on his back, gripping the headboard and driving himself all the way inside her—and then some.
It erupted in an explosion of nearly painful pleasure, Casey crying out as she contracted all around him, and Hutch shouting her name as he poured into her. They drew out the moment as long as they could, before collapsing in each other’s arms, weak and drained and utterly sated.
“Can we stay like this for a couple of weeks?” Casey mumbled into Hutch’s shoulder, when she’d caught her breath.
He chuckled. “A nice thought. Shutting out the world, the job pressures and the conflicts. Just you and me and this.”
