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Claire blew out her breath. “Justin is the same. Hanging on. Fighting for his life.” A hard swallow. “I saw him through the ICU window. He’s hooked up to so many machines. The ventilator is helping him breathe, and the antibiotics are battling the infection. But he’s so tiny. I don’t know how much longer he can keep up this fight.” She swallowed again, this time to bring herself under control. “On a separate note, something’s up with Amanda. I felt it the minute she walked out to greet us. She was uncomfortable, like she wished we’d go away. She spoke quickly, assuring us that there was no need to stick around, that she was fine and just needed to be with her son. But it was a smokescreen. I could feel her anxiety and her impatience. It wasn’t related only to Justin’s health. There was something else.”
Casey frowned. “It couldn’t have been a reaction to our meeting with her uncle. We didn’t even arrive at his estate until eight o’clock.”
“And we were long gone from the hospital by then.” Claire shook her head. “No, it had nothing to do with her uncle. I think Amanda was expecting someone. Whoever he was, we’ve never met him.”
“Him?” Ryan was all over that one.
Claire rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t some secret lover, Ryan. It was business. Personal business, which I think had something to do with Justin.”
“Then why wouldn’t she talk to you about it?” Casey asked. “What is there that she’d prefer we not know?”
“I can’t answer that.” Claire turned her palms up in a gesture of noncomprehension. “I asked her a few questions, but she only got more anxious and more distant, which clouded the energy between us even more. So I backed off. I decided it would be more productive to try talking to her again in the morning, when she was less on edge and I could get a clearer read.”
“Okay,” Casey agreed. “We’ll find out what time the congressman is being tested, and we’ll work a visit with Amanda around that.”
“He’s due at the hospital at 11:00 a.m.,” Ryan supplied. “Perfect timing for the evening news cycle. He and his wife will give blood, answer the media’s questions and then leave. He’ll be back in Washington before dinner.”
“Okay, then we’ll head out to Southampton first, and be at Sloane Kettering in the late afternoon. I want Marc to do some damage control with Amanda anyway, just in case Fenton spins our conversation in a way that throws her for a loop.” Casey shifted her gaze to Patrick. “What about you? You obviously have something for me, too.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Claire’s right. We were definitely being followed. Both ways. And whoever did it is a pro. He stayed far enough behind us so I couldn’t catch his license plate. And when we pulled into the parking lot, he drove right by, tinted windows raised, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. But he was right behind us on the trip there, and two cars behind us on the way back. I could try to get security footage from the hospital, but I guarantee it won’t show anything.”
“We’re making people very nervous,” Claire murmured. “And those people aren’t just pros. They’re dangerous.”
“Then I say, let’s keep pushing their buttons.” Marc had that hard, steely edge to his voice. “Eventually, they’ll slip up and let us know who they are.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was after 5:00 a.m. when Ryan finally crawled into bed. He wasn’t going to get a hell of a lot of sleep. But he’d be getting more than the rest of the team. They’d be on the road by nine o’clock, right after rush-hour traffic. He didn’t envy them. At least he could catch a good five hours before he was needed.
That idea was blown to hell at 8:30 a.m. when the Star Wars theme music began blaring through his room in triplicate—from his BlackBerry, his iPhone and his Droid.
He bolted up in bed, simultaneously groping for the closest phone, his BlackBerry, which was sitting on his nightstand. The screen was furiously flashing Yoda. That meant he’d find the same name on all three screens. Clearly, it was an emergency.
“Yeah, Yoda, it’s me,” he said, waiting a split second for the voice recognition to register.
“Ryan,” Yoda replied. “We have a comm server overload. I repeat, a comm server overload.”
Ryan blinked away the final cobwebs of sleep, although he was totally confused. Why the hell would they have a comm server overload?
He got out of bed and crossed over to his laptop, quickly logging onto the Forensic Instincts server. “What the fuck…?” He stared at the huge volume of phone calls that were pouring in. “I’m coming in, Yoda.”
* * *
Twenty minutes and one subway ride later, Ryan was in his lair, punching computer keys and monitoring what he soon realized was a big-time screwup on their client’s part and a major communications crisis at FI.
He watched the video on YouTube, redirected to voice mail the incoming calls responding to Amanda’s plea, and then called Casey on speed dial.
“What’s up?” she asked, briskly towel-drying her hair.
“I’ll tell you what’s up. Amanda went public—and I mean public—last night. Our server can’t handle all the calls coming in as a result. You’d better get a bank of receptionists in here, now, or we’re in trouble. Screw that, we’re already in trouble.”
“Ryan, slow down.” Casey tossed the towel aside. “Where are you? And what did Amanda do?”
“I’m downstairs. Come on down and take a look. And then call a temp agency, or whoever you call in situations like this, and get some people in here to answer the damned phones.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Casey was already dressed. She grabbed her BlackBerry and raced down the four flights of stairs to the basement. Ryan was standing up at his desk, visibly freaking out at the number of red lights that were flashing throughout his lair.
