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“It’s Jones,” he said when the call was answered. “Consider this a heads-up. This Forensic Instincts team has skills and smarts. They’re not giving up. And they’re putting the pieces together. I’m doing my part. I’ll beef up my file and run as much interference as you want me to. But I’m telling you now, you don’t have much time.” He paused. “And neither do I.”
* * *
“We’re making a lot of people nervous,” Casey stated as she accelerated onto the highway and headed for home. “Fenton. Mercer. The cops.”
“Do you think Jones’s division is just worrying about covering their asses, or do you think there’s more here?” Marc asked. “Jones could be dirty.”
“Everybody’s beginning to feel dirty,” Claire said in exasperation. “I haven’t had a positive feeling all day—except when the Mercers gave blood.”
“You think Cliff Mercer is a match?”
Claire shugged. “I have no idea. That’s not what I meant. I just meant I had a sense that he was glad to help, even if he wasn’t too happy about the reasons why.”
“What else did you pick up on?”
“A slew of conflicting emotions. When I shook his hand, my palm was actually burning. He was nervous, worried, resigned, caring in an ambiguous way and trapped in a tangled web, partially of his making.” Claire chewed her lip thoughtfully. “There’s no doubt that he’s in Fenton’s pocket, or that he has a personal tie to Fenton. A strong personal tie, which would go along with Ryan’s determination that he’s Fenton’s son. But the real ugliness I picked up on was from Fenton. He’s one cold, single-minded man.”
“Capable of murder?” Marc asked.
Claire blew out a breath. “I can’t answer that. Everyone’s capable of murder. But has he committed one? I don’t know. All I can sense is how guilty he feels, which is not at all. If he committed a crime but feels no regret, there’s less explicit energy for me to pick up on. But negative energy? That’s there in abundance. And, for the record, Hero didn’t like him much, either. He barely glanced at Fenton when he walked over to Mercer in the parking lot. On the other hand, he sniffed Mercer out thoroughly. No negative reaction there. Just a good memorization.”
“I’d have to agree with Claire’s assessment,” Marc said. “Mercer’s smooth. But I don’t see an evil guy. I’m sure he’s way deep into Daddy’s pocket. But that’s not our problem. Paul Everett is our problem. And I just don’t see Mercer having anything to do with his disappearance—at least not directly.”
“Nor do I.” Casey frowned. “But we’re missing something here. I just don’t know what. And without figuring out what that something is, we’re not going to find Paul Everett.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ryan came upstairs the minute he heard the team’s voices in the front hallway.
“Anything?” he asked, squatting down to roughhouse with Hero.
“Yes and no.” Casey filled him in on what happened at the hospital and on the surprise phone call and meeting with Detective Jones.
“We’re worrying the cops.” Ryan rose, a speculative expression on his face. “That’s interesting. Especially since I can’t find a damned thing on Everett that doesn’t make him sound like a Boy Scout—other than those periodic bank withdrawals. Same thing with Morano. But, clearly something exists. So I say we use the little critter to check out Morano’s office. It’s time to figure out what’s going on—who he meets with, what his relationships are with his contractors, and who might be extorting twenty grand from him every six weeks.”
“Ah, Gecko.” Casey grinned. “I was wondering when you might use him.”
“The little critter” as Ryan affectionately dubbed him—or “Gecko” to the rest of the team—was one of Ryan’s most prized robotic creations. It looked a little odd, but what it lacked in appearance, it made up for in versatility and talent.
Gecko had suction-cup-like attachments on his feet and was small enough—not quite the size of a paperback book—and technologically sophisticated enough to walk up walls and inside ductwork. It sported miniature video cameras and microphones, and Ryan could manipulate it in any one of a dozen ways, including around corners.
All he had to do was get access to Morano’s office and plant Gecko in an air duct or drop ceiling, then watch and listen from his laptop.
Breaking into an old, one-story wooden dump would be a piece of cake for Marc. He and Ryan would drive to Morano’s place at night, Ryan would park the van a safe distance away, and Marc would do his thing. After that, they’d have front row seats to Morano, any visitors he might entertain and any phone calls he decided to make.
It was the perfect idea.
“We’ll go late tonight,” Marc said as if reading Ryan’s mind. “Another road trip. I feel like I’m on autopilot to the Hamptons.”
“I’ll drive,” Ryan said. “And we’ll stay over at Amanda’s. That way, we can make one more trip to Morano’s office in the morning. We’ll slap a GPS tracking device under his car. Then we’ll know where he is at all times. The guy’s entire life will be an open book.” Ryan glanced at Casey. “That okay, boss? You’re going to be busy anyway.”
Casey shot him a look. “And you know this how?”
Ryan jerked his thumb upward. “You’ve got a guest crashing on your bed. He got in early and tired. But he promised to be refreshed by dinner. So my guess is you’ll be occupied all night. It’s been how long since the two of you saw each other?”
“Careful, Ryan.” Casey’s tone was firm, but her lips twitched. “Keep heading in this direction and I’ll start spewing what I know about your love life. And it’s a lot more interesting than mine. Not to mention the secret crush you have…”
“Okay, okay,” Ryan interrupted. “My mouth is shut.”
