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“Neither. I was being squeezed to the point where I couldn’t breathe.” Morano looked like a trapped bird. “Believe me, I’m not suicidal. But I’m not a multimillionaire, either. I don’t have the kind of money they’re demanding. Do I keep wondering if this is what happened to Paul Everett, and that, when he put on the brakes, he wound up dead? Damned straight I do.”
“I would, too.” Fenton was never one to sugarcoat things. “That’s why I hired round-the-clock security for you.”
“What?”
“You asked why I came by. I came by to protect my investment. I don’t know what the hell happened to Paul Everett, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. You and I just signed a contract—a very lucrative one for me. I don’t plan on seeing you get killed. The cops can’t watch you 24/7—there aren’t enough tax dollars for that. So I’m taking care of it. You’ll have eyes on you at all times until this hotel is finished and up and running.”
“That’s going to be two years.”
“Less,” Fenton corrected. “Seventeen months. I want it open at the start of the season after next. You can have a grand opening Memorial Day weekend. As for how long you’ll need a bodyguard, don’t worry. I can afford it.” He glanced around the trailer. “Is everything important safe?”
A nod. “I keep all my electronic documents backed up. And, given how rickety that old shack was, I took home my important files every night. With the bunch of teenagers who hang around the bay smoking up until the wee hours of the morning, I couldn’t risk losing anything during a break-in. So we won’t have any delays.”
“Good.” Fenton nodded. “Then I suggest you kick your ass into high gear. The guard that my security company sent over is in his car across the street. The permits are taken care of. The mob will be happier once the union members are working. So it’s time to break ground.”
“I agree. And thanks.” Morano looked more than a little relieved at the knowledge that he was being safeguarded, even if it was just because Fenton was safeguarding an important business asset. “I’ll set things in motion within the week.”
“Do that.” There was no give in Fenton’s tone.
* * *
Casey called a team meeting just as soon as Patrick could make the necessary arrangements for a relief shift at Sloane Kettering. Amanda was okay with him going, once she met Roger and saw how professional he was. Besides, she was in with Justin every minute, and not as focused on the bodyguard situation.
The entire team gathered around the conference room table. The atmosphere was tense, which announced to everyone that Casey had something important on her mind.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Yoda greeted them. “Will you be needing any assistance?”
“Yes, Yoda,” Casey said, shutting the conference room door and walking over to her place at the head of the sweeping oval table. “But first we need some discussion time. Then we’ll be calling on you.”
“Very well, Casey. I’ll be on standby.” Yoda fell silent.
Casey sat down, aware that all eyes were on her. Even Hero, who was stretched out at her feet, was gazing expectantly up at her, keenly aware that something was going on.
“You all know that I asked Hutch for his help in finding Paul Everett,” Casey began, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “He spent a good portion of the day making phone calls and sending out emails. He came back with nothing.”
“So Everett’s not in the FBI’s internal system,” Marc mused aloud. “That surprises me. I
tried to connect with Hutch, but he was locked in the office doing his thing. Given how long it was taking, I assumed he was getting some significant information. Guess I was wrong.”
“You weren’t wrong.” Casey had that no-bullshit look about her. “I’m sure he got an earful.”
Claire looked puzzled. “But you just said he came back with nothing.”
“They shut him down.” Marc was watching Casey as he spoke. “Whatever Paul Everett is connected to, the Bureau doesn’t want us poking around in it. So whatever they did tell Hutch, he can’t pass it along to us.”
“That’s the gist of it.” Casey nodded. “I’m sure there’s plenty they didn’t even reveal to Hutch. But, whatever he found out, he can’t share it. My bringing him into the loop was a mistake. If anything, I hurt us—and Amanda—by sharing details with him. Now he knows how far we’ve gotten in our investigation, and what our trump cards are. If he feels compelled to, he can pass that on to the Bureau. You know how principled he is. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”
Ryan and Claire exchanged glances—the first time they’d looked at each other since he’d left her apartment. But this glance was one of understanding. Now they knew what was causing the negative energy Claire couldn’t shake, and what the unintended deception was that she’d sensed.
Claire gave Ryan a quick nod of affirmation, before turning her attention back to the team. He got her message loud and clear. No need to poke around further. The team was, once again, in sync.
“You didn’t screw up, Casey,” Patrick was saying. “We all knew you were bringing Hutch on board—and that includes Amanda. We took a risk. Marc and I are both former FBI—we know how it works. If this is a classified case, then Hutch’s hands are tied.”
“Yes and no,” Marc amended. He gave Casey a long, hard look. “What exactly did Hutch say—or not say?”
A hint of a smile touched Casey’s lips. As always, Marc was right on her wavelength.
“What I inferred from his responses is that Paul Everett is a key player in a broader—and classified—federal investigation. What’s more, Fenton and Mercer are both touchy subjects, too, which tells me that they’re subjects of interest in this case, too. In what capacity or how deeply they’re involved, I don’t know. What I do know is that Paul Everett is definitely alive. Whatever Hutch’s contacts told him, I can tell he believes that. And, if he believes that, it’s true.”
