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He shrugged. “I’m multitalented.”
Claire was lost in her own world. “I’m starting to pick up on the sheer panic I sensed the other day. It’s getting stronger. But it’s still veiled—like there’s a layer of gauze over it. I can’t see through it.”
“Maybe the attack happened farther away,” Casey suggested. “Central Park is huge.”
“True.” Claire pressed her lips together. “I still need more.”
“Then let’s go inside and see if any of the staff remembers her.”
“It’s been fifteen years, Casey.” Claire reiterated her earlier point. “Isn’t that unrealistic?”
“Without a doubt,” Casey concurred. “But that’s why we’re here. And we have to try, especially given the connection you’re sensing.”
Claire couldn’t dispute that one. So she joined Casey and Dave as they went inside the restaurant.
But she was right. Interviewing people, seeking out information from fifteen years ago—it was like operating in a vacuum. Managers had changed, staff had come and gone and the clientele wasn’t even the same as last year, much less fifteen years ago.
The best that Casey, Claire and Dave could do was leave with a printout of longstanding employees. It was a stretch to think that any of those people would remember Jan, much less who she’d been afraid of. But Casey was confident of one thing—that whatever had happened to Jan Olson, it had happened in Central Park.
A very weak lead, but a lead nonetheless—one that required Forensic Instincts’ inves
tigation.
The team wasn’t going to be happy.
Despite their professionalism, their loyalty to Casey superseded all else. And right now, Ryan was scrutinizing the video footage from the vigil, Patrick was grilling everyone at Columbia that Ryan’s research had spit out on the printer and Marc was poring over the two lists Casey had compiled.
The situation was lousy.
And Casey’s nightmares were filled with fear.
* * *
Hutch threw the last of his clothes into an overnight bag, gulped down the rest of his coffee and glanced at his watch.
It was eight-fifteen, pretty late at night to begin a five-hour drive. He didn’t give a damn. If he got on the road in the next few minutes, he’d be in Manhattan a little after one. He’d been working fourteen-hour days since the night Casey had called to say she needed him, just so he could get his piles of work done and get the hell out of Quantico. Yeah, it had been an exhausting stint, but he’d survived on next to no sleep before, and for less important reasons than this.
He was leaving—tonight.
It had taken him two meetings with the head of BAU-4 to agree to give him the days off. He’d accrued the personal time. But it wasn’t that simple. The work wasn’t going away. He’d had to plow through it in order to disappear for a while.
Casey hadn’t pressed him to come. But just the fact that she’d called... That was something she didn’t do. Hutch knew her well. They’d been involved for over a year now. The feelings were there. The words weren’t spoken. It didn’t matter. They both knew what they had. And it was more than enough to propel him to Manhattan.
He’d heard Casey’s tone.
She was scared.
And, in his opinion, she had reason to be.
Hutch zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he scooped up his car keys and headed for the door.
Ten minutes later, he was on the road.
* * *
Maura Harris loved her job.
She’d worked in all aspects of veterinary care since she was a teenager and had volunteered at an animal clinic cleaning out kennel cages. Now she was applying to veterinary schools, hoping to one day fulfill her dream and run her own animal clinic.
