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“And you also have a psychopathic killer who wants you dead.” Hutch was equally blunt. “Look, Casey, you and I each have different training and different methods for reading people. Let’s not fight each other. Let’s just say that two heads are better than one and leave it at that.”
“Because I’m not getting in to see Fisher unless I do.”
“You got it.”
“Fine.” Casey didn’t give in gracefully. “But no censoring what I say or how I say it.”
“Translated, you’re going to do what you want, how you want—the way you always do.”
“Play nice, kids,” Marc inserted dryly. “Otherwise, that long drive you’re about to make is going to seem even longer.”
Casey nodded. “I’ll go pack.”
* * *
Prison guard Tim Grant approached Glen Fisher’s cell. It was late, and just about all the inmates in the cell block had gone to sleep. Tim himself was looking forward to going home and getting a good night’s rest.
But first he had some business to take care of.
Big payoff or not, he hated these meetings with Fisher. The guy scared the shit out of him. Tonight, however, would be relatively pleasant. He’d done his chore, and he’d also gotten the information Fisher was hoping for.
This meeting should be quick and easy.
Grant heard Fisher climb off his cot. An instant later, he was facing Grant down, watching him through the cell bars with that chilling stare.
“Did you get me the new burn phone?” he demanded in a low tone.
“Yes.” Tim passed the cell phone through the bars. “I loaded it up with sixty minutes. You should be set for a month.”
“Nice job.” Fisher studied the phone. He was in a good enough mood to offer a compliment.
“I also got some details on that visit you’re waiting for. It’s happening tomorrow morning at ten. You wanted to know who from Forensic Instincts would be coming. It’s just Casey Woods.”
Fisher’s teeth gleamed in the dark. “Excellent. So she and I will have our privacy.”
This was the one snag Tim hadn’t been looking forward to relaying. “Not exactly. They’re sending a Fed along with her. An agent from the BAU.”
“Shit.” Fisher’s oath was muffled, but he slammed his fist against the iron bars. “That’s not acceptable.” The scary intense look crossed his face. “I’ll politely ask him to excuse us. If that doesn’t work, I’ll find a diversion to get rid of him. Be around. I might need your help.”
“Okay.” Tim felt that gripping fear starting to tighten his gut. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I know you will.”
* * *
Ryan had been researching that damned butcher shop all day. And he had turned up absolutely nothing. The store held its required licenses, and passed the usual health inspections. Everything seemed in order—at least on the surface.
But that wasn’t good enough. Ryan’s sixth sense wouldn’t leave him alone. Suzanne’s trip to West 116th Street was just too bizarre to be meaningless. Ryan wouldn’t be satisfied until he checked it out himself.
He glanced at his watch—1:30 a.m. He wasn’t discouraged. He knew Marc would still be awake and working.
Sure enough, when he went upstairs, he found Marc cross-checking the employee background searches Ryan had done on the Auburn Correctional Facility staff.
“Anything?” Ryan asked.
“Nope. Not yet.” Marc stretched. “I need a break.”
“Good. Because I need a date.”
