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“Forget it. I’m broke.” Nick placed the pizza boxes on his desk and tossed the bag of garlic bread to Dom. “Save some for the rest of us. And don’t expect us to wait. We’re eating all these pizzas, including your share, if you don’t hurry up.”
There was a tentative knock on the open door, and Josh Lochman poked his head around the corner. He was the star linebacker for the Columbia Lions and was built like a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, but with a thick head of dark hair and equally dark eyes. Josh wasn’t a frequent participant in these late-night pizza breaks, but he did drop by once in a while. And he never came empty-handed.
“Hey, guys,” he greeted them. He held up an extrawide pizza box, simultaneously clapping Robbie on the shoulder. “These calzones were delivered by the man himself a few minutes ago. Four extralarge. After a two-hour workout, I could eat them all myself. But I won’t. Am I welcome?”
“By all means.” Nick beckoned him in. “Join the party. Anyone bearing food is welcome.”
While Josh settled on the floor, Nick picked up the contributions container. He already knew how much the bill was; the cheery voice at the other end of the phone had told him when he ordered. He counted out the cash, then added twenty percent for Robbie.
“Here you go, my friend.” He handed it to him. “Although I could tell you a dozen things more worthwhile to spend it on than school.”
Robbie took the cash gratefully. He stuffed the bills in his money pouch and the rest in his pocket. “I’m sure you could. But I’m hell-bent on that degree.” He waved. “Thanks, guys. You have a good night.”
That wasn’t an issue. The minute the door shut, they attacked the pizzas, calzones and garlic bread as if they hadn’t eaten in days.
“Hey,” Amy complained. “Give Donna and me a head start next time. We can’t chew as fast as you male animals.”
“No chance.” Dom grinned. “Be happy I shared the garlic bread. I could have eaten the whole thing.”
Charlie glanced up, swallowing his mouthful of sausage pie. “Where’s Kendra?” he asked. “She said she’d be coming by on her way back from the library.”
Donna shrugged. “You know Kendra. She probably got involved in a philosophy book and lost track of time. But we’ll save her some pizza, right, guys?”
The guys exchanged reluctant glances. “We’ll give her fifteen more minutes. Then all bets are off,” Dom decided for them.
“Fine.” Donna rolled her eyes. “It’s touching how far you’re willing to go for a friend.”
Ten minutes later, Kendra opened the door and hurried in. She looked the way she always looked—rumpled and rushed. Her curly auburn hair was tousled, and her eyes were glazed from too much reading. She yanked off her coat, tossed it somewhere and grabbed the closest pizza box.
“What’s left—one slice or two?” she asked dryly.
“We fought for you,” Donna told her. “So there might be some hope of leftovers. What kept you—Plato?”
Kendra shook her head. “In this case, no. I was actually in the parking lot. Some sedan blocked in Robbie’s pizza delivery truck and he was having trouble getting out. I couldn’t see the driver because the windows were tinted. But whoever it was, he or she was in no hurry to move, and didn’t catch on until Robbie tapped on the window. The sketchbag only shifted over enough for Robbie to inch his way out and then went back to whatever he was doing.”
“Probably texting someone,” Amy said in disgust. “I feel sorry for delivery people. Same with maintenance workers. People treat them like they’re invisible. The hired help. It sucks.”
Kendra nodded. “I was half tempted to go over and rip the driver a new one. But Robbie waved me away, like it was no big deal. He’s too sweet for his own good. Anyway, he just drove off and probably chalked it up to another crappy aspect of the job.”
“Probably.”
They dropped the subject and returned to the important issue at hand—eating.
But outside, the dark sedan continued to sit there, motor running, the driver intently staring at their window.
Chapter Three
The entire Forensic Instincts team gathered around the conference room table, ready to begin their day and their morning briefing.
As of now, the team consisted of five members, six counting Hero. Marc and Ryan had been with Casey from the onset. Patrick and Claire had come on board last year, around the same time that Hero had been retired from the FBI Canine Unit and Casey had adopted him. Each team member was extraordinary in his or her own way. Casey was the behaviorist, whose sharp mind and keen instincts about people, their body language, their responses and reactions, was the cornerstone of Forensic Instincts. Marc was a true right hand—brilliant at everything from his mental to his psychological to his physical capabilities. Ryan was both a strategic and a technical genius. Claire was a gifted intuitive, a psychic in the eyes of most, although she hated that term, and preferred to refer to herself as a claircognizant. Patrick was a lifelong trained investigator. And Hero had an olfactory sense that was incomparable.
They were a very tight group, a real professional family. Any one of them would risk it all for the others. And that was a loyalty to which no dollar amount could be ascribed.
Now, Casey sat at the head of the table, fingers linked in front of her, and began the morning catch-up session.
“As you all know, I had my second meeting with Daniel Olson last evening. He’s convinced that something ugly happened to his daughter. And I’m apt to agree. He gave me every scrap of information he had on Jan’s life at the time of her disappearance. There’s nothing there to suggest that she’d just take off without ever contacting her family again. So I took it another step.”
She indicated the file on the table in front of her. “I put this together. It’s an assortment of newspaper articles relating to crimes—and potential crimes—against college-age girls in the New York City area during the five-year period surrounding the time when Jan vanished. Ryan, I’d like you to assimilate all this and set up a database we can follow.”
