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“I will.” Claire was already halfway out the door.
* * *
Glen was lying on the sofa, arms folded behind his head, smiling, when Jack let himself into their rented Brooklyn hideout that night.
“Hey.” Jack sent his uncle a curious glance. “You look like your day went well.”
“It did.” Glen swung his legs over the side of the sofa and rose. “Did you keep your eye on Claire Hedgleigh the way I asked?”
“Followed her with my binoculars nonstop until a half hour ago.” Jack went into the kitchen and got himself a beer. “The security on her is nil,” he reported, uncapping the bottle. “She comes and goes as she pleases. I’ve seen that dude Ryan go home with her sometimes, but he usually doesn’t stay. I guess he gets laid and goes home. Not a bad deal. She’s pretty hot.”
“Good. Do your job right and you can enjoy her.”
Jack perked up. “We’re taking her? She’s a blonde.”
“Yes, I know. I have eyes,” Glen snapped.
“Then what? You’re going to use the wig?”
“I’m going to use her. She’s going to help us draw out Casey Woods.”
Realization dawned in Jack’s eyes. “I get it. The Forensic Instincts team is tight, and Casey is their leader. There’s no way she’ll do nothing if she thinks Claire Hedgleigh is in danger.”
“You got it.” Glen gave him a mock salute. “We’ll be threatening what she cares about most.”
“And maybe have some fun in the process?”
“Like I said, she’s all yours. But we need to keep our eye on the prize. A life for a life. They can have Claire Hedgleigh. We’ll be long gone when they find her.”
“The new identities will be ready for pickup tomorrow, right?” Jack asked. “Suzanne and I sure went to enough trouble to get those photos taken without being tailed.”
“Yup. I’ll take care of getting them while you’re waiting to grab your hot psychic on her way home. We’ll bring her to the new warehouse I scouted out on South 2nd Street, and use your iPhone to take clear, explicit photos.”
Jack gave a smug nod. “Casey will be out the door the instant she can shake the guards.”
“Which she’ll do as soon as she gets a look at what we’re doing to her blonde friend.” A cruel smile twisted Glen’s mouth. “What the hell. Maybe I’ll put the red wig on her and go at it. I’m in such a good mood that I’ll even take sloppy seconds.”
* * *
Claire squirmed as she sat on her mat in the third-floor office, then took two or three deep, cleansing breaths.
It was no use.
She’d been perched there for what seemed like forever, and she still couldn’t clear her mind. All her impulses were pulling her toward the tote bag across the room—the one with Suzanne Fisher’s wig.
She finally gave up and gave in. Crossing over, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out the wig.
The instant her fingers closed around it, a cascade of different images and energies accosted her at once. It was like opening Pandora’s box and trying to escape its contents.
This time, Claire fought the onslaught of emotions and forced herself to ride them out. She was sucked into graphic sexual moments between Suzanne and Glen Fisher—most of those moments filled with fear and pain on Suzanne’s part. Suzanne couldn’t breathe. She was tossing her head back and forth to suck in air. Her body was being torn apart, battered to the point where she prayed for it to end. And yet she wrapped her arms around her husband, absorbed his anger along with the pain he was inflicting.
It wasn’t excitement, not for Suzanne. There was a serenity about her that overrode the physical torment—the sense that she was alleviating her husband’s demons on whatever level she could.
She loved him. She shut her mind to who and what he was. And when the thoughts crept in, uninvited, she justified his behavior by focusing on his past.
His past.
Claire squeezed her eyes shut and went deeper into Suzanne’s energy.
