Page 45 of The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“I think our little pickpocket has become a snob,” Claire said, still laughing.

“I’m not a snob; I’m a realist. I look like a combination of Barbie and Skipper. That usually works in my favor, but not in this case. I want to look like a professional; like this isn’t my first case.” Emma turned pleading eyes to Claire. “Please help me.”

“Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope,” Ryan s

aid in a high falsetto. He was leaning against the door jam, arms folded across his chest, an exasperated expression on his face. “You’re still the most convincing little con artist going. You picked the softest-hearted target here and went there like a homing device.”

His gaze shifted to Claire. “You don’t have to do this, Claire-voyant. I told Emma she could assist. I didn’t tell her she was taking Casey’s job—or mine, for that matter.”

Claire raised her brows at him. “Just because I’m kind doesn’t mean I’m naive. I know Emma. And, believe me, I could hear the violins playing a mile away. The thing is, she’s right. First impressions are everything. So I don’t mind participating in this two-minute charade. Frankly, I’d love to see what Emma could do with this case if she were given a chance. She’s inside Lisa Barnes’ head, Ryan. She understands what foster kids like Lisa and Miles go through. We’d be stupid to waste that connection because of my ego—or yours.”

Ryan heard her, loud and clear. “You’re right,” he surprised her by saying. “I might be the brains behind this case, but Emma has the heart to pull it off.”

“That’s what teams are for.” Claire walked to the door. “Let’s grab Casey now and run all this by her. If Lisa and Miles are already on their way, we’d better get things moving.”

Twenty minutes later, Casey, Marc, Patrick, and Emma were seated in the smaller, less intimidating conference room—less intimidating but with no less of Ryan’s tech-tools—and Yoda on standby. Ryan was downstairs in his lair, waiting to be summoned by Claire, who was gathering together some fictitious material at the front desk.

During the ten minutes she’d been there, the phone had rung five times—calls from potential clients to law enforcement to the media. She’d answered questions, taken messages, and then finally sent everything to voice mail, simultaneously buzzing Casey in the conference room.

“Give Emma a raise,” she said. “I can’t handle this job.”

Casey began to laugh, even as Emma pumped her fist in the air and hissed, “Yes.”

“No raise,” Casey told them both. “Maybe a few high fives, but no raise. Besides, Emma is getting her reward right now. She’s about to make her investigative debut.”

“I was a big part of the last investigation,” Emma reminded Casey, referring to the near murder of Madeline Westfield, Marc’s incredible fiancée.

“Yes, you were,” Casey agreed. “But this time you’re getting a turn at the driver’s seat. So shift cautiously.”

Emma knew what that meant. She was getting her first chance to prove herself as a full-fledged team member. She’d better not blow it.

The front doorbell sounded.

“We’re on,” Claire said, disconnecting the line. She walked to the front door, punched in the security code, and opened it.

She recognized Miles and Lisa from the photos Ryan had showed her.

So did Yoda. But that didn’t stop him.

“Miles Parker and Lisa Barnes, who currently goes by the name of Julie Forman, have arrived,” he announced.

“Thank you, Yoda.” Claire kept her smile in place, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at how very Ryan Yoda was. She extended her hand, first to Lisa and then to Miles. “Hi. I’m Claire Hedgleigh. Welcome to Forensic Instincts.”

Miles was looking around as he met her handshake. “Hi. Great AI system. Yoda. Great name, too. I’m guessing Ryan designed it.”

“He did,” Claire replied. “And we’ve come to believe that Yoda is human and omniscient.”

“Nice combo.”

Claire turned to Lisa, who shook Claire’s hand but who looked completely out of her league—and a hell of a lot more like Julie Forman than she’d looked in her original photo.

“Are you all right?” Claire asked gently, seeing—and sensing—the fear and uncertainty emanating from the poor young woman.

“Not really.” Lisa was blunt. “I’m not sure we should be here. I’m not sure we can trust you. But Milo feels otherwise. And I do trust him. So we’re here.”

“Fair enough.” Claire pressed the intercom button that connected with the lair. “Ryan? Our clients are here.”

“I’m on my way up,” he replied.

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