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“I want to read Lubinov’s bio, the public details of his life, and the transcription of his conference speech firsthand. No offense, Ryan.”
“None taken. You’re the profiling expert. Do what you need to.” Ryan was staring at his own computer screen. “I’m concentrating on the coordinates Aidan gave me so I can zero in on Lubinov’s estate.”
The reasons for Ryan’s actions were obvious. Still, he stopped short of voicing them aloud. Hutch didn’t need to hear something compromising, even though he knew damned well what FI was planning.
His disapproving stare bored into Ryan, who just kept his gaze fixed on his computer screen. A weighty silence filled the room.
With a muttered oath, Hutch went back to his analysis.
The team exchanged glances. There was no doubt in their minds that Hutch was going to stand in their way. And maybe he was right to do so. This case had spiraled out of control. What they were now facing was really scary stuff, extending far beyond the scope of their expertise. Former KGB agents now employed by Organized Crime, a megalomaniac who killed on a whim… This was the stuff meant for the FBI. But how could they involve the Bureau when all the proof they had had been illegally obtained? What the hell were they going to do?
Abruptly, Hutch sat back in his chair. “Okay, you wanted my professional assessment, so here it is. Based on everything Aidan said and on what I’m reading here, my belief is that Lubinov suffers from narcissistic personality disorder.” Hutch ticked off the telltale traits on his fingers. “He’s arrogant, haughty, and consumed with his own importance. He expects to be treated in a superior fashion. He only respects those he feels are his equal, and that includes pretty much no one. He’s obsessed with his own brilliance and his indisputable path to success. He is unwilling to recognize the needs and feelings of anyone else and will take advantage of whoever he has to in order to achieve his goals.”
“Isn’t that like a megalomaniac?” Emma asked.
Hutch nodded, still deep in thought. “Megalomania is the term that was once used to describe this disorder.” He frowned, clearly not finished with his assessment. “But I think there’s more to Lubinov than just that. In my opinion—again, based on everything I’m hearing and reading—he’s also ruthless enough to have antisocial personality disorder.” Once again, Hutch elaborated. “He has a disregard for right or wrong. Rules and laws don’t apply to him; they’re for others. Based on Claire’s vision, there’s evidence of hostility, aggression, and violence—plus, he displays a total lack of empathy for others and lack of remorse about harming them.”
“A.k.a. wack job,” Emma muttered.
“No.” Hutch shook his head. “Understand that personality disorders are not mental illnesses. Lubinov isn’t crazy. He’s fully functional and can strategize and carry out whatever plans he devises.”
“In some ways, that makes him even more dangerous,” Casey noted aloud.
“You bet,” Marc said. His gaze was sober as it found Casey’s, and he spoke to her as only her right-hand man could. “I totally agree with what Hutch is saying. Which means I strongly suggest that, once Ryan figures out where Lubinov?
??s estate is, you squelch his urge to go all GI Joe on the place. Anything we might or might not contemplate doing will take the same level of strategizing and implementing as Lubinov is capable of.”
“Absolutely.” Casey didn’t bat a lash.
“Gee, why doesn’t that make me feel better?” Hutch asked.
Casey turned to him, decisiveness written all over her face. “You’ve been more than wonderful. Thank you so much for your help. It was invaluable. But you need to leave now.”
He arched a brow at her. “Why? So you can plan an illegal invasion of Maxim Lubinov’s compound—one that will put all your lives at risk? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Hutch, we’ve already put you in an untenable position,” Casey replied quietly. “Whatever we do from this point on, you can’t be involved.”
“She’s right, Hutch. This is where you get off.” Patrick’s words were few, but the look he gave Hutch conveyed it all. Hutch had given them the analysis they’d asked him for. He hadn’t crossed any indelible lines—not yet. All he had was supposition. If he walked away now, he’d be clean. If he hung around, he’d be blatantly violating his obligations to the Bureau.
“I’ll take things from here,” Patrick added, still holding Hutch’s gaze.
“Son of a bitch.” Hutch slammed his fist down on the desk. He read Patrick perfectly. He knew—and hated—the fact that he was right. He also knew that, no matter what he himself did now—and what he’d said earlier—ultimately, he wasn’t going to be able to keep his promises—not to Casey and not to the Bureau.
He pushed back his chair and rose. “I won’t sit in on this official meeting,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be watching every move you make. If I get the slightest inkling that you’re about to do something stupid, or if I manage to dig up my own solid evidence, I’m bringing the FBI on board. I’ll give you the courtesy of letting you know, so you can alert your clients and cover your asses. But that’s where my promises end. We’re now talking about a criminal enterprise operation involving murder, mass production and distribution of illegal drugs, and the involvement of Eurasian organized crime.”
“We have no solid evidence, Hutch.” Casey was visibly displeased but not surprised. She couldn’t argue with his rationale; it was sound. “I brought you into this case on a minimal and confidential basis. Please don’t violate my trust. If we find solid proof, then we can talk about involving the FBI. Otherwise, this case belongs to Forensic Instincts.”
Hutch’s jaw set. “We’ll see.” Setting down his coffee mug, he shoved back his chair and strode out of the room.
The echo of the door shutting—hard—reverberated off the walls and made Hero pick up his head and growl.
“He’s right, Casey.” Patrick spoke up at once. “We all know we’re in way over our heads. I’m aware that we have no solid evidence. But we’d better get some fast, and then we’d better involve law enforcement.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” Casey fired back. “But this case is far more complicated than Hutch is privy to. Up until now, keeping Lisa’s identity and everything she witnessed a secret was paramount to keeping her, Miles, and Shannon safe. That’s no longer enough. I get it. I also get that we’ve broken every law in the book to acquire the information we have. We have nothing legitimate to give to the FBI to elicit their help.” Casey turned up her palms in question. “So tell me how we’re going to come up with this magical evidence fast enough to stop Maxim Lubinov—before he and his Russian mob kill our clients?”
“Hey.” Ryan sat up straight, no longer hunched over his laptop. “We don’t need evidence. I know where Lubinov’s compound is.”
“Cut it out, Ryan,” Patrick replied sharply. “We do need evidence.”
