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“Well, we don’t have it. What we do have is the information I just dug up.”
“Fine,” Patrick countered. “So let’s arrange for an anonymous tip to the Bureau. They’ll send in SWAT teams to handle the job.”
“Yeah, and we’ll all go to jail,” Marc reminded him. “What Casey said is true. Our evidence was all illegally obtained. And this wouldn’t be a little anonymous call, like a tip-off to an impending bank robbery. The accusations made would require explanation and elaboration, things that only professionals—in this case us—would know. We’d be screwed.”
“Marc…” Patrick began.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Patrick,” Marc cut him off. “But we’ve got to do this ourselves. Not like crazed superheroes.” He shot Ryan a pointed look. “But like seasoned pros. We need a well-thought-out plan and the perfect strategy with which to implement it.”
“Then let’s come up with one,” Casey said. “Now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Emma walked through Little Italy, finishing up the twenty-minute trek from Tribeca to her small but airy apartment on Mulberry Street in Chinatown. Hopefully, her two roommates wouldn’t be home. It wasn’t that they were a problem to live with; they weren’t. Nikki was a nursing student who spent most of her time at NYU. And Kelly was an editorial assistant at a small publishing house in Midtown. Both girls were a little on the boring side. But they were basically cool—and they made paying the rent feasible. So living with them was okay. Except for days like today, which had been so intense that all Emma wanted was some downtime alone.
And she wouldn’t get much.
The FI team was pulling an all-nighter to lock in on the right plan of attack. Each of them was getting a few hours off to shower, nap, and get their asses back to the office and to the brainstorming session. Casey had arranged it so their downtime was staggered. This way, the strategic wheels kept on turning.
As it turned out, Emma would never get her downtime—but not because of FI or her roomies.
Just as Emma opened the apartment door, she felt her pocket vibrate, signifying the ring of her burner phone. Feeling totally wrung out, she groaned, even as she wriggled the phone out of her pocket and answered it.
“Hello?”
“It’s Lisa.”
“Everything okay?”
“I guess.” Lisa sounded as if she were wound tight as a drum. “I just wanted to talk to you. I know Forensic Instincts is doing everything to solve our case, including asking more of your FBI contact. And I’m really grateful. But I’m still scared. And, frankly, I’m losing my mind. I feel like I’m in jail. So I need to know exactly what’s going on. My gut tells me I’m getting half answers.”
Emma shut the door, dropped her stuff on the hall table, and headed for the kitchen. She was suddenly very awake and very unhappy. Fielding Lisa’s questions was way out of her league—especially when her mouth always acted before her brain. How much could she say? How much would Casey permit her to say?
She was in deep shit.
“I wasn’t there when Casey talked to you, but I’m sure she was completely up front,” she tried, hoping that she was doing the proper amount of tightrope walking. “Casey is a straight shooter. She’s honest with our clients and protects them with everything she’s got. That’s why she’s leaving no stone unturned.”
“What stones? I don’t know any more than I did a week ago—except that Shannon was almost kidnapped and that Patrick’s men are practically living with us. What aren’t I being told?”
Emma was half tempted to put Lisa on hold and call Casey for advice. But that would only tip Lisa off to the fact that her fears were justified. No, Emma would have to do this on her own.
“There are no secrets, Lisa. What you’re probably sensing is that we have to protect our confidential informants and their sources.” Emma opened the refrigerator door and tried to buy herself some time to compose her answers. She had to rely on her street smarts. They were the best ammo in her arsenal.
“Listen, I just got home and I’m starved,” she announced, cra
dling the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “So, while we’re talking, you get to listen to my microwave reheat last night’s pasta. Then you get to hear me stuff it in my mouth.”
“No problem.” The normalcy of Emma’s conversation definitely took Lisa down a notch, just as Emma had hoped. Lisa, Miles, and Shannon were living like terrified trapped mice. A little normalcy was what was needed.
That gave Emma an idea—one that would give her the opportunity to develop the right game plan and one that would also give Lisa a much-needed diversion.
Popping her pasta in the microwave and setting the cook time for two minutes, Emma stepped out on the proverbial limb and prayed Casey wouldn’t kill her.
“How about if I come out there tomorrow?” she suggested. “I could spend a little time with you guys, clarify what Casey told you, and maybe even take a spin class.”
“That would be awesome.” No surprise that Lisa jumped at the chance. “Do you have time?”
“I’ll make time.” This part came easily, because it was fact. “Besides, I like spending time with you. We’re kind of kindred spirits.”
