The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (21 page)

Now was no exception.

They made love with a passion and intensity that was theirs and theirs alone. Neither of them was foolish enough to believe that a connection like this grew on trees. Their bodies moved in a rhythm that was sheer unison, escalating to a frantic need for completion.

Casey wrapped her arms and legs around Hutch, gasping his name and arching her body hard against his, taking him as deep as she could. Hutch responded by urging her legs higher up on his back, gripping the headboard and driving himself all the way inside her—and then some.

It erupted in an explosion of nearly painful pleasure, Casey crying out as she contracted all around him, and Hutch shouting her name as he poured into her. They drew out the moment as long as they could, before collapsing in each other’s arms, weak and drained and utterly sated.

“Can we stay like this for a couple of weeks?” Casey mumbled into Hutch’s shoulder, when she’d caught her breath.

He chuckled. “A nice thought. Shutting out the world, the job pressures and the conflicts. Just you and me and this.”

“Not viable, huh?”

“Unfortunately not.” Hutch propped himself on his elbows and gazed down at her. “We’ve never come right out and said it, but you do know that what’s going on between us is about a lot more than sex, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. That’s what’s going to make this conversation that much harder.”

“We’re worth fighting for, Casey. Whatever label you want to give our relationship, we both know it doesn’t happen every day. So, no matter how heated a debate we end up having, I’m not walking away. Not unless you ask me to.”

“I’m not stupid.” Casey traced his jaw with her fingertip. “I’m not going to end things over our careers. I’m just going to defend what I believe in.”

“Which is that the end justifies the means.”

“Within reason, yes. My goal here is to find Krissy Willis. I don’t give a damn about the right way to go about it. Any way I find her is the right way.”

Hutch rolled away and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to grab some water for this talk. You depleted all my reserves.”

Casey smiled. “Now
that
I doubt. But grab a bottle for me, too. I’m parched. Plus, I think we should have this conversation with our clothes on. Otherwise, we won’t talk at all.”

“Agreed.” Hutch yanked on his boxer briefs and pants, and headed for the kitchen. By the time he returned, Casey was belting her black silk robe and perching at the edge of the bed.

Hutch handed her a bottle of water and sat down in the armchair across from the bed. “Okay, we’re both decent and ready for verbal warfare.”

“Does it have to be warfare?” Casey asked. “I know we have different jobs and slightly different philosophies, but we both want the same results—ultimately.”

“Ultimately.”

“The good news is it’s very rare that we’re working on the same case. Even when the FBI and Forensic Instincts are both involved. Thankfully, this is my team’s first child kidnapping case. I’m hoping it will be our last. So you and I won’t be overlapping too often. Otherwise, we’d probably kill each other.”

Hutch took a swig of water. “Yeah, well, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m seriously considering applying for a transfer to BAU-2. They haven’t filled the opening Marc left when he resigned. I’d like to fill it. I’ve had about all I can stomach of crimes against children. It’s time for a change, something I can handle in the way I was trained. If I’m emotionally vested in a case, I can’t do an effective job.”

“So you’d be dealing with adult crimes.”

“’Fraid so.”

Casey blew out a breath. “Won’t that be enjoyable.”

“Like you said earlier, we have to set some ground rules,” Hutch said. “Starting with separating business from pleasure. It’s not going to be easy—assuming I get the job. You’re going to expect more of me than I’m able to give. Such as giving you a heads-up about information yet to be released to the public.”

“And you’re going to expect me to follow a certain path,
and
to report every discovery I make to the Bureau —to you. It’s not going to happen.”

“I hear you.” Hutch frowned, rolling the bottle of water between his palms. “I know what your job is. What I don’t know is why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you’re so fervent about your investigations. And I don’t mean professionally. I mean personally. You read people well. But so do I. Something happened that lit an emotional fire in your belly—enough to make you go out on your own and start Forensic Instincts. What was it?”

Casey was quiet for a minute. “You do read people well. Especially me. Okay, my team knows, so why shouldn’t you? Yes, there was something that changed my life, and probably my direction.” Another pause. “Do you remember how relentless I was about wrapping up the investigation my team took on right before this kidnapping?”

“The one with that psycho perv who raped and killed all those young women? Yeah, I remember. It was pretty gruesome. I also remember how single-minded you were about catching him. It went over and above the line of duty. That’s what got me started thinking along these lines.” Hutch studied Casey intently. “Why? Does that case hold special meaning for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Casey blew out her breath. “When I was in college, I had a close friend. Holly. She lived off campus. One day, she told me she had the feeling she was being followed. I suggested she call the police. She did. They blew her off. A week later, she was found raped and murdered, her body tossed in a Dumpster. She’d been there for days, buried in piles of garbage. The bastard who did that to her was never found. I’ll never forget how I felt when I heard the news. It was like a horrible nightmare—one that will haunt me for life. It wasn’t the police’s fault. They had nothing to go on and no manpower to invest in an unsubstantiated complaint. What Holly needed was someone who was skilled enough to help, but not bound by bureaucracy and red tape. Someone with the mind and the resources to sift through suspects and come up with the right answer.”

“Someone like Forensic Instincts.”

“Exactly.”

Hutch’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry you had to live through an experience like that.”

“Me, too. But I’m sorrier for Holly. She was nineteen.”

“Yeah.” Hutch lowered his head, stared at the carpet. “Now I understand.”

“Do you? You almost ripped me a new one when I followed Hope Willis to the drop site. I did that on sheer instinct, not on concrete facts I was withholding. She could have really just been going to do an errand and it would have been nothing. I realize you were worried about my safety. But you were also pissed that I didn’t clue you in. I can’t always do that. Just like you can’t always release advance info to me.” Casey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not naive. This is going to test us big-time. There are times when it will probably put a huge strain on us.”

“Are you willing to try?” Hutch asked flatly. “Because I am. Like I said, we’re about more than great sex. I’m not willing to throw it all away just because we’re occasionally going to be operating at cross-purposes. We’ll hash it out. We’ll fight. And, yeah, sometimes we’ll combust. Are you invested enough in this relationship to take that on?”

Casey didn’t have to think. “Yes,” she responded. “I am. But remember, I give as good as I get. I’m not going to roll over. And I’m not going to share confidential information with you, any more than you are with me. There are going to be secrets. We’ll have to accept that.”

“As long as those secrets aren’t about us—the private us.”

“Agreed.”

Hutch put down his water and crossed over to the bed. “I think this conversation has come to a successful conclusion.” He unbelted Casey’s robe, slid open the sides. “Now it’s time to celebrate our victory.”

Casey smiled, leaning back on the bed and tugging Hutch down to her. “Consider this to be our toast.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Day Six

Dawn was just breaking. Most of the patients at Sunny Gardens were still asleep.

She wasn’t. She was sitting up in the chair in her room, fretting because it would be days before her baby would visit. Wednesday had come and gone, as had their time together. Now it was Saturday. Or Sunday. But whichever it was, Wednesday was far away.

She could hardly remember their visit, or what they’d talked about. She’d asked Nurse Greene if she’d been there for any of it, and if her baby had given her a hug before she left.

The nurse had soothed her and assured her that their time together had been tender and warm, and the hug had been tight.

Why couldn’t she remember?

She lowered her head into her hands and began to cry.

“Lorna?”

Her head came up. A plump, middle-aged nurse she didn’t recognize had stepped into the room.

“What’s wrong?” the nurse asked.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Nurse Amato. I heard you crying. Are you in pain?”

“I don’t know you. Where’s Nurse Greene?” the woman demanded.

“She hasn’t come in yet.” Nurse Amato walked over, put a hand on Lorna’s shoulder. Lorna could see her name tag now. Denise Amato. A stranger.

She shook her hand away. “I don’t know you,” she repeated. “I want Nurse Greene.”

Nurse Amato gave her a placating smile. “I understand that you don’t want to confide in me. We don’t really know each other. But I don’t want to leave you sad. Would you like to take a walk? We could go to the gardens. Nurse Greene says that the flowers always cheer you up.”

“She said that?”

“She certainly did.”

“But it’s noisy outside. Those men are always hammering and drilling.”

“We won’t walk toward the new wing. We’ll go in the opposite direction, and walk around back. We can get to the gardens either way.”

Lorna wiped away her tears. “All right, then. We can go to the gardens. But Nurse Greene always pushes me. I’m too tired to walk all that way.”

“Of course you are. Wait right here.”

The nurse vanished, returning a few minutes later with a wheelchair.

“Here we go,” she said cheerfully. “Shall I help you?”

“No. I can get up myself.” To demonstrate that she still had some measure of control over her body, Lorna rose and made her way over to the wheelchair. She gripped the arms and sat down.

“Excellent. Let’s take our walk.”

The gardens were lovely. Nurse Greene had been right. There were pink flowers, and purple flowers, and some pretty yellow flowers, too. She knew what those were called. She just couldn’t remember. But she’d had them in a line on her front lawn. They’d grown there a while ago. She wasn’t sure how long.

Nurse Amato continued to chat as they walked. Lorna only half heard what she was saying. She was watching the sun rise, wondering if her baby was seeing the same thing. Did it rise the same way everywhere? Or did it look different from different places?

A shimmering reflection caught her eye, and she snapped back to the present.

“What’s that?” she asked in a high, thin voice. She already knew. She could sense it even before she saw it.

“It’s the lake,” Nurse Amato said cheerfully. “The water is calm and beautiful at sunrise. I thought you’d like to see it.”

“No!” Lorna’s heart began pounding. Sweat broke out on her body and trickled down. Scrambling wildly, she jumped out of the wheelchair, almost toppling to the ground in her haste to get away. She gripped the arm of the wheelchair to steady herself and then stumbled off toward the building.

“Lorna!” Nurse Amato rushed over and gripped her firmly around the shoulders. “Wait! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Let me go!” Lorna shook the nurse off violently, lurching forward a few steps before falling to her knees. “Let me go!” she sobbed again, trying to crawl away.

There was the sound of running footsteps, and then the welcome voice of Nurse Greene.

“What’s happening here?” She knelt down and put gentle hands on Lorna’s shoulders. “Shh, it’s all right. Everything is all right.” She looked up at Nurse Amato. “Why did you take her here?”

The other nurse was clearly baffled. “I—I don’t understand,” she stammered. “I thought she’d enjoy the view.”

“Next time, read the file more carefully before you take charge of a patient you’re unfamiliar with.” Nurse Greene sounded very upset. “This patient is never, under any circumstances, to be brought to the lake. That is listed clearly at the top of her file.”

“I’m sorry,” the other nurse said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. And Nurse Greene didn’t wait around to further discuss the issue. She just turned the wheelchair around and helped Lorna into it. “Let’s head back,” she said in a soft, calming voice, starting to push the wheelchair toward the facility. “I’ll make you a nice cup of chamomile tea and you can drink it in the day room sitting near the big bay window you like so much. The flowers are in bloom. You’ll love all the colors. Before you know it, breakfast will be served. I think I saw some croissants being delivered.”

“Those are my favorite,” Lorna said.

“I know. Mine, too.”

Lorna was already starting to feel better. The water was behind her. It got farther away with each step. And that other nurse wasn’t with them. Lorna didn’t like her. She didn’t know the things she should.

Her heart rate slowly returned to normal, and the sweating stopped. Most of all, the overwhelming sense of panic, the loss of control, was dissipating.

It would be all right now.

Soon, she’d be sipping tea and eating a croissant. Since she was early, she might be one of the lucky patients who got one with chocolate inside. She really liked chocolate. It always tasted sweet. And it made her happy.

She hadn’t been happy before.

But she could no longer remember why.

Denise Amato waited until the two women were out of viewing range. Then she made her way across the opposite section of grounds, stopping at a trailer labeled Bennato Construction. She pulled open the door and stepped inside.

“It’s done,” she said.

“And?” Bill Parsons turned, his eyebrows arched in question.

“And the poor woman nearly had a coronary. If that’s what Tony was looking for, he got it.”

A nod. “That’s what Tony was looking for. That means his information was good. And it’ll point the Feds, the cops and that nutcase Navy SEAL in a different direction. Thanks, Denise. I owe you one.”

Casey hadn’t slept well.

Long after Hutch was out cold, his breathing deep and even, she’d been tossing and turning, trying to figure out what was bugging her. It wasn’t Hutch. If anything, tonight had been an important turning point in their relationship. They’d set some boundaries, and acknowledged the depth of their involvement.

No, it was that damned note she’d been left, and its all-too-elusive meaning.

She got out of bed just after dawn, shrugged into her robe and walked across the hall to her little kitchenette, where she brewed a pot of coffee. Hutch found her there a half hour later, sitting at the counter, hunched over her cup.

“Hey, the bed was cold,” he commented, tipping up her chin and kissing her lightly on the mouth. “I’ve obviously lost my touch if you’re running away at dawn.”

Casey gave him a wan smile. “You haven’t lost anything. My body aches in places I never knew I had.”

“But the case is eating at you.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well, I can give you more information, but it’s not going to cheer you up. I just got a call from Quantico. The lab finished their results in record time. Unfortunately, those results add up to a big goose egg. Zip. Nothing.”

“No fingerprints at all?”

“Oh, yeah, there were fingerprints, but they were smudged. Nothing the lab could match to an entry in CODIS. So we have no way of knowing if the DNA was that of a previous offender.”

“Meaning we’ve got nothing.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The fingerprints didn’t give us a name, but they did tell a story. They were lightly covered with dirt.”

“Dirt?” Casey straightened. “What kind of dirt? The kind you find on a lawn or in a garden, or the kind you find at a construction site?”

“Hard to tell. It could have been any of the above.”

“Dammit.” Casey set down her coffee cup with a thud. “So we’re back to square one. What family are we discussing—the Vizzini family or the Willis family?”

Hutch was quiet for a minute as he poured himself some coffee. “It’s a little unusual for a mob soldier to be stupid enough not to wear gloves.”

Casey’s eyebrows drew together. “So you think it sounds more like a layperson than a seasoned criminal who left me that note.”

“Not sure. But my gut tells me yes.”

“So does mine. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t sleep all night. We’ve investigated the Willises and the Akermans from every possible angle. Yet I can’t help but wonder if we’re missing something. Plus, another thing occurred to me. I know that Claire isn’t a scientific source of information, but not one of the visions she’s had has included anything beyond Krissy and Hope. Why isn’t she picking up on the mob? She got the same feeling from Deale as I did—that he was a pawn who knew nothing more than he was saying. Should we be showing her the sketches of DeMassi and his son? Would that spawn some kind of reaction?”

Hutch drew a slow breath. “I can’t comment on that, Casey. You know I’m not big on the whole idea of psychics. But if you think otherwise, fine. It can’t hurt to show the sketches to Claire. In my opinion, however, our best tie-in to either family is Sidney Akerman.”

“The rest of the FBI team agrees with you. Peg and Don are reinterviewing Sidney this morning. Patrick’s joining them.” Casey inclined her head quizzically. “Want to be there? Because I sure do.”

“Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Peg, Don and Patrick were reinterviewing Sidney behind the closed doors of the first-floor den when Casey and Hutch arrived. Hutch’s presence was more than welcome. Any light he could shed on what they learned would be greatly appreciated. And Peg had no issue with Casey being there. To her, the time for protocol was over. All that mattered was finding Krissy Willis.

Sidney was perched nervously in a chair, his fingers working feverishly as he addressed the questions being flung his way. He’d been ready and waiting when the others marched in. He was staying here with Hope, despite her ambivalence about having him live under her roof, however temporary. On the one hand, he was her father. On the other hand, he was probably at the heart of everything tragic that had happened to her sister, and now to her daughter. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, but for expediting the investigation, it was a no-brainer.

Casey and Hutch settled themselves on the leather couch, while Peg and Don stood formidably in front of Sidney, and Patrick paced the floor, listening and occasionally firing an additional question Sidney’s way. “You have
no
idea who left Casey that note?” he pressed, although both Peg and Don had already asked that question—twice.

“Of course not.” Sidney’s reply was filled with resignation. “If I did, I’d tell all of you faster than you could ask. Krissy is my granddaughter. After the way I screwed up, I’d put my life on the line to find her.”

“DeMassi’s in jail, and his son’s in Sicily,” Peg stated aloud. “So if they’re responsible for the delivery of the note, they got one of their soldiers to do it.”

Don nodded, pursing his lips. “The traces of dirt suggest that it could be someone from Bennato Construction. Mr. Akerman, are you sure you didn’t recognize any of the names or photos I showed you of their workers? Or, particularly, of Tony Bennato himself?”

Sidney linked his fingers behind his neck and lowered his head in frustration. “For the tenth time, I never heard of or saw any of them before. But why would I? My connection to these bastards ended three decades ago. And, even then, I barely saw anyone, and I didn’t interact with any of them. Only Henry did.”

“Henry’s dead. You’re here. Keep thinking.” Patrick was at the end of his rope.

Casey’s chin came up, and she made eye contact with Patrick, silently requesting that he give her a few minutes of leeway.

At his nod, she turned to Peg. “May I?” she asked respectfully.

“Please do.” A sweep of the case leader’s arm.

“Thanks.” Casey straightened her spine and leaned forward, intentionally conveying a power stance to Sidney. “Let’s tackle this from another angle, Mr. Akerman. We’ve explored all your direct contacts and your knowledge of what went on with your friend Henry Kenyon. Maybe we should flip this around, and start at the personal end. Rather than dissect the mob, let’s discuss you and Felicity, and maybe we can get a handle on who had access to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your ex-wife told us that Felicity was the apple of your eye, that she was very much daddy’s little girl.”

Pain twisted Sidney’s features. “That’s true. I loved both my girls, but Felicity and I had a special rapport. We both loved all kinds of sports. And we were both crazy about arcade games. Our local pizzeria was one of the first places to get Pong. We went there together every weekend and played. And Felicity was crazy about old-fashioned Skee-Ball. She beat me every time.”

“So you went to the same pizzeria each time?”

“Uh-huh. But we knew the owners. They were decent, family-loving people, not mobsters.”

“I checked them out,” Patrick inserted. “They came up clean.” A self-deprecating pause. “Then again, I missed Kenyon’s mob connections. So we can check them out again. They’re in the case file.”

Casey nodded. “What about sports?” She continued questioning Sidney, covering all the bases. “I know Felicity was an athlete. Were you involved with that, or was it just spectator sports you shared?”

A hint of a smile, filled with nostalgia. “Both. We watched hours of sports on TV. But we shared the hands-on stuff, too. I’m sure Vera told you what an amazing soccer player Felicity was. She had daily team practices, but we practiced together on top of that. We kicked the ball around at her school, on the front lawn, every place we could set up a goal cage. And she went to soccer camp in the summer, even at her age. It was day camp, of course. She came home every afternoon. But I took off from work whenever I could, just to watch her compete. She was great. She would have gone far if…” His voice trailed off.