The Line Between Here and Gone (29 page)

Only this time, she had someone to hold her.

Paul wrapped his arms around her and gave her a fierce hug. “We’re going to make this right, Amanda.
I’m
going to make this right. You’ll see. Our son is going to be just fine.” Emotion clogging his voice, Paul asked, “May I see him? Even through the window?”

“Of course.” Amanda stepped back, dashing away her tears. “I’m sorry. I just still can’t believe that you’re here. That you’re alive. That you’re real. That you didn’t intentionally stay away.”

“I didn’t,” Paul stated fervently. “If you believe nothing else, believe that. I have so much to fill you in on. But later. After I’ve done everything I can for Justin.”

Amanda took Paul by the hand. “Come on. Come meet your son.”

* * *

As they disappeared down the hall, Casey turned to Marc. “Everything’s in place,” she murmured. “The FBI delivered, as promised. Now it’s our turn. Go ahead and take care of what we discussed.”

Marc nodded. “With pleasure.” He sauntered off, leaving the PICU and taking the elevator to the hospital lobby.

He’d already selected the deserted spot in the alleyway where he was going to make his phone call. And, in his pocket, he already had what he needed: the spare burner phone he used for just these types of occasions, along with a voice scrambler.

Calling the FBI tip line was going to be Marc’s pleasure. The information he provided would take care of Lyle Fenton and his mob buddies.

With a grin, Marc set the scrambler in place.

Damn, he loved his job.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Hutch and Mike took off to report in. But the FI team stayed on, hanging out in the waiting room to hear the results of Paul and Amanda’s conversation with Dr. Braeburn.

“I really am good,” Claire announced.

Ryan did a double take and stared at her. “Did I just hear my voice come out of your mouth?”

“Nope. That voice you heard, along with the words, were mine. Everything I sensed was accurate. The binary energy? Paul’s double life. The running? Not just Paul’s disappearance, but the marathon that made it necessary. The covert phone calls I kept picking up on the other side of Paul’s bedroom? His undercover work. And the sense of being followed? Mostly, the FBI. The times when I sensed danger? Fenton, keeping tabs on our search for Paul.” Claire eyed Ryan victoriously, like the cat who swallowed the canary. “You can’t argue with success.”

Patrick gave an exaggerated groan. “God, I think he’s rubbing off on her.”

An interesting choice of words, Casey thought.

Quickly, she glanced at Claire, then Ryan. She watched Claire avert her gaze, her cheeks tinged with pink. And she saw Ryan, who would customarily be delivering one barb after the next, remaining uncharacteristically silent, an odd expression crossing his face.

These two had
so
slept together, it wasn’t funny.

“You know, Patrick, I think you’re right,” Casey said. “They’re definitely rubbing off on each other. So tell us, guys, when did this start?”

Claire blanched. “What?”

“This sudden self-confidence that smacks of Ryan—only a tad less arrogant.” Casey was the picture of innocence. “When did it start?”

“I’m just acknowledging how right-on my awareness was this time,” Claire said, recovering herself. “I’m pleased that I was connecting. That doesn’t mean I’m professing to be a world-class genius, as do others we know.”

“Like you, I only speak the truth.” Ryan had clearly regained his composure, as well. It was business as usual.

“I speak it. You flaunt it—
and
exaggerate it,” Claire corrected him.

“Nah. Gecko and I were definitely the heroes of the day.” Ryan grinned. “Although you didn’t do too badly. I don’t begrudge you a few self-congratulations.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Acknowledgment, Ryan. Not self-congratulations. I didn’t win the lottery. I helped locate a man who’s desperate to save his child. I did my job.”

“Yes, you did,” Casey said quietly, bringing the conversation around to the grave situation at hand. “We all did. But it’s not enough.” She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked up to regard her team soberly. “Technically, our jobs are over. But they’re really not, are they?”

The rest of the team grew equally sober.

“No, they’re not.” Patrick answered for all of them. “And they won’t be until this crisis comes to a successful conclusion. We’re professionals—damned good ones. But we’re also human. We care. We’re emotionally invested in this case. That’s one of the things I most admire about working with this team.”

“Ditto,” Ryan said.

“We’re not even close to being out of the woods.” Claire made the statement with a faraway look in her eyes. “I don’t understand all the medical jargon. But it’s complicated. And it will be a long road till it’s over.”

“And when it is?” Casey asked. “What will the outcome be?”

A frustrated shrug. “I wish I knew. The energy I’m picking up on is overwhelmingly emotional—on so many levels—and it’s coming at me from all sides.”

Marc rejoined the group at that moment. Briefly, he met Casey’s gaze and gave her a quick nod. The call had been made, the wheels set in motion. As they spoke, FBI agents would be descending on Fenton’s home, his New York offices and his maritime operations in Bayonne. And that was just the start. The dominos would begin to fall, one by one. And, by the time they’d all crashed down, the Bureau’s interviewing rooms would be as full as the AUSA’s docket.

Casey nodded back.

“I ran into Hutch in the lobby,” Marc informed the team. “Evidently, he and Mike put the necessary items in Paul’s bag to help disguise his identity. Since he’ll be at the hospital for at least three days—more, if he’s a donor match, he needs to be unrecognizable. That was part of the deal. This way, he can move freely to the lab for blood and diagnostic tests, and stay in the PICU with Amanda and Justin without worrying about anyone spotting him.”

“He won’t be leaving Sloane Kettering,” Claire responded. “Not for a long time. Whether or not he’s a match, he won’t leave Amanda’s and Justin’s sides. Not after all they’ve been through to become a family. He’ll be here to see Justin through this crisis. Damn the Bureau.”

* * *

Standing with Amanda outside Justin’s window, Paul was thinking exactly that. Right now, everything he cared about was right in front of him. He saw all the apparatus, all the tubes helping Justin with his struggle to survive. But he also saw his son.
His
son. Amanda was right. He could see himself in the tiny person whose eyes would occasionally open as if he was somehow aware that someone new had been added to his life.

Paul could actually feel his chest constrict. The emotion, the fierce sense of protectiveness, the entire feeling that seized him was indescribable. And, in that moment, he knew he’d move heaven and earth to make sure his son lived a healthy, normal life.

While they waited for Dr. Braeburn, Paul filled Amanda in on his real name, his job with the FBI and the fact that he was involved in a deep undercover operation throughout their time together. He couldn’t share the details. Nor did they matter. All that mattered now was Justin.

Dr. Braeburn came out of his office and approached Paul and Amanda. He’d already explained all the specifics to Paul, starting with the preparation Paul would undergo for the four days prior to the transplant. Then came the day itself. The apheresis—the actual technology during which Paul’s blood would pass through an apparatus, collecting and separating out the cells necessary for the transplant and returning the remaining blood to his circulatory system—was a four-hour procedure, followed by a ten-hour purification process to enrich the stem cells as much as possible before the blood was ready to transfer to Justin. The transplant itself would be done right in the PICU and was an IV infusion of Paul’s purified stem cells into Justin’s body.

At Paul’s insistence, Dr. Braeburn had reviewed what to hope for afterward, although he warned Paul not to accept the timetable as ironclad.

“Each case is different,” he’d explained. “Engraftment can take place anytime between ten and twenty-eight days. So I don’t want you losing faith if it takes longer than the two-week period I’ve suggested. Also, I know Amanda’s mentioned graft-versus-host disease to you. We’re hoping that won’t happen, but we’ll have our experts in several pediatric subspecialties—hematology, gastroenterology and dermatology—monitoring Justin for fever, rashes, diarrhea and anything else that could indicate GVHD. We’ll also have our infectious diseases specialists monitoring him for infections of any kind.”

Paul couldn’t help himself. He had to ask the question that Amanda had sidestepped with him earlier, only because she so desperately wanted to put it out of her mind. She knew the answer. But to hear it said aloud—again—she just couldn’t bear it.

Still, she understood. Paul had to know.

“If I’m a healthy donor match,” he asked Dr. Braeburn, “and if the transplant takes place, what are Justin’s immediate chances for survival?”

Dr. Braeburn regarded him soberly. “If Justin weren’t as sick as he is right now, I’d say close to ninety percent. But I won’t lie to you. Given his physical condition, his chances are a little better than fifty-fifty.”

Amanda’s insides twisted, and she turned away, tears clogging her throat.

“But we’re not going to focus on odds,” the doctor continued. “We’re going to focus on a positive outcome. If the engraftment takes place and clears the pneumonia—which I’m hoping it will—Justin’s long-term survival rate will increase to ninety percent, after which there’s every reason to believe that he will live a full and healthy life.”

For the umpteenth time, Amanda found herself silently praying. But she also knew that, between now and then, there were so many hurdles to conquer, so many “what-ifs” to face.

“It will be all right,” Paul murmured, as if reading her mind. His fingers closed around hers. “We’re going to beat this, Amanda. Justin’s going to beat this.”

She nodded, determined to stay as strong as she’d been before Paul’s return. She’d coped with this all alone. Now she’d cope with it together with Justin’s father.

One step at a time.

Paul was anxious to take step one.

“Everything’s been arranged,” Dr. Braeburn informed Paul. “Once your blood’s been drawn, you’ll go through a battery of tests, just to make sure you’re healthy and there’s nothing to rule you out as a donor. Then, you’ll come back up here. Amanda will show you the visitation protocol, and the sterile attire you’ll have to wear before going inside. After that, you’re welcome to spend time with your son. I know you want to hold him, but that will have to wait. The fewer people who handle him right now, the better.”

“I understand.” Paul nodded. He looked ashen.

“Let’s get you tested,” Dr. Braeburn said gently. “We’ll take it from there.”

* * *

The FI team was waiting when Amanda and Paul—now with blond hair, glasses and two-inch lifts in his shoes—emerged from the PICU and into the waiting area. Paul paused, gave Amanda a quick kiss and squeezed her hands hard. Then, he waved at the FI team and headed purposefully off toward the elevator.

Amanda walked over to join the team.

“I was instructed by Agent Hutchinson to stay here with you,” she told them quietly. “My being by Paul’s side would make him more recognizable. This way is safer.” She gazed anxiously after Paul. “I wish I could be there. I wish they could tell him the results on the spot. I wish…” She broke off and gave a hard shake of her head. “I’m not letting myself think that way. I’m just going to be grateful that you found Paul, and believe in my heart that it’s a good sign. I have to think positively, for Justin’s sake.”

“That strategy has worked up until now,” Marc
reminded her.

“You’re right.” Amanda’s expression changed. “Your team and I haven’t had a chance to talk. We do now. How guilty was my uncle? Where do things stand on that front?”

“Listen to me, Amanda.” It was Casey who spoke. “You’re a very intelligent woman. You realize this situation goes a lot deeper than any of us realized. Let’s just be grateful that Paul was one of the good guys.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Amanda’s gaze was steady. “And I need to know. Obviously, Paul is an undercover FBI agent assigned to a high-level case. So who was following us? Was it other agents sent to prevent you from finding Paul?”

“Most of the time, yes. They were keeping a close eye on our progress. They were also the ones who made that unnerving phone call to you in an attempt to scare you off.”

“Most of the time,” Amanda repeated. “Well, since the FBI wouldn’t go so far as to kill us, that means the danger you were sensing about us being watched came from a different source, like from organized crime.”

No response.

“Whatever you’re not saying, it involved my uncle,” Amanda pressed. “What has he done?”

“A lot,” Marc answered her bluntly. “None of which we can discuss with you. And none of which you can take to your uncle. We located Paul and got him home. We didn’t do it without some assistance. So it’s time to respect the FBI’s wishes not to have their investigation compromised. Once things are out in the open and arrests have been made, then we can talk and you’ll have plenty of time to hurl accusations at Fenton. Until that time, all you can know is that he’s committed more than one crime. But he didn’t know that Paul was alive, and he didn’t keep him away from you and Justin. Leave it at that.”

Blowing out a breath, Amanda studied Marc’s face, which, as always, was carefully blank. “All right. I won’t ask you any more questions. But it makes me ill to think that my own uncle did something that made it necessary to erase Paul’s existence. Paul
Everett’s
existence,” she amended. “That man is gone forever. But Paul Evans is here. And he won’t be disappearing or going undercover again. No matter what, Justin will have his father. And when the FBI gives you the okay, I plan to find out every single thing my uncle is guilty of. Then, I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him.”

“Just don’t do it now.” Marc’s words were more than a request. They were a command.

Amanda’s chin came up in surprise. Marc had never before used that sharp tone with her.

Now she saw what had triggered it.

Marc’s penetrating stare was fixed on a point over her shoulder. She turned to see her uncle Lyle striding into the PICU waiting room, clearly on his way to see Justin.

“Don’t, Amanda,” Marc instructed her. “Be cold. Be aloof. But don’t tip your hand—not if you want to keep Paul safe and to see justice done.”

Amanda nodded. She took a few deep breaths, then walked away from the FI team and toward her uncle.

Patrick took an instinctive step in their direction.

Marc seized his arm. “Leave it alone. We can’t tip our hand any more than Amanda can tip hers. We’re all here en masse. He won’t try anything stupid.”

“What the hell is he doing here to begin with?” Ryan muttered.

“Probably stopping by on his way to sewers unknown.” Marc’s tone hardened. “He can save himself the trouble of fueling up his jet. After my phone call, Fenton’s not going anywhere but to jail.”

“But he doesn’t know that yet,” Casey reminded him.

“True. But I’ll find Hutch. He can’t have gone far. That means that the longer Fenton’s here, the better the chance that he won’t walk out a free man. So let’s let things play out.”

“In the meantime, I hope Amanda can pull this off.”

“She’ll pull it off,” Claire said quietly. “She’ll do it for Justin, and for Paul.”

“Uncle Lyle.” As if proving Claire’s point, Amanda greeted him in nothing more than a guarded tone. “I didn’t realize you were coming by today.”