The Line Between Here and Gone (3 page)

Finding out that Paul might truly be alive had been a devastating blow to her gut. Disbelief, hope, confusion, betrayal, and most of all, anger had rushed through her, one sharp emotion at a time. But, with Justin’s diagnosis, all that emotion channeled into desperation to find Paul. The fact that he might have been lying to her since day one and that he’d done a dump-and-run was insignificant. All that mattered was Justin. She had to save her baby. Even if it meant pleading at the feet of a man who’d made a fool of her.

Justin gave a little cough, then screwed up his face and kicked his legs. Amanda didn’t like the sound of that cough. And she didn’t like the way his nose was running. He looked paler than before. And he seemed fussier. Was that normal baby behavior or was it the pneumonia getting worse? She’d have to find Dr. Braeburn and ask him.

She stopped singing and kissed the top of Justin’s silky head.
Please, God,
she prayed.
Please let Forensic Instincts find Paul. And please let him be a healthy match for Justin. Please.

But Amanda was a realist. And she knew that prayers alone wouldn’t be enough.

* * *

Ryan McKay’s lair, as the team called it, took up the entire basement of Forensic Instincts. Usually, he was down there by his lonesome, with only his servers, his gadgets and his workout equipment to keep him company. But, at the moment, things were different. Even though it was after two in the morning, Marc was pacing around Ryan’s space like a hungry lion.

Finally, Ryan swiveled around in his computer chair and faced Marc, hands folded behind his head.

“Nothing jumps out at me,” he pronounced. “Our client is just who she says she is. A thirty-four-year-old photojournalist who lives in an apartment over a café in Westhampton Beach. Her only family is an uncle, Lyle Fenton, who’s a rich business tycoon serving on the Southampton Board of Trustees. He put her through school after her parents died and used his influence to get her some high-profile jobs. Doesn’t look like he’s subsidizing her, though. She’s on her own financially.”

Marc nodded. No surprises there. Not about the information itself nor the scope of it. He didn’t ask how Ryan had accessed Amanda’s finances. Ryan could access anything.

“I also checked out Amanda’s photojournalist friend,” Ryan continued. “She’s as legit as Amanda.”

“Yeah, she’s also cooperative,” Marc added. “She didn’t hang up on me when I woke her up in the middle of the night. She confirmed that she’d taken the photo, and when and where it was taken.”

“Okay, so that takes care of those preliminaries.”

“What about Paul Everett?” Marc demanded.

“Again, he seems clean enough on the surface. A real-estate developer, like Amanda said. Had some decent-size prospects, most of which are underwater, thanks to the economy. I can check around in the morning, see what I can find out from the people he worked with—assuming I can find them. Apparently, he owned a wharf and marina out in the Hamptons where local fisherman docked their boats. Looks like he had plans to grow it into something bigger. He was trying to get all kinds of building permits. Once again, I can’t dig deeper until business hours start. No one’s in the township office at 2:00 a.m. So we’ve got a seven-hour wait. What I can do until then is use my facial recognition software to compare the older photos of Paul Everett with the new one. It’ll take time to enhance the cell phone shot. But I’ll do it. And we’ll have stronger confirmation that the two guys in the pictures are one and the same.”

“At least we’ll be using the time instead of wasting it,” Marc concurred. “What about D.C.? Did Everett have any ties there?” Marc asked. “Any reason he’d be in Washington?”

“None that I can see. That doesn’t mean he didn’t start a new life after he took off—
if
he took off. Remember, we still have to consider the possibility that Paul Everett is dead and decomposing at the bottom of the ocean, or that he was dinner for a bunch of hungry sharks.”

“Uplifting thoughts.” Marc blew out his breath. “So no signs of dirty dealings? No business contacts who would want him out of the way, or who he’d run from?”

“Not yet. This was a cursory search, Marc. It was meant to give us some starting points. I only scratched the surface. I’ll go deeper. I’ll dig up Everett’s friends, business associates, partners, history—anything sketchy from his past. Whether he ran or was killed, he was into something over his head. It’s up to me to give the team something to run with. I’ll figure out if Everett was a victim or a slimeball. He can’t hide from me.” A smug grin. “No one can.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Casey faced Amanda across a table in Sloane Kettering’s institutional cafeteria.

Amanda shifted in her chair, staring into her coffee cup and stirring furiously. She was waiting for a reaction from the head of Forensic Instincts. Just because Marc was fully invested didn’t mean the rest of the team would follow suit. And having Casey Woods fully on board was essential to the urgency with which they approached the case.

Casey alleviated her worries with just a few words.

“Marc made a compelling case,” she stated simply. “The whole team feels as strongly about your situation as he does. We started working on the investigation just after midnight.”

Amanda’s head shot up. “Then you’ll find Paul.” It was a statement, not a question, one that was rife with faith that Forensic Instincts would succeed.

“We’re going to determine if he’s alive,” Casey amended. “And if he is, my team will find him.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said gratefully.

She was an attractive woman, Casey noted. But she looked much older than her mid-thirties. She also looked dazed and battered, as if she’d been struck with a sledgehammer. The hell she was going through was unimaginable. Casey didn’t have children of her own, but that didn’t mean she was immune to Amanda’s pain. Having your newborn son’s life on the line, being helpless to keep him alive—Casey couldn’t fathom anything more excruciating for a new mother.

“I have to ask you a few questions,” she told Amanda gently. “I know your heart and mind are with your son. But the more help you can give us, the faster and more effectively we can do our job.”

Amanda nodded. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Tell me about you and Paul. Where and when you met. How the relationship progressed. Where things stood between you when he vanished. Anything the police said when they wrapped up the investigation into his possible death. How much you knew about his work, his friends, his business acquaintances. Any enemies he might have had. Any personal details that could explain his disappearing off the grid. Any reason you can think of that he’d be in Washington, D.C. Where he lived in the Hamptons and anything you can remember about his place—mementos, photos, anything that might reveal something more about him.”

“Wow.” Amanda blew out her breath, blinking at the deluge of questions Casey had just fired at her. “I assume Marc filled you in on what I told him and showed him?”

“He did. And some of what you tell me will be redundant. I realize that. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay. Paul and I met at a political fundraiser. There was chemistry from the start. We got involved pretty quickly, and we were together for five months. He was a real-estate developer. I never met any of his colleagues. I met a few of his friends, mostly neighbors near the house he rented and a couple of his poker buddies. Paul and I were pretty wrapped up in each other. Most of the time we spent together was alone.”

“So things were good right up until he vanished?”

A nod. “We hadn’t talked in a few days, which was unusual. I assumed it was because he was busy. We were supposed to have dinner that night. He never showed. I called his cell phone all night. Then I went to his house.”

“Which was where?”

“In Hampton Bays. It’s a small cottage, close to Tiana Bay. He rented it year-round. It was about twenty minutes from Westhampton Beach, where I live. He was working on some big real-estate development project in Southampton. We didn’t get into the details. But enemies? I can’t imagine anyone hating Paul. He was easygoing and charismatic. And I also can’t imagine why he’d disappear. Things were so good between us. And I never even got a chance to tell him about Justin.” Amanda’s voice quavered. “When I think that way, I’m sure he must be dead. Nothing else makes sense. But, on the other hand, where is his body? Why didn’t the Coast Guard ever turn up anything? It makes no sense.”

“The police dismissed the case,” Casey continued. “Did they leave any doors open?”

“They said they had nothing to go on. No suspects, no motives and no body.” Amanda took a quick gulp of her coffee. “As for D.C., your guess is as good as mine. Paul never mentioned any friends or relatives there. Could he have gotten a project there? Of course. But I have no way of knowing.”

“Okay, let’s get to Paul’s cottage. Do you know if it’s been rented out?”

“I don’t know,” Amanda replied, looking puzzled. “But what difference does that make? All his things are gone. I donated everything to charity except items that had sentimental value to me.”

“I’ll need to see those items. Also, I’ll need the name of Paul’s landlord.” Casey gave the simpler explanation first. “As for the house, I’d like to get permission to go inside. I don’t know whether or not you’re a believer, but Claire Hedgleigh, one of my team members, is a brilliant intuitive. She might pick up on something just from being in Paul’s surroundings—especially if no one’s lived there for the past eight months. And she’ll definitely have a shot at sensing something from the personal items you’re talking about.”

“You’re talking about a psychic.”

Casey’s lips curved. “Claire hates that term, but yes. A psychic. She was crucial to solving our last big case, and before she joined Forensic Instincts, she was tremendously successful working with law enforcement.”

“If she can help tell us if Paul’s alive and where he is, I’m all for it.”

“Good. Then you won’t balk at my next request. Last night when you spoke to Marc at the office, you met Hero. He’s another unconventional member of our team—a human scent evidence dog. Between sniffing out Paul’s place and sniffing the scent pads we’ll make from Paul’s personal things, he’ll be able to zero in on Paul’s presence within miles—if and when we get to that point. So, can you give me the information on Paul’s landlord? I’ll make a few phone calls and check the status of the cottage. Also, would you make a mental note of whatever mementos you have? We’ll drive out to the Hamptons together either later today or tomorrow, depending on when you can make arrangements to leave your son.”

Amanda shut her eyes for an instant. “Thank you for understanding,” she said simply. “My friend Melissa has offered to stay with him whenever I need to leave. And it’s not as if the hospital staff isn’t in constant contact with me. I just feel better when I’m close by. It’s not logical. It’s just being Justin’s mother.”

“I don’t blame you.” Casey pushed back her chair and rose. “You go to your son. I’ll call you as soon as we’re good to go.”

* * *

Ryan was leaning over his computer, deep in concentration, when Claire walked in.

“Where is everybody?” she asked.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Ryan’s gaze never left his monitor.

“Why? Is this a private sanctuary?”

“Actually, yeah, it is.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Then put a lock on the door. Or at least keep it shut.” She walked over to Hero, who’d jumped up from his nap the minute she walked in. He gazed at her hopefully, and with good reason. Claire was definitely the soft touch of the team, not only in her handling of the cases, but in her handling of Hero. Her sensitivity went right along with her pale blond hair, light gray eyes and willowy figure—not to mention the ethereal quality that emanated from her.

She didn’t have many buttons that set her off. But Ryan McKay was one of them.

Now Claire’s lips curved as she scratched Hero’s ears. The bloodhound’s gaze was locked on her.

“In my pocket,” she told him, reaching in and pulling out a piece of cheese. She offered it to him. He slurped it up and swallowed it in one bite.

“You’re a doormat,” Ryan noted. “And you’re going to put five pounds on him in less than a year.”

“It’s low-fat cheese. No harm, no foul.” Claire scanned the room, taking in the workout equipment, the vast array of computers, servers and network wires, and the centerpiece of the room: a long line of semicompleted robots—all surrounded by a pile of metal and plastic parts that were just waiting to be used.

“I wouldn’t worry about my touching anything in your precious basement,” she retorted. “I’d trip and kill myself if I tried. Plus, I don’t know what half this stuff is anyway. Especially your toy section. Robots were never my thing.”

“No, you’re more of a tarot card girl.”

Despite her vow to remain impervious to Ryan’s barbs, Claire grimaced. “You’re so narrow-minded, it’s sickening. And FYI, I don’t do tarot cards. Or Ouija boards.”

“Séances?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a boring psychic.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

Ryan spun his chair around, leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He looked disgustingly amused. “Nice comeback. Cold, too. I’m getting to you.”

Claire shot him a look. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then why’d you drop by? No one uses the basement but me. The conference room is two flights up.” He pointed at the ceiling.

“I know where it is.” Claire folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because I got a call from Casey. She said we’re having a full team meeting. I went straight to the conference room. When no one was up there, I chose the obvious—you. You live in this cave. So, I came down to check and see if you knew anything.”

“Yup. A full team meeting it is. Casey called me, too.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “She’s on her way. So’s Patrick. And Marc’s in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee and probably eating my trail mix.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go up and wait.” Claire hesitated. “Did you find anything?”

Ignoring Claire’s question, Ryan leaned forward and pressed the print button on his computer. A handful of pages glided out. He strolled over and picked them up, perusing them as he did. “You’ll know when everyone else does,” he said at last.

Claire didn’t answer. Trying to reason with a preschooler was pointless. She just left the room and shut the door behind her with a firm click.

Ryan glanced up at the closed door, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

* * *

All humor was off ten minutes later as the team gathered around the conference room table.

“I met with Amanda Gleason,” Casey began, hands folded in front of her. “Marc was dead-on in his assessment. The woman is desperate. The situation is heartbreaking. Time is of the essence. And we’re going to save this baby at all costs.” She turned to Ryan. “What do you have for us?”

“Let’s start with my facial recognition software. I did a comparison of the guy in Amanda’s photos with the enhanced image of the guy in the cell phone picture. Using elastic bunch graph matching techniques and a cutting-edge sparse representation algorithm, I was able to determine…” Ryan glanced around at the table of blank faces. “Never mind the details. I’m ninety percent sure it’s the same guy.”

“Nice odds,” Marc commented.

“Yup. I’m willing to bet that Paul Everett is alive.”

“A fact that we’re not going to pass on to Amanda Gleason,” Casey informed them. “Not until we’ve ruled out the other ten percent.”

“Agreed.” Ryan nodded. “Moving on, I got in touch with a couple of Paul Everett’s former business associates. Lots of praise. No red flags.”

“So a dead end.”

“Nope. Now comes the interesting part. Marc got me some personal info from Amanda—Everett’s birthday, where he banked, a few key dates like when they first met—that kind of stuff. I did a little bit of strategic guesswork and a lot of poking around. It took me some time, but I managed to hack into the guy’s banking records.”

“And?” Casey perked up. She knew that tone of voice. It meant Ryan was leading up to something big.

“And Paul Everett had some hefty bank balances and some equally hefty withdrawals. The withdrawals followed a pattern. Same amount each time—twenty grand, and same time increments between withdrawals—six weeks. Interesting that this came at the same time that he was fighting for construction permits to upscale his dock operations into a waterfront luxury hotel. With all the amenities he planned and the close proximity to the new Shinnecock gambling casino, this would have been a gold mine.”

“Sounds like our guy was paying someone off to get what he wanted.” Marc stated the obvious.

“Sure does.”

“So he wasn’t so squeaky clean after all,” Patrick stated. After thirty-plus years as an FBI Special Agent, he was a no-bullshit guy who played by the rules—mostly—and called it like it was.

The playing-by-the-rules part was a huge rub at Forensic Instincts. But Patrick was good—very good. And, as he put it, he kept the team as close to “legal” as possible.

Now he pulled over his pad and started scribbling. “We’ve got two main possibilities here. Either Paul Everett was paying someone off like Marc said, or he was being blackmailed by someone who had dirt on him. Either one could get him killed or convince him to disappear.”

“So much for true love conquering all,” Claire murmured.

“Self-preservation trumps true love plus a whole lot more,” Ryan replied tersely. “And murder trumps everything. If I’m wrong—and I’m not—and Paul Everett’s at the bottom of the ocean, he didn’t exactly have a lot of choice about whether or not he hung around for Amanda.”

“I get that.” Claire looked thoughtful. “I wasn’t suggesting that Paul should have—or could have—stuck around. I was just wondering if the relationship between him and Amanda was even real, or if he was just using her as a cover for whatever he was involved in.”

“Good point.” Casey’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Claire. “Is that a random question or a feeling?”

“A random question. It’s way too soon for me to have a connection with any of this. I haven’t even met Amanda, much less gotten into her personal space or feelings.”

“That’s about to change.” Before she elaborated, Casey turned back to Ryan. “Anything else?”

“Yup. Much as I hate to admit it, Claire’s theory might have merit.” Ryan sounded as if he might choke on his words. “Amanda’s uncle is Lyle Fenton. He’s a business tycoon who also happens to serve on the Southampton Board of Trustees. If Everett wanted to score points with him in order to get his building permits, it could be why he hooked up with Amanda. The fundraiser they met at was for Congressman Clifford Mercer. Amanda was freelancing for the guy. Her uncle got her the job. Everett could have easily found that out and made a donation to the campaign. That would have gotten him an invite.”