Andrea Kane - The Line Between Here and Now

“Interesting.” Marc processed that piece of data. “So this attorney is the one who worked with each of them on the hotel project.”

“Yup. I saw the real-estate documents themselves, pulled them up on the computer. The lawyer’s name is Frederick Wilkenson. He’s got a stellar reputation, a spotless record and an office right in Southampton. I think we should spend the night at Amanda’s place so I can pay him a visit tomorrow morning-just to size him up. He’s not going to say anything. He’ll cite attorney-client privilege.”

“I agree. But it’s worth you feeling him out. It’s interesting-and somewhat unusual-that he represents both Morano and Everett. And it’s suspicious that you didn’t uncover this until now, not given the in-depth search you’ve been doing. It makes this whole situation smell even worse. And while you’re visiting Wilkenson, I’ll make my repeat performance at Fenton’s and see what I scared up.”

“Works for me.”

“Let’s just make sure we’re not needed at home,” Marc said. “We’ll check in with Casey after our chat with Mercer. If she agrees, we’ll make our morning social calls.”

Casey was frustrated as hell.

She was batting zero, having gotten nothing out of the cops and nothing out of Detective Jones. Oh, he knew something. Casey picked that up from his body language. But he’d obviously been told to keep quiet, whether by his supervisor or by someone higher up, she wasn’t sure. But, short of getting herself tossed in jail, Casey had tried everything, to no avail.

Then there was Patrick’s phone call to his buddy with the U.S. Marshals. Another stone wall. His friend hadn’t come out and denied that Paul Everett was in the Witness Protection Program, but he hadn’t admitted it, either. Again, whatever was going on with Paul Everett, the U.S. Marshals had also been told to keep a lid on it.

After that unproductive attempt, Patrick had had the unpleasant task of talking to Amanda, telling her about her uncle.

She didn’t take it well. In fact, it had taken all of Patrick’s abilities of persuasion to keep her from calling Fenton up and demanding answers. Thanks to Claire’s advice, which Patrick had employed, Amanda had settled down enough to concentrate on Justin and let FI handle her uncle.

Justin hadn’t gotten worse. Then again, he hadn’t gotten better, either. He was still on the ventilator, his breathing labored as he continued battling the pneumonia.

Things on Casey’s end just plain sucked.

Things weren’t going too well with Hutch, either. The tension between them was so thick, it was stifling.

When Casey went upstairs to grab a quick nap before Marc called in, she found Hutch sitting at the edge of the bed, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His half-packed bag was sitting on the floor beside him.

Casey paused in the bedroom doorway. “You’re leaving?”

He turned, his jaw tight. “I’m due back the day after tomorrow. I was just trying to decide whether or not it paid to stay till then. I’m trying to help you, but I’m afraid we’ll kill each other if I hang around.”

Sighing, Casey shut the door behind her. “I know you’re angry at me and worried about me. I also know you understand where I’m coming from. You’re torn. I get it. But we’ve had this discussion a dozen times. I’m not trying to impede an FBI investigation. I’m just trying to save my client’s child. And if those two things conflict, then I have no choice but to piss off the Bureau.” She paused. “If you’d tell me more, perhaps I could avoid messing up their investigation.”

“You know I can’t do that. Not that I’m a fountain of knowledge. You already figured out that I was shut down. I just know that the Bureau is not open to discussion on this one. Which tells me you’re dealing with dangerous people. So, yeah, I’m worried. And I’m pissed. You’re so fucking stubborn. There’s got to be another way to help your client.”

“Come up with it, and I’ll listen.”

Hutch frowned. “Maybe we can come up with it together.”

“We can do a lot of things together, Hutch. This isn’t one of them. I already screwed up by telling you too much. You took it all back to the Bureau. I want to punch you for that. And I want to punch myself for letting it happen.”

“I understand.” Hutch blew out a long, frustrated breath. “And I’m not sure there’s a way around your impasse. Any step you take is going to be the wrong one. It’s driving me crazy to watch. It’ll be worse if I see something I shouldn’t-and I have to report it. Which is why I think I should head back to Quantico.”

Casey gave a resigned nod. “I hear you. I don’t like it. But I hear you.”

Hutch rose and walked over to her, gently caressing her shoulders. “We really have one hell of a complicated relationship, don’t we?”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” Casey sighed. “Hope I’m worth it.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worth it. I always did like complicated.”

Casey smiled, raising her gaze to meet his. “I’ve got some downtime right now. I was going to take a nap. But I could be persuaded to change my plans-if you’re willing to leave a little later for Virginia.”

A sexy grin curved his lips. “Virginia? Where’s that?”

Unlike Fenton, Mercer was definitely not expecting the FI team.

He looked puzzled and upset when they rang his doorbell.

“Is there some emergency?” he asked. He was dressed comfortably in a pair of sweatpants and a fleece top-the expected attire of a man lounging at home at midnight. “I was just about to turn in.”

“We’re sorry to bother you, Congressman.” It was Claire who spoke up, softening the late-night intrusion. “But, yes, it is urgent that we speak to you right away. Otherwise, we never would have come by this late.”

“Okay.” Mercer opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

“Cliff? Is everything all right?” Mary Jane Mercer hurried down the stairs, wearing a lounging robe and the frightened look of a mother whose mind had immediately gone to the well-being of her children. She stopped halfway when she saw who was there. “What’s happened?” she demanded.

Marc kept his gaze fixed on the congressman. “An urgent matter. We need to talk to your husband immediately.”

“Your children are fine,” Claire clarified at once. “This has nothing to do with them.”

Mrs. Mercer visibly relaxed. “It can’t wait till morning?”

“Afraid not,” Marc said.

“It’s okay, honey.” Mercer indicated that his wife should go back upstairs. “This won’t take long. And if it concerns Amanda Gleason’s sick baby, I want to help.”

“Of course.” She turned around and retraced her steps.

“Why don’t we go into my office?” Mercer suggested. “It’s comfortable and private.”

Nodding, the three of them followed the congressman and assembled in his spacious home office.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Cliff Mercer said to Ryan.

“We haven’t.” Ryan extended his hand. “Ryan McKay. I work for Forensic Instincts, as well.”

A nod. “Well, have a seat and tell me what this is all about. Is the baby all right?”

“He’s holding his own,” Ryan said carefully. “But it’s touch-and-go. Which means that every second counts. And that his best chance of survival is still his father.”

“Have you had any luck locating Paul Everett?”

“We’re hoping for a breakthrough-soon,” Marc said, taking over. As planned, he was going to run the conversation.

“How can I help?”

“By telling us about Lyle Fenton.”