Andrea Kane - The Line Between Here and Now

Cliff stiffened, visibly taken aback by the topic. “Lyle? What is it you want to know?”

“A great deal. We just came from his house.”

By now, Mercer was clearly on guard. “And?”

“And it wasn’t pleasant. Nor did we get very far. All we found out is that Paul Everett was aboard Fenton’s private yacht a short time before he disappeared.”

Mercer’s eyes widened. “You suspect Lyle of having something to do with Everett’s disappearance?”

“Do you?”

“No, of course not. Lyle Fenton is a friend of mine.”

“Yes, we know.” Marc just pushed right on. “He subsidized your campaign. And now he counts on you to help him out.”

This time, Mercer’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing that isn’t true. You’re in Fenton’s pocket. We know it. And frankly, we really don’t care. But you do.” Marc waved away Mercer’s oncoming protest. “Don’t bother denying it. We don’t want your head. We want leverage. We intend to use it to save a child.”

“What kind of leverage?” Mercer was starting to get angry.

“Anything you know about Fenton that might help us find Paul Everett. As I said, we don’t give a damn about nailing anyone to the wall. All we want is information.”

“So you’re blackmailing me.” Mercer stared from one of them to the other. “With what? The fact that I share the same goals for my district as Lyle Fenton, and that I use my influence in Congress to promote those goals? I think I just described every politician I know.”

“Except for the fact that, in your case, the reason you promote Fenton’s goals is because he’s your father.”

Mercer started as if he’d been struck, all the color draining from his face. He said absolutely nothing.

“We’re talking about a whole different level of scandal,” Marc continued. “So, before you answer, decide what’s most important to you.”

“Who else knows?” Mercer asked bluntly.

“We haven’t gone public. We don’t intend to-not unless you force our hand. Just tell us everything you can about Fenton, the people he associates with, any illegal activities he’s involved in-anything that might lead us to Paul Everett.”

Mercer blew out a weary breath. “I purposely separate myself from Lyle’s outside life. Frankly, I don’t want to know the answers you’re looking for, so I’m careful not to ask questions. Which means I have nothing to tell you. Does that mean you’re going to announce my paternity to the world?”

“No.” It was Claire who spoke up. “You don’t deserve that.”

Both Marc and Ryan turned to look at her.

“He’s telling the truth,” she said simply. “He’s weak and Fenton uses that to his advantage. He has a good idea what his biological father is capable of, but he divorces himself from it. So, as I said, he’s a weak man, but he’s not a bad man. Most important, he’s completely in the dark about what happened to Paul Everett or where he might be. We’d have nothing to gain by ruining his career. He can’t help us.” She rose. “Let’s go.”

Marc hesitated, then gave a tight nod. “You’re very lucky I have so much faith in my colleague, Congressman,” he said. “I wouldn’t be walking away so readily if she weren’t as certain as she is.”

“She’s right.” Mercer was visibly grateful and relieved. “I’ll turn a blind eye to a lot of things, but not to violence or murder. Plus, I’m a parent myself. I love my children. I’d never stand in the way of Amanda Gleason’s search for her baby’s father. Especially not under these circumstances.” He paused. “Do you really believe Lyle had something to do with Everett’s disappearance?”

“More and more, it’s looking that way, yes,” Marc replied.

“Then I’ll keep my ears open. If Lyle says or does anything that I think you should know, I’ll call you.”

Again, Marc glanced at Claire, and again, Claire nodded.

“Then we won’t keep you any longer,” Marc said, coming to his feet. “Thank you for seeing us, Congressman. Good night.”

Casey sat up in bed to take Marc’s call.

She listened carefully to everything he had to say. “So let’s cross Mercer off our suspect list. Back to Fenton. You think that Paul figured out he was involved?” she asked cryptically, and quietly, so as not to awaken-and alert-Hutch. “And that, as a result, he had to be disposed of?”

“Or he disposed of himself,” Marc replied. “It’s possible that Everett disappeared off the grid out of fear for his own life.”

“So thoroughly that even the FBI can’t find him?”

“It’s happened in the past. You know that. Even fugitives on the FBI’s Most Wanted list have gotten away and vanished for years. Everett could be anywhere, in hiding with anyone. Remember, Amanda only knew him for five months. He could have old friends, distant family members, even a wife that she doesn’t even know exists.”

“And the FBI is searching for him in order to get a solid case against Fenton.”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Actually, yes, it does.” A pause as she glanced over at Hutch, whose slow, even breathing told her he was still in deep slumber. But she wasn’t taking any chances. “Uh…I think we should continue this discussion in person.”

“Hutch is with you,” Marc deduced. “How much did he overhear?”

“Nothing. He’s asleep. But I don’t want to press my luck. Are you headed home now?”

“We weren’t planning on it. We were planning on staying out here till morning.” Marc went on to explain Ryan’s findings about Everett and Morano’s mutual real-estate attorney.

“Ryan should pay him a visit,” Casey agreed. “Plus you’ll want to follow up on Fenton. See if putting the fear of God in him had any results. If nothing else, you showing up on his doorstep again will probably make him wet his pants.” Casey couldn’t help but smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten that response from a suspect.”

“True.” Marc sounded more matter-of-fact than amused. “So what’s on tap for you?”

“Hutch is leaving in the morning.” Casey stated it as a fact. She knew that Marc wouldn’t ask for, nor require, any further explanation. “As soon as he takes off, I’m heading over to the hospital to check on Amanda. She didn’t take Patrick’s news too well. And, after what you just told me, it’s even more important that she not confront her uncle. She could screw up everything.”

“She can’t,” Marc agreed. “We’re right on the brink.”

Fallujah, Iraq

It was pouring-a bone-chilling, miserable day.

Rain was a common occurrence in this portion of Iraq in December. As a rule, if you got off lucky, the precipitation was light and spotty. Not so today. It was coming down in sheets, the heavy winds blowing the palm trees around. Unlike back home, the ground here didn’t absorb the water, so it turned the sand into deep, thick mud, making the ground you walked on feel like a vat of peanut butter. In an attempt to deal with the water, the military spread stones over acres of land. It did a decent job, but, between the stones and the mud, walking became next to impossible. And he could forget about his daily five-mile run. That sure as hell wasn’t happening.

He was trudging toward his barracks, drenched and ankle-deep in muck, when the military transport drove by. It stopped, deposited its sole passenger and his bag, and then continued on its way.

The two men saw and recognized each other right away. They’d both served in the same U.S. Army infantry squad fifteen years ago.

“Hey, Paul.” Gus Ludlock yelled out and waved his arm.

Paul stopped, dragging the hood of his rain slicker higher on his head to block out the rain. “Gus, hey,” he called back. “I didn’t know you were out here.”