The Stranger You Know (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next afternoon, Hutch broke away from the task force to go over to Forensic Instincts. They all gathered around the conference room table, where he filled the team in on his interview with Suzanne Fisher, and the ongoing search for her husband.

“She was with him,” Hutch announced without hesitation. “And the bastard did a real number on her. She could barely walk without wincing and there were red welts on her neck.”

“He obviously uses the poor woman as a punching bag to act out his sick fantasies,” Patrick muttered.

“She’s afraid of him.” Casey was pacing, unable to sit still. “Battered wife syndrome at its worst. The question is how much is she helping him with his plan? Is she just his eyes and ears, or is she an active participant in all this?”

“At the very least, she’s subsidizing Jack—and she’s doing it under the radar.” Ryan finally had the chance to report his findings to the team—findings that had gotten buried beneath the events of the past few days. He explained the money transfer Suzanne had made at the meat store, and how he and Marc had tried, and failed, to catch Jack at the pickup site.

“Do I want to know the details of how you got this information?” Hutch asked.

“No.” Ryan didn’t miss a beat. “What you want to know is that it’s all being compiled and an anonymous document will be delivered to the FBI’s New York field office. Everything that’s needed will be in there.”

“That’s gratifying.”

“So the butcher shop is a front for a hawala broker,” Patrick mused aloud, his forehead creased in concentration. “That explains why Suzanne uses cash to pay for everything. She withdraws eight thousand dollars a month, uses six thousand for expenses and sends the remaining two thousand to Jack. No credit card receipts, no bank entries, nothing.”

“This is Fisher’s idea, and Suzanne’s executing it.” Hutch had moved on from legality to fact. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Very clever. It keeps Jack’s whereabouts and his communication with his uncle untraceable and off the radar.”

“So Jack’s been in their lives all this time.” Casey stopped pacing to think. “He could very well be his uncle’s protégé. But why disappear to begin with?”

“I can answer that one, too.” Ryan told them about the mob daughter’s attack and Jack’s presence at the crime scene. “I’m sure he vanished to stay alive.”

“And he
is
alive,” Casey said. “The question is doing what? Hiding out and living on his uncle’s money, or following his uncle’s lead by becoming an even more twisted sexual homicide offender?”

“One more reason to tail Suzanne.” Marc was nursing his cup of coffee. “Not only could she be going out to see her husband, she could be meeting up with Jack. And, if she’s got a hands-on role in their crime spree, she could be scouting victims. We just don’t know how deep she’s in. Or exactly where Glen’s job ends and Jack’s begins.” Marc looked around the table. “We do know that Glen Fisher is a smart SOB. He’ll be expecting us to have eyes on Suzanne. So we’ll have to figure out how to get around that.”

“Yup,” Hutch agreed. “That’s why Suzanne took off for their little tête-à-tête first thing yesterday, before news spread that Fisher had escaped. That way, Suzanne could leave her apartment and go to him, and no one would be watching her yet.” He frowned. “We all know that Fisher doesn’t plan on hanging around upstate. He’s heading for Manhattan. But when? And what’s his agenda? Is he operating alone or teaming up with Jack? Is he going straight for Casey or does he have other interim victims in mind?”

“At least one more interim victim,” Claire supplied in a haunted, faraway tone. “One who’s vivid enough for me to pick up on. I’m not getting much, just a vulnerable, exposed energy. But I do know that Fisher has selected a target and a timetable. Soon. I just can’t sense who or where.”

“Well, it doesn’t take a sixth sense to know where we’re going to find this body.” Marc looked and sounded grim. “I’m the missing link.”

“Bensonhurst,” Hutch muttered. “Somewhere near your place. We’ll share that probability with the task force. Still, it doesn’t give us a hell of a lot to go on.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not to mention that we’d be finding our victim dead, not alive.” Claire swallowed. “What good is that? It’s not the disposal site we want to get a jump on, it’s the assault site.
Dammit.
” She slammed her fist on the table. “I hate this. I get snatches of energy, but never enough to prevent a crime. Innocent women are dying, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Claire-voyant,” Ryan said, covering her hand with his and giving it a squeeze. “We’re all still one step behind Fisher. But one thing’s for sure. He’s not getting his hands on Casey. Not on our watch.”

Ryan’s words echoed with confidence.

He just wished the reality was as certain as the intent.

* * *

Glen and Jack Fisher walked down Ninth Avenue right on time.

Their contact was equally prompt.

The streets were dark. Nobody driving by would pay the slightest attention to the three men talking and the one old black Honda Civic parked next to a fire hydrant, engine running.

In mere minutes, the transaction was complete. The duffel bag was handed over, and the money was counted. The car keys were given to Glen. Eddie’s guy strolled off into the night.

Glen and Jack hopped into the car and took off, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

On the other side of the tunnel was their next victim.

* * *

“You didn’t have to cook dinner for me.” Claire was sitting on Ryan’s sofa, her head leaning back against the cushion. Eyes shut, she sipped the glass of wine he’d poured her. Reflexively, she pulled up her legs and folded them under her in lotus position.

Under the circumstances, this was about as relaxed as she was going to get.

“You needed the break—and the meal,” he said. “I haven’t seen you eat a bite of food all day.” Ryan checked the vegetable lasagna to see if it was cooked enough. Perfect.

“Are you sure you’re not just showing off your culinary talents?”

“Very sure. I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you,” he added, cutting and transferring portions of food onto plates. “I’m not exactly a gourmet. It’s a pretty basic meal. On the other hand, if you thought I ate out of a can every night, you’ll find this very impressive.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Ryan carried the two plates over to the coffee table and put them down. Then he refilled their wineglasses and sat across from Claire.
“Voilà.”

“This is lovely.” Having lifted her head, Claire glanced at her plate and smiled. “And not a speck of trail mix to be found. Here I thought I’d finally discovered all your hidden talents. Looks like I was wrong.”

“You were. My talents are limitless.” Ryan gave her a wink, settled in and prepared to eat. “I’m starving. You must be about to faint. Dig in.”

Claire tasted the lasagna and made an appreciative sound. “Mmm... Delicious. And you’re right. I’m a lot hungrier than I realized.” She paused, staring at her plate. “I’m really torn up over this case. I not only feel horrible about the murders, I feel guilty that I can’t pick up precise enough energy to stop them before they happen. And worst of all, I’m coming up empty on anything that would protect Casey. It’s like...it’s all just out of my grasp.”

Ryan set down his wineglass. “You’re not the only one who feels like you’re coming up short. I’ve got some of the best forensic tools around and I’m still a step behind Glen Fisher. If science can’t do it, I doubt metaphysical energy can,” he said with a rueful look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to diss you. Your insights have been dead-on.”

“No problem.” Claire wasn’t insulted. As much as Ryan tried to accept the value of her gift, Claire knew the whole thing was hard for him to swallow. “It doesn’t really matter whose technique comes through in the end. As long as one of them does.”

“Agreed. Now let’s change the subject,” Ryan suggested. “That was the whole point of this dinner. Shutting out the frustration and the intensity of this investigation. Just for a few hours. We’re entitled to that.”

“You’re right. We are.”

From that moment on, they intentionally kept the conversation light, steering clear of anything relating to Glen Fisher. There was nothing more they could do that night, and recouping their emotional and mental acuity was important.

“Thank you,” Claire said as she finished her cup of herbal tea. “Dinner was wonderful. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it. But I did.”

“Me, too.” Ryan rose and closed the gap between the two sofas, taking Claire’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “There’s one thing I
did
know I needed. And that’s this.”

He kissed her, long and hard, tangling his hand in her hair and deepening the joining of their mouths.

Claire responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning the kiss with the same level of passion.

Ryan backed her across the apartment to his bedroom, never breaking contact as he did. They broke apart only to tug off each other’s clothes, and then fell onto the bed.

It was the way it always was—mind-blowing, all-encompassing sex. Sex that wasn’t just sex at all, but a kind of raw joining that dominated their senses and took them by surprise every time it happened.

Afterward, they lay quietly together, their legs entwined, Claire’s head pillowed on Ryan’s chest.

“Wow,” he said in a harsh rasp.

Claire nodded, too winded to speak.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” Ryan said bluntly. “But it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before.”

“Me, neither.” Claire was quiet for a moment. “I swore I wouldn’t tell you this, but I was insanely jealous of Leilah,” she blurted out. “It was irrational and totally out of character for me. But I couldn’t shake it.”

“Well, shake it. Whatever Leilah and I had is over.”

“That’s good. But it’s not enough. I don’t want you with other women.” Claire stunned herself with the unyielding quality of her tone. “I realize that’s contrary to everything you’re used to. But I’m not willing to share—not this time.” She tilted back her head, gazed up at Ryan. “Is that a deal-breaker?”

Her choice of words made him grin. “No.” He shook his head, feeling as bewildered as she obviously was as he spoke the truth. “Ever since you and I have been together, I haven’t wanted anyone else. And if you hooked up with any guy but me, I’d probably beat the shit out of him. I never saw this coming. But it’s here.”

“Yes. It is. Whatever
it
is.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Ryan pulled Claire over him. “I say we celebrate
it.
”

“I second the motion.”

During the hours that followed, all of Claire’s senses were alive and focused on Ryan.

There was no room for anything else—not even the powerful dark energy that she would normally have felt like a knife twisting in her gut.

* * *

Trish Brenner stayed at the library longer than usual.

When she glanced up, the stacks were almost empty, and a few last-minute students were packing up and getting ready to leave.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes, and making peace with the fact that she needed some sleep in order to continue at her current pace.

Wearily, she pushed back her chair and rose from the table, shoving a strand of red hair behind her ear as she gathered up her work and slid it into her book bag. After analyzing a half dozen of Shakespeare’s tragedies, she was still grappling with the psychology of his antagonists, the mastery of which was a crucial part of her grade.

She paused, playing with the same thought she’d been entertaining all week long. She had an older cousin who was a specialist in human behavior and had even formed an investigative firm around it—a really renowned one. Casey Woods’s office was in Manhattan, just a train ride away. Problem was, their families had been estranged for so long that Trish and Casey didn’t know each other, and never spoke. So reaching out to her would take balls.

What if Casey got pissed off about being bothered by a college kid she barely remembered?

Trish weighed the options. She needed this grade. She knew someone with expertise. What was the worst that could happen? Casey would blow her off. And as the saying went, if you don’t ask, the answer is always no.

Trish would call Casey tomorrow.

With that, she scooped up her cell phone, slung her book bag over her shoulder and headed back to her dorm for some sleep.

She never made it there.

* * *

The last vestiges of night were lingering outside Ryan’s bedroom window. His bed was in shambles, as very few of the long, dark hours had been spent in slumber.

“Stay,” Ryan murmured into the tangled cloud of Claire’s hair.

“I think I already did.” Claire opened one eye, sensing that night would soon be turning into day. “What time is it?”

Ryan glanced at the illuminated dial of his clock radio. “Four-fifteen.”