The Stranger You Know (35 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Two weeks later

Mike’s Tavern was a good, old-fashioned Tribeca bar. Family-owned, it had been around for decades. Its well-worn surroundings and reasonable prices kept loyal patrons coming back time and again.

Ryan and Marc had pushed two tables together to accommodate both of them, plus Patrick, Hutch and Captain Sharp. They’d all been there for a few beers, trying to unwind after weeks of questioning, debriefing and paperwork.

“It’s getting late,” Captain Sharp said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “My wife’s holding dinner.” He clapped Patrick on the shoulder, then indicated the entire group. “The tab’s yours,” he told them. “It’s the least you can do. My butt’s still sore from being ripped a new asshole about this escapade. No more cowboy operations in my city, gentlemen.”

“Bullshit,” Patrick countered. “You and your brass buddies were all smiles at that press conference. Even your frenemies at the FBI looked happy. I almost puked at the public display of ass-kissing.”

The other men’s jaws dropped, and four pairs of eyes stared at Patrick. His blunt outburst and colorful expletives were so uncharacteristic of the “by-the-book” guy—even with three beers in him—that it shocked the hell out of them.

Then they all burst out laughing.

“Shit, I wish I’d gotten that on video,” Ryan said. “As it is, everyone’s gonna think I either made it up or said it myself.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” Marc assured him.

Ryan grunted. “A lot of good that’ll do. Your rep is almost as sketchy as mine.”

Horace Sharp shook his head, still laughing. “I’m outnumbered and outgunned. Time to leave with my dignity intact.” He leaned over, picked up his beer to polish it off and headed out, waving as he left.

Marc turned to Hutch as soon as the four of them were alone. “How did your debriefing go?”

Hutch shrugged. “I survived. Even with exigent circumstances on my side, my boss pointed out the blatant gaps in my report. He lectured me about policy and procedures. Despite all that, he had to admit I didn’t violate the Bureau’s deadly force policy. So I’m okay. Still, I guess I’ll never make ADIC.”

Everyone chuckled at the double entendre. They all knew that the acronym stood for Assistant Director in Charge—pronounced “a dick”—a high rank in the FBI hierarchy. They also knew how Hutch meant it.

Hutch inclined his head in Marc’s direction. “I take it you’re okay with the law enforcement community?”

“As okay as I’ll ever be.” Marc was clearly fine with that. “Cops couldn’t argue that the kill shots were necessary. Glen and Jack were about to stab Casey and Claire with their switchblades. So we took them out. Period.”

“They were damned lucky there was a former navy SEAL on the scene.” Ryan jumped to Marc’s defense. “Your strategy was perfect. So was your shot—and Hutch’s. You made the headlines read a lot nicer for them than the alternative would have. They should be grateful.”

“I doubt Forensic Instincts is ever going to be getting medals from the authorities,” Hutch said, taking another healthy swallow of beer. “But don’t kid yourself. Right now, the Feds and the NYPD are counting their blessings that you were there. Two minutes later...” He shuddered. “Let’s not even go there. All that matters is that Glen and Jack Fisher are dead. Suzanne Fisher went to pieces once the cops broke the news to her. She’s spilling her guts and filling in all the missing blanks. Enough said.”

“Consider the subject closed.” At that particular minute, Ryan didn’t give a shit what the authorities thought of them. No matter how many boundaries were stretched, in this case the end more than justified the means.

His attention was drawn to the doorway as he spotted Casey and Claire walking into the bar. They were the important ones to consider right now. They’d been through hell. The case had taken its toll—big-time. Their recovery was all that mattered.

Ryan motioned for them to come over. They saw him, and made their way to where the guys were already seated.

It didn’t take a genius to see that their eyes were red and puffy, and their cheeks were streaked with tears.

“How did it go?” Ryan asked, grasping Claire’s hand.

“A lot of crying today,” she responded, her voice watery. “The doctor says we’re making progress, but recovery from this kind of trauma will take a long time.” Her hand went to her neck, and she rubbed the area that was still sore from Glen’s brutal choke holds.

Casey didn’t look much better. Even with the relief of knowing both her tormenters were dead, she was perpetually jumpy and nervous, and her nightmares were bad. Hutch had used a chunk of his vacation time to stay up here in Manhattan with her. That was helping.

There was a long emotional road yet to travel, and both women knew it. But they also knew they’d reach the other end, never the same but able to move on.

“It’s important that Claire and I do this in joint sessions,” Casey said quietly. “The psychiatrist agrees. Claire and I went through the ordeal together, so together we can help each other heal.”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Hutch sounded adamant. He reached up to caress Casey’s cheek. “Just don’t forget you’ve got a powerful support team.”

“We know.” She gave him a small smile. “That means everything, to Claire and to me.” A pause. “Almost as much as the fact that you saved our lives.”

Marc rose and pulled over another chair, which he wriggled in next to the one Captain Sharp had vacated. Everyone shifted to make room, and Casey and Claire sat down and joined their friends.

Before returning to his own seat, Marc signaled to Mike, the bar owner, who was tight with the entire Forensic Instincts team.

A few minutes later, he appeared at their table, personally delivering two mojitos, one of his signature drinks. “On the house,” he announced, placing the glasses in front of the women.

Casey and Claire were delighted, as Mike’s mojitos were everybody’s favorites.

Hutch raised his glass, waiting for everyone else at the table to raise theirs and to join in the group toast. “To togetherness,” he said simply.

A look of friendship and understanding passed through the group as they silently counted their blessings and found strength in one another.

“Togetherness,” they echoed in chorus.

* * * * *

Acknowledgments

With deepest thanks to my very own “core four”:

To my family—my emotional and creative rocks—without whom I wouldn’t have survived the past months, much less written a novel to be proud of.

And to three incomparable professionals, whose input I always trust, and who work tirelessly with me, no matter how many questions I ask or scenarios I pose:

Angela Bell, Public Affairs Specialist, FBI Office of Public Affairs

Former SSA James McNamara, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit 4

Detective Mike Oliver, retired NYPD

You three make every novel I write a learning experience, a challenge and a triumph.

Additional thanks to:

Linda Foglia, NYS Department of Corrections, who took me through the policies, procedures and descriptions I needed to give my prison scenes authenticity.

Sharman Stein, New York City Department of Corrections, who got me started on the path to the Department of Corrections and pointed me in the right direction.

Former SA Richard DiFilippo, who came through for me at the onset and again in the final countdown.

My literary agents, Andrea Cirillo and Christina Hogrebe, who guided me through the hardest months of my life and acted as my “front line” so I could find what it took to create
The Stranger You Know.

My editor, Paula Eykelhof, who jumped in with both feet, great faith and much enthusiasm and compassion.

My former editor, Miranda Indrigo, who started the process with me, and handed it over with grace and continued commitment.

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ISBN: 9781460319512

THE STRANGER YOU KNOW

Copyright © 2013 by Rainbow Connection Enterprises, Inc.

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