LITMIR.BIZ

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about to call Casey when his cell rang. It was Ryan.

      “Hi, Ryan,” he greeted him. “I was just speed dialing Casey. I might have a lead at a local coffee shop, but it would mean waiting till morning to check it out. Do you need me back in the office?”

      “Actually, we need you right where you are.” Ryan explained the situation, which was too long and complicated to text. “Fenton’s lunch with the congressman is set for twelve-thirty at the Monocle Restaurant on Capitol Hill,” he concluded. “I made you a reservation under the name of Jake Collins. Some poor lobbyist just had his lunch reservation canceled. No loss. I didn’t like the douche bag’s politics anyway.”

      “Looks like I’m booked for both breakfast and lunch,” Patrick replied drily.

      “So get hungry.”

      The FI team made record time from Montauk to Westhampton Beach. It was imperative that they got as much quality time with Amanda as possible before she insisted on getting back to the city and to Justin. They quickly parked, mobilized and took the flight of stairs from the street level up to Amanda’s apartment.

      The apartment was an airy one-and-a-half bedroom place with lots of light. It was located directly over one of the stores that lined Main Street in Westhampton Beach. That meant tons of street noise, especially over the summer. On the other hand, that’s what made the rent affordable. And Amanda was one of those lucky people who could block out the world when she was working. So her photojournalism career didn’t suffer. Her sleep, on the other hand, did, particularly if she wanted to press the snooze button and catch some extra shut-eye. But Amanda was a night owl and new motherhood didn’t exactly lend itself to sleeping in.

      All in all, it was an ideal arrangement for her, keeping her close to her work projects and to the water, where she did her best thinking. And the small den, which counted as the half bedroom, had been converted to an adorable little nursery—a nursery that, sadly, had been occupied for just a few short weeks. Now it seemed oddly hollow, despite the animal-babies wallpaper and linen, the matching mobile over the crib and the flowing primary-colored accents that decorated the room.

      Amanda turned away from the nursery as quickly as possible, barely even crossing the threshold. Her pain was a palpable entity that all four of them—including Hero—picked up on. He made a small whining noise, ceasing only on Marc’s quiet command.

      “This is home,” Amanda concluded with a wave of her arm. She paused, following the others as Claire wandered back into the master bedroom.

      “Paul’s presence is strong here,” Claire commented. “Even though he spent less time here than in his cottage. My guess is that this is where he felt most comfortable, most able to be himself.”

      “Which self?” Amanda asked in a bitter tone.

      “The self that loved you.” Claire placed a gentle hand on Amanda’s arm. “May I see those personal items we talked about?”

      “Of course. I’ll get them.” Amanda hurried down the hall to the coat closet in the foyer. She stood on tiptoe, rummaging around in the back of the top shelf.

      Casey wasn’t surprised by the location of Paul’s things. Amanda had obviously distanced herself and her intimate, personal space with the impersonal, across-the-apartment placement of the coat closet. It was another way to push away Paul’s memory and to sever her emotional ties to him as best she could.

      Meanwhile, Casey used these few minutes wisely, since they were the first ones she’d had alone with her team since Ryan’s call. “Marc, I need you to stay out here another day. I’ll brief you while Amanda’s with Claire. Hero will come home with us.”

      Marc nodded, accepting Casey’s request without questions. He’d reserve those for later, when time permitted.

      Casey then turned to Claire. “What was gnawing at you when we were at Lake Montauk?” she asked bluntly. “You stopped in your tracks and looked around, not once, but a couple of times. What were you sensing?”

      Claire frowned. “Danger. And not past danger, imminent danger. It was very disturbing. But it was distinct. It was out there somewhere—somewhere close by.” She paused, her brow furrowed. “I think we were being watched.”

      “Watched,” Casey repeated. “By whom?”

      “I don’t know. But whoever it was—As I said, there’s danger.”

      “Then I’m glad I brought my gun,” Marc said calmly. “No one’s getting near Amanda. Or us,” he added. He looked at Casey. “You sure you want me to stay behind? It might be better if I went with you.”

      Casey gave a hint of a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Bodyguard, but we’ll be fine. We’re not going to say a word about this to Amanda. No need to alarm her. And I have my Glock with me, too.”

      Marc arched a brow. “You’re a ball-breaker, Casey, but you’re also five foot four and petite, not to mention untrained in hand-to-hand combat. If someone is following us, I’m a lot more qualified to do significant bodily harm and to scare the shit out of them.”

      “I’ll have to take that chance. I need your skills out here.”

      At that moment, Amanda returned from the hall, the handles of a small, somewhat crumpled shopping bag in her hand.

      “Here they are.” She extended the bag to Claire.

      Claire took it and sank down on the edge of the bed as she removed the items one by one. First, the sunglasses case, then the unwrapped peppermint candies, and finally the suction-cup heart. She lingered over each item, starting with the eyeglasses case.

      “Blood,” she murmured. “The image of a car seat saturated with blood is strong. This eyeglasses case must have been near the driver’s seat.”

      “It was,” Amanda confirmed.

      Claire’s expression intensified. “I keep getting the same conflicting vibes. Darkness and light. Resolve and hesitation. And pain. Not just physical pain, emotional pain. Regret—and yet, purpose. It’s like Paul was perpetually torn in two about who he was and who he wanted to be. His energy… It turns on, it turns off. In surges.” Claire pressed her fingers to her temples. “The impact is powerful enough to make my head ache.”

      “Do you know how he was killed or hurt?” Amanda asked, visibly unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

      Claire shook her head. “There was a struggle. Many struggles. I’m not getting any clear images. Just flashes and sensations. I can’t get a grasp on any of them. They just keep slipping through my fingers.” She picked up two of the peppermint candies and rubbed the cellophane between her fingers. “Nothing. Paul didn’t touch these that day.”

      “Not exactly a shocker,” Marc commented drily. “People fighting for their lives—or faking their own deaths—don’t generally stop to freshen their breath.”

      Claire didn’t laugh. She was too busy holding the suction-cup heart, moving her hands over it. “You’re right about the sentimental value in this, Amanda. I’m feeling deep emotional attachment.” A pause. “This was the last thing Paul looked at. Then he was gone.”

      “Gone, dead? Or gone, gone? Did he die? Was he dragged to another car? Did he just walk away and never look back?”

      Claire shut her eyes tightly, concentrating as hard as she could as she clutched the plastic heart.

      “A black car,” she murmured. “Not Paul’s. But he was in it. I don’t know if he was dragged. He’s crumpled on the floor in the backseat. I’m not picking up life—or death. Just urgency from whoever’s driving the car.” Claire gave a sigh of frustration. “It’s like there’s a filter separating me from the events, from the feelings. A plan is in motion. I don’t know what, why or how. And I can’t zero in on any vibes from Paul. They just keep disappearing. The harder I try, the more nonexistent they become.”

      “Does

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