“Your boyfriend is hot,” Fiona said as soon as Casey had made the introductions, Hutch and Hero had taken off, and the team was reconvened in the War Room. “Why did he blow out of here so fast?”
“Because he’s FBI,” Ryan answered. “He follows the rules. We don’t. That puts him in a shitty position. So he respects our privacy, and when we’re working a case, he keeps his distance. Which he didn’t this time, actually. How come?”
Casey sucked in her breath. “Because I asked him to come over. And I don’t think you’re all going to be too pleased with me when I tell you why—or how not well it went.”
The team was quiet, just watching her and listening as she laid out all the details, not sparing herself in the process.
Unsurprisingly, Emma popped up and rushed over to Casey. “Moving in together, wow, that’s so awesome!” She hugged her. “I’m going online and shopping for housewarming gifts right away.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Casey found herself laughing. “Hold off on the shopping; we haven’t even found a place yet. But thanks, Emma. I really needed that right about now.”
“And you should have it.” Claire was the next to chime in. “Congratulations on the perfect next step for you and Hutch.”
The rest of the team were equally kind, each member offering their warmest wishes on a happy announcement that shouldn’t have had to be back-burnered by the circumstances.
But it was.
“Thank you, all,” Casey said, her eyes a little moist. “Your support means a lot. But it’s okay to beat me up now.”
“Why would anyone beat you up?” Fiona asked. “You didn’t exactly pull out the tapestries and show them to him. And as an aside, I think your news is wonderful, too. I know I just met Hutch, but you two look so right together. So congratulations.”
“I appreciate your cutting me so much slack.” Casey wasn’t letting herself off the hook, as she knew the team wouldn’t. “But I’m the president of Forensic Instincts and I broke one of my own fundamental rules. If anyone on the team had done this, I’d be all over them. So let’s have it, guys. Give me your best shot.”
“This is a tough one.” Marc was the first to respond, as Casey had expected. He was her right-hand, go-to guy, as he had been since Casey first opened the doors of Forensic Instincts.
He steepled his fingers together, resting his chin on top of them thoughtfully. “You did violate a cardinal rule. On the other hand, given how principled a person you are, you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Using your personal life as a basis to meet up with a potential suspect and not mentioning it to Hutch is just as unethical as letting him in on a piece of our investigation. So this falls between the cracks. I’m not sure I could have handled it any better. But I sure as hell would have known Hutch would see right through me. And you? He can read you like a book.”
Casey gave a rueful nod. “I’m not usually so stupid.”
“You weren’t being stupid,” Claire countered instantly. “You were being honorable. That has to factor into our reaction.”
“The end result still sucks.” Ryan frowned. “You should have run this by us as a team—before you did it. Sorry, boss, but you would have ripped me a new one if this had been me.”
“You’re right, I would have. And you’re also right, I should have. The truth is you were all so exhausted that I didn’t want to get into yet another debate before sending you home—but that still doesn’t excuse my actions.”
“Well, for the record, I would have told you to go ahead and fly with it.” Claire’s tone was more adamant than usual. “My reaction to Niall Dempsey screamed evil. We need to find out who he really is—and was—ASAP. So far, Ryan’s come up empty. So I’d have voted yes.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure there’d be dissent,” Casey replied. “And I would have hammered home my point ad nauseam to make the vote unanimous. Just know that I wasn’t trying to avoid a team vote. You have my word on that.”
“That never occurred to us, and I agree with Marc,” Patrick said. “You were trying to achieve optimum results by walking a very fine line. It backfired, slightly. But I don’t see this as a major blow to the investigation. As Fiona said, you didn’t show him the tapestries, or even mention them. In fact, you didn’t mention anything other than the fact that Niall Dempsey could be a bad guy. Not even a potential killer, which would be the only reason Hutch would feel compelled to step into this.”
“Which ultimately might not be a bad thing.” Marc was still thinking. “Let’s say our research into Dempsey leads us to believe that Claire’s instincts about him being the potential killer are right. At that point, we might want to ask Hutch to go ahead and run his name for us.”
Ryan scowled. “And if he got a hit?”
“Then we’d have reason to turn it over to the cops,” Marc replied. “Let them get the credit for catching the bad guy. Who cares? Our job is to keep Fiona safe, which she would be. And Alvarez and her team would still be in the dark about the tapestries, since there’s no way the killer would cough up details that would incriminate him, or give away specifics about a treasure he still hoped to find.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Ryan conceded. “If the killer’s locked up, we can relax about Fee and get on to the fun stuff.”
“Yup.” Marc glanced back at Casey. “Smart of you to lock Claire’s yoga room. Because Hutch can’t know about the tapestries. He’d consider them to be material evidence.”
“That much at least I did right.” Casey gave him a rueful smile. “So what’s the verdict? Am I going ahead and calling Niall Dempsey or is punishment about to be rendered?”
There was a chorus of “call him.”
“What punishment?” Emma was looking around at all of them as if they each had two heads. “Casey just told us this amazing news about moving in with Hutch, and you’re all pissed off that Hutch knows we’re digging around about Niall Dempsey? He’s a millionaire real estate developer who made his way up from nothing. I seriously doubt his hands are clean. If they’re dirtier than your standard developer, we’ll figure it out. But right now we know nothing except for the fact that he skeeved Claire out and that her instincts tell her he’s got an ugly past. Like I said, big surprise.”
Marc’s lips twitched. “Emma does have a point.”
“Yes, she does,” Fiona agreed. “I’m the client and I have no problem with what Casey did. So let’s get to the upside, which Claire just touched on. What a great idea, going to Niall directly and seeing what you can find out about him. And what more natural reason to give than trying to get an inside track to an apartment that’s in high demand.”
“I wish I could be at that meeting,” Claire murmured. “But there’s no justification you could give for my tagging along. Plus, I don’t think I could keep it together in that man’s presence, and I’m certainly not going to tip our hand.” She paused. “Where did you plan on meeting him?”
“I hadn’t decided on a place to suggest.” Casey’s brows drew together in question. “Why? Is there somewhere in particular that would help you?”
“Not somewhere, something,” Claire replied. “If there’s any way you can bring me back an item that belongs to him, I might be able to make a sensory connection to—”
“I’ll go with you and pick his pocket,” Emma jumped in eagerly. “Just say the word. I’ll pose as your PA. I can take notes and lift his wallet at the same time.”
Casey rolled her eyes. “You’re not going and you’re certainly not lifting his wallet, which he’d notice the minute he reached for it.” She turned back to Claire. “Why don’t I suggest we meet at his office? That way, I can find something innocuous, like a pen, that won’t be missed but that he’s handled. Would that work?”
“That would be ideal, except you did promise Hutch that you’d meet Dempsey in a public place,” Claire reminded her.
“Yes, I did.” Casey frowned.
“Believe me, you wouldn’t be breaking that promise,” Ryan said, eliminating that potential roadblock. “The penthouse Dempsey uses as an office is the size of Grand Central and he’s got a revolving door of meetings, not to mention a full-time PA, a receptionist, and a healthy bunch of in-house employees. I should know. With all the research I’m doing, I’ve read more articles about the guy than I can count.”
“Thanks,” Casey replied gratefully. She studied Ryan’s face. “Still pissed at me?”
“Nah.” He waved it away. “I’ll just use it as ammo if I ever screw up, which I never do, so it’s moot anyway.”
“And there’s that ego again.” Fiona shook her head in exasperation. “Say that once more, and I’ll publicly name the list of times you’ve screwed up.”
Ryan shot her a withering look and then abruptly steered the conversation back to their case. “I’ve got to get down to my lair. Casey, I’ll try to get you all I can on Dempsey. And I’ll also do my genealogy homework. The clock is ticking.”
“Patrick and I will go back to our analysis.” Marc lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Although we’ve already established a solid reverse chronological view of Fiona’s life through the folders Yoda supplied—photos, Word documents, Photoshop files, iMessages, and emails. Fiona clarified and enhanced our scrutiny as needed. We’ve pared things down only to the data that relates to this case. And frankly, all pertinent data seems to be encapsulated in those tapestry panels, which hopefully the bad guys haven’t seen.”
“I’m going to my yoga room and picking up where I left off,” Claire declared, coming to her feet. “If there are insights to be had, I’ve got to pray I have them. Time is not our friend here. Nothing new came to me these past few hours, but I did regenerate, unclutter my mind, and open up my sensory awareness. I’m hoping that’s enough to move us forward.”
“Good.” Casey nodded, glancing down at her iPhone and scrolling through her emails. “Right before you all got here, I got return messages from four of the five antiquities experts Rose contacted in London and Dublin. The two London experts had the same information we do and hadn’t yet provided Rose with any additional reference material. The same applied to two of the Dublin experts, although the second one referred me to a retired professor—Doctor James Blythe—who’s evidently the foremost authority on archeological finds in Ireland and, as luck would have it, on hoards. Dr. Blythe also happens to be the last name on Rose’s list—the one I’m having trouble reaching via email. I’ll give it another shot, and then I’ll call his number at the university. As for Rose’s New York expert, she hasn’t responded yet—no surprise given it’s not even dawn here. I’ll keep checking. So those are my assignments, followed by a meeting setup with Niall Dempsey. I’ll give you an update as soon as I have one.”
She headed for the door, pausing at the entrance and turning to regard the team as a whole. “Thanks for the congratulations and for giving me a pass. Next idea I have will be run by the team before I see it through, especially where it involves Hutch.”
***
Niall sat silently in Donald’s back room, answering his emails, scrolling through his to-do list, and waiting until his friend returned a few hours later.
“Everything is in place,” Donald assured him. “There was a sudden cancelation in first class on a flight from Dublin landing in JFK tonight. Your professor will be taking that seat. He’s being well compensated for our urgency and any inconvenience it causes him.”
“Good.” Niall was already planning his approach when the professor arrived. Imparting too much information could be dangerous, but keeping secrets would impede the expert’s ability to help. Niall would have to find the best way to ensure the old man’s silence while pushing him to piece together everything Niall needed without the benefit of the tapestry panels.
Despite his bravado, he was worried about how much Fiona McKay and Forensic Instincts were figuring out. What was depicted on the other eleven panels? Had they guessed that what they were seeking was an actual, not merely a legendary, hoard? Did Fiona know of the Vadrefjord Hoard? Did she recognize any of the images from family rituals, like places they’d visit for special occasions or stories that had been passed down through the generations?
He’d love to get his hands on the damn girl and beat it out of her. But his hands were tied on that score, too. There was so much security guarding both Fiona and her parents, not to mention the additional security on the members of the Forensic Instincts team, that he would have a hell of a time getting his hands on any of them.
If necessary, he’d find a way around that. But for that, he’d need help. Help that could make things happen. Help he could feel secure about bringing into his confidence.
It was time to stop keeping Donald in the dark.
Slowly, he raised his head, meeting Donald’s gaze. “I’ve trusted you with my life. It’s time to trust you with my quest.”
“Finally.” Donald pulled up a chair and straddled it. “I had a hell of a time getting your professor over here without giving our contact something besides money and high-end apartment accommodations to entice him. Frankly, he seemed more motivated by the idea of hunting down that Vadrefjord Hoard you jotted down—whatever the hell that is—and restoring it to the National Museum of Ireland. It’s a good thing he’s poor. He had actually wanted to be at Rose Flaherty’s funeral but couldn’t afford to make the trip. Now he can come and pay his respects.”
“You’re right. I put you in an untenable position, and not just to get Professor Blythe to New York City. But also to watch my back, the way you always have, especially now with Cobra here and breathing down my neck. So here goes.”
Omitting nothing, Niall filled Donald in on the hoard and his search for it, including his purchase of the painting and the incidents that brought him to it, and how the McKays and the tapestries factored into the hunt.
Donald listened carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. “All of this now makes sense. That’s where this professor factors in.”
Niall nodded. “He’s an expert on Irish hoards. He wrote a book on the subject, which I’ve read cover to cover multiple times. He’s also an archeologist, with two PhDs and a lifetime of teaching others about the subject. Not to mention being an amateur treasure hunter. I casually mentioned his name to Rose Flaherty the week before she died, and she said he was a genius, that they went to school together and that he signed a first-edition copy of his book to her. I was half tempted to call him myself…”
“It’s a damn good thing you didn’t.” Donald looked grim. “He’s a professor emeritus at the University of Dublin. Even if you used an assumed name, it would be too risky. The rules are clear: no contact with our country whatsoever. You have enough danger hovering around you as it is, with Cobra in our own backyard, prepping for some lethal strike.”
“That’s why I didn’t make the call. Plus, I was originally on the fence about letting this old guy in on what I was looking for, and the fact that it’s here in the Big Apple. But now I’m feeling the pressure of staying a step ahead of Fiona McKay and Forensic Instincts. And that means taking a chance by involving this Professor Blythe.” Worry creased Niall’s forehead. “I’m sure Forensic Instincts has his name, as well as Rose’s entire contact list. That’s why we have to get him on that plane before they reach out to him.”
“I doubt that’ll be a problem,” Donald replied. “I learned a lot about your professor in the past few hours. He lives in a cottage on campus. He rarely visits his office, does all his research at home. His university email address stops right there since he doesn’t use email. Even his cell phone is antiquated. So it’s going to take a while for Forensic Instincts to track him down. We’ll have him out of his house in a matter of hours, maybe less.”
“Make it less. Spring for a big dinner before his flight. Come up with whatever you have to. Don’t underestimate Forensic Instincts.”
On the heels of his words, Niall’s cell phone rang. He stared at the caller ID, saw a number he’d recently memorized, and then shot Donald a wary look. “Speak of the devil. It’s Forensic Instincts. What the hell do they want?”
Donald looked as stymied as Niall. “I guess there’s just one way to find out.”