The Line Between Here and Gone (6 page)

“So a luxury hotel on Shinnecock Bay would be a major windfall for the developer.” Casey stated the obvious. “We already knew that.”

“We also knew what a perfect spot for the hotel Paul had picked. He bought that run-of-the-mill wharf and marina for a steal. The fishing industry is hurting. The old-timer who owned the property was thrilled to unload the place—along with the fifty acres of undeveloped land that came with it. It was a gold mine, right down to the ready-made port. No one was being cut out. Any fishermen who still wanted to dock there were welcome. But they were no longer the priority. The plan was to expand the wharf and the docks, bulldoze the wooded land and tear down the shack of an office Paul was using to make way for the hotel. A dredging company would then do their thing—dig a deeper trench on the ocean floor and widen the channel so that large passenger ferries and private yachts could pass through. The ferry service would travel from Manhattan to Shinnecock Bay, along with hundreds of tourists.”

“They could reach their hotel in a fraction of the time it would take to battle the highways by car.” Casey considered the ramifications of that. “We’re talking about a massive undertaking. Paul would have needed all kinds of permits, cooperation from the town of Southampton, and the right construction companies.”

“Yup, although we already knew that. Here’s something we didn’t know. Paul was still working on the permits and the town’s cooperation. But as for the construction companies, he was already lining them up at the time when he either took off or died. All of them are legitimate. Most of them jumped at the chance to be part of this moneymaker. Except for one holdback—the dredging company. Because of the company’s strong rep, Paul was still working on them for a commitment. Still, it was an interesting choice of companies, as it turns out. Way too coincidental.”

There was that
ta-da
note in Ryan’s voice again. Whatever he was going to say next was going to be a biggie.

Casey waited expectantly.

“Fenton Dredging. Name ring a bell?”

“Fenton.
Lyle
Fenton?” Casey asked in surprise.

“None other. Major business tycoon who owns a pretty substantial empire. The dredging company’s just one arm of it. Plus, as I mentioned before, he’s also on the Southampton Board of Trustees. And, most significant of all, he’s Amanda Gleason’s uncle. His spot on the Board of Trustees didn’t seem relevant before. It sure as hell does now.”

Casey pursed her lips. “No way that’s a coincidence. When did Fenton and Paul start doing business together?”

“They didn’t. Not until Paul started pressing Fenton to take the dredging job. Fenton was holding back. I don’t know why. It sure as hell wasn’t due to a low margin. He had to know he’d make a killing from this deal.”

“You think that’s who Paul was paying off?”

“Could be. On the other hand, Fenton’s a pretty prominent guy. And a rich one. Would he risk exposure just for some drop-in-the-bucket payoffs? Sounds like a dumb idea to me.”

“I agree. So let’s take another approach. If Paul needed Fenton’s cooperation, maybe that’s why he made it his business to meet and get close to Amanda. Maybe he was hoping that a relationship with her would tip the scales in his favor.”

“Now
that
makes sense.”

Casey dragged a hand through her hair, which was whipping around from the wind. “Let’s get back to the guy who took over Paul’s project. Who is he and what’s his deal?”

“His name’s John Morano. He’s a well-established real-estate developer with even more resources than Paul. He got wind of the opportunity Paul’s death had opened up and he jumped on it, purchasing the property with a preemptive offer to Everett’s estate.”

“And is he moving ahead with the same contractors as Paul?”

“Seems like it. The important thing is, Fenton’s still a holdout. I don’t know what the deal is with this guy, but he has some kind of agenda. Cash, power, who knows? But he wants something to agree to do the job.”

“Damn.” Casey glanced at the van, where Amanda was seated in the rear, her posture stiff at she anxiously studied her watch. “We need more time out here. We have to talk to Morano, interview Fenton and talk to the other contractors Paul was dealing with. Not to mention we haven’t visited any of the places where Amanda and Paul hung out together, nor have we questioned Paul’s neighbors and poker buddies. But right now we don’t have time for any of it. Amanda’s jumping out of her skin. She called the hospital, and the baby’s temperature is up. We’re lucky she agreed to stop at her apartment before heading back to the city.”

“Poor kid. So what do you want to do?”

“Leave Marc behind to work his magic. I’ll bring Hero home with us. He’ll have completed his job out here. So will Claire.”

“Hero? Yes. Claire? Iffy. Paul might have left some boxers there for her to commune with.”

“Ryan.” There was a cut-it-out note in Casey’s voice.

“Okay, okay.” The clicking sound meant that Ryan was back on his keyboard. “I’ll get all the names and addresses I can. I’ll text them to Marc. If anyone can get maximum info in minimum time, it’s him. I’ll check into Fenton’s schedule. He shoots back and forth from the Hamptons to Manhattan.” A pause. “Interesting. He’s meeting with Congressman Mercer in D.C. tomorrow morning.”

Casey didn’t even question how Ryan had tapped into Fenton’s schedule so quickly. “Perfect. That’s who we originally thought was Paul’s target to get the support he needed. Now we have both men in the same place at the same time. Find out where Mercer likes to eat lunch.”

“
Likes
to eat lunch? I’ll find out
where
they’re eating lunch and what time.”

“Of course you will.” Casey smiled. “After that, text Patrick. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and give Marc more breathing room to talk to the rest of the people on the list. I don’t want him gone for more than another day. I need him home, and so does Amanda. Of the whole team, she leans on him the most.”

“I know. And he’ll get to see every one of the names I send any way he has to.”

No elaboration was necessary. They both knew what that meant.

“Let me get back to the van,” Casey said. “Text me whatever I need to know. Send the rest directly to Patrick and Marc. The fact that the baby’s fever is up means we have less time and more pressure.”

“On it, boss.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

It took Patrick all afternoon questioning people to get a bite, and even that bite was only a nibble.

It was during his third trip to the coffee shop, purposely planned to coincide with the arrival of the pre-dinner shift. That’s when the strategic move paid off. One of the waitresses—a buxom, middle-aged woman named Evelyn—thought she recognized Paul from the photo of him and Amanda. She wasn’t sure. But if it was him, he came in mornings at around 7:30 a.m. for a roll and coffee—possibly every day, but definitely on the mornings she worked the early shift.

If Patrick wanted to follow up on that lead, he’d have to spend the night in D.C.

Then again, there wasn’t any choice—not unless he was desperately needed at home base.

He was just 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 that mean he’s dead?”

“No.” Claire was determined to protect Amanda from the worst-case scenario, since she herself was swimming in unchartered waters. “It means that, for whatever reason, I’m not connecting. That doesn’t always imply death. It could imply secrecy, or just an unlucky coincidence. I can’t control what I sense. And that doesn’t always work in our favor.”

“I see.” Amanda’s shoulders sagged. “What else can I do to help you get that connection?”

“Right now, nothing.” Claire released the heart. A troubled look flickered in her eyes. “You should get back to the hospital,” she said.

Amanda’s expression was one of sheer panic. “Why? Is Justin…?”

“He’s the same. Nothing drastic has happened,” Claire reassured her quickly. “I just feel as if it’s time for you to be with him. He’s fussier since the fever spiked. He’ll be soothed when you’re holding him. Most of all, so will you. We’ve reached a place where your anxiety is escalating. It’s to the point where it’s the strongest aura I feel. Soon it will block out all the other energies.”

Claire rose, placing all the objects back in the shopping bag. “Let me take these three mementos back to the city with us. Let me handle them when I’m alone.”

“I thought this process works better if you’re in an environment where Paul spent his time.”

“That’s usually true. But sometimes it’s the other way around. Sometimes when I’m in the quiet of my own space without interfering energies, I can focus only on the object I’m holding.”
And I can try to make sense of this binary energy,
she added silently.

“Okay.” Amanda dragged both hands through her hair. She was visibly coming apart at the seams. Claire’s assessment of her was accurate. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “We have so many places I didn’t have the chance to take you. Places where Paul and I used to go.”

“We can come back,” Claire replied. “But this is enough for one day.”

“Amanda, I’ll be staying out here for another day.” Marc spoke up in that deep, calming voice of his. “I’ve got some old-fashioned detective work to do. Give me a list of the places where you and Paul hung out. I’ll show his picture around. I know the cops already did that, but I might have more luck.”

That panicky expression was back on Amanda’s face. “What kind of detective work? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Nope. I just want to talk to some of Paul’s poker buddies, maybe his neighbors.” Marc purposely omitted whatever bigger purpose Casey was about to share with him. “The passage of time is a funny thing. Sometimes people forget. Other times, they remember. You’d be surprised at how often clarity occurs later rather than sooner.”

A slow nod. “All right.”

“Would it be a problem if I crashed at your place?” Marc asked. “The team and I will need a home base for tonight and for any return trips we might have to make to the Hamptons.”

“Of course. Stay here whenever you need to. I’ll give you my extra key. I won’t be living here until Justin’s with me—healthy and well.” She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. “It is getting late. And Claire’s right. I’m getting too antsy to concentrate. I want to call Dr. Braeburn and check in. And I want to get back to Justin.” She paused. “If you do need to come back, maybe you can do it without me. It’s just too long a day. I can’t be away from my baby.” Tears glistened on her lashes. “Unless…
until
we find a donor, I don’t know how much time I have with him. I can’t waste a moment of it.”

“Agreed.” Casey met Claire’s gaze. “Could you go out to the van with Amanda?” she asked. “She can get settled and you can give Hero a quick walk before we head back to the city.”

A hint of a smile touched Amanda’s lips. “In other words, she can babysit me. I’m really okay.”

“I know you are. But someone has to unlock the van for you. As for Hero, I’m sure nature calls. He’s been on duty all day. He needs a walk, some food and some water. Claire can do that while you call the doctor. Marc and I will lock up. I just want to get his and my schedules in sync before we leave.”

* * *

The drive back to the city was quiet but tense. Amanda insisted on sitting alone in the backseat where she stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts. Casey just drove, alternately glancing in the rearview mirror to see how Amanda was doing and slanting a sideways look at Claire, who was still showing distinct signs of uneasiness.

The silence in the van was deafening.

Trying to appear casual, Claire shifted in her seat, turning to peer past Amanda and—ostensibly—into the hatch area of the van. “Hero’s exhausted,” she noted. “He’s out for the count.”

She turned back, feeling Casey’s stare, knowing she was well aware that Claire hadn’t just been checking on Hero. She was checking to see if they were being followed.

Casey herself had kept a watchful eye the whole time they’d been driving on the Long Island Expressway. She’d seen nothing and no one suspicious. Obviously, neither had Claire, or she’d be conveying that to Casey right now.

But that didn’t mean Claire was happy. True, she hadn’t spotted any car that stood out as being on their tail. But that didn’t ease the knot in her gut. The LIE was jammed with traffic, as always. And someone was out there. Whether they were near or far, she couldn’t say. Nor could she determine if they were following the FI team or Amanda, and what their intentions were. But, whatever they were, they weren’t good.

The van reached Manhattan, and Casey dropped Amanda off right in front of Sloane Kettering.

“I hope all is well,” she said as Amanda got out of the car. “Keep us posted.”

“I will. We’ll talk later.” Amanda shut the door as she spoke. Her mind was already in the Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant Unit with Justin.

Casey eased the van away from the curb and back into traffic. “They’re still following us?” she asked Claire as she headed up East Sixty-seventh Street toward Park Avenue, en route to Tribeca and the FI brownstone.