The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel (32 page)

They took off.

As they rounded the bend at the opposite end of the corridor, they could hear racing footsteps approaching the now-empty room.

They ascended the steps two at a time, and Marc kicked open the door at the landing hard enough to knock over the guard on the other side.

Waiting to hear his grunt of pain as he fell over, Marc shoved open the door, and he and Aidan bolted for the study.

Even carrying Emma, Marc shot through the window in one smooth motion, with Aidan right behind him. They squatted down, using their powerful quadriceps to hustle them across the grounds.

“I’ve got you,” Marc murmured to Emma, who was shaking violently and making agonized sobbing sounds. “You’re safe.”

Aidan was texting Ryan as he moved.

As they neared the lake, the red beam pierced the sky like the Bat signal.

The powerboat reached shore, and Marc waded out, placing Emma on the boat. Then, he climbed in, Aidan alongside. Ryan turned the boat and sped away from shore.

Behind them, they could make out a convoy of trucks pulling up to the Lubinov mansion and a blur of figures swarming inside.

“Looks like SWAT,” Aidan noted.

Marc turned around to see. “Yeah, I’m guessing it’s Albany SWAT. Hutch must have made this happen. Good. They’ll finish up where we left off. So much for Lubinov. I hope he rots in hell.”

Ryan glanced over, seeing that Marc was still cradling Emma, rocking her like a baby in distress.

“How is she?” he asked.

“Not good,” was Marc’s blunt reply. He reached over to grab the bottled water that Ryan had just uncapped and was handing him, along with the couple of extra blankets they’d brought on board. “Time to rehydrate,” Marc told Emma.

“Okay…but Marc.” She stopped him with a painfully devastated expression. “I tried not to say anything or to answer Lubinov’s questions. I tried. But those instruments he let Slava use…they hurt. I was scared. After a while…I told them I worked for Forensic Instincts. Not about Lisa’s identity switch, but about FI. I’m sorry.”

“Stop it.” Marc put down the water long enough to wrap the extra blankets tightly around Emma, easing both her internal and external chill. “You were a trooper. Now sip slowly.” He held the bottle up to her lips.

She complied, coughing at first but then gradually swallowing small amounts of fluid.

“Damn straight you were a trooper,” Ryan said. “We’re so proud of you. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. The FBI has Lubinov by now, along with all the psychos working for him, and those poor athletes who won’t even understand why they’re being taken in.”

“They won’t be charged. But they’ll make ideal witnesses. They’ll help put the scumbags away.” While he was speaking, Marc was studying Emma’s bruised and swollen face. He remembered the rivulets of blood on her body, along with additional bruising around her ribs. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

“No.” Emma blanched. “I just want to go home.” Tears were spilling from her eyes. “He didn’t rape me, Marc, not yet. You stopped him. My cuts sting, but they’re not that bad. Please. Just get me home.”

Marc’s jaw tightened. She needed medical care, and she needed it now.

“Listen to me, Emma,” Marc said, soothing her as best he could. “You can’t travel all the way home in the condition you’re in. You have to go to a local hospital, just to get checked out and receive whatever treatment is necessary. You’ll be released in no time.”
After the police and the FBI grill the hell out of you
, he thought grimly.

“Ryan,” he said, recalling his teammate’s attention.

Still steering the boat, Ryan peered over his shoulder, brows raised in question.

“We have to figure out a way to work this.”

“I hear you.”

“From here on in, it’ll just be the two of us,” Marc continued. “Aidan’s going home.”

Aidan frowned, visibly bothered by leaving Emma in her condition and by off-loading all the responsibility onto Marc and Ryan.

“Marc…” he began.

“No.” Marc sliced the air with his palm, effectively cutting his brother off. “That was great teamwork, Black Hawk. Now it’s time to grab your SUV from the warehouse and head back to the city and to Abby. We got it from here.”

Knowing where he belonged, Aidan nodded.

“I don’t give a shit about discovery,” Ryan said. “I’ll carry Emma into the hospital myself.”

“That’s not an option.” Part of Marc was totally on board with what Ryan was saying. He hated having to let Emma handle any part of this on her own. But he also knew the ramifications of them admitting her. They’d have to provide their identities, their explanations—everything that would ultimately expose them and FI to criminal charges.

“The University of Vermont Medical Center isn’t far from here,” Marc said. “We’ll pick up our van at the warehouse, and you’ll drive us to the ER entrance. I’ll carry Emma inside and make sure she’s in a wheelchair or on a gurney before I—”

“No.” This time it was Emma who interrupted. Her voice was weak, but her resolve was strong—as if she were reading Marc’s mind and understood what had to be done. “You’ll be noticed. You can’t help but be. Just leave me near the outside ER door. I’ll cry out for a doctor the minute you drive away.”

“And how are you going to explain why you’re alone on their doorstep, naked and injured?” Ryan demanded.

“I’ll say I was attacked near the hospital grounds and that I got away.”

“That’s all she needs to say,” Marc agreed. “The staff will be concentrating on treating her, not interrogating her. That part will come later. And, by then, we’ll be there to run the show.”

He tucked a lock of disheveled hair behind Emma’s ear. “Listen to me,” he said. “Ryan and I will be watching the ER door to make sure someone helps you in. Don’t try to be stoic like you usually do. Be an emotional wreck. Beg them to call Ryan. They’ll do it ASAP. That call will be our cue.”

“Cue for what?” Emma asked.

“To start counting.” Marc knew that Emma was far more panicky than she was letting on. “We won’t have left the hospital grounds. We’ll wait two hours—enough time for us to have flown from Manhattan to Burlington—and then rush in. I need you to hold it together for that long, okay?”

Emma gave a tentative nod. “What about the cops? How do I answer their questions?”

“Act too freaked out to talk. Let them wait. Get hysterical if you need to. Just let the doctors fix you up. We’ll handle law enforcement when we get there.”

“I can do that.” Emma was talking as much to herself as she was to Marc.

“I know you can. Meanwhile, I’ll call Casey. She’ll want to fly up here. The whole team will.”

“And call Lisa,” Emma whispered. “Tell her that she, Miles, and Shannon are safe. It’s finally over.”

Offices of Forensic Instincts

Two weeks later

The whole FI team—plus Hutch, Aidan, and Madeline—was gathered around the main conference room table.

Casey carried in the cake, which was chocolate frosted, decorated with yellow buttercream flowers signifying friendship, and bearing the scripted words:
Welcome Home, Emma
.

Not welcome
back
. Welcome
home
.

Casey placed the cake in the center of the table, which was decorated with a bright yellow tablecloth, napkins, plates, hot cups, and plastic silverware, along with an enormous urn of freshly brewed coffee and a large cake slicer.

“This one’s all yours, Emma,” Casey told her. “You can share or eat the whole thing yourself. We’re so happy to have you back we’ll all forfeit our pieces, right, guys?”

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreements.

Emma stared from the cake to her teammates, and tears filled her eyes—eyes that were no longer swollen or haunted but had yet to boast that Emma sparkle. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Of course I’ll share. What all of you have done for me—it means more than I can say.”

“
You
mean more than
we
can say,” Claire replied, gently squeezing Emma’s hand.

“Yeah, we missed your mouthy quips,” Ryan informed her. “It was way too dull around here.”

“I’ll remind you of that when I’m myself,” Emma responded, her lips curving into a smile that hadn’t come for two weeks.

The welts on her face had gone down, the cuts on her body were rapidly disappearing, and her bruised ribs were healing. She was sore and shaky but physically on the mend. Emotionally, she was, and would be, going for counseling for months, dealing with the deep-seated scars of her trauma.

Still, little by little, Emma was starting to be Emma again.

Over the past two weeks, the team had taken turns sitting with her at her apartment, helping her through her recuperation period—a period that had been ordered by Emma’s doctor and by Casey. Madeleine had visited, too, both as a friend and as a nurse, checking out Emma’s wounds and refreshing her bandages as needed.

The FBI, of course, had come to interview her, both at the University of Vermont Medical Center and here in New York. With the help of Marc’s coaching, she’d told them everything—except the identities of her rescuers. To that question, all she said was that the two men who saved her were dressed totally in black with night goggles and hoods, and that they hadn’t spoken to her, only brought her to the hospital and vanished. She assumed they were heroic FBI agents.

No one at the Bureau had countered that.

“Are you up to cake slicing?” Casey asked now, gazing uncomfortably at the knife. “Or do you want me to do the honors?”

For a moment, Emma eyed the slicer. Then, she said, “I’ll do it.” With a determined look, she stepped forward and cut generous helpings for everyone, her hands steadier than expected. “Go for it, gang,” she urged.

They all complied, beaming as they watched Emma scarf down her piece of cake and cut a second. Finally, her appetite was returning.

“This is the absolute last thing I’m eating until the wedding,” she declared. “It’s only a few days away. I have to fit into my dress.”

“Why does every woman say that?” Patrick asked, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I’ve heard Adele utter those same words a thousand times over the past thirty-five years. And she’s never had a problem fitting into anything.”

Casey laughed. “It’s a female thing.”

“Yeah, Marc,” Ryan said cheerfully as he polished off another forkful of cake. “Get used to it. You’re about to enlist for life.”

Marc put down his plate and wrapped his arm around Maddy’s waist. “I’m a willing recruit.”

“Even if you have to give up lap dances?” Maddy’s eyes danced, as she reminded Marc of the unexpected and unappreciated part of his bachelor party—a part that he’d been bitching about all week.

“No comment.” Marc glared from Aidan to Ryan to Hutch.

“Kudos to us, Aidan,” Ryan said. “He’s still pissed off. “Yeah, the arrangements did have their benefits. Which reminds me…” Aidan dug around in his shirt pocket and produced a slip of paper. “The lovely Yvonne—lap dancer number one—asked me to give you this.” He offered the paper to Marc. “It’s her cell phone number. She said that anytime you get bored, give her a call, and she’ll give you more than a lap dance.”

Maddy reached over and snatched the scrap of paper, tearing it into a dozen pieces and tossing it into the trash. “Problem solved.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Pardon me, Casey.” Yoda’s voice echoed through the room. “My data scanner has just alerted me to a national press conference that’s about to air on all major networks. It’s being held by the FBI and pertains to Maxim Lubinov. Shall I display it for you?”

“By all means.” Casey’s brows rose in interest. “Put it up on all screens.”

“Of course.”

An instant later, a visual appeared on the enormous, centrally located conference room TV, as well as the panorama of screens surrounding it, providing a perfect view from every angle.

Breaking News
flashed in red at the bottom, along with the caption:
FBI and local authorities break up national drug trafficking operation.

Three official-looking law enforcement representatives in suits stood there—a stocky gray-haired man and a slim blonde woman positioned on either side of the dais, and a broad-shouldered African-American man, who was up at the podium. On the front panel of the podium was the customary imposing seal that read:
Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation
.

The authoritative spokesman at the podium stepped closer to the microphone and addressed the TV audience.

“Good afternoon. I’m Special Agent in Charge Rodney Bloom of the FBI Albany Division. With me today is United States Assistant District Attorney Roberta Elden and Captain of the Chicago Police Department William Regis. We are here to announce the results of an extensive, ongoing multi-law enforcement operation that has led to the indictment of Dr. Maxim Lubinov, a renowned Russian-born microbiologist, who is formally being charged with drug trafficking, manufacturing and distribution of illegal PEDs, kidnapping, murder, and attempted murder.

“In addition, the Department of Justice, along with the Albany division of the FBI and the Chicago Police Department, has evidence tying the above crimes to the murder investigation of a young woman, Julie Forman, who was allegedly killed as a result of uncovering incriminating information on Lubinov’s drug ring. On Lubinov’s property was found the body of James Robbins, an employee of Lubinov’s, who’d been missing from his Chicago home for over four weeks.”

The SAC went on to detail the part that Russian Organized Crime played in the cartel, and then went on to name names, including all of Lubinov’s employees.

The list was endless.

No mention of Emma, Lisa, Miles, Shannon, or any outside investigative source was made.

Casey glanced around the table and raised her coffee cup. “Good news all around. The FBI and DOJ get the credit, we get to stay clean, and we have the pleasure of making yet another ADA’s career skyrocket.”

“That should be easy with Lubinov representing himself in court, the arrogant bastard.” Marc rolled his eyes in disgust.

“An ugly combination of narcissistic personality disorder and antisocial personality disorder.” Hutch reiterated his earlier evaluation. “Good thing he’ll be locked up for good.”

“That scene he made prior to his Grand Jury hearing was a media circus, with Lubinov raving on the front steps of the courthouse about his research and about how one day the world would recognize his genius.” Marc gave a humorless laugh. “He really believes the courts will value his scientific advances over his crimes, and that he’ll be exonerated. And that’s even knowing that his assistant, Dmitry Gorev, is cooperating with the authorities. It seems the kid finally grew a conscience.”

“Better late than never,” Patrick pointed out. “It’ll help the ADA’s case.”

“True.” Marc nodded.

“I wonder what the government will do with Lubinov’s research,” Ryan mused aloud. “Will they destroy it or have their pharmaceutical resources alter the formula until it’s safe for use?”

“We’ll probably never know,” Casey replied. “But I can live with that. The important things have all been resolved, including keeping our clients safe and giving them back their lives. Case closed.”

“Giving them back their lives how?” Emma asked. “You said you were working on legal options to keep Lisa and Miles out of jail.”

“And we did,” Casey replied. “We’ve had talks with the right attorneys, who have subsequently made the right deals. And, before you ask, yes, our clients are totally on board with everything. Documents have been signed and dated. In fact…” She glanced at her watch. “Lisa and Miles should be arriving at the brownstone any time now, just to see you. Shannon is back in Chicago with her parents, but she sends you her love and the promise to stay in touch.”

“All of that sounds awesome.” Emma sighed in relief. She shot Casey a quizzical look. “What does ‘right attorneys’ mean?”

“It means a few top-notch lawyers with whom we have good and mutually beneficial relationships,” Casey clarified. “They’ve been able to work out a deal whereby Lisa’s and Miles’s jail time will be converted into one year of stringent community service—providing that Lisa repays Julie’s inheritance and testifies at her murder trial. Since Julie has no living relatives, Lisa chose to pay back the inheritance by converting the vacant building a block down from Excalibur into a gym and café for foster kids.”

“What a great idea,” Emma exclaimed. “That way, Julie’s dream stays alive in Excalibur, and Lisa’s dream to help other foster kids is realized.”

“Yup.” Casey nodded. “The deal is contingent, of course, on Shannon’s testimony, which she’s ready and eager to give. So stop worrying. It’s all going to be fine.”

“This time,” Hutch qualified. Despite the celebratory mood, he was less than thrilled with the team. “Look, I ran the necessary interference with the Bureau regarding Emma’s capture. I backed up her story, and I kept my mouth shut about FI involvement. But, Casey, you gave Marc and Ryan the go-ahead to act without law enforcement, knowing that SWAT was on its way. In turn, they went ahead and put themselves in a life-threatening situation.”

“If they hadn’t, I might not be alive today,” Emma reminded him. “Every second mattered.”

Hutch couldn’t argue that one, and he didn’t even try—especially because it would make him an utter hypocrite, given the rules he’d broken in the past to save Casey’s life. “I know, Emma. And I’m more than grateful that you’re okay. But this constant vigilante stuff worries the hell out of me. One of these days, FI might not be so lucky. And I couldn’t live with myself if any of you was hurt—or worse.”

“It won’t come to that, Hutch.” Casey gave him a tender look, fully aware of how torn he was—and why. “We’re the best there is at what we do. You know that. And you also know that we always stay within the confines of the law—unless we can’t.” Her wink was playful. “But thank you. Your concerns have been duly noted.”

“Yeah, right, and you’ll take them under advisement.” Hutch rolled his eyes. “You’re going to make me old before my time.”

“I’ll keep you young, I promise.”

Hutch couldn’t help but thaw. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Maddy gave him a sympathetic look. “Our job, it seems, is to love them and live with them—but not always happily.”

“I’ll take the job,” Hutch replied. “God help me, but sign me up.”

*****