His hostile expression said it all.
“You’re acquainted with Warren Mercer, right?” Casey asked, the vision of innocence. “Although, if I recall correctly, the two of you haven’t spoken in many years.”
“Warren and I lost touch, yes. But Cliff is a fine man, so I’m sure he’s a fine son.” Fenton was trying. But, hostile or not, he was panicking. Casey could see it in every gesture, hear it in every syllable.
Amanda, meanwhile, was staring at Casey as if she’d lost her mind. And Casey could certainly read hers: why the hell was Casey making small talk, however useful, when Paul was about to return to the PICU and run smack into Fenton?
Casey wished she could explain.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to.
The waiting room door opened, and a man and a woman walked in. They didn’t warrant a second look-just average professionals, with a brisk Manhattan stride and everyday business attire.
Except that Casey’s trained eye spotted the pistols clutched subtly at their sides. Even without that giveaway, she’d know they were plainclothes FBI. She’d interacted with the Bureau long enough to recognize the demeanor. All the tells were there-the sense of purpose, the sharp look in their eyes as they sought out and found their target, and their casual yet intense way of closing in.
Fenton had his back to them, so he didn’t react. And Amanda noticed nothing unusual about the pair, so she didn’t react, either-not until she saw Marc, Claire and Ryan clustered in the corridor, standing to the side as a set of three armed plainclothesmen stepped just inside the doorway.
Spotting the M4 rifles, Amanda’s eyes widened, and her whole body tensed.
Casey remained intentionally relaxed, and she didn’t meet Amanda’s gaze. She simply watched the SWAT team position themselves along the periphery of the doorway, their M4 rifles raised.
Fenton saw his niece’s expression and started to turn around.
He didn’t have the chance.
The two agents had raised their pistols into ready gun position, the female agent announcing in a clear, firm voice, “Lyle Fenton. FBI. You’re under arrest for racketeering and corruption.” A moment later, his arms were pulled behind him and handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists.
The male agent then searched him for weapons and contraband.
“This is outrageous,” Fenton snapped, too stunned to struggle. “I want my attorney.” He shot a scathing look at Casey. “You bitch,” he muttered between clenched teeth.
“I’ve been called worse.” Casey gave him a saccharine-sweet smile. “And I’m happy to oblige. Thank you both,” she added, speaking to the FBI agents.
“Our pleasure,” the female agent replied. “We have a car waiting out back with Mr. Fenton’s name on it. Let’s go,” she addressed Fenton, urging him toward the door.
“Amanda…” Fenton opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Don’t talk to me,” Amanda replied in a hard, livid voice that Casey had never before heard her use. “Just go. Justin and I don’t need you or your money. Get out of my sight.”
His jaw working violently, Fenton said nothing more, forcing himself to go quietly with the agents.
“Who are those other armed men?” Amanda asked Casey, pointing to the doorway.
“A plainclothes SWAT team,” Casey supplied. “My guess is there are probably two other teams at choke points, probably at the top of the stairwell and the elevator banks.”
“My God.” Amanda was visibly dazed. “You were purposely stalling my uncle. That’s why you were making small talk. You knew the FBI agents were coming.”
Casey nodded. “I also knew that Agent Hutchinson and Agent Shore were keeping Paul in the lab, so there was no chance of him running into Fenton. As soon as I get a phone call saying the FBI team has left the premises, I’ll have Paul brought upstairs, and the two of you can visit with each other and with Justin.”
Amanda was still trying to absorb what had just happened. “Racketeering? Corruption? Do I even want to know?”
“It’s just as well if you don’t, because you can’t.” Casey was blunt. “The U.S. Attorney’s Office is building a case. Until the facts become public record, the details can’t be discussed. Just accept the fact that your uncle has a lot to answer for. Oh, and I wouldn’t count on that inheritance. I doubt it was obtained legally.”
A disgusted shudder. “I don’t want his dirty money-not for me and not for my son. We’ll do fine without it.”
“I know you will.” Casey paused. “One suggestion. Don’t press Paul too hard. He’s not going to be at liberty to tell you too much. Concentrate on the fact that he loves you, that he loves and wants Justin, and that he’s here to do all he can-and to stay. The details of his assignment are unimportant in comparison.”
Amanda nodded. “I understand. And I agree. I’ll listen to whatever Paul can and chooses to share. And I won’t interrogate him. I’m just so grateful to you for finding him and bringing him home.” Tears clogged Amanda’s voice.
“A few days ago, I told you not to thank us until we found Paul. Now I’m telling you not to thank us until he’s saved Justin.” Casey meant every word she was saying. “Knowing Justin will be well is all the thanks my team and I need.”
EPILOGUE
Winter was clinging on with a vise grip, as March did indeed come in like a lion, showing no signs of relenting. Two weeks into the month, the wind was blowing fiercely, menacing gray clouds hung overhead, and snow was in the forecast.
Bundled up and shivering, the entire Forensic Instincts team hurried into Sloan Kettering and down the hall to the first-floor hospital chapel. They wanted to get there early, to help make the necessary preparations.
They shrugged out of their winter coats, scarves and gloves, and hung them all away, surveying the solemn interfaith chapel and thinking about how many times Amanda had visited this sanctuary over the past three months, praying for her son’s recovery. And about how many times the team itself had been in this hospital.
From the time Amanda had hired them last December, there had been more hours spent here than any of the FI team cared to count-painful hours, emotional hours, tension-filled hours, prayerful hours.
This time it was none of the above.
This time the hours would be joyous.
The whole team, together with others who were near and dear, were gathering together to celebrate two extraordinary events, both of which were long overdue and which no overcast skies could eclipse.
The first would be taking place at nine o’clock this morning.
The exact timing of the second was still under discussion.
But it would be soon.
“The candles add a nice touch,” Claire announced, having arranged a line of them on at the head of the room. She stood back, assessed her handiwork, then nodded. “Just the right balance of elegance and warmth. A roomful of positive energy.”
“No occasion is complete without positive energy,” Ryan replied drily.
“Don’t play Scrooge with me.” Claire didn’t so much as blink at the subtle taunt. “Not when you called me at some ungodly hour and asked me to rush over to the lair and check out three ties so you’d know which one worked best.”
“Now that’s a moment I would have paid to see.” Marc chuckled. “The debonair Ryan McKay, seeking fashion advice.”
Ryan shot him a look. “I usually avoid these kinds of parties. My wardrobe lends itself to less reverent occasions.”
“So, Claire, you were in the office-and down in the lair-at dawn.” That one hadn’t gotten by Casey. “Just to choose a tie? Because you two seem to spend a lot of alone time downstairs these days.”
“Not cute, Casey,” Ryan warned. “Also not work related.”