whom?”
“A friend of mine, a fellow photojournalist. In this case, my friend saw the resemblance to Paul. She didn’t wait to get her camera ready. She just used the closest thing—her cell phone. She emailed me the photo a couple of hours ago. I had just walked out of the hospital to take a break.”
“So she knew you and Paul as a couple.”
“Yes. She also knew I’d never had a chance to tell Paul I was pregnant. She was hoping to give me that chance, along with the incredible news that Paul was alive.”
Paul Everett had never known about the pregnancy, Marc thought. That eliminated one basic reason why he’d choose to vanish. Still, Marc would want to talk to Amanda’s friend.
Amanda mistook his silence for skepticism. “I have no idea why Paul would vanish without saying a word or why he’d start a new life elsewhere. Once I got this cell phone shot and realized he might be alive, I was relieved, but I was also furious. I felt—I feel—betrayed. When they told me Paul was dead, I was ready to raise my child alone. But now that there’s a chance he could be alive, a chance that he could save Justin’s life… my pride is a non-issue. I have to try to track Paul down.”
Marc was still staring intently from the screen to the cell phone, looking for additional characteristics that would confirm the images as the same man. “Did you call the police about this new photo?” he asked.
“Yes, in the taxi on my way to your office. Two guesses whether or not they gave me any points for credibility.” Amanda’s lips trembled and tears began sliding down her cheeks. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been toying with the idea of calling you since last April when Paul disappeared, hoping you could uncover a miracle. But this photo clinched it. You have a reputation for solving cases that no one else can. Please. For the sake of my baby… Will you help me? I’ll scrape together any amount of money to pay your fee. I’ll give up my apartment, if need be. I don’t care. I just want Justin to be all right.” She broke down, dropping her face into her hands and openly sobbing.
“This isn’t about money,” Marc assured her, although she’d had him the minute she described her situation with her infant. “Our policy is to adjust our fees based upon our client’s monetary circumstances.” Thankfully, they could do that. Between the astronomical bonuses they received from their more affluent clients, and the trust fund Casey’s grandfather had left her, Forensic Instincts was on solid financial footing.
“Then what is it?” Amanda asked as Marc fell silent.
Marc didn’t answer immediately. The problem was, he was in the hot seat. Forensic Instincts had an unbroken rule: they never took on a case without first having a full-team discussion and a unanimous decision.
Well, these were dire circumstances. And given that no one else from the team was around and that it would take time to reach them all and get them over here—hell, there was a first time for everything.
“It’s nothing I can’t work out,” he stated flatly. “We’ll find Paul Everett, Ms. Gleason. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. And we’ll do whatever’s necessary to ensure his cooperation.”
Amanda’s head shot up, her tear-streaked face displaying a glimmer of hope. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
“Thank me when we’ve done the job.” Marc’s mind was on overdrive. “What hospital is your son in?”
“Sloane Kettering. He was referred there by the staff at Mount Sinai who made the original diagnosis.”
“So you’re staying there with him?”
“I haven’t left until just now.”
“Fine.” Marc nodded. “I’ll need you to email that cell phone picture to me. I’ll also need some basic information from you—including the name and contact info of your photojournalist friend. Then go back to your baby. Give me a chance to assemble the team and lay all this out for them. We’ll have a plan by morning.”
Part of that plan, he knew, was going to include having his ass kicked.
CHAPTER THREE
“Marc, you’re the one person I rely on to keep a consistent level head. You, of all people, know what it means to be a team member. What made you jump the gun like this?”
Casey Woods, the founder and president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the sweeping oval table in the main conference room, her palms pressed flat on the surface, her spine ramrod straight. For a petite, strikingly attractive redhead in her early thirties, she had the commanding presence of an army general and the leadership skills to match. She was also a trained behavioral and investigative profiler with unerring gut instincts that enhanced her skills.
Right now, it didn’t take a profiler to know she was pissed.
And not because it was close to midnight, and the entire FI team was gathered around the table, bleary-eyed, having been summoned for an emergency meeting. Business as usual at Forensic Instincts. But not for this reason.
Marc leaned back in his chair and met Casey’s gaze head-on. “Amanda Gleason had to get back to the hospital to her gravely ill infant. An on-the-spot decision had to be made. I know you, Casey. I know the whole team. We would have agreed to take this case. So I bent the rules. Under the circumstances, I’m sure you can understand my rationale.”
Glancing back down at Marc’s notes, Casey blew out her breath. The fact was, she could see the merit behind Marc’s argument. But it had still been a major breach of their team credo.
“I want to help this poor woman as much as you do,” she said, calming down enough to lower herself into a chair and begin stroking Hero’s glossy head. He was sitting up and looking around, visibly aware of the tension in the room. “But you know you could have gotten the whole team together, either in person or by conference call, in a matter of minutes. All you had to do was explain that to Ms. Gleason.”
“You’re right,” Marc acknowledged. “I should have waited. But after the child kidnapping case we just wrapped up…” A brief pause. “Look. Stuff like this is my hot button. That’s not news to any of you. Circumstances just made it easier to push it.”
“I understand where Marc is coming from.” Claire Hedgleigh spoke up. She was one of the team’s newest members, and also its least hard-edged. Her abilities could be described as psychic; she preferred the term intuitive. Either way, her intangible connections to people and things were astonishing. They also made her more sensitive to Marc’s plight.
“This is a newborn baby we’re talking about,” she continued. “Every moment counts.”
“So do agreed-upon rules.” Retired FBI Special Agent Patrick Lynch—also a new team member—spoke up. “If we don’t have some kind of protocol here, we’ll be tripping over each other, each taking on different, and maybe conflicting, cases.” He arched a brow at Casey. “Actually, I think this is the first time we’ve ever agreed about rule breaking.”
“We’re coming from different places, Patrick,” Casey replied. “So don’t get too excited.”
“Come on, Casey, take it down a couple of notches. Cut Marc some slack.” Ryan McKay, Forensic
