Fuller and Miro worked with the police or other law enforcement. While not with the FBI, they were regular profilers and consultants for the NYC office. The Bureau’s behavioral science teams were down in DC, and while they could be called in, the city police and FBI often used local help in trying to get a step ahead of a criminal, or in working with criminals and witnesses when psychological assessments were needed, or, sometimes, when a child or a distressed person just needed to be able to speak to someone to ask the right questions and put them at ease. Kieran did a number of those assessments before reporting to the doctors, and she worked with victims of domestic abuse and both parents and children when they wound up within the child welfare system—such as a teenager who had been assaulted by her own father, or a senior citizen who was recovering from gunshot wounds inflicted by his wife. Or Kieran’s last patient today, Besa Goga. Besa was a sad case, abused for years when she’d first immigrated to the country, and now quick to strike out. Besa Goga was in court-ordered therapy because she’d bitten a man from her cable company. Kieran had only been seeing her a few weeks.
But the office didn’t always work through the police department, FBI or other such agencies. They also handled other cases that fell their way through happenstance or other circumstances—as in the recovering alcoholic who was also a politician and doing very well with Dr. Fuller.
Kieran had called her bosses to let them know what had happened. Both had said they’d come in immediately.
She had assured them that they shouldn’t; the police were dealing with the murder, and Child Services was coming for the baby.
Dr. Fuller—who had looks as dreamy as any TV physician—was at an event with his equally beautiful wife and their six-year-old. Dr. Miro was giving a keynote speech at a conference in Southern Jersey.
Kieran had convinced them both that she was fine, that it was just strange and scary.
The poor murdered woman hadn’t been scary; she had touched Kieran’s heart. She had needed help so badly. But she had called Kieran by name. And that made Kieran wonder.
She sat out in the waiting area of the offices—right where the woman had come up to her, right where the baby had been thrust into her arms. She thought that the baby was bound to cry again soon. That’s what babies did. They were hungry or wet or had gas or...who knew? She just really didn’t have much experience. And she had no clue as to the child’s age. But with little else to do—and probably in a bit of shock herself, despite the fact that she’d now thrown herself into the crime-fighting ring for a few years and had seen some shocking things—she talked to the baby. She made soothing noises, discussed her own uncertainty with a cheerful voice, and made a few faces here and there.
She could swear that the baby smiled.
Did babies smile this young?
She knew that those who knew—experienced parents, grandparents, and so on—claimed babies did not smile until a certain age.
This one, she was certain, smiled. She waved her little fists in the air and grinned toothlessly. She even cooed.
“Hey!” Craig had come back up to the offices after checking out the scene on the street.
He nodded to the policeman at the door. Since Kieran had no idea what was going on, and since a woman who had been looking for her had just been stabbed to death, having a policeman standing guard was very reassuring, and Kieran was grateful.
She looked up at Craig, hopeful. Though, of course, she doubted that he or the police or anyone—other than the killer—knew who had stabbed the woman, or why.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“I’m fine. I was handed the baby. I don’t think anyone was after me for any reason at all, but...oh, Lord. Craig, you don’t think it’s my fault, do you? I mean, if I hadn’t chased after her—”
“Kieran,” he said, hunkering down by her. “No.” His voice was firm and—as usual—filled with confidence and authority. Craig had been a special agent with the FBI for a good decade. He always seemed to exude a comfortable assurance and strength—things she had to admit she loved about him. Well, along with rock-hard abs, a solid six-three frame and the fact that the term tall, dark and handsome might have been conceived just for him. He had hazel eyes that were like marble, seemed to see far too much, and still...well, in her mind, they were just beautiful.
“It happened all so fast,” Kieran murmured.
Craig adjusted the blanket around the baby. Kieran thought she cooed and smiled for him, too, but it was hard to tell.
Smile...maybe gas. Who knew?
“Kieran, that woman was trying to save this child. She brought her to you. You aren’t to blame in any way. I have a feeling that she was very heroic—and that she gave her life for the child. She might have stolen the baby from some kind of terrible situation. I don’t know—none of us can even begin to figure out what might have gone down yet. But I believe the minute she took the baby away from whoever had it before, her hours were numbered.” He was quiet for a moment and looked up at her. “This isn’t going to be an FBI case, you know. Whoever your visitor was, she was murdered on the streets of New York. It’s an NYPD matter.”
“Did you talk to Ralph downstairs?” she asked anxiously. “He should have been on the desk—and you’re supposed to sign in to enter this building.” So it was with most large office buildings in the city. It had been ever since 9/11.
“Yes, I spoke with him. The police spoke with him. He was a mess. He thinks it’s all his fault. UPS was here with a large shipment for the computer tech firm on the eighteenth floor. He thinks she slipped by him when he ran over to help the courier with the elevator,” Craig said.
“I can imagine he’s upset. Did he ever get out of here? He was planning on seeing the Danny Boys play tonight, too.”
“I don’t think he went to see the band,” Craig said. “The cops let him go about an hour or so ago now.”
“Ah,” Kieran murmured.
What an end to the week. Ralph Miller was a Monday to Friday, regular hours kind of guy. He looked forward to his Friday nights; he loved music, especially Irish rock bands. He must have been really upset to realize a murder had taken place somewhere just down the street from his front door.
The murder of a woman who had slipped by him.
A woman who had left a baby in Kieran’s arms.
A baby. Alone, in her arms.
“Craig, I just... I wish I understood. And I’m not sure about the officer handling the case—”
“Kieran, no matter how long we all work in this, murder is hard to understand. That officer needed everything you could give him.”
“I know that. I’ve spoken with him. He wants me to figure out why the woman singled me out. He’s more worried about that than the baby!” Kieran said indignantly.
“He’s a detective, Kieran. Asking you questions is what he’s supposed to do—you know that. Can you think of anything?” Craig asked her.
Kieran shook her head. “She probably knew about this office. And it’s easy enough to find out all our names.”
“Maybe,
