by Andrea Kane
Leaning forward, Patrick propped his iPad in the upright position. He fired up the FaceTime app and switched to the back camera to record Fenton and Mercer in action. Simultaneously, he listened intently, watching their expressions over the top of the iPad.
Unfortunately, the waiter chose that exact minute to deliver his lunch. It wasn’t the poor guy’s fault that Patrick was on a mission that had nothing to do with food. Nevertheless, the interruption was a pain in the ass.
“Your lunch, sir,” the waiter announced.
“Thanks.” Patrick accepted his Angus burger with a courteous nod at the waiter, hoping the guy wasn’t going to hang around. Once again picking up on his customer’s vibes, the waiter took his cue. He paused only long enough to tell Patrick to let him know if he needed anything else, then turned and left.
“Any news about those maritime contracts?” Fenton was asking in a low tone.
Ah. Business. Finally.
Patrick picked up his burger one-handed and took a bite, watching Mercer’s reaction.
To his surprise, the congressman appeared almost relieved at Fenton’s choice of subjects. Whatever it was that Mercer was reluctant to address, this clearly wasn’t it.
“No worries on that score,” he assured Fenton. “I already spoke to the Army Corp of Engineers. Your company will get its government maritime contracts.”
“Excellent.” Fenton looked pleased, but not surprised. Obviously, he was accustomed to Mercer coming through for him. “I’m glad to hear it. When will it be official?”
“Soon. But, trust me, you can relax. Fenton Dredging’s got a strong reputation and a wide regional presence. It didn’t take any arm-twisting to get my recommendation unanimously approved.”
Okay, so Fenton was seeking U.S. government maritime contracts. Made sense. His company was a maritime construction company, and landing government contracts would mean big money—money that Mercer was helping him achieve. One hand washing the other. More evidence that Fenton had used his leverage to get Mercer elected.
The arrangement might be sketchy, but it was an everyday occurrence in politics. Unless there was more to it. How deep in Fenton’s pocket was Mercer?
As if to answer Patrick’s question, Mercer continued.
“Where do things stand on the Southampton hotel? I’m getting pressure from both sides—the ayes and the nays.”
“Which side is exerting more of that pressure?” Fenton inquired. He didn’t sound too concerned.
“It’s pretty damned close to fifty-fifty. And both sides have solid reasons to back them up. The financial gain versus the intrusion to their way of life. Hey, I’d love to see the profits and the job opportunities for my constituency. But I’m a local myself. I get it. No matter how I position myself, this is going to cause a major outcry—one it’ll be up to me to keep a lid on. I need to know which side you want me to come out in favor of. Are you signing onto this project or not?”
“You know the answer to that. I’m a businessman. To me, profit trumps resistance to change.”
“Then why the hesitation, first with Everett, now with Morano?”
“I had my reasons.” Fenton sidestepped the question, blatantly stating that he planned to keep those reasons to himself. “But all that’s about to be resolved. My plans are to sign the contracts and take on the dredging project. That hotel is going to rake in millions. And if I let another dredging company do what mine can do better, I’ll lose out big-time.”
Mercer blew out a resigned breath, although he showed no sign of surprise. “So Morano’s ferries and chartered yachts will have a direct route to a newly constructed hotel dock.”
“Yes, they will. And a professionally dug channel to get them there.” Fenton shot Mercer a purposeful look as their food arrived. “So, if I were you, I’d start preparing my district for an influx of capital—and people.”
“Don’t worry. Strategies are already in place for whichever way you go. I wasn’t about to put myself behind the eight ball and have to improvise at the last minute. Although I guessed which way you’d turn.”
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”
“Yeah.” Mercer paused again, toying with his silverware as the waiter arranged their plates, then placed Fenton’s glass of wine in front of him and opened a bottle of sparkling water.
Patrick studied the congressman as the waiter filled his glass. He could be waiting for privacy. But Patrick didn’t think so. That elephant was back in the room. Was that elephant more about the hotel contracts, or was Mercer pulling other strings for Fenton, as well?
Taking another bite of his Angus burger, Patrick enjoyed a bit of his lunch as the waiter finished his work at Mercer’s table, asking the usual hospitable questions, and then disappeared with his empty tray.
A few silent moments passed, during which Patrick waited with curious anticipation. Fenton was sipping his wine. Mercer was staring into his glass of sparkling water.
At last, he looked up, swallowing as if he’d steeled himself to broach a very difficult topic.
What came next was the last thing Patrick had expected.
“Your niece—Amanda—how is her baby doing?”
Fenton set down his wineglass. For the first time in this conversation, he showed a strong emotional reaction. “Not well.” A muscle twitched at his jaw. “Amanda’s son is losing this battle a little more every day. I’m not sure he can hang on much longer.”
There was steel in his tone. Clearly, he was furious—whether at the situation, the doctors, or his own inability to fix things, Patrick wasn’t sure.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mercer replied—carefully, as if he were walking a very fine tightrope.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Cliff. I need more.”
The almost-military command made the congressman do a double take. “More? What more can I offer you? You don’t need my money…”
“No, I don’t.” Fenton stopped him in his tracks. “I need a donor match. And I need one now.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers tightly in front of him. “Amanda’s hired some investigative firm to find out if Paul Everett is alive and to hunt him down. We both know I can’t wait for that to happen. I need you to be tested. Immediately.”
Mercer did another double take. “Why? To sidetrack Amanda from searching for Everett?”
“You know damned well why—and why you could quite possibly be a match. Besides, my reasons aren’t in question. The bottom line is, my great-nephew is my last shot to hand my business empire over to blood. I’m not going to lose it. So just do what I say.”
“And how will I justify my sudden involvement—not only to the world, but to Mary Jane?”
“Easily. It’s not as if I’m a stranger. I’ve had dinner in your house, been a strong supporter of your career since the beginning. Your wife is very fond of me. She knows the crisis my niece is going through. Tell her how desperate Amanda is. Tell the same thing to your constituents. Hell, make a public announcement. Remember, Amanda is a local herself. The fact that her congressman would care enough to extend himself in such a personal and meaningful way would earn you a shitload of votes for the next election. And, for God’s sake, we’re only talking about a blood test. I’m not asking you to donate an organ.”
A long pause as Mercer considered Fenton’s words.
“I’m not asking you, Cliff. I’m telling you. Consider the scenario I’ve just conjured up for you to be a bonus gift. But the testing itself is a given. You’ll have it done at Southampton Hospital, where you can get maximum exposure for your act of compassion. You’ll be flying back with me tonight and tested tomorrow in plenty of time for the evening news cycle. That’ll give your Chief of Staff all of today and tonight to get the word out. I also want the twins to be tested. They can do that at their respective schools. There’ll
be goodwill stretching from Long Island to California.”
“The twins?” Mercer sounded ill. “How do I explain that?”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’ve got an altruistic family. Mary Jane included. Let her go with you and be tested herself. She’s a loving mother. She’s devoted eighteen years to raising your kids. She’ll probably race you to the hospital tomorrow. Think how compelling the front page of the Southampton newspapers will look with your photos front and center.”
“God.” Mercer pressed his fingers to his temples. “How am I going to pull this off? No matter how you spin it, there are going to be questions.”
“Field them. That’s what you have a staff for. Say you became aware of the urgency of the situation when we had our business meeting today.” A quick glance around. “We’re having lunch on Capitol Hill, Cliff. Half of Washington probably already knows we’re together, and wondering what we’re discussing. Now they’ll know. We discussed your support for Fenton Dredging Company’s commitment to the Hamptons communities. After that, you asked about Justin. I told you. You immediately contacted your family and took action.” Fenton gave an impatient wave of his hand. “I might as well be your campaign manager at this point. I’ve just written the whole script for you. Now do it.”
Mercer’s mind was visibly racing. “I’ve got meetings tomorrow morning.”
“Move them to late afternoon. You’ll be back in plenty of time. My jet will get you here.” Fenton took a bite of his crab cake. “Now eat your lunch. Make your phone calls. We can talk business on the plane.”
“Sir?”
Patrick’s concentration was broken as he realized the waiter was talking to him, and apparently had been for the past minute or two. “Is everything all right?”
With a swift glance at his barely eaten burger, Patrick nodded. “Excellent. I was just absorbed in my work. But now I have all the important aspects of it under control. So I can sit back and enjoy my lunch.”
He did just that, texting Casey as he ate. The phone call would come later, when he was back at his hotel and had some privacy.
But, damn, it felt good to finally make some headway.
And major headway at that.
CHAPTER TEN
Casey was perched at the edge of Ryan’s desk, scratching Hero’s ears and gripping her phone as she prepared to hear Marc’s update, when Patrick beeped in.
“Hang on a sec,” she told Marc. “Let me see what’s going on in D.C.”
She switched calls. “Patrick. I got your cryptic text message. Now tell me, what did you find?”
“Nothing at breakfast. A windfall at lunch.”
“Well, now I’m screwed,” Casey replied. “I’ve got both you and Marc on the phone simultaneously, and each of you has a significant update. Who goes first?”
“Talk to Marc,” Patrick answered quickly. “I’m done here. I’m at the airport, about to jump on a plane. I’ll be home in a few hours.”
“Can the information wait till then?”
“Yeah. Besides, it has to. I need Ryan there when I review it with you. Is he in the office?”
“Yes.” Casey glanced at Ryan, who was still staring at his monitor, this time delving into John Morano’s employment history to see where he’d worked previously so as to determine how he’d managed to amass such large sums of money. “He’s here. I’m sitting in his lair right now. But I won’t be for long.”
“Why not? I need your insights and Ryan’s eye.”
“Can you get my insights by phone?”
“I suppose so. Why?”
“Because I’m about to leave for the Hamptons. Long story. I’ll fill you in later. Let me get back to Marc so we can make plans. Fly safe.” Casey switched lines again. “Hey, Marc. Patrick’s on his way home with information he sounds very hyped up about.”
“I’ll be back at the office by then,” Marc replied. “I’m grabbing something to eat at Simon’s Beach Bakery Café. You remember it. It’s that place with the yellow awning right down the street from Amanda’s place.”
“I remember. I also remember that it’s a spot Amanda mentioned where she and Paul ate pretty often.”
“I can see why,” Marc informed her drily. “The pastries look amazing. I’ll do a hundred extra push-ups tonight. But it’ll be worth it.”
“Eat as many pastries as you want. You’ll have the time. You’re not leaving Westhampton just yet. I’m meeting you out there. We have a date with Lyle Fenton tonight.”
“We do?”
“We will as soon as I talk to Amanda. I’m heading for the hospital now. Then I’ll try to beat rush hour traffic out to Long Island.” Casey glanced at the clock as she spoke. “It’s three-thirty, so I should be okay. Are you speaking to anyone in particular at Simon’s?”
“Anyone and everyone, from Simon the owner to the employees to the patrons. This place is a real hangout, not just during the season but all year round. There are quite a few locals here. I’m hoping someone will have a meaningful observation or two about Paul.”
“So you struck out with his neighbors and friends?”
“Essentially, yes. They were all willing to talk to me, but I didn’t learn anything of consequence. If the guy had an alternate life, he kept it very well hidden.”
“So would I if I were involved in something criminal.”
“Right. In any case, I’ve got more to accomplish. I was going to bag it and come home so I could make decent time on the expressway before rush hour screwed me up. But now that I’ve got a few hours, I’ll cover more territory. I want to talk to some of the contractors Paul Everett hired.”
“Good idea.” Casey’s wheels were turning. “By the way, if it wasn’t Paul’s neighbors or poker buddies who piqued your interest, I’m guessing it was the meeting with Morano. Is that what you want to discuss? Did Morano say something that related to Paul Everett?”
“Nothing as straightforward as that. But, Casey, that guy is way too smooth. He answered my questions like a practiced politician. And I don’t mean because he’s used to handling the press. I doubt he’s done anything except local interviews at this point. He prepped himself, or was prepped, far more than necessary, not just about what to say but about how to say it. I can buy that he’d be comfortable talking about his business. But when I brought up Paul Everett, he was overly laid-back about it.”
“In what way?”
“You’d think that Paul had just reneged on a business opportunity, rather than being killed. Having your predecessor murdered would throw anyone. Not Morano. He laughed it off as if I’d made a joke that fell flat. At the same time, he was definitely curious as to why I wanted to know about Everett. And, smooth or not, I know his antennae went up. The whole interview felt wrong. No concrete reasons. Just gut instinct.”
“That works for me.”
And it always did. It wasn’t just because Marc had worked as a profiler with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. It was because he was Marc. Every single member of the Forensic Instincts team had that same knack—each in a different way—of just knowing. Together, it made Forensic Instincts exceptional.
“Okay,” she said. “Then here’s what I suggest. Go do your thing at Simon’s. Then take care of your other stops and drop off your rental car. I’ll give Claire a call. She, Patrick, and Ryan can convene at the brownstone as soon as Patrick lands. I’ll drive out to the Hamptons. You and I can have a conference call with the rest of the team when I get there.” Casey paused. “Oh, speaking of Claire, there’s something you should know. She had some upsetting insights earlier today.”
“About?”
“The baby. So I called Amanda. Justin had a setback today. And not a minor one. His fever spiked, he’s getting a chest CT and some other more invasive tests. The doctor thinks he has an escalating lung
infection of some kind. He’s concerned about the baby’s breathing. He’ll probably put him on a ventilator. The scenario isn’t good. Neither is Amanda. She was bordering on hysteria.”
Marc blew out a breath. “That poor woman. And that poor, innocent baby.”
“That’s the other reason I’m dropping by the hospital before I drive out to you. I’m hoping I can calm her down by giving her some hope. I’ll mention that you’re at Simon’s, asking around. And I’ll tell her Patrick’s on his way home from D.C. with some information. I’ve got to walk a careful line here, since I’m guessing the information Patrick’s bringing back involves Lyle Fenton. I’m not ready to clue Amanda into our suspicions about him yet. But they’ve escalated. Ryan’s been making some progress. And the one common denominator in all this is Fenton. When we connect all the dots, I have a feeling the details surrounding Paul Everett’s disappearance might include Amanda’s uncle Lyle.”
“No shocker there.”
“As I said, you and I are paying him a visit tonight. Ryan says he’s landing from D.C. around dinnertime. You and I will show up during dessert. We’ll keep our questions focused on Paul—what he was like, why Fenton would or wouldn’t choose to work with him, did he ever mention where he might go if he left the Hamptons—that sort of thing. We’ll key it up to look like we’re all about needing Fenton’s help in finding the father of Amanda’s baby. Which we are. But while we’re at it, we’re getting a read on this man. He seems to be there at every turn we take.”
* * *
Casey pursed her lips thoughtfully as she disconnected her call to Marc.
“Are you leaving now…” Ryan cut himself off as he pivoted around to face Casey. “Uh-oh. I know that look. Whatever you just came up with means more work for me.”
A grin. “You’ve been hanging around Claire too much, Ryan. You’re becoming psychic. You’re also full of it. You love this. The more I throw at you, the happier you are.”
