by Andrea Kane
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.”
“Not work related? Funny, I always thought that’s what offices were for. I assumed you two were having meaningful strategy sessions, the union of spiritual and scientific input.”
Ryan looked like he might hit her.
Casey arched a brow. “Did I put my foot in my mouth? Sorry. But I do own Forensic Instincts. I have to ensure that all the team members’ hours are spent effectively.”
“Not to worry. They are.” Ryan turned his back and walked over to the table they’d set up on the side, making sure the champagne they’d been given permission to serve was chilling.
Claire’s cheeks were pink, but she ignored the conversation entirely. Her relationship—or whatever it was—with Ryan was not something she wanted to talk about. It was all wrong, except when it was all right. It had no definition and it made no sense. It was sporadic and it was extreme, and its ambiguity was driving her crazy.
“I like the floral arrangements, don’t you?” she asked Casey, changing the subject even as she arranged the vases. “I think the pastel colors suit the couple.”
“I agree.” Casey nodded. “I think you did a beautiful job. I think Amanda and Paul will be very touched.”
“After all they’ve been through, they more than deserve it.”
Casey nodded again. It was hard to believe that three months had passed since they’d found out Paul was not only an adequate donor match for Justin, he was a strong one. Starting with that reality, and adding the scientific advancement of the purification process, it gave them solid reason for hope.
The next five days had been intense as Paul’s injections and preparations commenced, and he and Amanda hovered over Justin, continually praying that their tiny son would be strong enough to hang on.
He did. Somehow that precious little one-month-old baby continued to fight, as if he knew that help was on its way.
The big day arrived.
First, the four-hour procedure where Paul’s stem cells were collected. Next, the grueling ten hours of waiting while the stem cells were processed and enriched.
And finally, the crucial procedure they’d been waiting for—the IV infusion of Paul’s stem cells into Justin’s body.
It had been the longest fifteen minutes that Amanda and Paul had ever lived through.
They’d known it would be at least two weeks before they saw any evidence that engraftment had taken place. And even though Justin was closely monitored by the entire transplant team for any sign of complications, the ticking clock had been unbearable. Fortunately, there’d been no signs of graft versus host disease.
And then came the fateful day, four weeks later, when the heavens smiled down on them. Justin’s tests came back, revealing some good cells with early function—enough so that his oxygen requirements were decreased, and the chest tube could be removed.
A month after that, he’d been off the ventilator. And now, three months after the transplant, the infections were gone and Amanda and Paul were sitting down with Dr. Braeburn to discuss discharging Justin from the hospital.
There would be frequent follow-ups, but Justin was out of the woods and ready to begin his life—with his mother and father.
Who were ready to begin their lives as a married couple, and as a family. A fully healthy family, since Amanda had already undergone three months of her six-month treatment to cure her hepatitis C.
Even the cynical Ryan McKay couldn’t deny that this was the ultimate happily-ever-after.
The chapel was theirs to use for the brief but meaningful ceremony. Patrick was giving away the bride, and Marc was acting as Paul’s best man. Amanda’s dear friend Melissa was the matron of honor, and two of Paul’s close friends at the Bureau were driving in to attend the wedding.
But the most important guest of honor would be the four-month-old baby boy who’d be brought in by a nurse and allowed to remain in attendance as his parents were joined in matrimony.
It was the most precious wedding gift Amanda and Paul could be granted.
Immediately following the service, Justin and his newlywed parents would return to the pediatric unit. Very little in their routine would change between then and release day. Amanda and Paul would sit by Justin’s side, holding him, playing with him and marveling at the wonder they’d created—and the strength he’d exerted to survive.
But homecoming was imminent. Dr. Braeburn had given Amanda the green light, so long as she brought Justin in for his regular follow-up checkups. They were just waiting for some final blood results, and for a slightly less blustery day. Then, Justin would be securely buckled into his car seat and driven to Hampton Bays, and his new nursery in Paul’s cottage.
The small bedroom adjacent to the master had gone through a major renovation during these past months, and was now a bright and cheery room for a baby to thrive in. Amanda’s apartment would go back to serving as her workplace—a photojournalist’s studio, keeping the nursery for Justin to use on those occasions when he was with her while she worked.
The wheels of justice were turning, as the AUSA prepared his case against Lyle Fenton and key members of the Vizzini family. Congressman Mercer had resigned from office, citing family issues as the cause, and had privately agreed to testify against Lyle Fenton in exchange for not being prosecuted. The truth was that any favors Mercer had done for his “father” had been done under duress. He’d used his influence to sway political decisions, but he hadn’t bribed anyone or committed any egregious crimes. His guilt fell in the area of gray, and it was far easier to accept his resignation and his agreement to help the U.S. Attorney’s Office nail Fenton than it was to go after him and lose the sway his witness testimony would provide.
Paul was still working for the Bureau, only now he was in the Counterintelligence division at the Long Island Resident Agency. His undercover days were over, which suited both him and Amanda just fine. From here on in, he could be Special Agent Paul Evans, and Amanda could openly become Mrs. Amanda Evans. And Justin’s name was being legally changed on his birth certificate to read Justin Gleason Evans.
For the first time, Forensic Instincts was truly ready to consider this case closed.
Which was a good thing, considering how busy they were.
“This one hit hard,” Patrick commented, coming up behind Casey and reading her expression. “It took a lot out of all of us.”
“Not nearly what it took out of Amanda,” Casey replied.
“You know what I mean. An innocent baby whose life was in our hands. Quite a responsibility—one that we each personalized in our own way. Today is a celebration for Forensic Instincts, too.”
Casey turned to give Patrick a knowing look. “You’re full of it, Mr. Former FBI. You were so invested in our
last case—your first big one with us—that you ate, drank and slept it.”
“Different circumstances,” Patrick responded. “That kidnapping was a long-term thorn in my side. It haunted me for years. This case was another thing entirely.” He paused. “But you’re right. I do internalize our cases. We all do. That’s part of what makes us the team we are.”
“Even I was on shaky ground this time,” Marc freely admitted as he walked over to join them.
“You had your reasons.” Casey didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. Marc’s background and his Achilles’ heel were common knowledge among the FI team. “Plus, you brought this case to us—as a fait accompli.” She couldn’t help but add the slight dig.
“Yup. My overstepping of the boundaries. My rule-breaking. My responsibility.” That’s how it was with Marc. Short and to the point. “Just another reason I wasn’t going to fail.”
“Among others.”
Marc nodded, that sober, faraway look in his eyes. “Among others.”
“This time we made a difference,” Casey reminded him quietly. “It can’t erase past atrocities. But it can make one family very happy and give one baby the life he deserves.”
“You’re right.” Marc snapped back to the present, acknowledging the feat they’d accomplished.
“We done good,” Ryan announced, strolling over. “We should make one toast to ourselves. Too bad dogs aren’t allowed in hospital chapels. Hero should be here to share in the celebration.”
“Not to worry,” Claire assured him, still arranging flowers as she spoke. “I left Hero an interactive toy filled with treats. He’ll be wrestling with it all morning to extract his prizes.” She shot Ryan a look. “And, no, they’re not loaded with fat. He won’t gain an ounce. Besides, he was part of this victory. He sniffed out Paul. He helped us bring down Fenton. He deserves a reward.”
“No arguments, Claire-voyant.” Ryan gave her that lazy grin. “Each of us gets some of the credit for this one—even you and your energy-sensing.”
“Wow. A compliment.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Nope. I reserve the right to deny everything—especially if you piss me off during our next case.”
“Which I’m sure I will.”
Casey shook her head, laughing as she did. “We make quite a team. No wonder the FBI wants to choke us half the time.”
“Ah, but that other half of the time…” Ryan was as smug as always. “Look at our track record. Look at our rep. Enough said.”
“For now.” Casey the boss kicked in. “Let’s celebrate this hard-fought victory. Then it’s back to reality—and to work.”
* * * * *
AUTHOR NOTE
The Shinnecock Indian Reservation is located on the east side of Shinnecock Bay in the town of Southampton. While the Shinneock Indian Nation’s gaming authority is planning for a long-awaited casino, that casino does not yet exist. When it does, it will not be built on their reservation, which is their ancestral home, but elsewhere on Long Island. Therefore, the casino in The Line Between Here and Gone is a fictitious place, the product of this writer’s fertile imagination.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A host of people contributed to my writing this book, and I want to express my appreciation to each and every one of them for their time, their expertise, and their tolerance of a novelist who’s a relentless perfectionist.
My thanks go out to:
Angela Bell, Public Affairs Specialist, FBI Office of Public Affairs—and the real-life equivalent of a fairy godmother!
Former SSA John Mandrafina, FBI Undercover Coordinator/Sensitive Operations Program
SSA James McNamara, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit 2
Dr. Morton Cowan, Chief, Allergy Immunology and Blood and Marrow Transplant Division, UCSF Children’s Hospital
SA Laura Robinson, Senior Team Leader, Evidence Response Team, FBI Newark Field Office
SSA Rex Stockham, Program Manager for FBI Laboratory’s Forensic Canine Program
SA James Margolin, FBI Office of Public Affairs, New York Field Office
SSA Gavin Shea, FBI White Collar Squad, Long Island Resident Agency
Sharon L. Dunn, Department of Pediatrics, Hematology/Oncology, University of Chicago
Detective Mike Oliver, retired NYPD
Simon Jorna, owner of Simon’s Beach Bakery Café, Westhampton Beach, Long Island, New York
Michael Greene, Simon’s Beach Bakery Café and tour guide of “Amanda’s” apartment
And to a very special core of people:
Adam Wilson, the best (and most deeply missed) editorial partner any author could ask for
Valerie Gray, who stepped in at the crisis hour and finished the process with grace, enthusiasm and commitment
Andrea Cirillo and Christina Hogrebe, my incredible agents and diehard advocates
Peggy Gordijn, the quiet force of nature who stays in the background and moves mountains
And most of all my family, who, every day and in every way, give me the love, the incentive and the creative input to make each book the very best it can be.
Thank you all. You’re the very best of the best.
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ISBN: 9781459233133
Copyright © 2012 by Rainbow Connection Enterprises, Inc.
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