The Murder That Never Was: A Forensic Instincts Novel

by Andrea Kane

  “Yes, Ryan, killed.” Marc’s jaw set. “Did you think we were watching some thriller movie? This is real. Now stop yammering, and let’s get this done.”

  They stayed low to the ground and only went as far as Marc would allow.

  Fortunately, it was far enough. Hooter soared over the mansion twice, did his job, and, ten minutes later, Ryan and Marc were back in the van and off the property.

  Marc drove a half mile closer to where they were meeting Aidan, pulled over, and turned off the engine. Then, he and Ryan climbed into the back of the van and reviewed the videos. From what they saw, they drew a rough map of the property that was closest in proximity to the mansion—a map that included buildings and their estimated sizes.

  The stable complex, situated about five hundred feet behind and to the side of the manor, was enormous. The infrared had picked up quite a bit of human and animal activity going on in that immediate area. Horses were being tended to in a corral, and a cluster of guards was posted at all the doors.

  “Clearly, that’s not just a bunch of stables, offices, and a veterinary clinic,” Marc muttered, studying the massive rear buildings. “For security to be so tight, that’s got to be where the PED experimentation is going on.”

  Ryan nodded. “The good part is that the manor itself has fewer guards than the stables do. It’s obvious where Lubinov’s focus is—on his work. That should make it a little easier for you and Aidan to get inside. They have to be holding her in a section of the place that’s nowhere near where the real work occurs.”

  “We’ll enter here.” Marc pointed at the unguarded study located in the manor’s living quarters, farthest from the activity and closest to Lake Champlain. “We’ll go room to room. And we won’t walk out until Emma is with us.”

  As he spoke, his iPhone vibrated. “Talk to me,” he said to Aidan.

  “I’m here,” his brother replied.

  “Good. We’re a few miles away. See you in five.”

  Marc punched off. “Let’s move,” he told Ryan.

  The warehouse Aidan had gotten his Marine buddy to lend him was right on Lake Champlain, five miles across from the Lubinov compound.

  Marc pulled the van up to the wide steel doors and waited.

  Aidan heard the sound of their approaching tires. He verified it was them and then pressed the necessary controls to roll up the steel door.

  He gestured for them to pull in.

  Marc did as instructed, parking the van next to Aidan’s SUV and turning off the ignition. He and Ryan jumped out—Marc carrying a large duffel filled with his waterproof bag, wetsuit, and diving gear, and Ryan gripping the maps.

  After reflexively glancing outside to ascertain that the three of them were secure, Aidan rolled down the warehouse door and joined the other two men.

  “We got closeup videos of the manor and drew you and Marc a map,” Ryan began by announcing.

  “You did what?” Aidan glared from Marc to Ryan and back. “You were on Lubinov’s property? Are you both completely insane?”

  “Easy,” Marc said. “You’re right. But it was worth it. Take a look.” He took the map out of Ryan’s hands and showed it to Aidan. “Now we know our point of entry.”

  “The ground-floor study,” Aidan muttered. “Yeah, okay, this helps. But you’re still assholes—especially you, Marc. Ryan’s a civilian. You’re a fucking Navy SEAL. Since when did you become so careless?”

  “It’s called taking a risk. And it got us what we needed, Raider,” Marc shot back, referring to the Raiders of the elite Commando Units of MARSOC—the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command—in which Aidan had been a plank holder—one of the original members to train.

  “Hey.” Ryan held up both his hands, as if to break up a brawl. “You can beat the shit out of each other later. For the record, this was my fault. But Marc’s right. We got what we needed. So let’s use it.”

  Still muttering under his breath, Aidan unzipped his bag and pulled out all his scuba equipment and a waterproof gear bag. Inside the bag were night vision goggles and his weapons—KA-BAR knife, 9 mm SIG Sauer pistol, and M4 carbine, which was short and compact but with lots of fire power.

  Marc had the same, except that, instead of the M4 carbine, he carried a 9 mm H&K MP5, a submachine gun that was, up until recently, standard issue for the FBI.

  Both men began pulling on their wetsuits.

  “Where’s the boat?” Ryan asked.

  “Over there by the dock.” Aidan pointed. “You said you’ve handled one before, right?”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “It’s a little powerboat, Aidan. I’ve taken more girls out in those than—”

  “Fine, never mind.” Aidan waved away what he knew was coming. “You have your iPhone on you?”

  “Always.” Ryan didn’t let him interrupt. “And my signal to move in is when you text me the word: ‘Success.’ Very original.”

  Aidan didn’t smile. “It’s not meant to be original. It’s meant to get the message across.”

  The small, quiet powerboat glided through the waters of Lake Champlain—the perfect spot from which Aidan and Marc could make their amphibious infiltration.

  They were about a mile from shore when Aidan said, “Stop.”

  Ryan cut the motor and clutched his flashlight with the red lens over it.

  “Wait for the text,” Marc reminded him, putting on his night goggles.

  Looking a whole lot less cocky and whole lot more worried, Ryan said, “Be safe.”

  “We plan to be.”

  Marc rolled into the water alongside Aidan and adjusted his snorkel. Then, getting the thumbs-up from Aidan, he gave a hard nod, and the two men began to scuba in.

  They reached shore, removing only their fins and breathing apparatus, staying in their wetsuits, and leaving on their scuba boots, night goggles, and hoods. Moving quickly, they made their way to the mansion. The first thing they did was to cut the spark plug wires on the diesel generator. Then they manually engaged the transfer switch, which cut off the utility power and caused the diesel engine to continuously crank without starting.

  The entire house went dark. A commotion ensued inside—lots of yelling back and forth and pounding footsteps.

  Marc and Aidan used the chaos to their advantage. Capable of seeing through their specialized goggles, they crept up to the study window, jimmied it open, and climbed through. Pistols raised, they made their way from room to room, moving rapidly alongside the walls, dodging cell phone flashlights when necessary and, as a result, bypassing the guards in their search for Emma.

  Avoiding the master suite, they headed toward the basement.

  “Hey!” A guard was posted outside the closed door. He reached for his gun as he spotted their moving forms.

  In one swift move, Aidan had the guard in a choke hold, and Marc used the butt of his gun to knock him unconscious.

  “There must be something—or someone—down there worth keeping hidden,” Aidan muttered.

  Marc nodded, yanking open the door and descending the long flight of steps.

  Aidan was right behind him.

  The basement was musty, mostly a storage pit, with no activity or people in view, and lit by battery-operated incandescent wall sconces. So no one down here would be tipped off to the fact that there was a blackout.

  “There.” Marc nudged Aidan with his elbow and pointed to a corridor off to the right.

  Footsteps emanated from the hallway. A couple of security guys walked out, carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee. They talked as they drew near, probably headed for their break—and a whole-house blackout they didn’t even know existed.

  Marc and Aidan each took one of them, dispatching them the way they had their colleague.

  The guards crumpled to the hard concrete floor.

  “Their replacements will be on their way,” Aidan said. “They’ll find their friend at the top of the stairs and blast down here.”

  “There’s another set of basement stairs at the op
posite end of that corridor,” Marc replied. “I remember them from the map. We’ll take those up once we have Emma. Come on.”

  The corridor was short, with a bunch of storage closets and only one room. The unyielding handle told them that it was locked from the inside.

  Aidan planted one foot on the ground and used his other foot to deliver a front kick near where the door latch was. The door fell open on its hinges. Aidan and Marc then burst inside.

  The room was devoid of furniture but for a four-poster bed, a few chairs and side tables, and more wall sconces.

  On the bed lay Emma.

  Marc and Aidan were greeted by her haunted, terrified gaze. She’d been stripped naked, bound, and gagged, each of her limbs tied to a bedframe post. There was dried blood and bruising on her body, but there wasn’t time to evaluate the extent of her injuries now.

  Slava was kneeling beside her, unzipping his fly, several knives sitting on the bedside table, and an evil sneer on his face.

  He whipped around at the commotion, his smile fading, and he leapt to his feet, groping for the gun that was still clipped to his belt.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  Before his fingers had closed around the weapon, Marc squeezed the trigger of his raised SIG Sauer and delivered one lethal head shot right between Slava’s eyes.

  The impact sent Slava crashing backward, blood oozing from his forehead. His body shattered the side table, then rolled onto the floor in a lifeless heap.

  Stepping over him, Marc grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around Emma as Aidan sliced the ropes binding her.

  “It’s Marc,” he said as he removed her gag, aware of the fact that she couldn’t see him or make out his identity through his scuba gear. “Aidan’s with me. We’re getting you out of here. Hold on.”

  Emma’s teeth immediately began chattering, and she whimpered, the expression in her eyes almost painful to see.

  “Easy,” Marc murmured, as, very gently, he lifted her blanketed body into his arms. “We’re almost home free.”

  Aidan was already in the shattered doorway, scanning the corridor. “We’re clear,” he announced. “You lead. You know where the staircase is.”

  They took off.

  As they rounded the bend at the opposite end of the corridor, they could hear racing footsteps approaching the now-empty room.

  They ascended the steps two at a time, and Marc kicked open the door at the landing hard enough to knock over the guard on the other side.

  Waiting to hear his grunt of pain as he fell over, Marc shoved open the door, and he and Aidan bolted for the study.

  Even carrying Emma, Marc shot through the window in one smooth motion, with Aidan right behind him. They squatted down, using their powerful quadriceps to hustle them across the grounds.

  “I’ve got you,” Marc murmured to Emma, who was shaking violently and making agonized sobbing sounds. “You’re safe.”

  Aidan was texting Ryan as he moved.

  As they neared the lake, the red beam pierced the sky like the Bat signal.

  The powerboat reached shore, and Marc waded out, placing Emma on the boat. Then, he climbed in, Aidan alongside. Ryan turned the boat and sped away from shore.

  Behind them, they could make out a convoy of trucks pulling up to the Lubinov mansion and a blur of figures swarming inside.

  “Looks like SWAT,” Aidan noted.

  Marc turned around to see. “Yeah, I’m guessing it’s Albany SWAT. Hutch must have made this happen. Good. They’ll finish up where we left off. So much for Lubinov. I hope he rots in hell.”

  Ryan glanced over, seeing that Marc was still cradling Emma, rocking her like a baby in distress.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Not good,” was Marc’s blunt reply. He reached over to grab the bottled water that Ryan had just uncapped and was handing him, along with the couple of extra blankets they’d brought on board. “Time to rehydrate,” Marc told Emma.

  “Okay…but Marc.” She stopped him with a painfully devastated expression. “I tried not to say anything or to answer Lubinov’s questions. I tried. But those instruments he let Slava use…they hurt. I was scared. After a while…I told them I worked for Forensic Instincts. Not about Lisa’s identity switch, but about FI. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop it.” Marc put down the water long enough to wrap the extra blankets tightly around Emma, easing both her internal and external chill. “You were a trooper. Now sip slowly.” He held the bottle up to her lips.

  She complied, coughing at first but then gradually swallowing small amounts of fluid.

  “Damn straight you were a trooper,” Ryan said. “We’re so proud of you. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. The FBI has Lubinov by now, along with all the psychos working for him, and those poor athletes who won’t even understand why they’re being taken in.”

  “They won’t be charged. But they’ll make ideal witnesses. They’ll help put the scumbags away.” While he was speaking, Marc was studying Emma’s bruised and swollen face. He remembered the rivulets of blood on her body, along with additional bruising around her ribs. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  “No.” Emma blanched. “I just want to go home.” Tears were spilling from her eyes. “He didn’t rape me, Marc, not yet. You stopped him. My cuts sting, but they’re not that bad. Please. Just get me home.”

  Marc’s jaw tightened. She needed medical care, and she needed it now.

  “Listen to me, Emma,” Marc said, soothing her as best he could. “You can’t travel all the way home in the condition you’re in. You have to go to a local hospital, just to get checked out and receive whatever treatment is necessary. You’ll be released in no time.” After the police and the FBI grill the hell out of you, he thought grimly.

  “Ryan,” he said, recalling his teammate’s attention.

  Still steering the boat, Ryan peered over his shoulder, brows raised in question.

  “We have to figure out a way to work this.”

  “I hear you.”

  “From here on in, it’ll just be the two of us,” Marc continued. “Aidan’s going home.”

  Aidan frowned, visibly bothered by leaving Emma in her condition and by off-loading all the responsibility onto Marc and Ryan.

  “Marc…” he began.

  “No.” Marc sliced the air with his palm, effectively cutting his brother off. “That was great teamwork, Black Hawk. Now it’s time to grab your SUV from the warehouse and head back to the city and to Abby. We got it from here.”

  Knowing where he belonged, Aidan nodded.

  “I don’t give a shit about discovery,” Ryan said. “I’ll carry Emma into the hospital myself.”

  “That’s not an option.” Part of Marc was totally on board with what Ryan was saying. He hated having to let Emma handle any part of this on her own. But he also knew the ramifications of them admitting her. They’d have to provide their identities, their explanations—everything that would ultimately expose them and FI to criminal charges.

  “The University of Vermont Medical Center isn’t far from here,” Marc said. “We’ll pick up our van at the warehouse, and you’ll drive us to the ER entrance. I’ll carry Emma inside and make sure she’s in a wheelchair or on a gurney before I—”

  “No.” This time it was Emma who interrupted. Her voice was weak, but her resolve was strong—as if she were reading Marc’s mind and understood what had to be done. “You’ll be noticed. You can’t help but be. Just leave me near the outside ER door. I’ll cry out for a doctor the minute you drive away.”

  “And how are you going to explain why you’re alone on their doorstep, naked and injured?” Ryan demanded.

  “I’ll say I was attacked near the hospital grounds and that I got away.”

  “That’s all she needs to say,” Marc agreed. “The staff will be concentrating on treating her, not interrogating her. That part will come later. And, by then, we’ll be there to run the show.”

/>   He tucked a lock of disheveled hair behind Emma’s ear. “Listen to me,” he said. “Ryan and I will be watching the ER door to make sure someone helps you in. Don’t try to be stoic like you usually do. Be an emotional wreck. Beg them to call Ryan. They’ll do it ASAP. That call will be our cue.”

  “Cue for what?” Emma asked.

  “To start counting.” Marc knew that Emma was far more panicky than she was letting on. “We won’t have left the hospital grounds. We’ll wait two hours—enough time for us to have flown from Manhattan to Burlington—and then rush in. I need you to hold it together for that long, okay?”

  Emma gave a tentative nod. “What about the cops? How do I answer their questions?”

  “Act too freaked out to talk. Let them wait. Get hysterical if you need to. Just let the doctors fix you up. We’ll handle law enforcement when we get there.”

  “I can do that.” Emma was talking as much to herself as she was to Marc.

  “I know you can. Meanwhile, I’ll call Casey. She’ll want to fly up here. The whole team will.”

  “And call Lisa,” Emma whispered. “Tell her that she, Miles, and Shannon are safe. It’s finally over.”

  EPILOGUE

  Offices of Forensic Instincts

  Two weeks later

  The whole FI team—plus Hutch, Aidan, and Madeline—was gathered around the main conference room table.

  Casey carried in the cake, which was chocolate frosted, decorated with yellow buttercream flowers signifying friendship, and bearing the scripted words: Welcome Home, Emma.

  Not welcome back. Welcome home.

  Casey placed the cake in the center of the table, which was decorated with a bright yellow tablecloth, napkins, plates, hot cups, and plastic silverware, along with an enormous urn of freshly brewed coffee and a large cake slicer.

  “This one’s all yours, Emma,” Casey told her. “You can share or eat the whole thing yourself. We’re so happy to have you back we’ll all forfeit our pieces, right, guys?”

  There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreements.

  Emma stared from the cake to her teammates, and tears filled her eyes—eyes that were no longer swollen or haunted but had yet to boast that Emma sparkle. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Of course I’ll share. What all of you have done for me—it means more than I can say.”