The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

shadow told her he’d been at it all night. The dark circles under Casey’s eyes told him the same.

“Where do things stand?” she asked.

Ryan leaned back in his chair. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Rough night?”

Casey shrugged. “I’ve been buried in the Felicity Akerman case file.”

“Hutch must be pissed.”

“Nope. He pulled an all-nighter of his own. The BAU is busy modifying their profile in light of the potential Vizzini connection.” Casey put a lid on the chitchat about her private life and changed the subject. “What have you got for me?”

Ryan took the hint and reverted to business. “I’ve aged the images of all the kids you gave me to work with- Felicity’s friends, the neighborhood kids she played with, the girls she went to soccer camp with. I’m in the process of tracking them down. So far, there’s nothing impressive to report. No parents with mob connections. No sleazy backgrounds. Just normal middle-class families. And the kids, now men and women, are scattered around the country-different careers, different marital statuses, different lives.”

He handed Casey some printed pages. “Those are the adult images I came up with. Each page has a small corner photo of that person as a child. That gives us the continuity we need when we show the pictures to Vera Akerman and Hope Willis. See if either of them recognizes a familiar face. Particularly Hope. Have her rack her brain for anyone who’s been hanging around, maybe visiting as an alleged repairman or someone canvassing for a religious organization or political candidate. That would have given them access to the house and to the Willises- maybe even to Krissy. And if Hope does recognize someone, and if Vera recalls them from childhood, we might have a lead.”

Casey glanced toward the center of the room, taking in the copying machine. “It looks like you’ve been busy working more than one lead.”

“Yeah. I know we haven’t gotten anything incriminating off Joe Deale’s computer. And I know the guy’s low on the Vizzini totem pole. So I figured we’d step up our investigation, take it to the next level-the Bennato Construction Company.” Ryan walked over, patted the copier. “As of four this morning, this baby’s ready to go.”

Marc was in his office at the Forensic Instincts brownstone, getting ready for the visit he and Ryan had planned, when his BlackBerry rang. The call was short. But it was a shocker.

He made his way to Casey’s office, calling down to Ryan to join them.

“Get this-” he said the instant the three of them were together. “Claudia Mitchell is dead. Her car went off a cliff forty miles north of here, a couple of hours ago. There were two sets of tire treads at the crime scene. This definitely wasn’t an accident.”

“Wow.” Casey blew out a breath and sank down on the edge of her desk. “Who told you this-Hutch?”

“Yeah. He gave me a courtesy call, just so we’d have a heads-up. This sure as hell supports the mob theory. And it suggests that either Claudia knew something, or, more likely, that Joe is being delivered a message to keep his mouth shut. Which means he knows something, whether or not he realizes it.”

“All the more reason for today’s mission.” Ryan was already dressed and ready. “Casey, you go ahead up to the Willises’ place and deal with this new development. Marc and I will do our thing.”

Casey was already punching a phone number into her cell. “I’m calling Patrick. The FBI might already have alerted him, but, if not, he should be a part of this. It’s another indication that Sidney Akerman’s illegal dealings are at the heart of Krissy’s disappearance-and Felicity’s.”

An hour later, Marc-clad in a gray uniform with the word “Superior” printed on his shirt-pushed open the door of the Bennato Construction Company.

The reception area was cramped, filled with piles of building materials, with peeling walls, a dusty floor and a steel desk, behind which sat a young, attractive secretary. She was cracking gum, talking on the phone and reading Cosmo at the same time. Based on the conversation, and the juvenile notes she’d written on Post-its that were stuck to her desk, Marc knew he was not dealing with a brain trust.

All the better.

She looked up when Marc walked over. Her gaze traveled from his broad, well-built physique to his brooding, sexy stare.

“Suze?” she said into the phone. “I gotta go. There’s a workman here. I’ll call you back.” She hung up, folding her hands and leaning forward. It was no accident that she was providing Marc with a spectacular view of her cleavage. “Can I help you?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.” Marc gave her a slow, crooked smile and a wink, making sure to scrutinize her breasts appreciatively as he spoke. “I’m sure you can-in lots of ways.”

“Name them.”

Oh, this was too easy.

“You got it-” Marc waited for her to introduce herself. “Sonya.”

“You got it, Sonya.” Her name was a caress, as he turned his charms on full force. “But first, let’s get work out of the way. My name is Danger. John Danger.”

“Really.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “Is that your pickup name or your real one?”

“Both.” A twinkle. “I just got lucky, I guess.”

“I’m sure you get lucky a lot.”

“I never kiss and tell,” Marc replied in a teasing tone. “Anyway, back to business-for now. I’m from Superior Office, and your copying machine has been sending intermittent alerts to our office.”

“Really?” She was barely listening to him. But she was eyeing his crotch. “I didn’t know copying machines could do that.”

“They can, Sonya. Do you know the Check Engine light on your car? Same idea, except that the light is in our office instead of on your keypad. That way, we can be of best service to you.” Another smile. “Is it okay if I take a look?”

That question elicited a furrow between her eyebrows. “How much is this going to cost? I have to get my boss’s okay before I spend any money.”

“Won’t be necessary. It’s free. Service is included at no charge along with your machine.”

“Free is perfect.” She pointed to her left. “The copier’s in the storage room. Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m making a fresh pot.”

“Only if you join me.”

“Just what I had in mind.” She crossed the room, giving him a clear view of her tight pants and curvy ass as she did. “It’ll be ready when you are.”

“I can’t wait.”

When Sonya was at the sink, Marc strode into the storage room and opened up the copying machine as if to service it. He then slid the special piece of paper Ryan had given him into the main paper tray.

Hearing the coffee machine sputter its last drops of water, Marc called out, “I’m not seeing any error codes. Can you make a few copies for me?”

“Be right there,” Sonya called back. “How do you take your coffee?”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Hot,” he informed her, his voice filled with promise. “Just like my women.”

Sonya sashayed into the storage room and handed Marc a cup of steaming hot coffee. Marc moved closer to her, brushing up against her.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sonya asked, “What did you ask me to do?”

“I’d like to test the machine. Can you make a couple of copies?”

“Oh. Sure. I need some timesheets anyway.”

Reluctantly, she walked back to her desk, got the original and returned. Placing the page on the copier glass, she closed the cover, punched in ten copies and pressed the button that said Copy.

The machine whirred to life for a brief second, until Ryan’s sheet of paper reached the hot imaging area. Instantly, the copier seized, and a vile smell permeated the office.

Sonya’s head snapped around, and her eyes filled with dread. “What did I do?”

“Don’t freak out,” Marc soothed. “Let me see what’s going on.”