diagnosed with SCID-Severe Combined Immunodeficiency. His body is incapable of fighting infection. He needs a stem cell transplant from a matched donor or he’ll die.”
Marc put down his pen. “I assume you’re not a match?”
She shook her head. “The testing said I’m not even a candidate. I was in a car accident as a child. Thanks to the blood transfusions I received, I have hepatitis C. So I’m out of the picture. And so far, so is the National Marrow Donor Program Registry. They have no match for us. The best, maybe the only hope is Justin’s father.” Two tears slid down Amanda’s cheeks. Fiercely, she wiped them away. “I could give you a full scientific explanation, Mr. Devereaux. It’s consumed my life these past weeks, and I seem to know far more about how a human body can fail than I ever thought possible. But we don’t have time. Thanks to me, Justin already has an infection and is showing symptoms of pneumonia.”
“Thanks to you?”
“I was nursing him. Evidently, I’m carrying a dormant virus called CMV-Cytomegalovirus. I passed it along to Justin. He’s started to cough and he has a fever-both of which are indicators that he’s developing CMV pneumonia. Plus, he picked up parainfluenza during the two weeks he was home. His breathing’s uneven, his nose is running… I didn’t know he had a compromised immune system, or I’d never have let him have visitors. It’s too late to change that. He’s on antibiotics and gamma globulin. But even those can only suppress the CMV virus, not cure it. They can also be toxic to a child. As for the parainfluenza, there’s literally nothing they can give him. Justin is less than a month old. His tiny body can’t sustain itself for long. This is a life-or-death situation.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Then help me.”
Amanda unbanded her file and opened it, pulling out a USB drive, a DVD and two newspaper clippings. She slid them across the table to Marc. “Here are the obituary and a small write-up of Paul’s death from the
Marc glanced at both the write-up and the obit, making a mental note to contact both the newspaper and TV station. He slid his laptop over and popped in the USB drive. Two images appeared on his monitor, side by side. The first was of Amanda and a man-presumably Paul Everett-posing on a windswept beach in their ski jackets, arms wrapped around each other. The expressions on their faces, their intimate stance, said they were very much in love. The second image was of the two of them at some sort of formal gathering. They were smiling, looking directly into the camera as they posed for a photograph.
“Now look at this.” Amanda pulled out her cell phone and placed it on the table for Marc to see.
There was a photo on the screen, and Marc shifted his attention to study it. Being a cell phone shot, it was a lot grainier than the other two photos. But it was obviously the image of a man standing on a busy street corner, impatiently waiting for a light to change. He was staring at the don’t walk sign, which gave the photographer a chance to catch him face-first.
Marc could see that from the facial features, the expression and the stance, it was the same man as the one in the other two shots.
“When was this second photo taken?” he asked. “And where?”
“Yesterday. In Washington, D.C.”
“By whom?”
“A friend of mine, a fellow photojournalist. In this case, my friend saw the resemblance to Paul. She didn’t wait to get her camera ready. She just used the closest thing-her cell phone. She emailed me the photo a couple of hours ago. I had just walked out of the hospital to take a break.”
“So she knew you and Paul as a couple.”
“Yes. She also knew I’d never had a chance to tell Paul I was pregnant. She was hoping to give me that chance, along with the incredible news that Paul was alive.”
Paul Everett had never known about the pregnancy, Marc thought. That eliminated one basic reason why he’d choose to vanish. Still, Marc would want to talk to Amanda’s friend.
Amanda mistook his silence for skepticism. “I have no idea why Paul would vanish without saying a word or why he’d start a new life elsewhere. Once I got this cell phone shot and realized he might be alive, I was relieved, but I was also furious. I felt-I feel-betrayed. When they told me Paul was dead, I was ready to raise my child alone. But now that there’s a chance he could be alive, a chance that he could save Justin’s life…my pride is a non-issue. I have to try to track Paul down.”
Marc was still staring intently from the screen to the cell phone, looking for additional characteristics that would confirm the images as the same man. “Did you call the police about this new photo?” he asked.
“Yes, in the taxi on my way to your office. Two guesses whether or not they gave me any points for credibility.” Amanda’s lips trembled and tears began sliding down her cheeks. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been toying with the idea of calling you since last April when Paul disappeared, hoping you could uncover a miracle. But this photo clinched it. You have a reputation for solving cases that no one else can. Please. For the sake of my baby… Will you help me? I’ll scrape together any amount of money to pay your fee. I’ll give up my apartment, if need be. I don’t care. I just want Justin to be all right.” She broke down, dropping her face into her hands and openly sobbing.
“This isn’t about money,” Marc assured her, although she’d had him the minute she described her situation with her infant. “Our policy is to adjust our fees based upon our client’s monetary circumstances.” Thankfully, they could do that. Between the astronomical bonuses they received from their more affluent clients, and the trust fund Casey’s grandfather had left her, Forensic Instincts was on solid financial footing.
“Then what is it?” Amanda asked as Marc fell silent.
Marc didn’t answer immediately. The problem was, he was in the hot seat. Forensic Instincts had an unbroken rule: they never took on a case without first having a full-team discussion and a unanimous decision.
Well, these were dire circumstances. And given that no one else from the team was around and that it would take time to reach them all and get them over here-hell, there was a first time for everything.
“It’s nothing I can’t work out,” he stated flatly. “We’ll find Paul Everett, Ms. Gleason. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. And we’ll do whatever’s necessary to ensure his cooperation.”
Amanda’s head shot up, her tear-streaked face displaying a glimmer of hope. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
“Thank me when we’ve done the job.” Marc’s mind was on overdrive. “What hospital is your son in?”
“Sloane Kettering. He was referred there by the staff at Mount Sinai who made the original diagnosis.”
“So you’re staying there with him?”
“I haven’t left until just now.”
“Fine.” Marc nodded. “I’ll need you to email that cell phone picture to me. I’ll also need some basic information from you-including the name and contact info of your photojournalist friend. Then go back to your baby. Give me a chance to assemble the team and lay all this out for them. We’ll have a plan by morning.”
Part of that plan, he knew, was going to include having his ass kicked.
CHAPTER THREE
“Marc, you’re the one person I rely on to keep a consistent level head. You, of all people, know what it means to be a team member. What made you jump the gun like this?”
Casey Woods, the founder and president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the sweeping oval table in the main conference room, her palms pressed flat on the surface, her spine ramrod straight. For a petite, strikingly attractive redhead in her early thirties, she had the commanding presence of an army general and the leadership skills to match. She was also a trained behavioral and investigative profiler with unerring gut instincts that enhanced her skills.
Right now, it didn’t take a profiler to know she was pissed.
And not because it was close to midnight, and the entire FI team was gathered around the table, bleary-eyed, having been summoned for an emergency meeting. Business as usual at Forensic Instincts. But not for this reason.
