he just standing there? The last time they’d been in a room together, the SOB had practically crushed his windpipe. Was it the restraining order? Was it the fact that there were other people around and he couldn’t risk physical violence?
Whatever it was, Fenton wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
“I’m going to be away for a while,” he told his niece. “I’d like to see my great-nephew before I leave.”
A tight knot formed in Amanda’s stomach. “Is this your way of saying goodbye, just in case…” She didn’t finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want any of that negative energy around my son. We’re all thinking positive thoughts.”
“As am I.” Fenton shook his head. “Would I have gone to so much trouble to provide for Justin’s future if I believed we were going to lose him? No. I just need to do this. Call it a solidification of my plans.”
A long pause, during which her gaze darted quickly to Marc, then at the clock on the wall.
Marc got it. Amanda was asking him what to do. Paul was due back. And she didn’t know that precautions had already been taken.
He let her know.
Mouthing the words, “no problem,” he gave her a thumbs-up, indicating that things were fine, that they had the situation covered.
That was the only reassurance Amanda needed.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll walk you down there.” She turned and, staying two steps ahead, led her uncle down the corridor.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Ryan muttered, averting his head. “What next?”
“Hutch is on it,” Marc said simply. “He’s also with Evans, so we have that base covered. As for Fenton, let’s buy Hutch some time.” He glanced at Patrick. “Go to your usual security position. Watching Amanda and Fenton will be your job. Keeping Fenton here will be ours.”
“Are you going to finish what you started at his estate?” Claire inquired. “Because I don’t advise it. There are people around. Assault is a crime, and Fenton already has a restraining order against you.”
A corner of Marc’s mouth lifted. “Thanks for the concern. But, no, I won’t be beating the shit out of him this time. He’s scared enough of me so I can manipulate him just by getting in his face. As for the restraining order, I doubt it’ll hold much water next to warrants for federal crimes.”
“Scaring him off is not our goal here,” Casey reminded Marc. “Keeping him here is. You can leave that part to me. Once he walks out of that PICU, I’ll keep him occupied and off balance until the Feds show up.”
Fenton stood at the window for a good five minutes, just staring at Justin.
“You’re his mother,” Fenton finally said to Amanda. “So you see your struggling baby. I’m his great-uncle and a successful businessman. I see the kind of fight that makes a real leader. He’s going to beat this enemy. Winners always do. Percentages and odds mean nothing. Take it from one who knows.”
Amanda didn’t answer. The words of encouragement were nice. The analogy was sickening. Justin was going to be fine. But he’d never be like his great-uncle.
She shifted uneasily, wondering where Paul was and who was ensuring that he and her uncle didn’t run into each other. She couldn’t count on a disguise to protect Paul’s anonymity, not where her uncle was concerned.
Fenton stepped away from the window and glanced down at his watch. “My pilot will be waiting. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. But I’ll be checking in to get updates on Justin’s condition and to see if you’ve found a donor.”
“That’s fine.” Amanda wanted to push him down the corridor and out the door.
When they finally did emerge into the waiting room, Patrick was standing at his post, stony-faced. Marc, Ryan and Claire were nowhere to be found, and Casey was sitting and reading a magazine.
She rose as soon as she saw Amanda and Fenton walk out, and headed over to them.
“Hello, Mr. Fenton,” she greeted him coldly. “Did you come to visit Justin? Or to see if Amanda was still in your corner?”
Once again, Casey’s assertive demeanor threw Fenton off balance. He worked in construction, which was still a man’s world. Strong women were not something he often encountered.
And Casey was well aware of that.
Fenton cleared this throat. “It’s none of your business, but I came to see Justin and to talk to Amanda. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” Casey loved seeing the rapid pulse beating at his neck. He might be afraid of Marc physically, but she intimidated the hell out of him mentally. “Did you have information to pass along to her, or were you just on a fishing expedition?”
His eyes glittered. “I’ve made provisions for Justin. Amanda needed to know.”
“My uncle is leaving on a business trip,” Amanda provided, gazing quizzically at Casey. Now was hardly the time for an interrogation. They had to get her uncle out of here before Paul returned.
“Is he really?” Casey’s brows arched. “Where will you be headed, Mr. Fenton?”
“To my various subsidiaries.”
“Hmm. I assume your itinerary is available, should it be needed.”
Red splotches were forming on Fenton’s cheeks. He was livid. And he was starting to feel trapped.
“I don’t really see-”
“Amanda,” Casey interrupted, inclining her head in Amanda’s direction, “make sure you know how to reach your uncle. You’re bound to have good news to share with him. In which case, he’ll want to know immediately, especially given his attachment to Justin. Who knows? Maybe Congressman Mercer will be a donor match.” Her curious gaze flitted back to Fenton. “Or will he be going on this business trip with you?”
“Of course not,” Fenton snapped. “Why would he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he just needs a little getaway.”
“Hardly. His kids are coming home from school. He’ll be with his family.”
“Right. His family.” Casey’s stare bore right through Fenton. “The congressman strikes me as a loyal and devoted husband and father. I’m sure the same applies to him as a son-if his father is deserving.” A purposeful pause. “From what I hear, his father is a tough and demanding man. I’m sure the congressman’s loyalties can only be pushed so far. Don’t you agree?”
Fenton started. Clearly, Mercer hadn’t mentioned to him that Forensic Instincts knew about their blood ties. That was to the congressman’s credit. It meant he’d been sincere when he told FI he’d be keeping his eye on-and his distance from-Fenton’s suspicious activities.
But Casey had just taken care of that omission in grand style. It had to throw Fenton big-time to know that Mercer wasn’t quite the lap dog he’d assumed, and, more important, that Forensic Instincts had uncovered yet another secret of Fenton’s-this one explaining the leverage he used to “encourage” congressional support for Fenton Dredging.
His hostile expression said it all.
“You’re acquainted with Warren Mercer, right?” Casey asked, the vision of innocence. “Although, if I recall correctly, the two of you haven’t spoken in many years.”
“Warren and I lost touch, yes. But Cliff is a fine man, so I’m sure he’s a fine son.” Fenton was trying. But, hostile or not, he was panicking. Casey could see it in every gesture, hear it in every syllable.
Amanda, meanwhile, was staring at Casey as if she’d lost her mind. And Casey could certainly read hers: why the hell was Casey making small talk, however useful, when Paul was about to return to the PICU and run smack into Fenton?
Casey wished she could explain.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to.
The waiting room door opened, and a man and a woman walked in. They didn’t warrant a second look-just average professionals, with a brisk Manhattan stride and everyday business attire.
Except that Casey’s trained eye spotted the pistols clutched subtly at their sides. Even without that giveaway, she’d know they were plainclothes FBI. She’d interacted with the Bureau long enough to recognize the demeanor. All the tells were there-the sense of purpose, the sharp look in their eyes as they sought out and found their target,
