The Stranger You Know

Casey scanned the various areas of the park—the wide-open grassy spaces and the darker wooded sections.

“Could this have been the park you were visualizing when you saw Jan running away?” she prompted Claire, having purposely omitted any mention of the connection between Claire’s vision and their trip to the Boathouse. She wanted anything that came from Claire to be spontaneous.

But now was the time to push it.

“Think,” Casey urged. “Could Jan maybe have left her job and been tracked down and chased through Central Park?”

Claire started. Then awareness dawned in her eyes. She thought for a moment, turning up her palm in an uncertain gesture. “It’s possible. I’m not sensing anything yet.” She continued to walk, her forehead creased in concentration. Casey followed, noticing that, without realizing it, Claire was heading toward the lakeside approach to the Boathouse.

Abruptly, Claire stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the rowboats and gondolas moving across the lake. “The water,” she murmured. “It was in the background when Jan was running. I’d forgotten. And there were butterflies. And birds. Those images are strong now—stronger than they originally were.”

“The area around the Boathouse is known for its bird-watching,” Dave commented. “There’s even a bird registry to record observations.” A corner of his mouth lifted when Casey turned to gaze at him, her brows arched in surprise. “I’m a trivia buff,” he explained. “In fact, I can also verify the butterfly part. The last I recall, twenty-six species of butterflies have been spotted here.”

“Wow.” Casey sent him an admiring look. “And all Patrick mentioned was that you’re a terrific bodyguard.”

He shrugged. “I’m multitalented.”

Claire was lost in her own world. “I’m starting to pick up on the sheer panic I sensed the other day. It’s getting stronger. But it’s still veiled—like there’s a layer of gauze over it. I can’t see through it.”

“Maybe the attack happened farther away,” Casey suggested. “Central Park is huge.”

“True.” Claire pressed her lips together. “I still need more.”

“Then let’s go inside and see if any of the staff remembers her.”

“It’s been fifteen years, Casey.” Claire reiterated her earlier point. “Isn’t that unrealistic?”

“Without a doubt,” Casey concurred. “But that’s why we’re here. And we have to try, especially given the connection you’re sensing.”

Claire couldn’t dispute that one. So she joined Casey and Dave as they went inside the restaurant.

But she was right. Interviewing people, seeking out information from fifteen years ago—it was like operating in a vacuum. Managers had changed, staff had come and gone and the clientele wasn’t even the same as last year, much less fifteen years ago.

The best that Casey, Claire and Dave could do was leave with a printout of longstanding employees. It was a stretch to think that any of those people would remember Jan, much less who she’d been afraid of. But Casey was confident of one thing—that whatever had happened to Jan Olson, it had happened in Central Park.

A very weak lead, but a lead nonetheless—one that required Forensic Instincts’ investigation.

The team wasn’t going to be happy.

Despite their professionalism, their loyalty to Casey superseded all else. And right now, Ryan was scrutinizing the video footage from the vigil, Patrick was grilling everyone at Columbia that Ryan’s research had spit out on the printer and Marc was poring over the two lists Casey had compiled.

The situation was lousy.

And Casey’s nightmares were filled with fear.

* * *

Hutch threw the last of his clothes into an overnight bag, gulped down the rest of his coffee and glanced at his watch.

It was eight-fifteen, pretty late at night to begin a five-hour drive. He didn’t give a damn. If he got on the road in the next few minutes, he’d be in Manhattan a little after one. He’d been working fourteen-hour days since the night Casey had called to say she needed him, just so he could get his piles of work done and get the hell out of Quantico. Yeah, it had been an exhausting stint, but he’d survived on next to no sleep before, and for less important reasons than this.

He was leaving—tonight.

It had taken him two meetings with the head of BAU-4 to agree to give him the days off. He’d accrued the personal time. But it wasn’t that simple. The work wasn’t going away. He’d had to plow through it in order to disappear for a while.

Casey hadn’t pressed him to come. But just the fact that she’d called... That was something she didn’t do. Hutch knew her well. They’d been involved for over a year now. The feelings were there. The words weren’t spoken. It didn’t matter. They both knew what they had. And it was more than enough to propel him to Manhattan.

He’d heard Casey’s tone.

She was scared.

And, in his opinion, she had reason to be.

Hutch zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he scooped up his car keys and headed for the door.

Ten minutes later, he was on the road.

* * *

Maura Harris loved her job.

She’d worked in all aspects of veterinary care since she was a teenager and had volunteered at an animal clinic cleaning out kennel cages. Now she was applying to veterinary schools, hoping to one day fulfill her dream and run her own animal clinic.

In the meantime, she worked at the Canine Palace, a posh full-service inn for dogs, located in Tribeca. She handled everything from long-term boarding to doggy day care. Her time there had reinforced what she already believed: dogs were far easier and more delightful to deal with than their owners.

She commuted from Hoboken, a short ride on the PATH train that she could do in her sleep. With her credentials, she could easily have gotten a job closer to home, but she was too attached to her regular “clientele” to make a move.

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