The Stranger You Know. Andrea Kane

said she’d be coming by on her way back from the library.”

      Donna shrugged. “You know Kendra. She probably got involved in a philosophy book and lost track of time. But we’ll save her some pizza, right, guys?”

      The guys exchanged reluctant glances. “We’ll give her fifteen more minutes. Then all bets are off,” Dom decided for them.

      “Fine.” Donna rolled her eyes. “It’s touching how far you’re willing to go for a friend.”

      Ten minutes later, Kendra opened the door and hurried in. She looked the way she always looked—rumpled and rushed. Her curly auburn hair was tousled, and her eyes were glazed from too much reading. She yanked off her coat, tossed it somewhere and grabbed the closest pizza box.

      “What’s left—one slice or two?” she asked dryly.

      “We fought for you,” Donna told her. “So there might be some hope of leftovers. What kept you—Plato?”

      Kendra shook her head. “In this case, no. I was actually in the parking lot. Some sedan blocked in Robbie’s pizza delivery truck and he was having trouble getting out. I couldn’t see the driver because the windows were tinted. But whoever it was, he or she was in no hurry to move, and didn’t catch on until Robbie tapped on the window. The sketchbag only shifted over enough for Robbie to inch his way out and then went back to whatever he was doing.”

      “Probably texting someone,” Amy said in disgust. “I feel sorry for delivery people. Same with maintenance workers. People treat them like they’re invisible. The hired help. It sucks.”

      Kendra nodded. “I was half tempted to go over and rip the driver a new one. But Robbie waved me away, like it was no big deal. He’s too sweet for his own good. Anyway, he just drove off and probably chalked it up to another crappy aspect of the job.”

      “Probably.”

      They dropped the subject and returned to the important issue at hand—eating.

      But outside, the dark sedan continued to sit there, motor running, the driver intently staring at their window.

      Chapter Three

      The entire Forensic Instincts team gathered around the conference room table, ready to begin their day and their morning briefing.

      As of now, the team consisted of five members, six counting Hero. Marc and Ryan had been with Casey from the onset. Patrick and Claire had come on board last year, around the same time that Hero had been retired from the FBI Canine Unit and Casey had adopted him. Each team member was extraordinary in his or her own way. Casey was the behaviorist, whose sharp mind and keen instincts about people, their body language, their responses and reactions, was the cornerstone of Forensic Instincts. Marc was a true right hand—brilliant at everything from his mental to his psychological to his physical capabilities. Ryan was both a strategic and a technical genius. Claire was a gifted intuitive, a psychic in the eyes of most, although she hated that term, and preferred to refer to herself as a claircognizant. Patrick was a lifelong trained investigator. And Hero had an olfactory sense that was incomparable.

      They were a very tight group, a real professional family. Any one of them would risk it all for the others. And that was a loyalty to which no dollar amount could be ascribed.

      Now, Casey sat at the head of the table, fingers linked in front of her, and began the morning catch-up session.

      “As you all know, I had my second meeting with Daniel Olson last evening. He’s convinced that something ugly happened to his daughter. And I’m apt to agree. He gave me every scrap of information he had on Jan’s life at the time of her disappearance. There’s nothing there to suggest that she’d just take off without ever contacting her family again. So I took it another step.”

      She indicated the file on the table in front of her. “I put this together. It’s an assortment of newspaper articles relating to crimes—and potential crimes—against college-age girls in the New York City area during the five-year period surrounding the time when Jan vanished. Ryan, I’d like you to assimilate all this and set up a database we can follow.”

      Ryan leaned back in his chair and eyed Casey for a second, then spoke up in his usual blunt manner. “Okay. But before we get into details, can we address the elephant in the room?”

      Claire Hedgleigh winced. Ryan’s oblivion to sensitive subjects never ceased to astound her. He might be brilliant, but he was about as tactful as a freight train.

      “I think we should stick to the facts of the case,” she said, shooting Ryan a hard stare. “We have an investigation to conduct.”

      “Stick to the facts?” Ryan looked more amused than put off. “That’s a joke coming from you, Claire-voyant. You get inside people’s heads and play touchy-feely with inanimate objects. Now you’re suddenly the scientist of the group?”

      “She’s just being sensitive to my feelings.” Casey broke up the argument before it could begin. She took a deep breath, then continued. “Look. You all know varying amounts about my personal connection to this case. I’ll lay out the whole thing for you in a short summary, and then we’ll all be on the same page. But, as Patrick so astutely pointed out to me, the only way I’ll find any level of peace or closure in my own situation is to throw myself into this investigation. So once I’ve spoken my piece, let’s leave it and get to what matters—finding out what happened to Jan Olson.”

      Quietly and succinctly, she retold the story she’d told Patrick last night.

      “So the man who raped and killed your friend and whoever’s responsible for Jan Olson’s disappearance—you do think it’s the same person,” Ryan responded the instant she’d finished. He’d known enough about Casey’s past to have skimmed the surface of Holly Stevens’s tragic murder.

      “I don’t know anything,” Casey replied. “Other than the fact that the victimology is the same, as is the time frame. I don’t see any overlaps in the two girls’ lives. So I can’t allow myself to assume anything.”

      “Yeah, but it’s a very real possibility.” Ryan studied Casey with those probing blue eyes. “The bottom line is, you’re never going to be objective about this case. Do you think you should turn over the reins to one of us?”

      “Probably. But I’m not going to.” Casey spoke as bluntly as Ryan, meeting his stare head-on. She wasn’t offended by his directness; that was Ryan. He spoke his mind, but he didn’t have a mean or disloyal bone in his body. “I won’t lie and say that solving Holly’s murder wouldn’t be cathartic for me. But my main goal is finding out what happened to Jan Olson. My skill set makes me best qualified to run the show. Plus, I’m the boss.” A glint of humor glittered in her eyes. “That means the final decision is mine. And I’ve made it.”

      Ryan nodded. This was one of those times when arguing would be futile. This wasn’t going to be put to a vote. Casey was making that infinitely clear.

      “Don’t look so dubious.” Casey responded to the expression on Ryan’s face. “You’re welcome to call me on the carpet if I get off track.” A quick glance around the room. “You all are.” She opened the file. “I’ve scanned the notes from my two interviews with Daniel Olson, plus all the documents in this file. Yoda?”

      “Everything is stored on the Forensic Instincts server dedicated to current investigations,” Yoda replied. “Including several photos of Jan Olson at age nineteen. All the pertinent material is indexed and readily available to the entire team.”

      “Good.” Casey nodded. “I’ve divvied up initial assignments.” She looked from Ryan to Marc. “Jan was a typical college kid. She didn’t exactly confide in her father. So he’s not the best source of information. But he did give me the name of Jan’s best friend. It’s Brenda Miller. I don’t know where she is, if she’s married or single or if she still goes by that name. Ryan, you find out. Marc, you go and talk to her. Get the full picture on