Lethal Outlook: A Psychic Eye Mystery (7 page)

Uh-oh.

“At the coffee shop by our office,” I said.

Dutch’s eyes narrowed. He could sniff out a lie almost as well as I could.

“How’d it happen?” he asked casually. Too casually.

My mind blanked, so I looked to Candice to answer. “She—”

“Let Abby answer, please,” Dutch commanded.

Candice’s gaze shifted meaningfully to my cane.

“It was my cane,” I told Dutch.

“Your cane?”

“Yeah. It…uh…I sort of tripped over it.”

“How’d that happen?” Dutch asked, standing tall again as his hands found his hips. He knew I was lying. I knew he knew I was lying, and by the looks of it, everyone around us knew I knew he knew I was lying.

I gulped. “There was a cat,” I said, “and it darted out from the alley and it bumped into my cane and I tripped over it.”

“You tripped over it?” Dutch asked skeptically. “Do you mean you tripped over the cat or the cane?”

“The cat.”

“What color was the cat?”

“Black.” Dutch’s narrowed eyes became downright squinty. “White. It was black-and-white. Also, maybe a little gray in there too, but it was hard to tell because it also had a few bald patches.” My motto is: When in doubt, just keep lying. Even if you’re
terrible
at it.

“Bald patches?” Dutch asked.

I gulped, wondering if I could divert him by asking for some water. “Yeah. It was obviously a stray and it probably had mange or something. Maybe one of the rats it ate gave it mange.”

Standing behind Dutch, Candice ducked her chin, covered her eyes, and shook her head. I could hardly blame her. Lying came easy for her. I think she majored in it in college.

Dutch had crossed his arms over his chest, his look darkening like a bad storm approaching. Around us several agents who’d been listening in suddenly found their computers
super
interesting.

“Is that Abigail Cooper?” I heard from the other end of the room.

I practically leaped to my feet (miraculously cured from the mangy-cat incident) and hobbled as fast as I could toward my savior. “Director Gaston!”

He held his arms out wide to me and I hugged him. “It’s so good to see you!” I gushed. Not only was I happy that he’d saved me from getting a tongue-lashing from Dutch, but I was also genuinely glad to see the man who’d looked out for me nearly from the moment we’d met.

Gaston backed up but held me at arm’s length, and looking me over critically he asked, “How’re you recovering?”

I kept my back to Dutch. “Oh, all right, I guess. It’s slow going, but I’m determined to walk down the aisle without the cane.”

Gaston smiled kindly. “I’m so glad. When’s the big day?”

“November fifteenth,” I said. “You’re coming, aren’t you, sir?”

Gaston’s brow rose. “Have you sent me an invitation?”

Crap on a cracker. I’d forgotten once again to send Cat the list of invitees. “They’re going out next week,” I promised, “and you’re definitely on the list.”

“Then consider me an early RSVP, Abigail. I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.”

“Hello, Director,” I heard Candice say from behind me.

Gaston focused on Candice next and they exchanged pleasantries. Brice came out of his office and said his hellos. He seemed upset. Shaken even. And I was able to pick that up only from the vibe coming off him, not anything he said or did. He caught me looking at him curiously. “What?” he mouthed while Candice and Gaston chatted.

“You tell me,” I whispered. “What’s happened?”

Brice’s forced smile vanished and he shook his head. “You’ll know in a minute.”

Gaston subtly laid a hand on my shoulder. “Abigail, I wonder if we might talk for a bit in private with Special Agent Harrison.”

“Sure,” I said. I felt my heartbeat tick up. My radar was buzzing with a forboding feeling.

“Wonderful,” he said, motioning for me to enter Brice’s office first. “Agent Rivers, would you also join us?”

I hustled into Brice’s office and took a seat, bracing myself because the more I tried to pick up on what was at hand, the more unsettled I became. Whatever they wanted to talk about was bad. Really,
really
bad.

Brice took the chair behind his desk, Gaston sat next to me, and Dutch stood by the door, leaning against the wall. I
avoided looking at him, certain I’d still catch a hint of anger in his midnight blues.

Gaston folded his hands in his lap and began. “This morning a very disturbing incident occurred in the city of College Station. Are you familiar with it?”

“The city or the incident?” I asked.

“The city.”

“Yes, sir.” College Station was northeast of Austin, about two hours away. “Did something happen there?”

Gaston motioned to Brice, who swiveled his computer monitor around so that it faced me. “This is a little tough to watch, Abby,” he warned.

Coming from a seasoned FBI agent, that meant the image had to be awful. “Okay,” I told him. “I’m braced. What is it?”

“It’s a video,” Gaston said, his hand again on my arm. “It was taken from a security camera inside a mall near downtown at about eleven this morning.”

Gaston motioned again for Brice to play the footage.

Now, what I saw on that computer screen is the subject of an entirely different story—one that I’ll go into next time—but suffice it to say the video was one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever had the great misfortune to witness. And trust me when I tell you that I’ve seen some disturbing things.

When it was over I shakily got to my feet. I felt light-headed, nauseated, traumatized, and like I was ready to hurl all at the same time. “Excuse me,” I said, hobbling out of the room as fast as my limp would allow. Dutch said my name as I passed him, but I shook my head hard and didn’t even
bother to look back. My breathing was coming in quick pants, and all I wanted to do was make it out of there before I lost my composure.

I limped by Candice too, and caught her concerned eye. I motioned for her to follow and felt her immediately at my side.

Behind me I heard Dutch call my name again, but I couldn’t even acknowledge him; I just kept my focus on getting to the door.

Once we came into the open air of the outdoors, I bent at the waist and took several deep breaths and noticed that I was trembling from the shock of what I’d seen. Candice wrapped an arm around me for support, which was the only thing that prevented me from blacking out. Finally I stood up tall again, and through the glass window I could see Dutch looking at me with a face full of concern. I shook my head at him, turned away, and then I burst into tears. Candice looped my arm around her shoulders and helped me to her car without a word.

She got me settled, then hurried around to her side and got in. We peeled out of the parking garage and I stared out the window, unable to stop the flood of emotion pouring out of me. After a bit I said, “Thank you.”

Candice laid a gentle hand on my head. “You okay?”

“They showed me some footage of a bomb going off at a mall, Candice,” I said, the tears coming back in earnest again. “It wasn’t in black-and-white. It was in color. I saw…everything. They all died…they all just…died.”

“Jesus Christ!” she hissed. “Why the hell would Brice show you that?!”

I shook my head. It hadn’t been his fault, but I couldn’t really form any more words because I was too overcome.

Candice continued to cast worried glances at me, and finally she picked up her cell and punched in a number. The second the other party picked up, she tore into them, and I quickly realized she was yelling at her fiancé.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
she shouted, and didn’t even wait for a response. “She’s so upset she can barely speak, Brice!” There was a pause then, “No! Absolutely not! I’m taking her home and you can tell Gaston, personally from me, to go feck himself!”

Candice threw the phone down and gripped the steering wheel with barely masked fury.

About then I noticed that my own cell was lighting up. It was still on silent and it appeared I’d missed more than a few calls. This call was from Dutch, as were the previous three. He’d been trying to call me from the moment I went outside, by the looks of it. I showed the display to Candice, who literally growled as I answered the line, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to say much. “I am so sorry,” he said immediately. “Babe, I didn’t know it would affect you like that.”

Candice grabbed the phone out of my hand and gave another furious lecture to my fiancé. She then hung up on him too and threw my phone into the backseat. “Stupid men!” she yelled.

At that moment, I couldn’t have agreed more.

A
t my request, Candice drove me back to our office so that I could retrieve my car. She then followed me home and sat with me for a long while on the couch without trying to get me to talk about it.

As you can probably tell, Candice is that rare gem among friends; she’s able to ferret out the truth of things without a word of explanation. Around six she asked if I’d like some dinner. I told her that I wasn’t hungry, which was the truth, and a little after that I told her that I thought I’d just go upstairs and head to bed.

“Do you want me to stay here until Dutch gets home?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. I’ll be okay.” Candice’s frown told me she wasn’t convinced. “Really,” I insisted. “I pinkie swear. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay, but if you need me, Sundance, I’m only a phone call away.”

“I know. And try not to worry. I just need to curl up with the pups someplace safe for a little while.” I still hadn’t shaken the scene from the video. It was bothering me far more than I let on to Candice.

My friend leaned in and gave me a fierce hug. “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. We’ll need to get back on the Moreno case before the trail gets too cold.”

“I’ll be ready,” I assured her.

She left just a few minutes later, and I watched her drive away knowing I’d never find a better friend in the world. The minute her car was out of sight, I grabbed my keys and whistled to the dogs, and the three of us went for a familiar drive.

I pulled up to the almost completed house that Dutch and I would soon be calling home. The minute I put the car into park I felt myself exhale. There was something about this place that simply soothed my soul.

Dutch had purchased the property the previous April, and he’d proposed to me on the very soil that was now our breakfast nook. No wonder it was certain to become my favorite room in the house.

Eggy, Tuttle, and I all walked across the dirt path up to the front door, and I unlocked it with my key. We stepped into the quiet structure and I felt the warmth from the late afternoon sun wrap itself around me like a blanket.

I let the dogs wander around, sniffing as they went, and found my way to the back door. Opening it wide, I let in the
cooler air, flipped on the outside light, and stepped out onto the spacious covered back deck. Near the fire pit sat two cushy lounge chairs, which Dutch had purchased the moment the grill went in. He and I now had dinner out here at least once a week.

The dogs found me just as I was sitting down, and I lifted them each up onto the lounge chair before tossing a cashmere throw over the three of us. It was a cool night for October in Texas. The pups curled against me and were asleep in seconds. For a very long time all I did was sit there and stare listlessly out at the view.

At the edge of our backyard, just past a very sturdy fence, was a drop of about a hundred feet to a river gorge below. The property sat on top of a peninsular bluff and the views for nearly one hundred and eighty degrees were all spectacular. From where I sat I could see lights coming up in neighborhoods twenty miles away, and there was something incredibly soothing about that.

I still saw the images from the video, however, every time I closed my eyes, and I had to work to replace them with a memory that gave me comfort. I thought of the morning that Dutch had proposed. I thought of the day I went to pick up Eggy from the breeder. I thought of playing fetch with Tuttle.

It was a technique I’d learned as a kid when my very unbalanced mother would rain down her abuse on me. Throughout all of my childhood I’d been unloved and unwanted, and my mother had taken all of her dysfunction and mental instability out on me both physically and mentally. It’d been a terrible way to grow up, but I was pretty convinced it was the impetus to developing my psychic sense.

I never knew when Clair—Mommy dearest—would flash with anger, and I had to rely heavily on my sixth sense to get me out of the house before she flew into a rage.

If I didn’t escape fast enough and she caught me, I’d withdraw into myself and fill my mind with any memory that gave me comfort. It was the only reason I survived those years, I think, and the technique was a coping mechanism I was calling upon now.

After a while, and with that horrible image on the video finally outnumbered by all the sweet memories and happier thoughts I’d called upon, the knot of tension and distress inside me began to ease. I could feel myself creating some distance from it, and that helped me assess something else I hadn’t even noticed was tugging away at me.