A Glimpse of Evil (22 page)

I couldn’t help it; I smiled too. And then I started to laugh, and once I’d started, I really couldn’t stop.

Dutch was laughing too, and that’s how the doctor found us when he brought my scan into the room. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he said to me.

I wiped my eyes, still giggling a little. “They sent in a comedian,” I said, nudging Dutch.

The doctor looked at him as if he wanted to share the joke, but Dutch just pointed to his chest and said, “Mechanic. I was sent here about a rattle.”

The doctor was still looking at us expectantly, but we didn’t fill him in. Instead we just continued to chuckle and nudge each other. Finally the poor man in the lab coat got to the point of his visit. “Your CT scan is clear,” he said. “There’s no evidence of concussion or internal hemorrhaging.”

“Phew!” I said.

“I’d still like to keep you here for observation, but I know when we talked earlier, you were dead set against it.”

“I was.”

“Is there someone who can stay with you tonight and watch for any symptoms of trauma?”

I nudged Dutch again. “My mechanic friend here might be willing.”

“I’ll take care of her, Doc.”

“All right, then, Ms. Cooper, I’ll release you. Remember that the staples in your scalp will need to remain in place for the next fourteen days. Don’t wash your hair or swim in a pool until they’ve been removed, and wear a shower cap when you bathe.”

I scowled. “Great. Two full weeks of bad hair.”

“Better than getting an infection and having your whole head swell up,” the doctor replied.

“True.”

The doctor reached inside his pocket and pulled out a prescription pad. He scribbled out two separate scripts for me and handed those to Dutch. “Your antibiotics and pain meds,” he said. Then he wished me well, said a nurse would be in shortly to help me get into some scrubs (my own clothes were still wet), and that I’d be free to go.

Dutch left me when the nurse came in, and I was very grateful for her help into the scrubs because my body decided it’d been tossed around enough for one day and pretty much everything hurt. “You’ll want to take it very easy for the next couple of days,” the nurse told me as I eased into the wheelchair. I thought that it was mighty good of her to point out the obvious.

When she wheeled me out to the front, I was relieved to find Candice and Brice looking slightly less hostile. They were even sitting next to each other in the waiting room, and Dutch was talking softly to them. I figured he was brokering a peace agreement.

Brice went to get the car when I showed up, and Candice and Dutch both helped me into the front seat, where I’d have the most legroom. Brice drove first to a pharmacy, where Dutch dropped off my script; then we hit a drive-through for some grub, which was a relief because I was famished. We ate while they filled my prescriptions, and I barely noticed the lack of conversation.

I fell asleep almost as soon as we hit the road again and woke up to find Brice lifting me out of the car. “Where’s Dutch?” I asked, startled that Harrison was the one toting me out of the car.

“I’m right here, doll,” Dutch said. “Agent Harrison offered to take you inside because of my back.”

“I’ll try not to drop you,” Brice joked.

“Can’t be worse than anything else I’ve been through today,” I replied drily.

Dutch hurried to unlock the door and Brice paused at the entrance and said, “Shall I carry you over the threshold?”

I laughed but stopped abruptly when I caught sight of the look on both Dutch’s and Candice’s faces.

“Actually, sir, I think I can make it from here,” I told him, and tried to wriggle out of his arms.

Harrison made a derisive sound and carried me in through the door anyway, where he gently laid me on the couch, which still had the pillows and blankets from Dutch’s turn there.

Harrison then smiled, leaned over, and gave me a peck on the cheek before turning back to Dutch, who did not look happy. Like . . . at . . . all.

Still, Brice didn’t appear to notice because he gave Dutch a pat on the shoulder and said, “I’ll swing by and pick you up in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dutch said stiffly.

Brice moved to the doorway, where Candice also stood rigidly, but her expression was cool and contained. Still, Brice must have been far more attuned to her, because he paused and asked, “What now?”

Candice took a breath, shifted her eyes to me, and said, “Good night, Abby. I’ll call you in the morning to see how you are.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

After they left, Dutch fluffed up my pillows and covered me with a blanket before taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “Now that they’ve gone,” he said, “spill it.”

“Spill what?”

Dutch cocked an eyebrow at me. “What?” I said, still trying to figure out what he meant.

“Lieutenant LaSalle?” Dutch said, his question hanging in the air.

Uh-oh. He was on to us. “Great guy,” I said with enthusiasm.

Dutch sighed. “You’re impossible,” he growled.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I was sticking to my guns for all it was worth, really hoping he hadn’t already connected the dots.

Dutch tapped his finger on the arm of the couch, still looking skeptically at me. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Funny how his last name fits the missing-persons file of a little girl from the boxes you audited ten days ago.”

Aw, crap. He’d figured it all out.

“It was Candice’s idea!” I said in a rush. I’d deal with the guilt of throwing her under the bus later.

“Oh, I’ll bet it was,” he said. “And I’ll bet you jumped right on that bandwagon.”

“You know how hard she is to stop once she’s got her mind made up.”

Dutch sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “What am I gonna do with you?” he whispered.

“Make me some tea and cookies?” I suggested helpfully.

Dutch actually laughed, but he remained on the couch and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I hate it when you and Candice go off investigating.”

“You hate it when I go off with anyone to investigate. I mean, you almost didn’t let me go with Oscar the other day.”

Dutch swiveled his head to stare hard at me. “Yes,” he said. “And look what happened.”

“Okay, so that was a bad example.”

“No, Abs, you see, that’s just it. That wasn’t a
bad
example. That was a
typical
example of what happens when you work a case. It’s like you have a giant target on your back, and bad stuff just finds you.”

“But at least now I know how to shoot a gun,” I suggested.

Again, Dutch laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I’m never going to win this argument, am I?”

“If by winning you mean chaining me to the couch or a desk and ordering me not to help out Candice or you guys in the field now and again, then yes. You’re never going to win.”

“I could turn you in to Harrison, you know. He’d completely lose it if he knew you two were working one of his cases.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You could do that. But I don’t think you’d like the consequences.” For emphasis I eyed the couch meaningfully.

“You’d kick me out of the bedroom?”

“In a heartbeat, cowboy.”

“Harsh.”

“Just the way I roll.”

“How’s your head?”

I smiled. “It makes this rattling noise every time I move it. I think there might be a screw loose.”

I was in no shape to do any further investigating for the next several days. If I’d thought my body was sore the day I’d nearly drowned, it was nothing compared with how I felt the next day. I could barely move. Dutch offered to stay home and watch over me, but Candice showed up with a breakfast burrito and coffee, then insisted on hanging out with me so that he could go to work.

Brice picked Dutch up about ten minutes later, which was a relief because my sweetheart was starting to hover, and not in a good way.

“Thank God,” I said after the door closed behind him.

Candice chuckled. “He’s just worried about you.”

I slanted my lids a little. “Brice seemed pretty worried about you too, ya know.”

“Oh?” Candice said, her voice mocking me. “What gave it away? The yelling, the pacing, or the issuing of blame?”

I shook my head. “You just don’t get it, do you, Cassidy?”

“What don’t I get, Sundance?”

“Have you noticed that Brice never loses his cool with anyone—and I do mean
anyone
—but you?”

“I hardly think that means he cares.”

I laughed. “Oh, I think that means he cares way more than he wants to.”

Candice considered me for a moment. “So you believe he’s acting like a jerk
because
he likes me?”

“No,” I said. “He’s acting like a jerk because he
adores
you. He was pissed off yesterday because you managed to get yourself into a situation that almost killed you.”

Candice winced, and I realized she still felt terribly guilty. “That was one of my dumber moves,” she conceded.

“Honey,” I said, leaning forward with a grunt to grab her hand. “How could you have known? Where we come from, you see a big ol’ puddle, you drive right into it and just hope your exhaust pipe doesn’t clog.”

“I am really,
really
sorry, Abby.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “It was an accident and they happen to even the most cautious and careful of people. We both survived and we’re both fine, so ’nough said.”

Candice grinned. “You’re pretty much the best person I know.”

I rolled my eyes and felt my cheeks heat. “Oh, whatever,” I said with a laugh. “The point of this conversation was not to make you feel guilty. It was to let you know that Brice has some pretty intense feelings for you, and you can either continue to push him away or you can sit him down and take a chance and tell him how
you
feel.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Someone’s got to.”

“He’s moving out later today, you know.”

“Wait, what?” I was stunned. When I saw them together in the waiting room, I thought that Dutch had managed to help temper their feud. “Why didn’t you try to make up with him and tell him to stay?”

“I let him stay the night last night,” Candice said weakly.

“Oh, and I’ll bet you handed him a pillow and pointed him toward the couch, right?”

Candice flushed. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Abby, this is the first serious relationship I’ve had with anyone since my ex- husband, and we both know what a train wreck that was.”

“What about that married guy you dated?” I asked. “I thought that was pretty serious too.”

Candice waved her hand as if she were shooing away a fly. “Oh, please. Like being the other woman is ever a serious relationship.”

“Okay, so why is this so incredibly scary for you?”

Candice fiddled with the zipper on her leather jacket. “Because I like Brice the most,” she finally said.

“And?”

“And if I screw it up—as I’m likely to—I don’t know how I’ll come back from it.”

If I’d been able to move, I would have gotten up and gone over to my friend and given her a great big hug. “Sweetie,” I said gently. “The only way to screw it up is to forget how much you care about him. As long as you take pains to remember how much you love him every day you’re with him, there’s no way this can’t work out.”

Candice looked up and met my eyes. It was odd, but in my mind I felt like she’d just had one of those “Aha” moments.

“Okay,” she said. “I get it.”

“Good. Now call him. Tell him not to move out.”

Candice looked panicked. “What?
Now?
”

“Right now,” I said firmly. “This second.”

My friend eyed her watch. “But I don’t think he’s even made it to work yet.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Dutch’ll overhear.”

“Excuses, excuses,” I sang. “Call him.”

It took a few more minutes of insisting, but Candice did eventually break down and call Brice. She wandered off to another room to talk to him, and when she came back, she looked both relieved and happier. “How’d it go?”

“Good.”

I sighed and mocked, “Whoa, there, girl! Don’t unload all the details at once!”

Candice sat back down on the couch, smiling. “I told him that I’d thought about it, and I really wanted a chance to cool down and talk to him about our relationship and that I didn’t want to rush him into making any sudden drastic decisions.”

My brow furrowed. “Where in that did you happen to mention the part about him not moving out?”

Candice grinned. “Right after that. He promised to cancel the moving van and stick it out at my place for another week or two.”

While not the gigantic declaration of love I was hoping for, at least with these two, it was a start. “Good for you,” I told her. A short silence followed that and I asked, “So what now?”

Candice got up and walked toward the door. “Now that you’re fed and watered, I’m off to the Apple Store to replace the Mac.”

I made a face. “It was in the car with us yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Candice nodded. “Yep.”

“Did you lose everything?”

“No, thank God. I back up my laptop every night, and I was smart enough to scan the girls’ files into my computer the day I made copies—so it should be easy to just transfer the data and print them out again. I should only be gone a couple of hours and I can bring you back some lunch after I’m done with the data transfer.”

“You and your technobabble,” I said. “You know what I hear when you say stuff like that?”

Candice grinned. “What?”

“Blah, blah, blah, laptop, blah, blah, blah, copies, blah, blah, blah, lunch in two hours.”

Candice sighed dramatically. “I’ll pull you into the twenty-first century yet, Sundance,” she said, then turned to the door. She seemed to have second thoughts, though, and pivoted back around to me. “Say, while I’m at the Apple Store, did you want me to replace your phone for you?”