A Grave Prediction (Psychic Eye Mystery) (2 page)

Brice dropped his chin and rubbed his temples. “Can’t you just reschedule them, Cooper? You do it for us all the time.”

“Oh, I’m going to reschedule them, but I’ll have to put them off for two weeks or schedule them for a session at night after I finish up putting on the dog and pony show for the L.A. frat boys, which I definitely don’t want to do, and all of
that
will be a huge pain in my ass and not something I’m willing to do without some form of compensation.”

He stopped rubbing his temples and eyed me curiously. “You have two full weeks of clients already on the books?”

I smiled genuinely this time. “I have six full
months
of clients already on the books, my friend.”

“Damn,” he said with appreciation. “Word’s really getting out about you, huh?”

I brushed my knuckles against my shirt. “Told you I had mad skills.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay, what’s this gonna cost us?”

“Eight grand,” I said, going for broke.

Brice rolled his eyes. He knew I was pushing it. “Four.”

“Six,” I countered, setting my jaw. No way was I taking less. “And you can double that lame-ass food allowance while you’re at it.
And
no crappy motel in some seedy neighborhood either. You put me up someplace nice or no dice, Brice.” I bounced my eyebrows to emphasize my point . . . and of course my exceptional rhyming skills.

In turn, Brice lowered his brow and frowned hard at me.

I squared my shoulders and raised my chin to show him I wasn’t scared of him. (Much.)

With a grin he suddenly put out his hand. “Deal.”

I let go a little breath of relief and before offering my hand, I said, “I totes would’ve taken five.”

His smile widened. “I would’ve gone up to seven.”

I was about to pull my hand away when he grabbed it and shook it quickly. “A deal’s a deal, Cooper,” he said.

I got up and waved at him dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. If you need me, I’ll be at home packing. Oh, and Dutch is going to take a long lunch today, so don’t give him any crap when he’s not back by one.”

“Does he have an appointment or something?” Brice asked.

“Yep,” I told him. “He’s not going to see his wife naked for the next two weeks. I suspect he’ll want to make a memory that’ll last him till I get back.”

Brice actually blushed and I chuckled all the way to the exit.

*   *   *

M
y hubby drove me to the airport at three, which was good because I was still trying to reschedule the last few clients I had on the books for the next two weeks. Dutch’s lunch hour was stretching to half the day, but at least we both had contented smiles on our faces. “You don’t have to go, Edgar,” he said,
using his preferred nickname for me (coined after he read a book on famous psychic Edgar Cayce).

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

“No,” he insisted. “If you get kicked out of the consulting pool, so what?”

“It’s not me getting kicked out that I’m worried about.”

Dutch made a face. “So they kick me out too. Who cares? Milo and I are making enough on the side. With a little planning, we wouldn’t even feel the lost income.”

Dutch was far more irritated that I’d been pushed into this deal with the L.A. bureau than I was. “Okay, allow me to amend my earlier statement. It’s not me or you getting kicked out that I’m worried about. Brice wouldn’t be Brice without that job. If he got kicked out, he’d stay home and mope, which would drive Candice crazy, which would drive me crazy, which would have serious consequences for a certain stubborn cowboy I happen to love a whole hellofa lot.”

Dutch pursed his lips. “I see all roads lead back to me.”

“Don’t they always?”

“They don’t have to. Only the one that brings you back home.”

I leaned over to rest my head on his shoulder. “Sometimes you say the most perfect thing.”

“I’ll work on coming up with a few more for when I pick you up in two weeks,” he said, kissing my forehead.

I lifted my head and eyed him suspiciously. “You’re banking on the fact that I’ll be willing to get naked with you if you’re supersweet to me, even though you know I’ll be crazy tired when I land, aren’t you?”

“Nooooo,” Dutch said.

My inner lie detector hit the red zone. “Oh, really?”

“What if I also promise to cook you dinner as I ply you with sweet nothings?”

That piqued my interest. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Spaghetti alla carbonara,” he said immediately.

Damn him. He knew I loved all things bacon and pasta. “There you go, exploiting my weaknesses,” I told him.

Dutch adopted his best Humphrey Bogart and said, “I plan to miss yous, sweethot.”

“We’ll see,” was all I committed to. The truth was we both knew I’d be naked before the pasta was al dente, but this whole flirtatious banter stuff was part of our ongoing courtship, and I enjoyed making Dutch wonder if he could really coax the clothes off me on my first night home.

Dutch dropped me at the Delta skycap and I checked the two bags I was bringing, got my boarding pass, and meandered inside. While I was waiting in the security line, my phone beeped and I thought about ignoring it but gave in and answered the call on the last ring before it went to voice mail. “Hey, Brice. I’m about to go through security, so if you’re calling to check up on whether I actually went to the airport, you can rest assured that I’m a woman of my word.”

“I never doubted it,” Brice said.

My lids lowered to half-mast. “Really, Brice? Really?”

“Okay, maybe I put the odds at fifty-fifty, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Not the sole reason at least,” I muttered.

“Have you seen or heard from my wife?”

“Candice?” I said. “I sent her a text to let her know that you guys were banning me from my beloved Austin and sending me away for two weeks of purgatory in La-La Land to defend my honor against some FBI boys ready to receive me with pitchforks and torches, but I haven’t heard back from her.”

“Glad you kept the drama out of it and just stuck to the facts,” Brice said.

“I’m a colorful and expressive person. You want the facts, just the facts, fire me and hire Joe Friday.”

“Hire someone less of a pain in my ass than you, Cooper? Why would I ever want to do that?”

“I don’t know. . . . You like boredom? Predictability? The wrath of your wife if you ever actually do fire me?”

“
No one
wants that last part, Cooper,” he said. “No one.”

“True that. Anyway, I haven’t heard from her,” I said, inching forward and trying not to look suspicious enough to be pulled out of line and strip-searched.

“Yeah, well, she’s not answering my calls,” Brice said. “Or my texts.”

“She’s probably working a case.” Candice was a licensed PI, and she and I shared an office and often worked cases together, but I hadn’t joined her on anything since before the holidays.

“You know more about her cases than I do,” Brice said. “Did she mention what she’s working on?”

I barely held in a sigh. I wanted to reply that it wasn’t my turn to watch Candice, but Brice had been a little on edge about his wife’s whereabouts ever since she’d disappeared on us to run off to Vegas and do some undercover stuff for a mobster. It’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s close. “No, I don’t know what she’s working on, but I’m sure she’ll call you back soon. She just needs to wrap up whatever she’s working on and she’ll be home for dinner.”

At that moment I felt a sinking feeling in my gut—an intuitive sign that what I’d just said wasn’t going to happen, which wasn’t especially odd as Candice sometimes worked very late, especially if she was on surveillance. “Or maybe a nightcap,” I amended. Again I got that sinking feeling. Hmmm, that was curious. “Midnight snack?” I tried. Sink. Sink. Sink. “Well, crap. That’s weird. Breakfast tomorr—?”

“Cooper, what’re you even talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. Candice was probably fine. She was always fine. Nothing was wrong. Just because she wouldn’t be home for dinner or by midnight was not a reason to freak out. “Listen, security is calling me forward. I gotta go.”

I hung up on Brice and moved through the security line—managing to avoid the strip search while I was at it. (Score!) After getting some chips, a Snickers, mints, bottled water, and Excedrin for the two weeks of headaches I was bound to incur, I made my way to my assigned gate and sat down with a sigh.

After unwrapping the Snickers and taking a satisfying bite, I dialed Candice’s number and waited for the inevitable voice mail. She picked up on the first ring. “Sundance,” she said easily. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

I sat up a little, surprised that I’d reached her. “Brice is looking for you,” I said by way of hello.

The honeyed sound of her laughter echoed into my ear. “I’ll bet,” she said cryptically. “I’m assuming, given the background noise, that you’re at the airport.”

“Yep,” I said, chewing another bite of the Snickers. “This whole deal sucks.”

“It does,” she agreed. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, slouching again. “Stupid politics these bureau boys play. Why don’t they all just pull out their winkies and some measuring tape and leave us the hell out of it?”

She chuckled again. “Want some company?” she asked.

I eyed the tarmac moodily. “Brice said I had to go alone.”

“Oh, did he, now?”

“Yeah. I begged him to let Dutch come with me, but he said it’d only cause problems. You know, too much testosterone from the hubby might send the fists flying.”

“I’ll be your Huckleberry,” Candice said, smooth enough to make Val Kilmer swoon.

My radar pinged. It suddenly occurred to me that I could hear some pretty distinct noises coming from Candice’s side of the conversation. Then the hair on the back of my neck prickled like when you get that feeling that someone’s looking at you. I sat up straight again and swiveled in my seat. Coming down the corridor was my gorgeous partner in crime, turning heads as she glided along trailing a carry-on behind her. I broke into a wide grin before getting up to race toward her and throw my arms around her.

“You are the best friend
ever
!”

She laughed in surprise and hugged me back, then said, “Easy, Sundance. People are starting to stare.”

I let go only long enough to grab her by the elbow and drag her over to my seat. “What’re you doing here?” I asked, following quickly with, “Not that I’m not happy about it, I mean . . . obvs, but still, what made you think you needed to come with me?”

Candice pulled up her phone, tapped the screen, and began to quote a text I’d sent her. “‘Candice, your total ogre of a husband is forcing me against my will to go to L.A. to teach a bunch of bureau pretty boys Intuition One-oh-one. He’s already admitted no one out there wants me to come and I’m only going as an experiment. They’ll probably tar and feather me before the first day is over. Or burn me at the stake. Or shove me in a trunk, drive me out to the desert, and let the vultures pick my bones clean. He says that you and Dutch can’t come, and that I have to solve some impossible cases or we’ll all lose our jobs! But, no pressure . . .’”

I gulped. Brice was right. I was a little heavy on the dramatics. “And you thought that meant that you should buy a ticket and come with me?”

Candice stared levelly at me before shifting her gaze back to her phone and quoting the next text I’d sent her. “‘Without you there to have my back, how the hell am I supposed to do this? After I fail, it’ll be my fault when our branch closes, and our husbands lose the only jobs they’ve ever loved! This is nothing but a fast train to Divorce Depot, I tell you!’”

I winced. “You should know by now that I’m given to exaggeration.”

She placed a hand over her heart in mock surprise. “Say it ain’t so, Sundance.”

I offered her the bag of chips as a consolation prize. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But this assignment sucks. I don’t want to go it alone.”

“Like I said,” she purred. “I’ll be your Huckleberry.”

“Brice is gonna go ballistic,” I said when she settled back to open the chips.

“He should know better than to force you into something like this alone and to forbid me from having your back.”

I pointed at her. “You’re so right. He should’ve expected exactly this scenario.”

She nodded. “Damn straight.”

At that moment Candice’s phone rang. I recognized the ringtone as the one she’d assigned to her husband. Her only reaction was to arch an eyebrow while she peered into the bag of chips, ready to select one.

“How long are you gonna make him sweat?” I asked when the call finally went to voice mail.

“Not sure,” she said. “How long’s the flight?”

•   •   •

I
 could hear Brice yelling through the phone pressed to Candice’s ear. It made me want to giggle meanly. But then I decided that maybe it wasn’t so cool that I was the cause of an issue between the married couple. I mean, I’d been at the center of enough angst between Candice and Brice over the years. Maybe I was pushing the limit.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Candice said smoothly, without a hint of the anger that I knew was simmering beneath the surface. Candice doesn’t cotton to being yelled at. Brice is about the only person who can get away with it and live to talk about it.

There was a little more yelling from Candice’s phone before I reached over and gently pried it away from her. “Brice? It’s Abby,” I said, holding the phone so that Candice could hear too. “Before you start yelling at me, you should consider how often I fly off the cuff when put into an uncomfortable situation like the one you’re sending me into. And you should also consider that the only thing that usually keeps me in a calm, reasonable, and professionally courteous frame of mind is Candice. I’m not the only one who needs her here with me, Brice.
You
need her here with me too.”

There was a lengthy pause, then, “Fine, Cooper.
As usual
, you and my wife get your way. But if any word from Whitacre gets back to me about the two of you causing trouble, I’m going to yank both of you back here and discard your FBI credentials so fast it’ll make your pretty little heads spin.”

“Promises, promises,” Candice said, grabbing the phone again to hang up on Brice.

We walked in silence through the terminal to the tram at LAX. Well, I walked. Candice mostly stomped.

A while later, after we’d gotten our bags and boarded the shuttle that would take us to get our rental car, I said, “I don’t get why Brice has got his panties in such a wad over you being here with me. I mean, we work together on bureau cases all the time.”

Candice glared out the window. I had a feeling Brice had said something that’d really pushed a button with her, but I couldn’t figure out what it might’ve been. She revealed it when she said, “It’s Whitacre. He made it clear that I wasn’t welcome in his territory.”

I blinked. “Wait, what? Why would he do that? Do you two know each other or something?”

Candice shifted her steely gaze to me. “He oversees the Vegas bureau too.”

“Ahhh,” I said as understanding dawned. “Yeah. They don’t love us so much out there, do they?”

Candice rolled her eyes. “Oh, they love you, Abby. It’s me they have a major grudge against.”

“Because of that Mafia guy who wanted to take you out to the desert, bury you up to your neck, and let the coyotes use your face as a chew toy if you didn’t prove to him that you were really his loyal and trusted friend?”

The woman next to me turned her head sharply to look at us. “Yeah,” Candice said. “Because of that.”

There was some shuffling in the shuttle as the woman got up and moved several seats away. Some people are so sensitive. “So what does Whitacre not wanting you in his territory mean, exactly? You’re not allowed to come with me to the L.A. office?”

Candice had been standing for the ride, holding the pole in front of me. She let go of it and scooted into the seat next to mine. “Not sure, Sundance. What does that radar say about the situation?”

I switched on the old radar and focused on the dilemma for a minute. “We’re damned if we do and we’re damned if we don’t,” I told her.

“Then let’s be damned if we do,” she said.

I considered her stoic expression. “Your being here is politically dicey territory for Brice, right? Because it’s gonna remind Whitacre about Vegas and your . . . connections.”

She pointed a finger gun at me. “Nothing gets by you.”

“Then what’re you
doing
here, Cassidy?” I said softly, using my favorite nickname for her.

“You needed me more than Brice needs me to stay home,” she said simply.

“That’s true,” I said, because it was, but the guilt of it still tugged uncomfortably at me.

The shuttle bus pulled to a stop and we waited our turn to get off and head over to the express kiosk to check in and get our keys for the rental car.

“There,” Candice said minutes later when we were searching for the car.

“Huh,” I said, a bit surprised. Brice had reserved an SUV. Definitely a pricier car for a two-week rental.

Candice gave my arm a nudge. “Underneath all that cold, professional armor, Brice does his best to look out for you.”

“You both do,” I said, heading over to the driver’s side.

Candice beat me to it. “How about I drive?” she said sweetly.

“Uh . . . ,” I said. “This is awkward. See, I was sorta hoping to arrive at the hotel in one piece.”

“You were, huh?” she said, never moving away from the door and holding her hand out expectantly for the set of keys I was currently clutching.

“Yeah.
Crazy
as this may sound, Candice, I had my fingers crossed that today wasn’t going to be my last. And if I let you drive, that sorta cuts my odds in half.”

“I drive you all over town at home,” Candice said.

“True, but this is L.A. And L.A. traffic is unforgiving. And your driving calls for a
lot
of forgiving.” Candice glared at me. “Just sayin’,” I added hastily.

“Fine,” she said. “You drive. But don’t ask me to help you navigate.”

“No problem,” I said. We hopped in and I smiled sweetly when I noticed the onboard navigation system. “No problem at all.”

That got me a scowl from my bestie, but I wasn’t at all sorry. Candice drove like a person with an attitude like, “You only live once!” and “Only the good die young!” and “Booyah, mother firecrackers!” In other words, recklessly. It was a miracle we’d been in only a
couple
of accidents together.

Still, driving in L.A. will make you wish you’d let someone else—even someone reckless—take the wheel. And I now know that from experience. By the time we arrived at the hotel, I needed a drink. Something stiff, strong, and accompanied by an identical twinsie. “Oh, God, let there be a minibar!” I whispered as I parked the car in the hotel lot.

“This is nice,” Candice said, looking up at our digs.

“Maybe there’s a hotel bar!” I said.

“When do you have to meet with Whitacre?” she asked.

I got out of the car and made my way to the back to get my
bag. “I don’t know. Brice said Whitacre would call me. Probably tomorrow morning.” At that exact moment my phone rang. “Son of a peach pit,” I growled.

Candice appeared amused. “You better answer,” she said when I simply stood there, scowling at my phone.

“Crap on a cracker,” I muttered, then swiped my finger across the screen. “This is Abby.”

“Mrs. Rivers,” a male voice said. “This is Director Whitacre. I trust you’ve landed safely and arrived at your hotel.”

My eyes narrowed. We’d done exactly that, and I wondered that he seemed so certain of it. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

“After you check in, I’d like you to come to the office and meet a few members of my team. You’ll be working with a select group of agents at first and I’d prefer to make the introductions as soon as possible.”

Double crap on a cracker. “Of course, sir. Give me about an hour and I’ll see you at your offices.”

“Good. Oh, and please leave Ms. Fusco behind to enjoy her visit to L.A. She might consider taking in some sightseeing while she’s here. We’ll only be needing your expertise for now.”

Before I could even answer, the director hung up. “Good Lord,” I said, staring at my phone. “
What
an asshole!”

“What’s the deal?” Candice asked.

I scowled. “Whitacre told me to come alone. He thinks you should go be a tourist.”

To my surprise, Candice chuckled. “Yeah, I figured he might play hardball.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” I said. “Either he lets you come with me or I don’t work for him.”

Candice swung her arm across my shoulders and pulled me gently toward the entrance to the hotel. “Abs, you gotta learn to pick your battles, honey. I’m here for moral support and backup.
That doesn’t require me to follow you around like a puppy. I can hang out until you need me.”

I glanced sideways at her. “You say that like you’re pretty sure I’ll need you.”

She shrugged. “Don’t you always?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Sometimes I need Dutch. Or Oscar. Or even Brice.”

“Noted,” she said with a hint of mirth in her voice. “Come on, let’s get our room keys and check out that minibar.”

“I have to meet Whitacre in an hour,” I reminded her.

She winked. “Did he tell you to come sober?”

“I kinda think that was implied. He’s probably assuming I’ll show up fresh as a daisy and sharp as a tack.”

“Men and their assumptions,” she said, making a
tsk
ing sound.

*   *   *

E
xactly one hour later I came out of the parking structure next to 11000 Wilshire Boulevard on steady feet but thirsty for a martini. There’d been no minibar in the room, but there had been a restaurant bar on the main floor and Candice had sauntered in like she owned the place. She’d ordered me to eat something before I left to meet Whitacre, and I’d scarfed down a cup of clam chowder and an iced tea while she’d sipped on a glass of single malt that was definitely going on the room tab. I had a feeling the bar bill would climb steadily over the course of our stay.

Trying to find my second wind, I approached the massive Federal Building and realized that it’d been used in many a backdrop for dozens of movies and TV shows I’d seen. For the record, it’s even more impressive up close.

I tried not to feel intimidated as I headed across the pavilion and into the massive lobby. By contrast, our bureau office in
Austin is tiny. I mean, we’re across the hall from a dermatologist and an insurance company. The Wilshire Federal Building is a
huge
structure almost entirely devoted to government business. It’d make any newcomer quake in her modest three-inch heels.

Once I was through the doors, I looked around for a directory or someone I could ask to point me in the direction of the FBI offices, but before I could even get my bearings, I felt a light tap on my elbow and someone said, “Mrs. Rivers?”

I turned and saw a woman with brown hair and thin features, dressed in a smart navy blue business suit. “It’s Cooper,” I said. Her brow furrowed. “I mean, I am Mrs. Rivers, but my professional name is Cooper. Abby Cooper.”

She offered me a slight nod and I realized I hadn’t even said hello to her. “Sorry. I’ve been struggling with the decision to take my husband’s last name or keep my own, and I think I’m finally settling on leaving it alone.” Her brow furrowed even more and I added, “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“You’re fine,” she assured me, and pointed me forward through the lobby. We began to walk and she said, “I’m Special Agent Hart. I’ve heard a great deal about your fortune-telling abilities, Ms. Cooper, and I have to confess I’m pretty skeptical about what you claim to be able to do, or how you might be able to help us.”

“Did they tell you about the levitating?” I asked.

I saw her gaze flicker sideways. I kept my expression neutral. “Levitating?” she repeated.

“Yeah. On the night of the full moon, I levitate and my head spins around a hundred eighty degrees and I spit fire. It’s wicked cool.”

Her finger came up to press against her mouth and stop the laugh that I knew she was close to giving in to. “Lucky for us, then, that there’s no full moon for the next three weeks.”

“Bummer,” I said. “I always feel it’s important to give a lecture and a show at these things. Maybe next time.”

“I’m assuming you encounter a lot of skeptics,” she said, slightly chagrined, as we stepped onto an elevator.

I widened my eyes. “Gee, what gave it away?”

“Okay, okay, maybe I deserved that. How about if I promise to keep my skepticism to myself while you give your little demo?”

I shook my head. We were the only two people on the elevator and Agent Hart had just confirmed what a total pain in my ass this was going to be. “How do you like the new car?” I asked her.

Again, she looked sharply at me. “What?”

“Your new car. It’s silver, right? You also have a black car, but it’s much bigger, like SUV size. I’m surprised you’ll be keeping it, because I only see you driving the new silver car. And I can’t say that I blame you. It’s fast, cute, and sporty. There’s also something luxurious about it too. Maybe you opted for the leather seats, or got the navigation package—something made it a little bit extra special.”

It was her turn to widen her eyes.

Now that I had her attention, I kept going. “The new car heralded in a celebration. Not a birthday per se, but a rebirth of some kind. Professionally, you’ve done very well over the last twelve months, but personally you’ve had a hard year. A relationship ended, but you were happy—or maybe I should say relieved—that it did. Still, it dragged out for some reason. I see legal docs, so I’m assuming it was a divorce. The car was to celebrate being not just free of a relationship that’d soured, but being free of the legal entanglements that followed.”

Hart’s jaw dropped, and at that moment there was a ping to let us know we’d arrived on our floor. The elevator doors opened
and I flashed her a slightly evil grin before practically prancing out of the elevator.
Booyah, bitch,
I thought.

And then I remembered Brice’s warning to play nicey-nice with the kiddies in L.A. If his job hadn’t been on the line, I would’ve grabbed my bag and gotten back on the plane for Austin, but I believed him when he said there was trouble brewing for our division and I needed to bring home a win. So I reined it in. Just an eensy, weensy bit.

“Nice,” I said, indicating the impressive open floor we’d landed on when Agent Hart had recovered herself enough to follow me out of the elevator.

She was still staring at me in amazement, but at least she wasn’t all slack-jawed. “I . . . uh . . . we . . . ,” she said, eventually managing to motion with her hand in the direction we needed to go.