Sense of Deception

by Victoria Laurie

  I looked at him for a beat, taking it all in. “Cute look.”

  Dutch took out the rose and slid off the couch to get down on one knee. Offering me the flower, he said, “Abby Cooper, will you accept this rose?”

  “Depends on where you’re taking me to dinner,” I told him. “But here’s a hint: I like steak and red wine and lots of ambience.”

  “Texas Roadhouse?”

  I frowned, refusing to take the rose. “Romantic ambience.”

  Dutch swept his arms down toward the boxers. “What do you call this?”

  “A poor attempt to get out of taking me to dinner because you’re horny, tired, and hungover and you’d rather stay in, eat leftovers, and bonk the night away.”

  His grin widened. “It’s like you know me.”

  I crossed my arms and began tapping my foot. Dutch got up, laid the rose gently on my arms, kissed the top of my head, and said, “I’ll get dressed and call Gino. He should be able to reserve us a quiet booth in the corner.”

  “Smart man,” I told him, swatting his bum for good measure.

  Dutch paused before heading around the kitchen to our master bedroom to say, “And, Abs? Thanks for cleaning up the kitchen. I came home after lunch to grab a file I forgot, and saw that you’d taken care of it and you didn’t even give me any flak about the poker game last night.”

  “You’ve been working hard, honey. I think you and the guys needed a night to blow off some steam.”

  Dutch nodded and the look he gave me expressed more than words how much he appreciated the small gesture. “Have I told you lately that I love being married to you?”

  “Every day, babe,” I told him. Dutch wasn’t one to hold back on whispering sweet nothings to me, something I adored him for.

  “Yeah, well, I stopped off on my way home to get you a little something to show you how much I appreciate all you do for me,” he said, with a mischievous grin.

  That got my attention. “What kind of little something?”

  My hubby bounced his eyebrows. “It’s on the island. See for yourself.”

  I’m not ashamed to say I threw aside my purse and keys and dashed madly into the kitchen. Dutch tended to spoil me rotten when it came to gift giving. Visions of gourmet chocolates wafted through my mind. Or maybe something fun like tickets to the theater.

  When I got to the central island in our grand kitchen, I came up short. Like really short. Dutch chuckled softly as he continued on past me toward the bedroom. My breath quickened as I crept closer to the small box, neatly wrapped with silver paper and a gorgeous bow.

  Lifting the box, I shook it a little. Something vibrated ever so slightly from inside. At that point curiosity got the better of me and I tore open the wrapping paper. The Apple icon revealed itself to me from an otherwise unmarked shiny white box. I gave in to a little gasp and lifted the lid. “Holy freakballs!”

  The sudden sound of the shower being turned on was Dutch’s way of saying that he knew he’d done good.

  For a moment all I could do was stare at the brand-new Apple Watch Edition, which had JUST come on the market and was priced waaaaay beyond even the current tally of my swear jar.

  I love, love, love gadgets, especially shiny gold gadgets that are the IT accessory must-have on everyone’s list. Lifting the watch out of the box, I slipped it on my wrist and admired it. Then I shrugged out of my clothes and slid into the shower, where there was perhaps even more slipping and sliding . . . (eyebrow bouncy, bouncy).

  Later, after I’d shown Dutch my “appreciation” for his thoughtful gift, we lounged on the bed and I said, “Maybe we should skip the restaurant.”

  He hugged me to his chest and said, “Yeah?”

  I rolled over slightly and admired him while resting on my elbows. Such a beautiful man was my husband, with light blond hair, midnight blue eyes, a square manly jaw, and the chiseled body of a guy who takes exceptional care of himself. “Yeah.”

  “You hungry?”

  “I am.”

  “Pizza or Thai?”

  “Thai.”

  Dutch reached for the phone and ordered us the usual—two pad Thais with extra chopped peanuts—and we headed out to the living room to await the delivery guy. While we waited, Dutch got up to feed Eggy and Tuttle, and as he was in the kitchen preparing their dinners, I got my watch working. “Hey!” I shouted to him. “You can make a phone call on this!”

  “I know,” Dutch said.

  “And if you got one, I could send you my heartbeat!” I called, even more excited as I played with the watch.

  “Yep.”

  And then a thought entered my mind and my wrist fell to my lap. “You already got one, didn’t you?”

  I heard Dutch clear his throat. “Is that the delivery guy?”

  Narrowing my eyes at his profile, I got up and walked over to him. “Show me.”

  He sighed. “Top drawer of my dresser,” he admitted.

  “Seriously?”

  Dutch set the doggy bowls on the floor and turned to me. “That heartbeat thing is freaking cool, Edgar. I thought it’d be nice to let you know when I’m thinking about you.”

  I tapped my temple. “I already know when you’re thinking about me.” Dutch and I had a rather pronounced telepathic connection. Or at least I always knew when he was about to call or text.

  “Yeah, but this is more romantic,” he said.

  I glared at him.

  “Why are you mad, dollface?”

  “Because I thought you got me a gift out of appreciation. Not because you wanted an excuse to buy yourself a new gadget.”

  Dutch sighed before putting his hands on my shoulders and eyeing me square. “I did buy you a gift out of love and appreciation for the wonderful wife you are, and because I’m happy and more in love with you than ever. And while I was buying you this gift, the saleswoman showed me all the cool features that can be shared between two watches, and she won me over with the heartbeat thing.”

  Damn. He wasn’t lying. My irritation was unwarranted. Still, it irked me. Just then our doorbell dinged and Dutch said, “Ah. Saved by the bell.” He then kissed me on the cheek and hurried to the door.

  I let the pups out as Dutch brought dinner into the kitchen and began to plate it. “Fine,” I said. “But next time you want to be thoughtful, maybe don’t be so thoughtful, okay?”

  My hubby grinned. “Deal.”

  We headed to the dining room and sat down for dinner and I had to move some of Dutch’s files aside to make room. “These should go in the study,” I told him, lifting the stack to a chair.

  “Those are for you,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “The other victims in the case against Corzo,” Dutch reminded me.

  I sighed. I’d almost forgotten about Corzo. “I’ve been through Wendy McLain and Donna Andrews’s files before, honey. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to find.”

  Dutch tucked into his food. “It doesn’t have to be a big lead like the one you pulled out for us on Misty’s case,” he said. “Even a small thing can lead to something bigger. Right now, we’ve got nothing. We’re at the wall. No leads, no clue how to nail him, so just think about finding something small for us, and maybe while we’re looking into it, we’ll find something bigger. Corzo was careful—I’ll give the son of a bitch that—but the evidence we found at Misty’s crime scene proves he’s not infallible.”

  I eyed the stack moodily. “I’ll look at them later.”

  Dutch nodded. “So, tell me, how was the rest of your stay in county?”

  I twirled some noodles on the end of my fork. “Solitary,” I said, and watched his face for a reaction.

  He moved his own noodles around a bit. “No trouble, though?”

  “Nope. It’s hard to get into trouble when you’re the only one in the cell.”

/>   Dutch continued to shove his dinner around on his plate. I could tell he knew I was irked that he’d made the call to Cal. “I was just looking out for you, Edgar.”

  “I know. But I’m not sure I needed it.”

  Dutch finally lifted his gaze to me. “She’s on death row for a reason. She’s dangerous and they never should’ve put you two in the same cell together.”

  He’d said that a tad forcefully and, while I could understand his wanting to protect me, it still irritated me that he (a) thought I couldn’t take care of myself and (b) didn’t think I was a good judge of character. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, cowboy,” I said levelly. “Skylar Miller is neither dangerous nor deserving of the needle.”

  “I looked her up,” Dutch said, without a hint of apology. “Abby, she killed her son. Her young son. Brutally. You gotta be pretty cold-blooded to kill your own flesh and blood like that.”

  “She didn’t kill her son,” I said firmly.

  “Well, that’s not what a jury of her peers said.”

  “I know. Which is why I’m helping her. She was railroaded and that conviction is a total injustice.”

  Dutch dropped his fork. “Wait . . . you’re helping her? What does that mean?”

  “I’m going to look into Noah’s murder, and I’m going to try to save Skylar.”

  Dutch stared at me rather incredulously. “Isn’t she on her last appeal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which she’ll probably lose.”

  I nodded.

  “You know that Texas usually executes their death row inmates within hours of losing their last appeal, right?”

  “I’m aware of the time constraints.”

  “Why are you getting mad?”

  “Why are you getting mad?”

  “Because I love you and I don’t want to see you get involved in a case you can’t win.”

  I glared at him. “Way to be supportive, Dutch, and also, way to trust my intuition! I mean it’s fine to trust me when I’m looking in on one of your cases, but heaven forbid I should want to point my radar at a miscarriage of justice for a change.”

  Dutch closed his eyes, took a deep breath, which he let out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, his whole demeanor had changed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do trust you. It’s just . . . I read a few of the articles about her online, Abby. The evidence against her speaks for itself.”

  “I read those same articles, honey, and I know it looks bad, but my gut says she didn’t do it, and it also says that I need to help her. I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think that it was a coincidence that I was paired up with her in that jail. I think that maybe her son is attempting to manipulate things a little from the other side.”

  Dutch cocked his head. “Her son?”

  I nodded, taking another bite of my dinner. “I can’t explain it other than when I first met Skylar, there was an energy around her, one that I couldn’t readily identify, and I was struck by the sudden urge to help her. I’m no medium, but sometimes spirits from the other side communicate with me in more subtle ways; they’ll sort of point something out that I need to pay attention to, or they’ll make me do something that feels a bit impulsive. I don’t think that after meeting Skylar I could turn my back on her. I just feel like I’ve got to help her.”

  Using air quotes, Dutch said, “Yes, but what does ‘helping’ her mean?”

  “Well, it means recruiting Candice and Oscar to do a little investigative work into Noah’s murder.”

  “Oscar’s on vacation,” Dutch said.

  “Forced vacation,” I corrected.

  “Abby,” my husband replied with that note of irritation creeping into his tone again. “I told Oscar to take the week off to go hang out on a beach somewhere, not work on another investigation.”

  “Oh, please,” I said with a dismissive wave. “Oscar has no idea how to take time off. Hanging out on the beach alone somewhere is the equivalent to him of sitting inside a dungeon with nary a video game in sight.” Dutch folded his arms and lowered his brow, so I added, “Listen, in exchange for helping me on this case, I’m going to help Oscar find a house.”

  “A house?”

  “Yeah. He needs to get out of that crappy, run-down apartment of his. After that, I’m going to help him pick out some furniture, update his wardrobe, find a dog, and get a girlfriend.”

  Dutch suddenly let out a deep laugh. “A total makeover, huh?”

  I nodded. “The man is a disaster. I’ve let it go on for far too long. And I can’t help him if he’s on the beach somewhere.”

  “He helps you, you fix his whole life.”

  I pointed at my hubby. “Exactly.”

  “Poor bastard.”

  “I know. He barely saw it coming.”

  Dutch studied me for a moment and then he said, “What’s in it for Candice?”

  “My undying gratitude.”

  “So . . . not much.”

  I pointed again to him and took a long tug on my beer. “Bingo.”

  “Who else are you recruiting?”

  I set the beer bottle down with a flourish. “Cal Douglas.”

  His brow rose. “Really?”

  “Yep. It was a busy day.”

  “So you’ve got your team together. Need my help with anything?”

  “You’re volunteering?”

  “I figure I need to before you recruit the rest of North America.”

  I lifted my beer in a mock toast. “Ha. Ha. Ha-ha.”

  “Seriously, do you need my help?”

  I gave that some thought. “No, but thank you. I believe we’ve got it covered. At least for the moment. Besides, you guys have your hands full with the Corzo case.”

  “True,” Dutch said with a sigh, pushing aside his plate. “I still can’t believe that bastard walked yesterday.”

  “You guys have a tail on him, though, right?” I asked as a jolt of alarm went through me.

  “We do. But we’ve got to be careful. Corzo’s attorney already sent us a letter saying that any obvious signs of a tail on his client would be seen as harassment.”

  “That guy’s a total scumball.”

  “Yeah, but he’s also a good lawyer, and we’ll need to be careful. I’ve got Cox on Corzo tonight, and Wilson, Biggs, and Sutkowitz in rotation. Nobody likes the duty, but it’s better than seeing another girl get murdered.”

  I focused my radar on what Dutch had said. “He’ll kill again if we don’t stop him,” I said. “And if we don’t bring new charges soon, he’ll move to another town in another state, where it’ll be easier to get away with it.”

  Dutch got up and collected his plate, then motioned to mine and I nodded that he could take it. “If that’s the case, then I’ll clean up if you’ll look through the files. But remember that anything you find can’t be traced back to you. Otherwise, Matt’s not going to take it into court.”

  “In other words, I’ve got to find something obscure and make it look obvious?”

  Dutch winked at me. “Exactly.”

  I sighed and lifted the first file. “Just the way I want to spend my Friday night.”

  A moment later Dutch set a second beer down next to me. “Thanks, babe. We owe you.”

  I waved absently and opened the file, bracing myself for the task at hand. “Okay, Corzo. You might have been careful, but you’ll need more than that with me on your case.” And with that, I got to work.

  Chapter Six

  I had vague memories of Dutch carrying me to bed sometime in the middle of the night. Right around one a.m. I’d nodded off, collapsing onto a pile of crime-scene photos and witness statements.

  But my sleep had been restless and fitful, filled with horrible images of dead women, lying prone and strangled, staring sightlessly up into the camera capturing th
eir last, frozen expressions. When I finally woke up around seven, I felt like I’d gotten very little rest.

  Sitting up in bed, I blinked blearily and heard rustling out in the kitchen. “Dutch?” I called. My voice was hoarse and my throat felt a little raw.

  He appeared in the doorway. “Morning,” he said, coming forward to sit on the bed next to me and offer me up a cup of coffee, heavy on the cream.

  I took a sip and closed my eyes. There is nothing like that first sip of really good coffee, is there? “You are a god and I shall worship you forever.”

  He chuckled. “My wife thinks I’m a god. Life is good.”

  “I was talking to the coffee.”

  He frowned. “Life is less good.”

  “Should I remind you that you got lucky last night, and if you play your cards right, you’ll probably get lucky again today?”

  “Oh, yeah? Which cards will make it a sure thing?”

  “Breakfast cards. Breakfast cards that involve bacon, eggs, and perhaps a muffin of some kind.”

  “And will I be getting lucky before or after these breakfast cards get laid out on the table?”

  I took another sip of coffee. God love him, he’d put a bit of nutmeg into the mix. Setting the cup aside, I wrapped my legs around him. “Now’s good.”

  After I’d again demonstrated my appreciation for him (and he for me—winning!), Dutch set out to make us breakfast. I followed him to the kitchen and warmed up the coffee in the microwave. No sooner had I sat down than there was a knock on the door. Dutch and I both looked at each other, then at the clock, then at the door. “You expecting anyone?” he asked me.

  “Nope. You?”

  “Nope,” he said with a little irritation. Glancing at the clock on the stove, he added, “It’s seven forty-five in the morning. Who the hell knocks on the door before eight a.m. on a Saturday?”

  The knock came again. Dutch looked at me expectantly and I groaned, sliding out of the chair to go answer the door. Covering myself with the silk robe I’d shambled into, I opened the door a crack and peered out. “Hey,” Oscar said.