A Panicked Premonition

by Victoria Laurie

  I realized that Gudziak might be our only shot at finding Dave and Gwen. Or finding out what’d happened to them.

  When I reached Gudziak’s side, he was sucking in small gasps of air, as if he couldn’t fill his lungs all the way. I tugged on his shirt and used my knees to elevate his head. “Lift his feet!” I yelled to Candice, who was next to me in a quick flash.

  “Son of a bitch!” Nikki said somewhere behind me. “He can’t be having a heart attack!”

  “He is!” I insisted. “Call for an ambulance!”

  “I’m on the phone with nine-one-one!” Oscar told me.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I said as Gudziak struggled to take a few more gasping breaths. And then the gasps stopped and his face started to turn blue. “Candice!”

  She scooted up to his head as I got out of the way, and then she tilted Gudziak’s chin toward the sky, opening his airway. She then moved down to his chest and began compressions.

  Nikki and I watched helplessly for about two minutes, until the sweat began to pour down her temples. “Here!” I said, moving in next to her. “Let me take over!”

  I pushed up and down on Gudziak’s chest as rapidly as I could. For the record, performing CPR is incredibly taxing. It’s nearly impossible for a lone individual to maintain the rhythm for longer than a few minutes. It takes a lot of physical strength to push on a diaphragm locked behind a sternum and the armor of a rib cage.

  “My turn,” Grayson said when I was panting so hard I thought I might pass out.

  I let her take over; then it was Oscar’s turn. The whole time Gudziak’s face remained blue and his eyes stared listlessly skyward.

  I was trembling as I watched Oscar’s determined efforts, and he went far longer than any of us had. In fact, he was relieved only by the paramedics who finally arrived, and they tried four times to get Gudziak’s heart to start with paddles. But as they loaded him into the ambulance, I knew without a doubt, he was dead.

  And I could only wonder if our chances of finding Dave and Gwen alive were equally as hopeless.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As evening fell, we got word from the hospital that Gudziak was DOA. The news struck all of us like a punch to the gut, because Hekekia had, unfortunately for us, witnessed Gudziak’s death right next to the sedan he’d been cuffed inside. The second we got Kaapo back to the bureau’s offices, he started doubling down on his calls for a lawyer and telling us that he wasn’t going to talk to us without his attorney.

  For an hour after getting back to our offices, we talked to Nikki about keeping the jurisdiction with us, instead of turning him over to the APD. “I told you guys he was my collar when we started this,” she said the first time Dutch brought it up to her. “I’ve got seven or eight charges I need to file on him for the Chris Wixom home invasion and attempted murder alone.”

  “And he is your collar, Detective,” Dutch said smoothly. “But if we turn him over to your custody, what’re the odds that your prosecutor is gonna put pressure on you to keep the focus on Hekekia’s involvement with Wixom and not work extra hard to make the case for his involvement in murdering the Roswells?”

  I considered that for a minute, and had to concede that Dutch was probably right. Murder cases were crazy expensive for the state to take to trial. The investigation alone would cost a cool half million, and the trial was sure to cost double or even triple that, if history was any indicator. All we had at the moment to connect Hekekia to the Roswells’ murder was his connection to Gudziak, who was no longer able to either admit nor deny that Hekekia had been with him when he’d murdered the Roswells.

  There was no circumstantial evidence that’d turned up at the Roswells’ house that could connect him to their murder, not even the unknown fingerprints on the casing of the bullet that had killed Mario Tremblee, but there was plenty that connected him to Chris Wixom’s home invasion. Not only was Hekekia wearing one of Wixom’s watches, but we’d also found the rest of the collection and what remained of the wall safe that’d been ripped out of Wixom’s closet in the garage of the home he and Gudziak had raced out of. Oh, and about fifty thousand in cash, and a nice stash of narcotics that looked recently purchased.

  All of that was enough to build a slam dunk case, probably even without the fact that Wixom was sure to ID him, especially with that prominent dollar sign tattoo on his neck.

  Our dilemma was that if we turned Hekekia over to APD, we’d never be able to leverage the information we really needed from him, which was for him to tell us what he and Gudziak had done with Gwen and Dave.

  Dutch reminded Nikki of all of that, and I could see her steely determination to keep the case with APD begin to waver. “We need to find Dave and Gwen, Nikki,” I said softly after Dutch was through. “The only chance we’ve got is if we keep the pressure on him to tell us where they are, and the only way to do that is to try and build a federal case against him.”

  “On what charge, though?” she asked. “I’m all for helping you guys out, Abby, but what federal charge trumps attempted murder?”

  I turned to Dutch and held my hands up. I had no idea.

  “Nothing on our end trumps what you could charge him with,” Dutch admitted, which surprised me. It sounded like he was giving up. “So, I’m asking you for time. Give us a couple of days to hold him in our custody and we’ll keep working to try and make you a case for his connection to the Roswells while also working to locate our friends.”

  Nikki crossed her arms and shook her head while she stared at the ground. I knew we were putting her in an awful position. She’d have to be the one to call her superiors and convince them to let us have the case for a couple of days. They’d ask her why, and if she told them the truth, they’d probably refuse to grant us the favor. So she’d have to lie. Or we’d have to come up with something pretty good for her to take to them.

  Finally, however, she glanced at her watch and said, “It’s almost six. My CO is probably getting ready to head home for the day.”

  Dutch’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Think you can wait to talk to him until morning so that we can come up with a charge?”

  She sighed, lifting her chin to frown moodily at him. “I guess. But you know I’m gonna get my ass chewed for this, right?”

  “Not if we help you connect Hekekia and Gudziak to the Roswells’ murder,” I said. I had a feeling we’d be able to pull that off. What I was less confident about was if we’d find Dave and Gwen in time. And that was something that my gut was saying was in extra short supply. Dave and Gwen were running out of time. Fast.

  “Fine, but I want a crack at him when you interrogate his ass,” she said.

  “Done,” Dutch assured her. “I’ll call our federal prosecutor and see what we can make stick on our end.”

  As it happened, Matt Hayes—our local federal prosecutor—was close to our office when Dutch called, so he stopped in to help us work up something to hold Hekekia.

  But after Matt showed up, it was like pulling teeth to get him to even consider filing a charge against our suspect. “Guys,” he said after we’d all had a go at trying to convince him to help us, “this is going to cost me politically, and I know you’re worried about your friend, but why can’t you just turn Hekekia over to APD and ask them to let you interrogate him after they’re done?”

  “He’s already called his attorney,” Candice said. “You think the attorney is going to let him talk to us after the state files an attempted murder charge on someone from the wealthiest zip code in the county? Hekekia will be lucky to escape the death penalty. No way will his attorney want to add any more charges if he can avoid it.”

  Matt bit the inside of his lip, thinking. At last he pointed to Candice and said, “Were you working on this case in an official capacity?”

  Candice in turn looked to Brice. “She was,” he said without hesitation. “And I can have her submit an invoice be
fore we head home tonight.”

  “Good,” Hayes said. “Then I can make a solid case for Hekekia’s assault and attempted murder of a federal employee. And I’ll file a few other charges too, just to make it look scary. Along with the drug trafficking charges for the narcotics you guys found in the garage. Is there enough to make a case for trafficking, Agent Harrison?”

  “It’s close, but we could fiddle with the scale to make it work,” he said without pause.

  Matt nodded. “Okay. We’ll go with that, but don’t tell me you fiddled with the scale, got it?”

  “What scale?” Brice said innocently.

  “Good,” Matt said, moving off to a cubicle to set up his laptop.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. It’d buy us some time. Not much, I knew, because APD was sure to demand we turn Hekekia over to them for Chris Wixom’s case, but maybe it’d give us a day or two. I could only hope that was enough.

  “We need Hekekia’s attorney to get here so we can see what he knows,” Candice said, eyeing her watch.

  Dutch looked over her shoulder. “We also need to order something in for dinner.”

  I didn’t need to know the time. My stomach had been rumbling for at least an hour.

  “He got his phone call as soon as we got here,” Oscar said.

  “Do we know who’s representing him?” Matt asked, lifting his chin from the computer screen.

  “No clue,” Oscar replied.

  Just then the main door to the office opened and in stepped a seriously striking-looking man in a perfectly tailored suit, with a flashy watch, a superexpensive-looking briefcase, and shoes that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment. “Hello,” he said when we all glanced his way. “Zane Maldonado. I’m here to see my client, Kaapo Hekekia.”

  No one spoke for a moment; we all simply stared. I mean, the guy was, like . . . breathtaking. Tall, with chiseled features, startling ice-blue eyes, and light blond hair slickly combed and parted to the side, he looked like someone fresh off an Esquire magazine cover shoot.

  Zane smiled knowingly. It was pretty clear he got that reaction a lot. “Is he in a room somewhere?” he asked, wagging a finger to the right and left.

  “I’ll show you,” Candice suddenly volunteered, getting up to step forward with a winning smile and an outstretched hand.

  My eyes widened (more than they already were) and I glanced at Brice, who was also staring at his wife with a bit of shock.

  “He’s back here, Counselor,” Candice said, in a husky, rich voice that I’d only ever heard her use for her husband.

  “Thank you,” Zane said, his own smile broadening while he took in her lovely form. “You have amazing arms, by the way. You work out, right?”

  “These?” she said coyly, flexing one biceps. “They’re the result of clean living and a virtuous lifestyle.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said, chuckling, while turning to offer her his arm.

  To my stunned amazement, Candice took Zane’s arm in a gesture that was maaaaaaybe a weensy bit too flirtatious before she led him to where Hekekia was currently handcuffed to a chair in one of the conference rooms. In that moment I also saw Brice’s whole countenance change.

  And it wasn’t pretty.

  Even Dutch winced at the sight.

  The rest of us? We sorta made ourselves busy. Or scarce.

  “Who wants coffee?” I asked, grabbing my purse.

  “I’ll drive you,” Oscar said, grabbing his keys.

  “We should order some takeout,” said Dutch, grabbing his coat.

  “I’ll drive you,” said Matt, grabbing his laptop.

  “I’ve got a dinner date to cancel,” Nikki said, grabbing her cell.

  Nobody, and I mean nobody, grabbed the opportunity to comment on what’d just happened between Candice and the hot-looking attorney.

  Well, except the new guy. Idiot.

  “Do they know each other?” Agent Howell asked Brice, referring to Candice and Mr. Hot-guy-attorney.

  Brice rounded on Howell (appropriately named) and lit into him. “Where’s that report on Gudziak’s vehicle?” he roared. “Didn’t I ask for that two hours ago, Howell?”

  Nikki made a beeline for the large conference room on the opposite side of the office. Oscar and I broke into a trot to get out the door. Dutch and Hayes were right behind us.

  Downstairs in the parking garage I turned to Dutch and said, “How long should we stay outta there, do you think?”

  “Give him at least a half hour to calm down,” Dutch said.

  “Okay. Usual order for you?”

  “Yeah. But text the guys individually to see what they want.”

  “Got it.”

  “Matt, you okay with Thai food?” Dutch asked.

  “Works for me,” he said.

  “Oscar?”

  He gave a thumbs-up. “Great. We’ll get a half-dozen orders of pad Thai.”

  “Awesome. But no pad Thai for me,” I said. “I’d like—”

  “Steamed veggies with chicken over brown rice,” Dutch said for me. Does he know me or what?

  I beamed at him. “You’re a prince of a man, you know.”

  He bounced his eyebrows smartly. “I heard a rumor like that, once.”

  “See you in forty-five minutes or so,” I said, leaning in to give him a kiss.

  Before I could complete the deed, he pulled back and said, “Did you think that guy was good-looking?”

  (Uh. Oh.) “What guy?”

  Dutch thumbed over his shoulder. “That guy. The attorney. What’s his—”

  “Zane?” I said—too quickly. (Double. Uh. Oh.)

  Dutch’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Zane.”

  I gulped. Behind me I heard a car door open and close. Oscar, sensing danger, had taken cover. Over Dutch’s shoulder I saw Matt follow suit and get into his BMW. Sons of bitches, deserting me in my hour of need. “Well, he was okay,” I said. “I mean, if you like that look.”

  “Look?”

  I shook my head, and felt heat rise up from my belly. Dutch had me all flustered and for the life of me I couldn’t think of an easy way out of this conversation. “You know . . . ,” I said, pushing playfully on his shoulder.

  My husband’s eyes narrowed a little more.

  “That—that—that . . . look,” I stammered, literally starting to sweat and unable to come up with any kind of “look” that might put Dutch off this line of questioning.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, turning away from me.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Babe, he’s not nearly as good-looking as you!”

  And then I blinked because my inboard lie detector hadn’t gone off. I realized that, as model beautiful as Zane was, he was no match in my heart for my husband. “Hey!” I said, reaching out to grab Dutch by the arm. He stopped and looked back at me, his lips pressed to a thin line. It killed me to see the hurt in his eyes. “No!” I told him, pulling him toward me and forcing him to see the truth in my own eyes. “You don’t get it, honey. My lie detector didn’t even go off when I said that! I seriously, seriously mean it that, sure, he’s a good-looking guy, but he’s no . . . you. You take my breath away. You always have, and you always, always will.”

  Dutch’s scowl remained for a moment, but then he softened, and then he smiled and leaned down to give me a light peck on the mouth. “Peace,” he said.

  “Peace,” I agreed.

  He released me and I got into the car with Oscar.

  “You good?” Oscar asked as I buckled myself in.

  “Peachy,” I said a bit stiffly.

  “Man,” said Oscar. “Who knew one guy walking into an office could cause so much trouble?”

  And then I sat forward, because something clicked in my memory. “Hang on,” I whispered, digging for my phone.

 
“What’s up, Cooper?” Oscar asked, braking on his way out of the parking space.

  “Nothing,” I said, waving at him to carry on. “I just need to check something.”

  • • •

  Forty minutes later Oscar and I were back with hot beverages, and some pretty interesting new insights. Of course, we walked in to find Brice’s office door closed and the blinds drawn. No doubt he was in there sulking. Meanwhile, Candice was busy typing on her computer with a decidedly unhappy expression. Nikki looked up from her laptop and rolled her eyes before motioning in first Candice’s then Brice’s direction.

  Meanwhile, all the other agents had their noses glued to their computer screens. Yikes, Oscar mouthed to me.

  I sighed and started handing out the coffees. When I got to Candice’s desk, I stood there with my cardboard tray and two remaining drinks. “Hey,” I said.

  “None for me, thanks,” she said woodenly, without even looking up.

  “Oh, you’re drinking this,” I said angrily. Reaching down to grab hold of her arm, I added, “And you’re coming with me.”

  “Sundance,” she sighed, pulling away from me. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Don’t really care, Cassidy. I’m serious—you need to come with me.”

  She glared up at me, but I continued to stare expectantly at her and she finally caved.

  With another gigantic sigh she pushed back from her desk and got up to follow me back to Brice’s office. I didn’t even knock when I went in.

  “Busy, Cooper,” Brice said, brusquely.

  “Don’t care, Harrison,” I said.

  His head snapped up as I waved for Candice to come in. She did, but she wouldn’t look at Brice. Instead she took a seat at his round conference table, crossed her arms, and her legs, then bounced one foot up and down in agitation.

  Focusing on Brice, I said, “Did she tell you?”

  He looked at me blankly. “Tell me what?”

  “About our good friend Zane?”

  Brice’s expression darkened. And his reply was clipped and short. “What?”