Deadly Forecast

by Victoria Laurie

  T-Minus 01:20

  M.J. trembled as she clung to Gilley’s arm while they watched Milo and Candice being loaded into separate ambulances. Nearby, Dutch stood stiff and pale, clearly shaken to the core. A team of firemen was currently suiting up in hazmat gear, ready to enter the house, and two more first responders were lying on the grass sucking oxygen through masks secured around their faces. They’d been the police officers who’d shown up ahead of everyone else after M.J. had called 911, and they’d managed to pull Milo and Candice partially out of the house, but then they’d collapsed on the driveway themselves.

  Faced with four unconscious people, M.J. had nearly lost her cool, but she’d held it together long enough to order Gil to make another emergency call to 911 and run to aid the victims.

  She’d first reached Candice, whose complexion was a frightening greenish yellow. And it was as she reached Abby’s best friend that she felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. M.J. had lifted her chin and noticed the side door of the house still ajar, and something about the small window right above her had also caught her attention. There was duct tape along the perimeter of the window.

  As her head swooned, she put it together and immediately held her breath. Hooking Candice under the arms, she managed to drag her well out onto the lawn. M.J. checked to make sure Candice was breathing and, thankfully, she was. Then she kicked off her heels and tugged free the pashmina she’d been wearing before tying it at the back of her head to cover her nose and mouth. She then dashed back to the three men still lying prone on the drive, holding her breath as she got close. Darting forward, she pulled the door to the house closed before grabbing Milo under each arm, and with great effort, she managed to get him onto the lawn as well.

  “M.J.!” Gilley called from inside the car, where she’d ordered him to stay. “They’re on their way!”

  M.J. had already gotten that from the parade of sirens coming closer and closer, but she was too busy to do anything other than check to make sure Milo was still breathing—which he was—and rush back to the police officers.

  Gilley joined her and she couldn’t help barking a command at him. “Hold your breath!”

  His eyes crossed and he waved his hand in front of his face. “Sweet baby Jesus! What the hell is that?”

  “Hold your breath!” she yelled again as she bent down to the officer who was now semiconscious.

  Gilley puffed out his cheeks and grabbed the man’s other arm, and together they got him to his feet and over to the lawn, where he fell to his knees and promptly threw up.

  Gil scrunched up his face and looked like he was about to hurl himself, but M.J. didn’t have time to deal with him. She dashed back one final time to the remaining officer, who had recovered enough to get to his knees. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, she managed to get him to the others and then she flopped to the ground herself.

  Pulling the wrap down, she crawled over to Candice, whose eyelashes were beginning to flutter, as she let out a small moan. M.J. took off the pashmina and scrunched it into a ball, placing it underneath Candice’s head. “Candice?” she asked. “Honey, can you hear me?”

  Another moan behind her caused M.J. to look back. Milo had rolled to his side and was struggling to lift his head. “Gilley!” M.J. said. “Help him!”

  The sirens grew deafening and M.J. was never happier to see a set of ambulances in her life. These were quickly followed by two fire trucks and four squad cars. A series of black sedans also appeared at the top of the drive and she gave over the care of the four victims to the paramedics, pulling Gilley back to their car to give the emergency workers room.

  A swarm of uniformed and plainclothes responders descended on the area, and M.J. felt that familiar terrible sense of doom hit her in the solar plexus again. She saw several people run to the house with guns drawn, and she had to shout at them to stop. “The house is full of gas!”

  That’s when she caught sight of Dutch, who was pushing his way through the crowd to get to the front door. “Dutch! Wait! Don’t go in there!” she cried, but he either didn’t hear her or was ignoring her. M.J. turned to a nearby man in a black suit with an air of authority—she remembered Brice had called him Director Gaston—and cried, “Stop him!”

  Gaston shouted to two others dressed in formal attire nearby, and they raced to intercept Dutch, who put up a hell of a fight in his desperation to get inside the house.

  M.J. didn’t know whether Abby was inside, but she suspected that if the bride-to-be was in there, she’d likely be dead from the fumes and beyond their help. “What do we do?” Gilley asked.

  M.J. wrapped her shaking hands around his arm and focused on Candice and Milo, who were being loaded onto stretchers. She wondered if they’d be in any condition to talk. “Come with me,” she said, moving around the cluster of people over to the front of the large house. Closing her eyes, M.J. reached out with all the power of her sixth sense, searching for any hint of Abby inside the house.

  “What’re you doing?” Gilley whispered.

  “I don’t think she’s in there,” M.J. said, opening her eyes and searching for the groom.

  “How can you tell?” Gil asked.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, Gil, but the house feels empty. And when I try to get a bead on Abby, I feel her energy behind me, not in front of me.”

  Gil moved to look around M.J., squinting toward the road. “I don’t see her.”

  M.J. sighed. “Not behind me, behind me,” she said impatiently, still searching the crowd for Dutch. “She’s somewhere to the south, and she’s alive, but something really bad has happened to her.”

  Gil motioned toward the house filled with gas. “Gee, M.J., you think?”

  M.J. spotted Dutch at last, over at the ambulances, attempting to get close to Milo, who was being wheeled into the bay, but two firemen, Director Gaston, and Brice were holding him back, demanding he let the paramedics tend to Milo and Candice. In her bare feet, M.J. hurried over to him and managed to grab the sleeve of his tuxedo. “She’s not here!” she said loudly to get his attention.

  Dutch snapped his head to her, then cast a desperate glance at the house and the hazmat team only now approaching it. “How do you know?”

  “I just know,” she said. She didn’t have time to explain it and deep in her bones she could feel that time was running out. “But we have to find her, Dutch. I think she’s in serious trouble.”

  Dutch’s eyes darted to the house again, then at Milo and Candice on their stretchers. Finally he turned to her desperately. “Tell me what you need to help find her and I’ll get it for you.”

  Chapter Four

  The morning after the bombing I wanted to help Dutch out by getting his breakfast ready, just to give him another few minutes to sleep. The poor guy was exhausted and I hated that he had several more late nights ahead of him.

  Brody was still asleep on our couch when I came downstairs. As quietly as I could, I shuffled around in the kitchen, whipping up half a dozen eggs and frying up some potatoes to spoon into a couple of flour tortillas for some handy breakfast burritos for the three of us.

  Of course, I also had to share the eggs with Eggy and Tuttle. “You two are getting a little pudgy, you know,” I told them as I set their bowls down. The irony of feeding them an extra breakfast was not lost on me either. “Mommy will have to get Daddy to walk you a little more.”

  Eggy wolfed down his portion before lifting his muzzle to eye me skeptically.

  I wiggled my cane. “You want me to walk you with this thing?” I asked him.

  He licked his chops.

  “Oh, sure, it’d be fun until you saw a squirrel, then I’d be in trouble.”

  Eggy wagged his tail.

  I bent down to stroke his graying muzzle. Eggy was almost eight. “Such a good pup.”

  “Morning,” I heard a voice say.

  Turning, I spied Dutch in the doorway, already showered, dressed, and ready to bolt to work. I straightened up and looked at
him crossly. “I told you I’d get you breakfast so you could sleep in a little longer.”

  He walked into the kitchen and kissed me on the cheek before lifting one of the burritos. “These look good,” he said evasively.

  “Honey, it’s only six thirty. Why are you already showered and dressed?”

  “Couldn’t go back to sleep,” he said, taking a bite and giving me his best “I’m totally innocent of all crimes you might be ready to accuse me of” look.

  “Uh-huh. And the minute my back is turned, were you thinking of slipping outta here and heading to work without me?”

  “No,” Dutch said.

  Liar, liar, pants on fire…, the little voice in my head said.

  I reached into the pocket of my robe and pulled out both sets of his car keys. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I hold on to these until I’m showered and dressed too, hmm?”

  Dutch’s eyes narrowed. “Nope.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire…

  I put two burritos on a plate and handed them to Dutch. “Make sure Brody eats something while I’m getting ready. I promised his friend’s mother that we’d drop him off around seven thirty.” With that, I headed upstairs.

  I was back down only fifteen minutes later. My sixth sense had kicked in right in the middle of a great hot shower and told me Dutch had outsmarted me. Sopping wet, I fished through my robe and found both sets of car keys still in the pocket of my robe and the door to the bathroom still locked, but that nagging feeling of being outwitted persisted.

  I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, threw on some black slacks and matching sweater, and rushed downstairs. (Okay, okay, so I threw on some mascara and a little blush too. A girl’s gotta have some vanity now and again.)

  When I reached the landing, Brody was sitting bleary-eyed on the couch, tucking into a burrito. “Hey, there,” I said, looking around the room for any sign of my fiancé.

  Brody’s mouth was full, so he simply nodded and lifted the burrito up slightly to show me he liked it.

  “Is Dutch around?”

  I had to wait for my houseguest to chew and swallow. “He left.”

  My jaw dropped. “What do you mean he left?”

  Brody took another bite and pointed to a note on the coffee table. I lifted it and read:

  Next time you might want to hold on to your own keys too….

  By the way, the Audi needs gas.

  Love you,

  D

  I crushed the note in my fist and rushed to the window. “You son of a beast!” I yelled the moment I saw my own car was gone. Turning back to Brody (who was looking at me with big wide eyes), I said, “Was he wearing his vest?”

  Brody’s brow furrowed.

  “His vest!” I nearly shouted. “Was Dutch wearing his vest?”

  The young man had to swallow again. “He was wearing a shirt and a tie, Miss Cooper. No vest.”

  “Dammit!” (Swearing doesn’t count when you realize your fiancé has outwitted you and forgotten his bulletproof vest.) Just to be sure, I shuffled to the closet and pulled it open. Dutch’s vest wasn’t there, so at least he’d taken it with him, and for that I was partially grateful. Still, he wasn’t wearing it, which meant he wasn’t taking me seriously. “Grab your gear,” I told Brody, pulling my purse down from the shelf and reaching for the door. I’d have to drop Brody off and rush to the office to try to catch up with Dutch. Of course, he could be off to any one of the many interviews and meetings I knew he’d lined up for the day. It was actually somewhat surprising that he’d come home last night at all, but then, I knew he’d never leave me alone at night with a stranger in the house, even one as seemingly innocent as Brody.

  After locking up, I rushed Brody into the car and grumbled through adjusting the seat and the mirrors and right then I heard a ding that made me focus on the dashboard. Dutch must have come home on fumes, because the gas gauge warning light was bright red, indicating that I had less than two miles of fuel left. “Well, that’s just craptastic!”

  “You okay?” Brody asked.

  I glanced at him and realized that I was making the poor kid really nervous. Taking a calm, steadying breath, I said, “Fine. I’m fine.”

  Brody didn’t look convinced.

  “We’ll need to stop at the gas station on the corner before I drop you at your friend’s house.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sorry for the outburst,” I said, putting the car into gear and beginning to back out of the driveway. “I’m just worried about Dutch.”

  Brody nodded. “Yeah. He feels a lot like my mom did yesterday.”

  I stomped on the brakes and turned to him. “What did you say?”

  That alarmed expression returned to Brody’s face. “Sorry,” he said, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  I put the car back into park. “I know you didn’t,” I said, trying to conceal my own surprise and fear. “But it was a really interesting statement. One only a highly intuitive person would make. So, please, explain to me what you were sensing.”

  Brody’s gaze fell to his lap again, and he didn’t reply.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Brody, please? Tell me what you meant.”

  He shrugged. “I just had this feeling about my mom, you know? Like, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It felt like she was gonna be in a car accident or something. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe if I had, she’d still be alive.”

  I bit my lip, and I was about to console Brody when he added, “Anyway, when Agent Rivers shook my hand and said good-bye this morning, I had that same feeling again.”

  My pulse quickened and after squeezing his shoulder, I threw the car back into gear and flew out of the drive. Racing down the street to the gas station three blocks away, I put only three gallons in before I was back inside the car and calling Candice. “Morning, Sundance,” she said. “Saw your car in the garage but no sign of you at the office. Where are you?”

  “On my way,” I replied, weaving through the morning traffic. “I just have to drop Brody off at the Dixons’.”

  “The whose?”

  “Brody’s friend’s mom, Gretchen Dixon, has agreed to take him in. She lives at Lamar and Thirty-eighth, about a block over from his house, so it should only take me twenty minutes or so before I can get to the office.”

  “Got it. I’ll let the troops know.”

  “Candice?” I said quickly before she could hang up. “Can you tell me if Dutch has made it there yet?”

  “He’s in with Harrison and Gaston. They’re looking for you too.”

  “Can you patch me through to Gaston?”

  There was a chuckle. “You sound a little distracted, honey. You do know you called me on my cell, right? I can’t exactly patch you through unless I walk my phone into Brice’s office.”

  I shook my head. I was distracted. Brody’s words kept circling in my mind and I was frantic to get to Dutch. “Walk the phone into the meeting, Candice, and hand it to Gaston. Tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Okay, hang on,” she said.

  A few moments later I heard, “Abigail?”

  “Director, I’m so sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I’m running a little late and Agent Rivers left without me this morning.”

  There was a pause, then, “And I gather that has upset you?”

  “That would be putting it mildly. Is he wearing his vest?”

  “Not presently.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Sir, I need a huge favor from you. I need you to keep Agent Rivers in the office until I get there, and then I need to have a private meeting with you and Candice, where I’m going to ask you for another favor.”

  Again the director paused. “I look forward to it. What time should I expect you?”

  “Eight at the latest.”

  “See you then, Abigail.”

  After hanging up with the director, I focused on where I was going and managed to get Brody to the Dixons’ without a lot of headac
he. As he was getting out of the car, I stopped him and reached for my purse. Digging through, I pulled out all the cash I had (which was a good chunk, as I’d just been to the bank) and handed it to him. “Here.”

  “I can’t take that,” he said.

  I shoved it into his coat pocket. “You can, and you will. It goes toward the Brody Watson college fund.”

  Brody fished into his pocket and pulled out the cash. “No, really, Miss Cooper. My ma would freak out if I took that.” In an instant I saw Brody’s face change and his eyes watered. “I mean…she wouldn’t have liked it if I took it.”

  I pushed the money into his palm and curled his fingers around it, waiting for him to look at me. “Brody,” I said, “you’re going to be okay. And the reason you’re going to be okay is that now you have a very special angel in the form of your mom watching over you. Total strangers will feel compelled to help you out, honey, all because your mom is tapping them on the shoulder and saying, ‘Will you please help my son?’ Help won’t always come in the form of money, but it will always come, and when it does, you must never turn it down.”

  Brody held my gaze for a long moment, and at last he tucked the cash into his jacket pocket and whispered, “Thanks.”

  Before he left the car, I also made sure that he had my e-mail address and phone number. I planned to check in on him every once in a while, just to make sure he was doing okay.

  When I got to the bureau, I walked straight to Brice’s office, where Gaston, Harrison, and Dutch, along with a man in a black suit, were sitting at the small conference table littered with files and crime-scene photos. “Hello, gentlemen,” I said, taking the seat that Brice pulled out from the conference table for me.

  There was a knock on the door and we all looked up to see Candice there. “Okay if I come in?”

  “Yes,” I said before the boys could decide otherwise. Dutch pressed his lips together; I knew he would’ve rather had it be just the fellas.

  Candice declined to take the chair Brice offered her, opting to stand with her back to the wall and observe the meeting.