At that moment, the doctor finally poked his head in. “How’s our patient?” he asked jovially.
I turned on him with narrowed eyes and a whole lotta attitude. “Why didn’t anyone tell me what’d happened to him?”
Dr. Cassidy immediately came to my side and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he admitted. “I’ve been short staffed this week. One of my nurses went on maternity leave early and I got caught in a bind. I needed all my staff with me to make sure Agent Rivers got the attention he needed, and it wasn’t until just a few minutes ago that we were confident he was stable.”
More than anything, his apology helped to chill me out. “I was worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Crap. I could hardly be mad now. “It’s okay. But he really wants to leave. Can I take him home?”
“Of course.” Turning to the nurse, he said, “Megan, please bring Miss Cooper here Agent Rivers’s clothing.”
It took a long time to get Dutch dressed and down to the car. He was still very groggy from whatever drugs they’d pumped into him, and he couldn’t seem to focus on helping me put his pants or his shirt on. I also cursed myself for not bringing along a pair of his sweats, as it would have been much easier than trying to get his dress slacks on.
By the time we got home, it was well after seven and my phone was lit up with voice mails from Candice, Brice, and my sister, Cat. I realized with regret that I hadn’t spoken to Cat since landing in Austin—something I was sure to be lectured about when we did finally speak.
Still, Dutch was my top priority that night, and his neck and back were so sore and he was still so wobbly on his feet that getting him upstairs to bed was out of the question. Instead I sat him carefully in a chair and made up the couch.
He was asleep almost as soon as I got him settled and covered with a blanket.
I then fed poor Eggy and Tuttle, who were practically starving by then, and nuked some leftovers for myself.
The phone rang just as I burned my tongue with the first bite. “Ow! Hewo?”
There was a pause, then, “Abby?”
“Hi, Candwice.”
“Why are you talking funny?”
“I bewned my tongue.”
I fished an ice cube out of my water glass to hold on my tongue while Candice processed that. “What’re you eating?”
“Leftovews.”
“How’s Dutch?”
“He’s aw wite. A wittle qweasy.”
There was a chuckle, then, “You nurse that tongue, Sundance, and I’ll do the talking.”
“ Owkay.”
“I did some follow-up online going back through the
Dallas Morning News
and I found an article about a little girl who went to the same school as Keisha who also went missing in March of two thousand eight.”
Removing the ice cube, I said, “Two months before Keisha?”
“Yes.”
“How old was she?”
“Ten.”
“Any trace of her since?”
“Yes.”
I felt a heaviness grow in my chest. “She came up dead.” I knew it before Candice even told me.
On the other end of the line, my friend sighed sadly. “She was found in a retention pond less than a mile from her home about six weeks after she went missing. The body was so decomposed that no cause of death could be determined, and the coroner eventually ruled it an accidental drowning.”
“But we know different.”
“Do we?” Candice asked.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“What I mean is, do you intuitively feel there’s a connection between all three of these girls?”
“What’s the little girl’s name?” I was already switching on my radar.
“Patrice Walker.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the little girl’s energy. I got the same image of a van with a ladder and paint cans littering the ground, but this time I also flashed on something else. I saw the street sign for Pecan Valley Drive. “Weird,” I said.
“What?”
“I swear I see . . .” My voice drifted off as I remembered something.
“You see what?”
“Candice?”
“Yeah?”
“Did that little girl live on a street called Pecan Valley Drive?”
There was a gasp; then she said, “Man, Abs! You are good!”
I sighed tiredly, not much in the mood to feel good about the hit. “The three girls are connected. Patrice was the first victim.”
“Feel like heading back to Dallas tomorrow?”
I leaned out of my chair to eye my S.O., who was fast asleep on the couch. “Maybe not tomorrow,” I told her. “Dutch had a rough go of it at the doctor’s office. I’m thinking he’s going to be calling in sick tomorrow.”
“Did you want me to let Brice know?”
“He’s there?”
“He’s in the living room watching basketball. I’m in the bedroom with the door closed. I didn’t want him to overhear our conversation.”
“Have you two had the follow-up talk?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
I frowned. In my opinion, Candice was wasting time being miserable in her relationship when she and Brice could be celebrating at that very moment. Still, I knew I’d probably stuck my nose far enough into her business. “Yeah, if you could tell him that I’m calling Dutch in sick, that’d be great.”
“You got it. We’ll pick this up the day after tomorrow.”
“As long as Dutch is well enough to go back to work and doesn’t need me,” I added.
I could hear Candice’s soft chuckle through the line. “Okay, Nurse Nightingale. Get some sleep and tell the cowboy I hope he feels better soon.”
Dutch bounced back very quickly, and he would have gone to work the day after his surgery if I hadn’t taken the added measure of hiding his car keys before I went to bed the night before. He was pretty grumpy about the fact that I’d called off for him, but as the day wore on and he worked to find a comfortable position to sit in, I could tell that he was actually glad about it.
I spent much of the day unpacking the boxes that still remained from the move and by five thirty p.m. our little Texas rental was all nice and tidy-like.
Cat called me twice during the day, once to give me a pretty terse lecture for not calling her in a week, and the second time to apologize for the lecture. She also suggested that she was coming out to visit very,
very
soon and I’d just have to deal with it, as she missed me and she wanted to make sure I was taking care of myself.
I took a shower after all that unpacking, and was just coming down the stairs considering a pizza when the doorbell rang. “Abby!” Dutch yelled from his seat on the couch.
“I’m right here,” I said, coming around the corner.
“Can you get the door?”
I smirked at him as I walked toward the front hall. “Are you expecting company?”
“No.”
I opened the door and took a step back, completely surprised. “Dave!” I shouted.
Our handyman and good friend, formerly from Michigan, was standing on my front porch holding a mammoth take-out bag with an ART’S RIBS logo on it. “Hey, Abs,” he said jovially. “You guys hungry?”
I ushered him in with a quick hug, completely forgetting how much his showing up at dinnertime used to drive me crazy. (And I will admit this change in attitude was likely because Dave actually brought dinner this time.)
Dutch looked pretty happy to see our old friend too, and he managed to get stiffly off the couch to offer his hand. “Great to see you, buddy,” he said.
Dave seemed to notice Dutch’s hunched-over posture. “You okay?”
“Had some moles removed from my back and my neck yesterday. Still a little sensitive.”
“Oh, man,” Dave said. “That’s rough. I know the thing to take the edge off.”
“A beer?”
“No, but now that you mention it, a nice cold one really does sound good. Especially since I brought Art along.”
Dutch looked around. “Who?”
Dave held up the big bag so that Dutch could see the logo. “Best ribs in Texas.”
We ate like kings that night. Dave was right; Art’s ribs were the best I’d ever had. And it was so great to catch up with him too. He looked good in a way that I hadn’t ever noticed back in Michigan. It was as if the secure job he’d found down here working for his brother- in-law had given him a boost in confidence and taken some of the worry out of his eyes. “Me and the old lady are picking out a floor plan,” he told us, referring to his wife the way he always had, even though I knew he worshipped the ground she walked on. “We’re finally going to buy our own place.”
Dave’s brother- in-law was a builder, and he’d given Dave a job as construction supervisor. “Buddy, that’s fantastic!” I said.
My friend puffed out his chest and beamed a wide-toothed smile. “Feels good not to have to worry about money all the time,” he admitted. “And the old lady’s working now too.”
“She is?” Dutch and I said together.
“Yep. She got a job in some boot store in Georgetown. Sells more cowboy boots than any other salesperson in the store.”
“Which store?” I asked a little too quickly. It was well-known that I’d been trying to find out Dave’s wife’s actual name for the past couple of years, and he’d always managed to keep her and it from me.
He caught on right away. “Not tellin’.”
“Fine,” I said with a sneaky grin. “Georgetown’s not too far away, you know. And how many boot stores can there be?”
“Enough to take up an entire afternoon,” Dave said smartly.
“Hey, Abby,” Dutch interjected, right when I’d thought up a snappy retort.
“Yeah?”
“You feel like going for ice cream?”
I looked at him. “Honey, I really think you should take it easy tonight. Going for a drive is a little ambitious, don’t you think?”
Dutch blanched. “Uh,” he said, turning those big midnight blues on me. “I was thinking maybe you could go get us some and bring it back?”
“Oh! Um . . . I guess. I mean, sure. Sure I can.”
As I hurried to get my jacket and keys, I had the distinct impression that Dutch and Dave were waiting for me to leave so that they could talk privately about something I wasn’t supposed to know about.
I considered using the old radar to figure out what they were up to, but then thought better of it. It had to be hard on Dutch at times to date someone like me, and I don’t just mean for the mood swings and the severe handicap I present in the kitchen. There wasn’t much that he was able to keep from me. If I wanted to know something, he could do little to stop me from figuring it out.
So I decided to take the high road and keep my intuitive nose out of it, which, for the record, was
really
hard. Especially since when I got back, Dave asked to take his ice cream to go and made a rather nervous and hasty exit.
Still, I kept my mouth firmly shut, and cleaned up the dinner dishes. Dutch got out of his chair and came to stand next to me while he ate his ice cream. “Thanks for getting this,” he said, motioning with the bowl in his hands.
“Sure.”
Dutch cleared his throat a little. “So, you probably used the crew to figure out what we were talking about, huh?”
I set a plate in the dishwasher. “Nope.”
“Nope?”
I turned to face him. “Is it hard living with me?”
Dutch seemed surprised by the question, but he quickly recovered. “Impossible,” he said with a smile.
I bit my lip. I knew he was kidding, but that still stung, so I turned back to the dishes and began to scrub in earnest.
“Abs,” he said, but I wouldn’t look at him. Dutch set the bowl down on the counter and reached across to pull my shoulder around to face him again. “Sweethot, I love living with you.”
I blinked as unexpected tears sprang to my eyes.
“Hey,” he said, seeing the waterworks. “Edgar, what gives?”
I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. “I think it’s all this stuff with Candice and Brice. They’re crazy about each other—I mean, really in love—and they’ll tell everyone else their true feelings except they won’t tell each other.”
“How are we like them, exactly?”
“In the car on the way to get the ice cream, I realized that anytime I want to know what’s going on with you, I use my radar, and that can’t be fair. So I don’t want to resort to that anymore. If I need to know what’s going on inside your head, or inside your heart, I’ll ask, but you have to promise to tell me.”
The corners of Dutch’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, cupcake?”
The tears that I’d managed to tamp down came back in earnest. “I’m hoping it’s a lot.”
Dutch shut off the water and pulled me into a fierce embrace, even though I knew the move must have really hurt his back. Kissing the top of my head, he said, “It’s
way
more than a lot, Abigail. It’s so much, it’s obscene.”
Chapter Nine
I took Dutch to work the next morning because it was raining cats and dogs, and with his range of motion still a challenge, I didn’t want him to try to drive in foul weather.
I was also glad it was Friday, and that he’d have the weekend to rest and make a full recovery.
After dropping him at the office, I shot over to Candice’s because we’d agreed to make another trip to Dallas. Candice met me in the parking garage. “Do you want me to drive?” I offered. Hopefully, she’d let me, because I definitely did not want to scream down the highway in this weather with her Porsche.
Candice eyed my MINI Cooper skeptically. “That’s okay,” she said, and motioned me over to her car. “I promise to take it slow and easy today.”
With a groan I rolled up the window and parked, then hurried over to the Porsche. I clicked the seat belt as we pulled out of the garage, grateful that at least my friend was going to try to stay within range of the speed limit.
And for most of the trip, she did really well. But that could have been because of the weather. “Jeez, it is really coming down!” I said, peering out at the torrential downfall that seemed to worsen the closer we got to Dallas.