Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery (12 page)

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
headache. 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.

“Thank you for joining us,” Gaston said graciously. “This is Agent Valencia from Homeland
Security. He’s briefing us on the investigations conducted at the Watson, Mendon,
Longfellow, and Williams residences.”

Mentally I went through those names and recalled that these were the ladies in the
shop when the suicide bomber walked in and detonated the device. I nodded and motioned
to Agent Valencia to continue. Although I really wanted to talk to Dutch and the director
alone, I’d have to wait until this meeting was over.

I also noticed that Dutch wasn’t looking at me, and I could tell he was still pretty
miffed from the day before. I couldn’t exactly blame him except for the fact that
I thought he should friggin’ understand that I wasn’t doing this to be a pain in his
asterisk. I was trying to keep him safe.

“As I was saying, Director,” Valencia said, eyeing me with part curiosity, part hostility,
“we didn’t find anything incriminating at the Watson residence last night. No bomb-making
material, guns, or manifesto in the house or on the computers, and the kid’s Facebook
page comes up clean. We’re gonna continue to keep tabs on him, though, just to make
sure he doesn’t have ties to any terrorist groups, but at this point I think the kid’s
in the clear.”

I bristled. “His name is Brody,” I said softly.

Valencia paused and looked at me. “Excuse me?”

All eyes swiveled to me. I cleared my throat. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve gotten to
know Brody Watson, and I can tell you he had nothing to do with this.”

Valencia cocked his head. “How long have you known him…er…who are you again?”

I felt my cheeks flush. I extended my hand. “Abigail Cooper. I’m a civilian profiler
here with Director Gaston’s team.”

Valencia shook my hand firmly (too firmly if you ask me) and said, “I didn’t know
we had any civilians on this case.”

“We’ve made an exception for Miss Cooper,” Gaston said smoothly. Gaston had this way
of stating something with such subtle authority that it invited no further debate
or discussion. Valencia simply nodded and moved on.

“Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, we also came up bust at the Mendon, Longfellow, and
Williams residences. Williams and Longfellow lived together in an apartment not far
from the beauty shop where they worked, and there wasn’t anything in their place that
indicated foul play. Mendon was dropped off by her mother for a prebridal hairdo.
She was getting married next month.”

I bit my lip. Man…that hit close to home. “How old was she?” I asked.

“Twenty-seven,” Dutch answered, and he moved a photo of the young woman in front of
me. She was a beautiful girl with dark red hair and creamy white skin. I had to swallow
and blink a lot to hold my emotions in check. There were days I hated this work.

“We don’t have a positive ID on any of bodies yet,” Harrison said. “We’ve reached
out to each woman’s dentist, and we’re waiting for them to compare dental records,
but we’re pretty sure we’ve identified four of the five women involved.”

“What we need is a lead on the bomber,” Valencia said. Turning to Gaston, he added,
“I know you want to keep this newest eyewitness under wraps, Director, but he or she
needs to be vetted by our team.”

For a brief instant, the director’s eyes flashed a silent warning to me. I understood
perfectly and kept my lips zipped. “The eyewitness has already been vetted by our
team,” Gaston assured Valencia. “We trust that the description of the bomber was accurate.”

Valencia wasn’t convinced. “Still, Director, our guys need to interview this eyewitness.
We need to satisfy our own curiosity about this person’s credibility. Until then,
we won’t be sure they aren’t just feeding you some fabricated description of the bomber
to throw you bureau boys off track.”

I felt my cheeks heat and I dropped my chin to stare at the tabletop. If I didn’t
hold myself in check, I was gonna blow my cover. Thankfully at that moment there was
a knock on the door and Agent Rodriguez—one of our guys—poked his head in. “Sorry,
sirs, but there’s a call on line three and I think one of you should take it.”

“Who is it, Oscar?” Dutch asked.

I felt goose bumps line my arms. I knew even before Rodriguez answered, so I said,
“It’s the mother of the girl in the sketch.”

The room went very still, and everyone looked from me to Agent Rodriguez, who was
in turn staring at me in shock. “That’s right,” he said. “Man, Cooper, that radar
of yours gets sharper every day.”

Valencia turned to stare at me with squinty, suspicious eyes. “How the hell did you
know that?”

“Never mind about that,” Brice said, already moving to his desk to take the call.
Before he picked up the line, he pointed to Dutch and then to the extra phone on the
side cabinet next to our table. Dutch leaned over and pulled the phone close and nodded
to Harrison, who then picked up the line, told the caller to hold, and dialed a three-digit
number; Dutch’s phone lit up.
Once Dutch was on the line, Harrison went back to the woman. “Yes, ma’am, this is
Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison. How may I help you?”

I leaned over to try to hear through Dutch’s connection, and he politely held the
phone a little away from his ear so I could hear.

The woman on the other end was crying. “I need to talk to someone,” she said. “My
daughter, Michelle, is missing! A neighbor of mine saw a sketch on TV and she thinks
it’s Michelle. She told me to call this number.”

Harrison sat down in his seat and took up a pen and a piece of scrap paper. “Your
name, ma’am?”

“Colleen,” she said, her voice quivering. “Colleen Padilla.”

“Mrs. Padilla, when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

Harrison’s voice was smooth and calm, and I knew he’d get as much information out
of her as he could without giving away any facts, because once he told her that the
woman in the sketch had been killed in the bombing, he’d never get another detail
out of her.

“I saw her three days ago. We had breakfast together before her morning class,” Mrs.
Padilla said.

“Your daughter is a student?”

“Yes, at UT.” I could hear the impatience and fear in Mrs. Padilla’s voice ratchet
up. “Sir, can you please tell me if you know where my daughter is?”

“How old is your daughter, ma’am?” Harrison said, as if she hadn’t even asked him
a question.

“Twenty-two.”

“And where has she been living?” he asked next.

“Agent…whatever your name is,” Mrs. Padilla snapped. “I’m not answering one more question
until you tell me if you know where my daughter is!”

Harrison’s gaze flickered to Dutch, and he pointed to the two of us. Dutch nodded.
“Mrs. Padilla, I’d like to send some people out to talk to you about your daughter.
Can you give me the address of where you are now?”

“Where is my daughter?”
the woman yelled.

We all pulled back from our phones a little. “I don’t know,” Harrison said calmly.
“But, Mrs. Padilla, I promise to find out if the woman in the sketch is your daughter.”

“Why is Michelle in a sketch in the first place?” Mrs. Padilla pressed. “What’s happened
to the woman you’re showing on TV?”

“I promise to have my team explain everything to you, ma’am, but first we need to
locate you. Where are you calling from?”

Mrs. Padilla began to cry in earnest now. “I’m at work,” she said. “Oh, God! Michelle!
What’s happened to you?”

It took Harrison another few moments to coax the address from her, but the second
he had it, he handed it over, and Dutch, Candice, and I were in motion, heading toward
the door.

“I’ll follow,” Valencia said.

That stopped us cold. We all looked at Harrison, who in turn looked to Gaston.

Valencia glared at us. “I’m going,” he said firmly. For effect he turned to the director
and said, “Sir, remind your agents that this is a
joint
investigation until it can be determined that we don’t have some homegrown terror
cell at work.”

Gaston regarded Valencia thoughtfully; then he turned to Harrison. “Mrs. Padilla sounded
very upset,” he said.

“Very,” Harrison agreed.

“I believe this is best handled by as few imposing men in black suits as possible,
Agent Valencia.”

Valencia’s face flushed with anger. Reaching for his cell (no doubt to call someone
and raise a little hello Dolly), he said, “I
don’t care how upset that woman is, Director. If her daughter is a domestic terrorist,
then we’ll need to talk to her.”

Gaston discreetly waved his hand at us, and once again we were all in motion. We booked
out of the office and hurried down the aisle when I noticed that Dutch still didn’t
have his vest on. “Yo, cowboy!” I called to his back. (Both he and Candice could walk
a lot faster than my gimpy self.)

Dutch glanced at me over his shoulder, his brow raised in question.

I stopped at his desk and pointed to his Kevlar. “Forgetting something?”

Dutch grumbled under his breath, turned on his heel, grabbed his vest, and said, “Happy?”