Fatal Fortune

  I could tell that no one in the room believed me, but I was too hungry and exhausted to care. Cal held the door open for me and we left.

  I parted ways with my attorney at the sidewalk. He was headed home and I was headed two doors down for a couple of tacos. After getting my meal, I was on my way back to my car when my new phone pinged with an incoming text. I almost reached into my purse for it, but felt a hint of warning from my radar. Looking around surreptitiously, I saw a black SUV parked across the street and I swore there was someone in the car.

  “Great,” I muttered. “They’re still watching me.”

  I quickened my step then and kept my chin down. No way was I going to pull out my phone anywhere but behind closed doors.

  I drove home in a bit of a daze, nibbling on my taco and still reeling over all that I’d learned about my best friend.

  And then I had a terrible thought: Were Candice and I even best friends anymore? Had I ever been her best friend? Or was our friendship some kind of ruse—a cover for her secret life as a Mafia hit man? Hit woman. Assassin.

  I shook my head as I dwelled on those dark thoughts. “Who the hell are you, Candice Fusco?” I said to myself. “And how come I didn’t know anything about who you really are?”

  That was the thing I just couldn’t get over. I prided myself on being a very good psychic. Sure, I’d been born with a talent for picking things out of the ether, but that talent had been honed over the years and fine-tuned. I’d come to believe that being a good psychic had less to do with talent and far more to do with honing a skill. Years of practice and self-examination had made me the gifted intuitive that I was, so how was it that in all the readings I’d ever given to Candice—and I gave her a reading at least once a year—I’d never picked up on this dark side of hers? How had she duped me of all people?

  And Dutch?

  And Brice?

  And even Gaston?

  All four of us were experts at detecting deception, so why hadn’t any of us ever seen even a hint of falsehood in her?

  It made no sense, either logically or intuitively. I just couldn’t make what I’d been shown in those photographs sync up with what I felt in my heart—that Candice was still my very best friend, and I was still hers.

  When I got home, I found Dutch sitting in the dark with a glass of scotch and both pups curled up beside him. “Hey there, beautiful,” he said when I came through the door.

  “Hey there, yourself, cowboy. You hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  I handed him the bag I’d carried in. “Fish tacos from Pueblo Viejo.”

  Dutch opened the bag and peered eagerly inside. I figured he hadn’t eaten much since breakfast either. “Best wife ever,” he said, taking out one of the wrapped tacos.

  I sat down next to him and lifted the scotch from his hand. After taking a sip, I rasped, “Smooth.”

  He chuckled. “There’s beer in the fridge, dollface.”

  I got up and headed toward the kitchen and called over my shoulder, “How’d your interrogation go?”

  “Brutal,” he replied while I fished around in the icebox. “Cal called me a little while ago. He said you did great.”

  I came back and plopped down next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. “He was good.”

  “He should be for a hundred fifty an hour.”

  I smiled. “One of those hours is free.”

  Dutch pulled his head back to look quizzically at me.

  “I gave him a reading.”

  My hubby arched an eyebrow.

  “He asked,” I told him. “I think he didn’t really believe I had any talent until I started fishing through his ether.”

  Dutch chuckled. “Oh, how hard those skeptics fall.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a good thing, I think. I’m going to work with him in the future on a case.”

  “What case?”

  “Not sure yet. It hasn’t happened. Or if it’s happened, I haven’t been pulled into it yet.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tell me about your session with the boys from Vegas.”

  Dutch kissed the top of my head and motioned to the clock on the wall. “Later, doll. Brice should be here any minute and I promised to have his scotch ready.”

  I lifted my head off his shoulder so that Dutch could get up. “Brice is coming over?”

  “Yeah,” Dutch said, heading toward the kitchen for a glass and probably a refill of his own drink. “I called him right after I heard from Cal. He’s in rough shape and I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be alone right now. I told him to pack a bag and stay with us for a while.”

  I felt a rush of warmth for my husband. Ever since our wedding there were often moments when I was so filled with love for my marvelous man that it overwhelmed me. Dutch was the great love of my life, my complement in so many meaningful ways, and I could hardly believe that in a world with six billion people, we’d somehow managed to find each other. “That was really nice of you,” I said once he returned to the couch.

  He shrugged. “He’d do the same for us.”

  “He would indeed,” I said, remembering a time not too long ago when I’d camped out on his couch for a week.

  Just then there was a soft knock on the door. “Come on in, sir,” Dutch called.

  The door opened and Brice stood there with his phone pressed to his ear and his complexion white as a ghost. He looked stunned, and utterly heartbroken all at the same time. Dutch and I both stood up and went to him. I was worried he was about to faint.

  “Brice?” I said gently as he continued to stand there, his mouth slightly ajar and that phone still pressed to his ear.

  Dutch reached out and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

  Brice’s eyes watered, and he stared straight ahead as if he couldn’t hear us. I inched closer and put a hand on his phone. “Here,” I said. “Let me.”

  He let me take the phone and I could hear a voice on the other end calling for him. “Hello? Sir? Are you there? Sir?”

  “Hello?” I said into the phone. “This is Abby Cooper. Who’s this?”

  “Oh, man! Cooper, it’s Rodriguez. Where’s Harrison?”

  “He’s here with me and Dutch. Oscar, what’s happened?” There was a slight pause and I became even more alarmed. Whatever had happened, it was bad. Really bad. “Oscar?”

  “Let me talk to Rivers,” Oscar said, but Dutch was easing Brice over to the couch. The second Brice sat down, he buried his head in his hands and began to weep.

  “No,” I told Oscar. “Tell me what’s happened.” Oscar sighed, and it was such a sad sound that my own eyes misted. “It’s Candice,” I whispered. “Isn’t it?”

  Dutch eyed me from the couch and he reached out his hand. “Let him tell me,” he said. “Abs, give me the phone.”

  I shook my head and gripped the phone tightly. “Tell me!” I pleaded.

  Oscar finally spoke, his voice wet with emotion. “Candice’s car went off a bridge and into Lady Bird Lake. I just heard from one of the APD officers on scene. The fire department got her out, and they’ve been working on her, but she’s unresponsive. She’s gone, Abby. She’s gone.”

  Chapter Seven

  • • •

  I sank to my knees and let the phone fall to the floor. Dutch was next to me in a second, but I was already curling myself into a ball. I heard a terrible noise, heart wrenching and awful—it filled the room and I realized it was the sound of my own grief as I cried out against the horrible news. “Nooooooooooooooooooooo!”

  Dutch pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. I squeezed my eyes closed and struggled to take in a breath over the tightness in my chest. For a long time I couldn’t do anything other than wail pitifully. I was only slightly aware o
f Dutch lifting me and carrying me over to the couch, where he rocked me back and forth and tried to console me. But it was no use. I was pulled down into a dark well of painful heartbreak, Oscar’s words repeating over and over in my mind.

  She’s gone, Abby. She’s gone.

  Huge sobs rose out from my insides and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of sorrow and regret. And then, after what felt like hours, I took a breath that didn’t threaten to choke me and wiped at my eyes. Dutch laid a hand on the back of my head and kissed my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Abby,” he whispered, and I realized he was crying too.

  And then I thought of Brice and I lifted my chin away from his chest, looking around for Candice’s husband. As deep as my grief was, Brice’s had to be even worse. “Where’s Brice?” I asked, my throat raw.

  “Out back,” Dutch said, motioning with his head toward our back porch.

  “You left him alone?”

  Dutch used his hands to wipe my cheeks. “I’ll get to him just as soon as I know you’re okay.”

  I dropped my chin and shook my head. How could I ever be okay again? A buzzing sound drew my attention toward the floor. Brice’s phone was still there near the door where I’d dropped it.

  “Should one of us get that?” I asked dully. I felt drained and functional only on the surface.

  Dutch lifted me gently and set me back on the couch before getting up to retrieve Brice’s phone. After swiping the display, he put the phone to his ear. “Rivers,” he said crisply. He sounded so much more together than he looked, and I wanted him to come back to the couch and sit with me again so that I could comfort him like he’d comforted me.

  But then something in his expression changed and he said, “Where?” Then he looked at his watch and added, “We’ll be there in twenty.”

  Pocketing the phone, he walked toward me with his hand out. “Come on,” he said. “We gotta get Brice.”

  I took his hand and let him pull me off the couch. “What is it?”

  “They managed to get a pulse on Candice after all, and they’ve got her at St. David’s.”

  I staggered as I followed behind Dutch. “She’s . . . she’s alive?”

  “Yes,” Dutch said, pausing as we got to the back door. Turning to me, he said, “It doesn’t look good, though, Abs. She’s got severe injuries from the crash, and she had no pulse for several minutes.”

  I felt my lip quiver. “So she could still die?”

  Dutch cupped my cheeks. “Yes. And if she recovers, there’s a good chance she may never be the same.”

  I got teary again. “Okay,” I said hoarsely.

  “We’ve got to be careful what we tell Brice,” Dutch said, looking at me intently.

  “What do you mean?”

  My sweet husband stroked my cheek with his thumb. “He’s going to look to you for hope, Edgar. And I’m worried that you’re in no shape to tune in on anything right now. I don’t want you to use that radar until you’ve had some rest and you’re not in shock.”

  I gripped his wrists. “I’ll be okay,” I told him, but I knew he was right. I felt far too shaky to tune in on Candice’s energy, even though I knew I should check the ether just to prepare myself in case her prognosis was for the worse.

  Dutch pulled me close and kissed me on the forehead. “Whatever happens, I’m here, okay?”

  I nodded because I got choked up again and couldn’t speak. Dutch then opened the door and we went out to find Brice, sitting on the edge of the lawn chair with his face in his hands.

  Dutch and I shared a look before we both sat down on either side of him. “Hey,” Dutch began. I put my arm around Brice. He tensed, and I could feel him trying hard not to sob in front of us. “I just got a call from Oscar. He’s on scene and they were able to get a pulse.”

  Brice lifted his face and stared hard at Dutch. “What?” he gasped. “You mean . . . she’s alive?”

  My husband nodded. “We need to go. I’ll drive us over to St. David’s.”

  Brice swallowed hard and wiped at his cheeks. It nearly undid me all over again to see him so overcome. I got up and held out my hand. He turned his attention to me and stared at my hand blankly. It seemed he was having a difficult time processing what was happening. “Come on, honey,” I coaxed. “Take my hand and come with us. We’ll bring you to her.”

  At last Brice reached up and took hold of my hand and I led him slowly back through the kitchen and out the front door. Dutch hurried on ahead of us to start the car and drive it closer to the front walk, where I led Brice around to put him in the passenger seat next to Dutch. I then got in the back and we were off.

  It took about twenty minutes to reach the hospital, and no one uttered a word on the way over, each of us lost in our thoughts of what’d happened to Candice.

  Dutch pulled up to the emergency room entrance and I got out and took hold of Brice’s hand again while Dutch went to park the car before meeting us inside.

  We found Oscar at the nurses’ station and he seemed surprised to see us there. Or maybe he was just surprised by Brice’s blank stare as I led him along. “Sir,” he said with a nod to Brice.

  “How is she?” he replied hoarsely.

  Oscar’s gaze dropped. “Not good, sir. I’m sorry.”

  I felt my eyes water again, and I wanted so much for something to happen that would take me out of this nightmare and cause me to wake up in a different reality, one where Candice was alive, well, and not a murderer.

  “I need to see her,” Brice said so softly it was almost a whisper.

  Oscar pointed toward the nurse at the desk. “I’ll tell them you’re here. They’re working on her right now, but how about you go sit down and I’ll come get you as soon as they come out to report on her condition?”

  Brice turned toward a set of double doors that led to the trauma area and I felt him tense again. I figured he had to have thoughts about storming back there to be with his wife, so I gripped his hand tightly and tugged on his arm. “Come on,” I coaxed. “We can’t do anything back there and we’ll only get in the way. Let’s go sit down so the doctors and nurses can do their jobs without our interference.”

  Brice wavered another moment before letting me lead him over to a triple row of chairs. Dutch came in a few minutes later, looking winded, like he’d run from the parking lot. He sat down on the other side of Brice, who was simply staring at the floor, his hands clasped in front of him.

  We waited like that for a long time—at least an hour—before Oscar came to find us. “The doc will be out in a minute,” he informed us. And then he frowned and motioned over his shoulder. “The guys from Vegas are here, by the way.”

  Brice’s head snapped up and he glared angrily in the direction Oscar had indicated. “You tell those sons of bitches to back the hell off,” he growled.

  Dutch rose to his feet. “Let me handle it, sir,” he said, and I worried about the possible confrontation to come. Luckily, Candice’s doctor came out of the back and over to us. “Are you the family?” he asked when he stopped in front of us. We both nodded.

  “I’m her husband and this is her sister,” Brice said, without missing a beat.

  I wound my arm through his to let him know I was grateful for that. We both knew I wouldn’t be allowed to see Candice unless I was family.

  The doctor nodded. “I’m Dr. Reynolds. Sir, your wife’s condition is, I’m afraid, most grave. She’s sustained multiple injuries and she registered no pulse for several minutes. Normally I would suggest that the odds of her ever being more than a vegetable were very long; however, the fire department has informed us that the water temperature at the lake was barely above forty degrees, due to the unusually cold winter we’ve had. This put your wife in a rather immediate hypothermic state, which would have slowed down all of her metabolic functions. It is possible for patients who’ve experienced this particular c
ondition to lose a pulse for several minutes and recover fully, but there are also other grievous injuries to consider.”

  Brice had gone pale again and I squeezed his arm. He seemed unable to speak, so I said, “What other injuries, Doctor?”

  He took a deep breath before answering. I had no idea how he managed to hold it together enough to deliver news like this. “Candice has sustained fractures to three of her four limbs: her right arm and both legs. Both of her femurs were compound fractures. Six of her ribs are broken, her left lung was punctured, her spleen is swollen and may need to be removed, and every single bone in her face has been fractured. Right now she is comatose, and we don’t know when, or if, she’ll wake up. The next twelve hours are the most critical. We’re going to try to manage her injuries symptomatically for now by attempting to control the swelling until she’s stable enough for surgery. Her spleen is the most concerning right now; if it continues to swell and we have to go in to remove it, there’s a very likely chance she won’t survive the surgery.”

  The doctor finished his speech and it was a moment before I was able to inhale. “Sweet Jesus,” I whispered.

  Next to me Brice stood stiffly, his face pale but his eyes finally focused and intent. “Can we see her?”

  Dutch came back to us at that moment and put his arm across my shoulders. I looked up at him and shook my head to indicate that Candice’s condition was grave.

  “Yes,” the doctor told Brice. “I’ll have a nurse come out and take you to her, but, Mr. Harrison, please do not try to hug her or move her, other than to gently hold her hand, and I would encourage you to do that, in fact. Talk to her and let her know you’re here. Remind her what to fight for.”

  “She can hear me?” Brice asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “We don’t know,” Dr. Reynolds said. “Which is why you shouldn’t hold back. Talk to her. Let her hear your voice. Convince her to fight, because that is the only thing keeping her alive right now.”