‘‘I know, but I was thinking maybe I should flash my badge and get us through here quicker.’’
‘‘We’re fine,’’ I said, my radar telling me there was no need to rush.
Dutch swayed a little and I glanced at him in alarm. ‘‘Hey,’’ I said, forcing him to look at me. ‘‘You don’t look good.’’
Dutch mopped his brow. ‘‘I haven’t felt well since I got that phone call. I’ll be okay once we get on the plane.’’
‘‘I have a good feeling that we’ll find Chase,’’ I said, trying to reassure him.
Dutch pulled me against him. ‘‘Thanks, Edgar,’’ he whispered, and I could detect the worry in his voice.
I’d never met Dutch’s cousin, but I knew that my boyfriend’s mom and her best friend, Dutch’s aunt, had been best friends since grammar school and had ironically grown up to marry twin brothers. Dutch’s father, Bruce Rivers and his identical twin, Bill. The foursome had remained close and had lived just down the street from each other while they raised their families. Dutch and Chase were only a year apart in age and the two had also been tight growing up. They’d even had similar career paths in the navy and working security gigs through college. Dutch still had a small security consulting practice on the side with his best friend and Royal Oak detective Milo Johnson, and Chase seemed to have a similar setup in Vegas.
‘‘How’s Laney holding up?’’ I asked, referring to the short conversation Dutch had had with Chase’s wife before we left for the airport.
‘‘She’s holding her own,’’ Dutch said with a hint of pride. ‘‘Best thing my cousin ever did was marry that girl.’’
‘‘I’d be out of my mind,’’ I said honestly. ‘‘Especially if I had an eight-month-old to worry about too.’’ Chase and Laney had a bouncing baby girl.
‘‘You’d be okay,’’ he said, looking down at me with a smile. ‘‘But the kid might be the deal breaker.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’ I asked.
‘‘Well, if I weren’t around, the baby might starve to death.’’
‘‘Ha-ha,’’ I said woodenly, giving him an elbow. Dutch immediately doubled over and turned a pale shade of green. ‘‘Ohmigod!’’ I said. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Is there a problem here?’’ one of the security guards asked, seeing Dutch doubled over and holding his stomach.
‘‘I just gave him a little jab in the side,’’ I said, trying to guide Dutch out of line.
‘‘I’m fine,’’ he said, waving me off.
At that moment the security guard caught sight of Dutch’s gun, which was showing clearly now that he was doubled over. ‘‘Sir!’’ the security guard said in alarm. ‘‘Are you carrying a concealed weapon?’’ At that moment Dutch bolted from the line, leaving me and his carry-on luggage.
‘‘Sir!’’ the security guard yelled. But Dutch was running as if his life depended on it. The security guard spoke rapidly into his walkie-talkie and took me firmly by the arm.
‘‘But you don’t understand!’’ I insisted as I was pulled away while watching three men run after Dutch. ‘‘He’s FBI!’’
‘‘Come with me now!’’ the guard said, and there was nothing more I could do. I couldn’t even grab our luggage because yet another guard had come up next to me and was picking up Dutch’s carry-on along with my backpack.
‘‘Dutch!’’ I yelled as I was hauled away, but he’d just ducked into the men’s room.
Twenty minutes later Dutch and I were sitting in a closed-off room with six beefy-looking airport-security guys in uniform, and even though my boyfriend had flashed his magic badge, no one was willing to take our word for it until a call came back from the bureau to confirm he wasn’t a terrorist. ‘‘How much longer is this gonna take?’’ I whined.
‘‘Should be any time now,’’ Dutch said, still looking pale and shaky. ‘‘They’ll hold the plane for us just in case our story checks out.’’
‘‘Are you sure you still want to fly?’’ I asked, looking at him skeptically.
‘‘I’ll be fine,’’ he said for the umpteenth time. ‘‘Just something I ate didn’t agree with me.’’
I rubbed Dutch’s back and looked around at the beefy squad. ‘‘Can one of you get him some water at least?’’ I barked. I’d had it with these unsympathetic bozos. It was clear Dutch had dashed out of line because he’d needed to give up his dinner, and the fact that we were still being treated like terrorists was pissing me off.
‘‘Agent Rivers?’’ said a man on the phone across the room.
‘‘Here,’’ Dutch said.
‘‘We have an Agent Robillard on the line for you.’’
I tensed. Raymond Robillard was Dutch’s boss and former CIA, now the ASAC, or assistant special agent in charge, for the Michigan Federal Bureau of Investigation. He was also a man I’d had a vision of murdering a fellow CIA agent named Cynthia Frost some years earlier. Dutch knew of my vision, and he’d been quietly investigating his boss ever since. ‘‘Be right back,’’ Dutch said, with a pat to my knee.
I glared at the beefy bozos while Dutch walked stiffly to the phone. None of them seemed offended. They just continued to stare at me silently, probably hoping that I’d crack and reveal some plot to take over the world.
I don’t much cotton to intimidation tactics. Gets my dander up, so after trying to ignore them for a few minutes, I got mighty irritated and switched on the old radar to see about having some fun. ‘‘So!’’ I snapped at the guard nearest me. ‘‘How’s school going for you?’’ The guy blinked, but he didn’t respond, so I kept going. ‘‘Must be hard to take classes with a full-time job,’’ I said. ‘‘Still, I think it’s interesting that you’ve chosen... cooking to study?’’ I ended with a question, but his reaction was all the validation I needed.
‘‘How’d you know that?’’ he demanded.
I gave him a winning smile and turned to the next target, the guy to his left. ‘‘And you,’’ I said. ‘‘That engagement ring burning a hole in your pocket?’’ Beefy bozo number two’s jaw dropped. ‘‘Well, you’d better get cracking, honey. If you’re waiting for the right time, I’m thinking it was yesterday.’’
‘‘Cut that out,’’ said bozo number one.
‘‘Or what?’’ I said, feeling ballsy. ‘‘You’ll cook me a soufflé?’’
That stopped him. He just looked at me dumbly while his buddies ogled me, rather stupefied about how I knew such personal information.
‘‘And you,’’ I said, pivoting to the last guy on my right.
‘‘Me?’’ he asked with big round eyes.
‘‘Yes, you,’’ I said. ‘‘Your shoulder needs surgery, and the longer you put it off, the more painful your recovery is going to be. And call your mother in Phoenix,’’ I added. ‘‘She’s lonely and you’re a poor excuse for a son for not calling her sooner.’’
Last bozo turned a shade of fuchsia that wasn’t his color. ‘‘Oh, man!’’ he said.
‘‘Edgar,’’ I heard Dutch say behind one of the bozos. ‘‘Let’s go.’’
I got up and waved to the guards as I passed by them. ‘‘Ta-ta, boys!’’ I said.
‘‘How did she... ?’’
‘‘What the hell was... ?’’
‘‘Is this some kind of a joke?’’
I left Bozo the Clowns and followed my boyfriend triumphantly. ‘‘You just can’t resist toying with the innocent, can you?’’ Dutch said.
‘‘They asked for it,’’ I said defensively. ‘‘Maybe next time they’ll think about picking on some poor innocent law-abiding citizen like me.’’
‘‘And which part would you say best describes you,’’ Dutch said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk, ‘‘the innocent or the law-abiding?’’
He had a solid point. My personal history was a little less than squeaky clean. ‘‘They don’t know about any of that stuff,’’ I insisted. ‘‘As far as they’re concerned, I am innocent and law-abiding.’’
‘?
??Come on, Edgar, we’ve got to hustle to catch this plane.’’
* * *
As we settled into our seats, I gave Dutch an apprising look. ‘‘You still don’t look so good.’’
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. ‘‘What gave it away? The bolt to the bathroom or the cold sweat I’m feeling right now?’’
‘‘The pasty complexion,’’ I said. ‘‘You look white as a sheet.’’
‘‘Must have been something I ate,’’ he said, opening one eye to look at me.
‘‘Don’t look at me!’’ I said. ‘‘You made dinner.’’
‘‘I didn’t eat dinner, remember? I was on the phone the whole time.’’
‘‘Oh,’’ I said. ‘‘Well, when was the last time you ate?’’
‘‘Today at lunch,’’ he said, his other eye opening.
‘‘Uh-oh,’’ I said. I’d made his lunch.
‘‘What was in that sandwich you made me?’’
‘‘Chicken salad,’’ I said. ‘‘Wasn’t it good?’’
‘‘Apparently not,’’ Dutch said, wrapping his arms around his stomach. ‘‘Did you eat any of it?’’
‘‘No,’’ I admitted. ‘‘Candice sprung for pizza this afternoon.The sandwich took a deep six in favor of something better.’’
‘‘Lucky you,’’ he said grimly.
‘‘Sorry,’’ I said weakly. Dutch grunted and closed his eyes again and we waited in silence for takeoff.
When we were in the air, I got him a pillow and blanket and made sure he was as comfortable as possible. His brow was wet with sweat, but he shivered slightly under the blanket and the more he suffered, the worse I felt. Finally, when we were over the Rockies, he seemed to settle down and fall asleep.
I wasn’t so lucky. Worried I’d poisoned my boyfriend, I continued to check him for any signs that he might be getting worse. But by the time we landed, Dutch and I had swapped complexions. I was pasty faced with bloodshot eyes, and his color had returned and he seemed to be back to normal.
‘‘Morning,’’ he said as the flight attendant announced we were coming in for landing.
‘‘Hey there,’’ I said. ‘‘You look better.’’
‘‘I feel better,’’ he said, pulling one hand out from under his blanket to feel my forehead. ‘‘But I think I might’ve passed this on to you. You feeling okay?’’
‘‘Just tired,’’ I said. ‘‘No beauty sleep last night.’’
Dutch glanced at his watch and yawned. ‘‘The hotel’s on the Strip,’’ he said. ‘‘It shouldn’t be long before we can get you settled into the room and you can take a nap.’’
‘‘And what’re you going to do while I’m napping?’’
‘‘I’m going to head over to the police department and talk to the detective on the case and have him take me over to the crime scene.’’
‘‘Where you go I go, cowboy,’’ I said.
‘‘You sure you don’t want to rest?’’
‘‘I’m fine,’’ I said. ‘‘Besides, I might be able to pick something up at the scene.’’ Dutch gave me a worried look that suggested he was wavering about letting me come along, so I added, ‘‘Really. I’m fine. I’ll sleep later this afternoon, ’kay?’’
‘‘Okay,’’ he said, stroking my cheek. ‘‘Thanks for being a trouper, Abs.’’
‘‘Oh, I’ll expect to be wined and dined for my services,’’ I said with a grin. ‘‘And when we crack this case, I’ll also insist on a show.’’
He grinned. ‘‘A show, huh?’’
‘‘Yep. I hear Cirque du Soleil gives one hell of a performance.’’
‘‘That they do, babycakes,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘Okay, you help me find Chase and I’ll take you to any show you want.’’
‘‘Deal!’’ I said, and stuck my hand out for him to shake on it.
Just then someone behind us said, ‘‘Oh, look at that!’’ and our attention was diverted to the window, where the dark landscape was unexpectedly lit by the glow of a bazillion lights.
‘‘Whoa,’’ I said, leaning across Dutch to get a better view. ‘‘That’s awesome!’’
‘‘Are you a Vegas virgin?’’ he asked me.
I giggled. ‘‘If by that you’re inquiring if this is my first time to Vegas, then yes.’’
‘‘Under different circumstances I’d show you the town, Edgar,’’ he said, his expression pinched.
I rubbed his shoulder. ‘‘We’ll find him really soon, babe.’’
‘‘Is that what your radar’s saying?’’ he asked hopefully.
My right side suddenly felt light and airy. ‘‘You know,’’ I said, giving him an encouraging smile, ‘‘it is actually saying just that.’’
Dutch breathed a small sigh of relief. ‘‘Thank God.’’ And he turned back to the window. Looking at him staring out at the landscape with lines of worry around his eyes, I wanted to give him more. I wanted to tell him that I felt everything was going to turn out just ducky. But when I focused my radar on the ending of this ordeal, all I felt was a sense of unease, and that sent a shiver and feelings of dread up and down my spine.
Chapter Two
We landed about ten minutes later and deplaned. I followed wearily behind Dutch as we made our way to the rental-car counter and a short time later loaded our luggage into a snappy-looking Lexus. ‘‘This must not be an economy trip,’’ I said, sliding into the front seat.
‘‘I’m thinking about buying one of these,’’ Dutch explained as he turned the key and pulled out of the lot. ‘‘Thought I might as well test-drive it while I had the chance.’’
‘‘Where are we staying?’’ I asked as Dutch made his way into traffic.
‘‘The Wynn.’’
‘‘Is it nice?’’
Dutch grinned. ‘‘No, it’s a dump.’’
I gave him a quizzical look, unsure if he was poking fun or not. I found out a few minutes later when we pulled up to a huge green glass tower, oozing with opulence. Dutch drove up to the entrance, and the area around us was bustling with traffic and pedestrians. He got out and handed the keys to the valet, who unloaded our trunk for us and directed us inside to the reservation counter. As we entered, my jaw dropped. The lobby was rich and extravagant, with beautiful marble tiles, gold leafing, and designer labels everywhere.
Dutch was watching me with a knowing look on his face. I closed my jaw and regarded him coolly. ‘‘What? The Holiday Inn was booked?’’
He laughed. ‘‘Come on, Edgar, let’s get our room.’’
As dawn broke over the distant hills, Dutch and I were in the room unpacking when his cell went off. He looked at the caller ID and answered with, ‘‘Hey, Laney.’’ Chase’s wife said something and Dutch replied, ‘‘Yeah, we just got in. I’m headed over to the police department right after we unpack. What’s that? Sure, honey, we can stop by. How’re you holding up?’’
I paused as I was unpacking and regarded my boyfriend.
Dutch is a bit of an enigma, even to someone as intuitive as me. On the surface he’s a guy’s guy. Roguishly handsome with square features, he’s got a body that Adonis would envy and a demeanor that is reserved but watchful and always alert. Over the year and a half that we’ve been together, I’ve noticed that he often has a hard time dropping the cop face and just being an average Joe.
Until I came along, he didn’t believe in a sixth sense. He was a ‘‘the evidence points to...’’ man. And he hadn’t been swayed to think that psychic intuition was a real, honest-to-goodness ability even after we’d been dating a while. It wasn’t until I’d worked a few cases with him that he began to come around. And just like he’d accepted the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, throw-caution-to-the-wind-as-long-as-the-old-radar-says-it’s-okay side of me, so too had I come to accept the unflinching, focused, cool-as-a-cucumber, and overly cautious side of him.
Trust me, we’re really fun at parties.
Still, in those moments when the cop face came off, and Dutch show
ed his soft underbelly—like now when he was on the phone with his cousin’s wife—I realized how madly, deeply crazy, head-over-heels in love with the guy I was. And just then I felt a cold tickle of fear and remembered a moment that was more dream than reality, and it made me shiver.
Last February I had been shot in the chest and for about two minutes, I’d actually died. During that time I’d had a near-death experience that still haunted me.
I vaguely remember my deceased grandmother taking me on a kind of art tour where I glimpsed beautifully painted portraits of the people in my life. One of those portraits was of Dutch, and my grandmother said to me that if I didn’t return to my body, his life would be cut short. Only I could stop his premature death, but I had to return.
That had been the deciding factor in bringing me back. Well, that and the paramedic performing CPR, but still, you get the picture. I’d come back, and I hadn’t forgotten my grandmother’s message. Why I was recalling it now only made me shiver more.
‘‘You cold?’’ Dutch asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
‘‘Huh?’’
‘‘You’re shivering,’’ he said, sliding his cell phone back onto the clip at his waist.
‘‘Oh,’’ I said, turning to put the last of my clothing from my suitcase into the bureau. ‘‘I’m fine. Are we going to stop by and see Laney?’’
Dutch came over and wrapped me in his arms. His skin felt hot. ‘‘Yeah,’’ he said. ‘‘She’s a wreck. It might do her good to talk to you, if that’s okay.’’
‘‘You mean you want me to let her know that my radar says that Chase is still alive?’’
‘‘If you’re cool with that.’’
I glanced up at him and noticed that his coloring was pale again. Reaching up to touch his brow, I said, ‘‘It’s fine. How are you feeling?’’
‘‘Still a little queasy,’’ he said, arching one eyebrow. ‘‘You know, that cookbook I gave you probably has a good recipe for chicken salad.’’
‘‘Yeah, yeah,’’ I laughed, and pulled away from him to grab my purse. ‘‘Save it for when we get back, cowboy. We’ve got a bad guy to catch and a cousin to bring home.’’