* * *
We left the Wynn and headed out into the thick Las Vegas traffic. The morning rush hour had just started and it took us a while to get off the Strip and make headway out into the surrounding suburbs. We eventually pulled up in front of a small ranch with mud brown stucco, a terra-cotta clay roof, and a bright orange door. ‘‘We’re here,’’ Dutch said, parking in the driveway behind a Toyota Corolla.
The door to the house opened as Dutch and I were getting out, and in the doorway stood a stick-thin red-head with freckles and a pointy chin holding a baby tightly to her hip. Dutch waved and waited for me to join him before we headed up the walkway. ‘‘Hey, girl,’’ he said as we got close.
‘‘Man, am I glad to see you!’’ she said, her voice smoky and cool.
‘‘Hi,’’ I said, sticking out my hand. ‘‘I’m Abby.’’
‘‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’’ Laney said, taking my hand. I noticed there were dark circles under her eyes. ‘‘Most of it was even good,’’ she added with a grin.
‘‘I’m sure,’’ I said, breaking into a smile myself.
Laney turned away from me and gave Dutch an awkward one-handed hug. ‘‘Is this Hanna?’’ he asked as he let her go and looked closely at the baby on her hip.
‘‘It is,’’ Laney said. ‘‘She’s grown some since the last photo we sent you.’’
‘‘I’ll say,’’ said Dutch. ‘‘But big babies run in our family.’’
‘‘Come on in, you two,’’ she said, stepping back from the door.
Dutch and I entered and glanced around. The house seemed sparse for furnishings. A green sectional couch dominated the living room, along with some TV trays for side tables and a small television on some milk crates. The only other large object in the room was a play yard, and while Dutch and I took a seat on the couch, Laney placed Hanna carefully in the play yard, shaking a small silver rattle for her to play with while we talked.
‘‘Did you get any sleep at all?’’ Dutch asked.
Laney glanced up at him as she stepped away from the pen and over to a folding chair leaning against the wall. As she unfolded it and sat down, she said, ‘‘Not a wink. The call from the police came in late yesterday morning. Chase wasn’t even due back from his job until tomorrow.’’
‘‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’’ Dutch asked, taking out a small pad of paper and a pen from his jacket pocket.
‘‘Right before he left for his assignment, so last Wednesday.’’
‘‘Did he talk to you about the job?’’
Laney sat back in her chair and rubbed her bloodshot eyes. ‘‘He’s been working with this Delgado guy for a couple of months now. From what Chase says, the guy’s a player. He burns through cash like water, has an eye for strippers, and likes to travel out of the country on occasion. My understanding was that he liked to have Chase along whenever he felt he needed to be flashy, which lately was more and more often.’’
‘‘Do you remember any details about Delgado’s plans? Where he and Chase might have been before the kidnapping?’’
Laney sighed and rubbed her forehead. ‘‘He said something about a short business trip with Delgado that required him to use his passport.’’
‘‘Do you know where they went?’’ Dutch asked, and his body language revealed that he was really interested in the trip.
Laney shook her head. ‘‘Delgado’s got a private plane that he uses to travel all over the country. That’s why he likes Chase, in fact—he can use him for double duty.’’
‘‘Double duty?’’ I asked.
‘‘Chase has a pilot’s license,’’ Laney explained. ‘‘He’s certified to fly small aircraft.’’
‘‘Do you know when they were supposed to leave or when they might have gotten back?’’ Dutch asked.
‘‘No,’’ Laney said. ‘‘Chase was pretty mum on the details, but I assumed they would be out of town until tomorrow, when Chase said he’d be home. That’s why I was so surprised when the police called me to say that Chase and Delgado had been abducted from that strip club in town. I’d really thought they’d both been out of town.’’
‘‘Did Chase say anything specifically about maybe someone following Delgado around, or that he was nervous about the assignment?’’
Laney shook her head. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘Did Chase call you while he was on duty at any point during the week?’’
‘‘No, but that’s not unusual. He knows I’m writing my thesis and that any free time away from Hanna has been spent at the computer. He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb me.’’
‘‘Laney’s working toward her PhD,’’ Dutch explained to me.
‘‘Impressive,’’ I said.
‘‘Not really,’’ she replied. ‘‘It’s more expensive than anything else. I should have gone for my doctorate ten years ago—it would have saved me a butt load of money.’’
‘‘You two doing all right?’’ Dutch asked, his voice concerned.
‘‘We’re fine,’’ she said. ‘‘Just the stress of being new parents with too much debt and not enough money coming in, but we’ve got each other and I’m as crazy about your cousin as I’ve ever been.’’
‘‘I can help, you know,’’ Dutch offered.
‘‘We’re fine,’’ Laney insisted again. ‘‘I took advantage of another student loan. It’s helping out a lot, and Chase has been doing well with the number of jobs he’s been getting. I mean, Delgado paid really well and on time.’’ And then Laney’s faint smile seemed to fade and I watched a small tremor go through her slight frame. ‘‘You have to find him, Dutch,’’ she whispered as her eyes drifted to her daughter in the playpen. ‘‘I can’t do this without him.’’
‘‘You have my word,’’ he said. ‘‘I won’t stop until I find him.’’
She took a deep breath, and it was obvious she was trying to collect herself. ‘‘Laney,’’ I said softly. ‘‘Is it possible for you to lend me a picture of Chase?’’
She looked at me curiously. ‘‘Uh, I guess. Why?’’
Dutch glanced at me, and his look said not to tell her the truth. The truth was that from a photograph I could tell if a person was alive or dead, so I planned to use his photo to tune in on his mortality. ‘‘Sometimes I can get a pretty good bead on someone from their photo,’’ I offered. ‘‘It helps me to focus on their energy and what’s happening around them.’’
Laney got up and walked into the kitchen, which was right behind the living room, returning a moment later to hand me a photo taken sometime shortly after Hanna’s birth. In the picture, Laney was in a hospital bed looking exhausted and holding a pink and pruney baby while Chase grinned proudly to one side.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked at his image. Chase was still alive.
Glancing up at Dutch, who was watching me intently, I allowed the smallest of reassuring smiles. His face remained cool and composed, but I noticed his shoulders relax and he turned his attention back to Laney. ‘‘Thanks for the picture, Laney. We’ll take good care of it.’’
‘‘I’d rather you just bring my husband back,’’ Laney said, and for the first time since we’d entered her home, I could see the intense fear in her eyes.
Dutch got up from the couch and walked forward to her, where he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. ‘‘We’ll bring him back, honey, I promise,’’ he said after a few moments. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back. Laney wiped at her eyes and took a few deep breaths before she said, ‘‘Can I offer you two some coffee?’’
Dutch grimaced and I knew his stomach was still bothering him. ‘‘Thanks, but we really should get over to the police station as soon as possible. Can I call anyone for you? Maybe a family member to come stay with you while we look for Chase?’’
Laney shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself tightly as if she was cold. ‘‘My mom is my only family. She lives in Phoenix and her diabetes is bad enough to prevent her from trav
eling.’’
‘‘You have my side of the family too, ya know,’’ Dutch said kindly. ‘‘I’m sure Aunt Beth would fly out here in a heartbeat. And for that matter, so would my mom.’’
Laney attempted a smile. ‘‘They’ve all offered, Dutch,’’ she said wearily. ‘‘But if they were here, I’d feel like I had to be strong, and I just can’t put up that kind of bravado right now.’’
‘‘Friends?’’ Dutch pressed. He was clearly worried about Laney and wanted her to have someone around for support.
‘‘We’re new in town,’’ Laney said, and I could tell her tone meant he should drop it. ‘‘I’ll be fine.’’
Dutch pressed his lips together and gave her a nod. He’d let it go and then he turned toward the door. I stood to leave and Laney walked us to the car. Before we left, I gave her shoulder a squeeze and said, ‘‘He’s still alive, Laney. I can feel it.’’
Laney looked at me in all seriousness and said, ‘‘So can I.’’
* * *
It took us another twenty minutes to backtrack and make our way to the Las Vegas Police Department on Ninth Street. The department building wasn’t much to look at. In fact, if you weren’t looking for it, you might miss it altogether. Sandstone covered the exterior with a salmon-color trim, and the rather small building seemed to meld into the desert landscape. Palm trees lined the driveway and parking lot, but other than that, there was no landscaping to speak of.
Dutch parked and got out of the car. I followed close behind him as we walked to the entrance and stepped into the cool interior with its parquet flooring, plastic seats, and imitation-wood counter. ‘‘Charming,’’ I whispered as we headed toward the dispatch desk.
‘‘Your basic PD interior,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘No frills. They have better things to do with taxpayer money.’’
‘‘Like buy doughnuts,’’ I muttered.
‘‘Edgar,’’ Dutch warned. ‘‘I’m here unofficially. Try to keep from offending anyone while I milk them for information—’kay?’’
‘‘Oh, if I must,’’ I said dramatically.
‘‘And if you get any hits from your radar, just keep them to yourself until we’re alone. I don’t want to scare these guys off with a bunch of psychic shtick.’’
I rolled my eyes but shut my trap and allowed Dutch to do the talking. Dutch gave his name at the dispatch desk and requested to speak to a Detective Brosseau. We were told to wait in the lobby and the dispatch clerk would check to see if the detective was available. I noticedthat in the course of the exchange Dutch didn’t identify himself as ‘‘Agent’’ Rivers.
‘‘How come you didn’t flash your badge?’’ I asked when we were out of earshot of the dispatch clerk.
Dutch grimaced. ‘‘I don’t want people to think this is official FBI business,’’ he said. ‘‘Local PDs tend to clam up when they feel their jurisdiction’s being trampled on, and I really want to get a look at the crime scene, the limo, and dig into any leads these guys might have without them feeling threatened by an FBI badge.’’
‘‘And you think this detective will fill you in on all those details just ’cuz you have a cute smile?’’ I asked.
Dutch grinned. ‘‘I have a cute smile, huh?’’
‘‘On occasion,’’ I said coyly.
‘‘Good. I’ll flash it for the detective and see if it gets me anywhere.’’
A door opened off to the side of the dispatch clerk and out stepped a very tall man with gray hair, a square face, and glasses. He lumbered over to us and I was impressed—he was at least a few inches taller than Dutch, who’s around six-two. ‘‘Good morning,’’ he said warmly, extending his hand out to Dutch. ‘‘I’m Detective Bob Brosseau.’’
Dutch and I introduced ourselves, and the detective motioned us back through the door and up a short flight of stairs. We arrived in a large open room with lots of cubicles and white fluorescent lighting that gave everyone a sickly green cast. ‘‘Over here,’’ he said, and we followed him into a small office off to the side.
The detective motioned to two chairs in front of his hugely overcrowded desk and we all took our seats. ‘‘I understand, Mr. Rivers, that you are the bodyguard’s cousin?’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ Dutch said, flashing the detective his pearly whites. ‘‘Chase is more like a brother, though. We grew up together.’’
‘‘I see. Have you been in contact with him recently?’’ the detective asked, pulling out a legal pad to take some notes.
‘‘Yes,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘I talked to Chase about two weeks ago.’’
‘‘Did he happen to talk to you about Ricardo Delgado?’’
‘‘Who?’’ Dutch asked as my radar kicked in.
‘‘The man Chase had contracted to bodyguard for.’’
‘‘No,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘He didn’t mention him.’’
In my head I heard, Liar, liar... pants on fire... and I knew that Dutch was purposely withholding information. I cut my eyes to him, but he was ignoring me.
‘‘Did he mention anything unusual happening recently? Perhaps he might have suggested that while he was guarding Mr. Delgado, he’d noticed someone following them?’’
Dutch shook his head and looked for all the world like he was telling the detective the truth. ‘‘He didn’t mention anything at all like that,’’ he said.
‘‘What did you two talk about during the course of your conversation, then?’’ the detective asked.
‘‘Mostly sports,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘We’re both Yankees fans.’’
I squirmed in my chair. For the record, it is really difficult to sit by and listen to someone lie so outrageously to the police, even when it’s your boyfriend and you trust his judgment. ‘‘I’m a Red Sox fan myself,’’ said the detective. ‘‘We’re originally from Boston,’’ he added, indicating a family picture with the wife and four kids.
My attention went to the photo and as my radar was already in high gear, I said, ‘‘Congratulations to your daughter and her scholarship. She’ll be very happy back East. And how fabulous that she got into the Ivy League—she must be very smart.’’
Dutch’s gaze darted to me and I realized what I’d just said out loud. Detective Brosseau smiled proudly. ‘‘Thanks!’’ he said. ‘‘We just got the news yesterday. Katie’s got a full scholarship to Brown University....’’ His voice drifted off as his brain caught up with the fact that there was no way I could possibly have known that.
‘‘Getting back to my cousin,’’ Dutch said, sending me a warning look as he tried to redirect the course of the conversation.
The detective wasn’t falling for it. ‘‘Hold on,’’ he said, putting up his hand in a stopping motion and turning to give me his undivided attention. ‘‘How the hell did you know that?’’
My eyes cut to Dutch for a cue. His face had gone flat, which meant he was furious. ‘‘Er... ,’’ I said. ‘‘Um...’’
‘‘What’s going on here?’’ he said, turning back to Dutch, his tone icy cold.
Dutch rolled his eyes and wiped his face with his hand. ‘‘You might as well share with the detective how you know that, Edgar.’’
‘‘Who’s Edgar?’’ the detective said, looking first at Dutch, then to me.
I raised my hand. ‘‘That would be me, Detective.’’
‘‘You’re a guy?’’ he said.
Dutch snorted, hiding a grin with his hand. ‘‘No,’’ I said, feeling my cheeks flush with heat. ‘‘I’m definitely not a guy. I’m a psychic.’’
The detective blinked once, twice, then broke out into hysterics. He laughed so hard that it was impossible not to join in. He slapped his knee and wiped his eyes and had himself one heck of a good time before sputtering, ‘‘Okay, okay. You got me!’’
‘‘I do?’’
‘‘Who put you up to this? Was it Malcolm? Wyatt? Tombrewski?’’
‘‘Er... no,’’ I said. ‘‘Detective Brosseau, I really am a psychic.’’
??
?‘Yeah, sure you are,’’ he said, continuing to humor me.
I looked back to Dutch, who only shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘Can we get back to my cousin now?’’ he asked.
The detective didn’t seem to know how to react. He was caught between the thought that our entire conversation was some kind of joke put together by one of his comrades and the possibility that the relative of a missing person had come into his office dragging his crazy girlfriend with him. He kept looking back and forth at us, waiting to see who would crack first.
Finally I said, ‘‘Detective, I really am a psychic. For instance, I can tell that you have a serious condition in your lower back. I’m guessing that it goes out on you a lot and that you’ve been ignoring it for years. I can tell that your wife is, at this moment, sending out résumés, hoping to find a little part-time job—which she will find, I might add, very soon. Tell her to look at something involving a bookstore or the library—I keep seeing shelves loaded with books. A job posting will open up soon that she’ll be perfect for. I can also tell that this little guy,’’ I said, pointing to the picture of one of the blond-headed boys, ‘‘is enamored with space and rocket ships. If you’re considering a camp for him in the summer, you’ll make all his dreams come true if you send him to space camp in Florida... which is where your mom lives, right?’’
To his credit, it took Brosseau a very short time to absorb that I was the real deal. After only a few rapid blinks, and a jaw drop or two, he finally spoke. ‘‘Whoa,’’ he said. ‘‘That was cool!’’
I grinned and noticed that Dutch seemed to be letting out the breath he’d apparently been holding. ‘‘Thanks. It’s a gift,’’ I said, tongue firmly in cheek.
Swiveling back to Dutch, he said, ‘‘Did you bring her along to help you find your cousin?’’
Dutch glanced my way. ‘‘In a manner of speaking,’’ he said. ‘‘She’s here to help look for clues we might miss. I should tell you, Detective, that I myself am a former detective with the Royal Oak PD, and Abby here has helped out on a few of the cases I’ve worked.’’
‘‘No kidding!’’ Brosseau said, looking at Dutch with newfound respect. ‘‘How long were you in law enforcement?’’