“Harrison has my back, though, right? I mean, he keeps telling me he won’t allow anyone to disrespect me, which is incredibly ironic coming from him of all people.” Harrison had been one of the most skeptical, hardheaded nuts my intuition had ever had to crack.
“Oh, he’ll have your back, all right. Candice would kill him if he didn’t.”
“I can’t wait to see her,” I said wistfully. My business partner and closest friend, Candice Fusco, was a private investigator by trade, and she had followed Harrison down to Texas two months ago. I knew from the few e-mails that I got from her that she was ridiculously head over heels for him, and the two were even talking about moving in together.
“They’ve invited us over for dinner,” Dutch added. “I heard that Candice laid down a big chunk of change last week for some swanky condo in downtown and she moved in a few days ago.”
“How is it you know more about Candice than I do?”
“Harrison keeps me in the loop,” Dutch said with a bounce to his eyebrows.
I smiled. “You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Little bit.”
I shook my head and stared out the window again, but Dutch’s cautionary words about my first day on the job were settling in and making me nervous. “Do you really think they’ll give me a hard time?” I asked him after a bit.
“Who?”
“The other agents on the squad.”
“Yes.”
My mouth fell open. “Gee, cowboy, thanks for cushioning it a little.”
Dutch reached out and squeezed my hand. “Sorry, doll, but you’re better off knowing what you’re about to walk into.”
“Do you think it’ll be as bad as the first time I met Harrison?”
Dutch considered that for a minute, which made me even more nervous, because the first time Harrison and I had met had been baaaad. “Maybe just a little less awkward than that,” Dutch said.
“Shit,” I said, and that won me a sideways glance from him. My anger management instructor had forbidden us to swear. “Zu,” I amended quickly. “Shih tzu!”
Dutch laughed and shook his head. “That’s a new one.”
Since I’d been conditioned the last two months not to swear because my instructor was convinced it led immediately to an anger impulse, I’d been coming up with some rather “colorful” alternatives. “I’m never going to be able to stop,” I admitted. Of all the alternate behaviors we’d learned in the class, the single greatest challenge for me was the no swearing. I’d yet to go a full day without letting at least one expletive fly.
“Anything’s an improvement,” Dutch muttered. And although I leveled my eyes at him, I knew he was right. My mouth could put most sailors to shame.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, then got back on topic. “So, what’s your advice for making my first introduction to these agents less awkward?”
“Don’t be yourself,” Dutch said, and it took me a minute to realize he was kidding.
“I’m serious!”
Dutch laughed heartily but then sobered a little when he noticed I wasn’t laughing. “I think it can’t hurt to be as professional and down-to-earth as possible. You don’t want to go in there and talk about your crew like they’re real or anything.”
That shocked me. “My crew” was the term I used for my spirit guides, and they were such a part of my intuitive process that I was aghast at his suggestion. “Why the hello-dolly not?”
That won me another smile. “Because the minute you start talking about the voices in your head is the moment these guys will earmark you for a nut and discount everything you tell them after that. Then they’ll discount both me and Harrison because we believe in you, and pretty soon we’ll have another political mess on our hands.”
Now I understood why Dutch had continued to pester me about whether I was nervous and what I planned to say to the agents when I met with them. “So what should I talk about?”
“Well,” Dutch said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I think you should stick to basics. Dumb it down as much as possible and maybe give them a demonstration. But don’t read them. Read a case.”
“Why can’t I read them?” I asked. That was my forte after all.
“Because you’ll intimidate them.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Come on,” I scoffed.
But Dutch wasn’t smiling. “You don’t think that going in there and publicly revealing all their secrets will turn them immediately against you?”
My eyebrows shot up. I hadn’t considered that. “Okay,” I conceded. “I see your point. So, I tune in on a case, then what? Have them go out and solve it?”
Dutch shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “What you should do is tune in on a case that has already been solved. Something where we’ve already nabbed the bad guys, but something that took a while to solve, which will be totally relevant because that’s this group’s specialty after all.”
I sat with that for a bit and realized he was right. “Okay,” I said. “I get it. So I’ll go in there tomorrow and do my thing, but not overdo my thing, and impress the heck out of these guys and we’ll all be singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’ around the campfire by dinnertime.”
Dutch grinned. “That’s the spirit,” he said, adding, “And up ahead is the city limits. We’ll be at our new house in about twenty minutes.”
I looked ahead, and saw that Dutch had been absolutely right before when he talked about the change in topography. As I-35 coasted into North Austin, the road began to undulate over more hilly terrain. I tried to take in as much of my new home as possible.
Dutch took an exit, and not long afterward, my breath caught; as far as my eye could see, there were great sandstone cliffs, the color of champagne with amber and brown undertones, sometimes jutting up alongside us, other times dropping away and giving us breathtaking views. Interspersed in the cliffs were willowy trees with pink, purple, fuchsia, and white blooms, lush green grass and bluebonnets covering the highway median as far as the eye could see. Dutch glanced over at me as we cruised closer and closer to our destination and asked, “What do you think?”
“It’s so beautiful,” I said softly. And then I turned to him and smiled. “I think we’re home, cowboy.”
Later that evening after we’d supervised the movers unloading our things into the new house (and Dutch was right: the rental was large and spacious with a lovely fenced-in backyard for the pups), we cruised into the city, heading to Candice’s, which was right in the heart of bustling downtown.
After pulling into the underground parking for a huge modern-looking building, we took the elevator up to the thirty-eighth floor and stepped out into a narrow hallway lit by artsy sconces and painted an earthy brown. We walked only a few steps when Dutch stopped in front of number A12 and knocked. The door was opened almost immediately. “You made it!” Candice exclaimed, and threw herself at me, crushing me in a giant bear hug.
“Hey, Candice!” I squeaked.
Candice let go but held my arms as she eyed me with interest. “You look amazing!”
I smiled. It was Candice who looked amazing. Love had done wonders for her complexion, and there was a little extra glint in her eye and an extra wattage to her smile. “Thanks, honey. You look pretty good yourself. This place agrees with you.”
Candice’s smile broadened even more, and she gave Dutch a big hug too before grabbing my hand and pulling me inside. “It does, sugar,” she said. “And just look at the view!”
We entered Candice’s condo and I will admit, the view was pretty spectacular. Only, I’m not talking about what was just beyond her window; I’m talking about Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison, who was leaning relaxed and gorgeous against the bar.
Brice was dressed to kill; he wore black dress slacks and a cashmere V-neck sweater that hugged his trim, fit body like a second skin. His face had always been ruggedly handsome, but the last time I’d seen him, that frown that he seemed to never go without had vanished, and now
he wore something closer to a smirk.
It changed him dramatically. He was still the cool-as-a-cucumber, humming-with-testosterone man I remembered, but there was a softer element now. And it looked gorgeous on him. “Hey, Brice,” I said, surprised that I was actually happy to see him.
Harrison’s smirk turned into a full smile and he walked smoothly over to us, shaking Dutch’s hand and even giving me an unexpected hug. “Great to see you two,” he said warmly.
I was so stunned I couldn’t think what to say next. Most of my encounters with this man had been—at best—hostile. At worst they’d been downright murderous, so this change in our relationship would take some getting used to.
Candice seemed to pick up on the effect Brice was having on me, and she giggled, then took my hand again and pulled me to the balcony. “Come on, girl,” she sang. “You have got to get a load of this!”
We walked out onto the terrace and I gasped. “Holy cow!”
“It’s pretty fabulous, isn’t it?”
“Honey, it’s amazing!” I said, thinking she was one lucky duck to live with this kind of view. You could see the entire city and well beyond into the surrounding countryside from here.
I stared down, observing all the people who looked like ants. “The place really rocks with pedestrian traffic, doesn’t it?”
Candice leaned back against the railing, tilting her face up to the last rays of sunshine. “Downtown is always bustling,” she told me. “And the food here, Abby!” she said. “I don’t think Brice and I have had a mediocre meal since we arrived. It’s been one fabulous dish after another. And the night scene! Abs, wait until we take you guys clubbing!”
I smiled tiredly. “Can’t wait, but maybe not tonight. It was a long drive down.”
Candice moved over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Right, right,” she said. “I’m just so excited that you’re finally here. I’ve missed you, Sundance.”
“Who’d like some wine?” Brice asked from behind us, and we turned to see him holding two glasses of red.
Candice and I took the wine and he and Dutch joined us on the blacony. Brice sat close to Candice and held her hand. The two were obviously taken with each other, and my heart filled with happiness for my dear friend.
Still, I will admit that I was a bit surprised at how serious the pair had gotten so quickly. I’d seen the moving boxes stacked neatly in one corner, and all of them had labels like “Brice’s dishes,” or “Brice’s books.”
It seemed that the talking about moving in together had turned into the real deal. And it was about then, as I was watching them and seeing my new boss hold my friend’s hand, that my radar pinged and a sudden thought went through my head. I let out a tiny gasp as I stared in earnest at Candice’s left hand, and my expression must have changed, because all of a sudden Brice abruptly said, “Hey, Abby, can I see you in the kitchen?”
I pulled my eyes away from Candice’s hand and stared at him. “You . . . ,” I said, more words failing me.
Brice stood up quickly. “Kitchen?” he repeated urgently. “Now?”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Candice asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Brice replied smoothly. “I just want to go over a few things with Abby before her first day at work tomorrow.”
Dutch gave me and Brice a funny look. “Should I come?”
But Harrison shook his head and motioned for me to go ahead of him. “No. You two sit out here and enjoy this great weather and the view. We’ll be right back.”
Once I was through the door, Brice reached for my elbow and guided me into the galley-style kitchen. “Don’t say a word until we’re out of hearing range,” he cautioned softly.
I pressed my lips together and attempted to hold in the giggle that was burbling around inside me. When we got into the kitchen, Brice stood in front of me and asked, “How much do you know?”
“I know her ring size,” I said with a big fat grin. “Did you need it for anything special, Agent Harrison?”
Brice looked truly uncomfortable, which was an unusual expression for him. He was always confident. And cool. And collected. And I’d just made him toss all of that right off the balcony.
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced nervously over my shoulder to the terrace. “It’s crazy, right? I mean, we barely know each other.”
I laughed and he flinched. I attempted to rein in my humor and talk to him seriously. “It’s not crazy,” I assured him, but he still looked torn. “Listen, Brice, I know Candice, and I can tell you that she is as crazy about you as you are about her.”
Harrison chewed his lower lip, and a small line of perspiration appeared on his brow.
“Do you want me to tell you what I see?” I asked him coyly. I will admit, I was delighting at the opportunity to flaunt my intuitive abilities in front of him. I’d earned that right after all he’d put me through in the beginning of our work relationship.
Brice sighed and stared at his shoes. “Would you?”
“Of course!” I said. I waited until he raised his eyes again to say, “She’s not going to want a big, fancy wedding, so I hope you’re okay with something small.”
Brice’s face flushed with relief and he let go of the small breath he’d been holding. But then he seemed to think of something that gave him pause. “Will I make her happy?”
“Not always,” I told him honestly, and when he looked taken aback, I added, “But that’s normal, Brice. No couple always gets along. Overall, however, I think that you two will have one of those relationships that last. All the elements are there for a terrific future together. You’re good for each other. You push each other—you’re both driven, loyal, and ridiculously honest. You’re also both stubborn as mules. It’s almost like you’re the same person. And that kind of understanding for someone else is a rare thing, and mostly why I think you two could really work. It’d be an unbreakable bond, and a deep, deep love, Brice. One most people spend their whole lives looking for.”
Brice’s smile returned. “Thanks,” he said, and I was surprised again when he leaned in and hugged me for a second time. As he let go, he whispered, “Just don’t tell her before I get the chance to pop the question, okay?”
I stuck out my hand to shake his. “Deal.”
Later that evening after we left Candice’s place, Dutch suggested we take a drive along the cliffs near our home. “There’s a spot I want to show you.”
I smiled and stroked the side of his face. He could be wonderfully romantic sometimes. As we drove, he asked me, “So, what’d Harrison tell you about tomorrow?”
“Hmm?”
“The meeting in the kitchen you two had,” he said, reminding me. “Did he tell you much about the squad?”
My brain raced to make up details and failed. “Um . . . ,” I said, pressing my temples with my fingers.
“Hey,” he said, knowing me too well. “What gives?”
“We didn’t talk about tomorrow.”
Dutch eyed me. “So why’d he pull you aside?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
Dutch’s eyebrows arched.
“Okay, I know, stupid question. Of course you can. Brice is going to ask Candice to marry him.”
The car swerved and veered to the left, pushing us perilously close to oncoming traffic. I grabbed the door handle and squealed.
“Sorry,” Dutch apologized, quickly righting the SUV.
I put a hand on my chest. “What happened there?”
“Just tired,” Dutch said, and offered me what looked like a forced smile. “Maybe we should just head home and save the view for another time.”
I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed. “That sounds awesome,” I told him. “We’ll do romantic view next time.”
When we finally got home, I climbed into bed and had only a moment’s worry over what I might encounter at my new job the next day. I was honestly just too exhausted to give it much thought. In hindsight, maybe I should have braced myself for on
e heck of a turbulent ride.
Chapter Two
I rode in to the office with Dutch and spent much of my time sweating about how I looked and what I should say when I was introduced to the other agents. Mostly my introductory speech read like a corporate conference nametag, “Hello! My name is Abigail Cooper!” Beyond that, I figured I’d wing it and hope for the best.
The bureau office was on Nueces Street between Eighth and Ninth, a block away from the Austin Public Library. It was located inside a gorgeous plantation-styled home that had been converted into an office building but still held the original charm with beautiful trim and plenty of character.
When Dutch and I got out of the car, I stood for a minute just admiring it. “Doesn’t look much like I expected,” I admitted.
“Why? Because it’s not square, steel, and tinted glass?”
I glanced at Dutch, who was smiling back at me. “Yeah,” I said. “This place has way too much personality for the FBI.”
Dutch laughed. “Maybe,” he said, reaching for my hand. “But it’s probably only temporary.”
“Temporary?”
“Remember, this division is strictly experimental. The bureau doesn’t officially have an Austin location yet. The Central Texas office is still in San Antonio.”
“So why aren’t we in San Antonio?” I asked as Dutch held the door open for me.
“Too much opportunity for us to get sucked into other bureau business,” Dutch explained. “Harrison pushed hard to get us our own setup away from all the usual bureaucratic noise and distraction. He wanted this division to be focused only on cold cases, and he knew that if we were located in one of the other offices, our investigators could be temporarily reassigned whenever the other division chiefs wanted to borrow one of our guys on a case they thought might be more important.”
“Sounds like a bunch of politics.”
Dutch winked. “Exactly.”