A Glimpse of Evil (3 page)

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
ping
ed 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 one heck of a turbulent ride.

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.”

I sighed. I’d never been good at office politics. To be well skilled in that area, you had to occasionally ignore it when someone fed you a line of buffalo chips. I wasn’t so good at that. I was much better at calling people out on their shih tzu.

Which was why I was particularly anxious about going back to a corporate office setting. Still, the idea of solving some old cases and bringing closure to a family or two appealed to me. And, I’ll also admit, I was a wee bit excited about teaching some old FBI dogs a few new tricks.

Dutch and I climbed the stairs to the third floor and pushed our way through a door marked only with the suite number into a brightly lit office with several desks arranged in pairs of twos, split by an aisle and flanked at the end by two glassed-in offices.

To one side was a brand-new gleaming whiteboard with “WELCOME, AGENTS” written in large black letters. New filing cabinets lined the side walls, and boxes and boxes of files were stacked along the floor in front of them.

Crouched down next to one of the boxes was a pretty woman with curly auburn hair who was busy arranging the boxes by date and grouping them next to the coordinating cabinet.

Gathered around one of the desks were several men dressed in shirts and ties. I guessed they ranged in age from midthirties to early sixties. Everyone looked up when we entered and the place got quiet real fast.

“Good morning,” Dutch said to the men. He sounded confident, which helped stem my anxiety a little. “It’s good to see you all again.”

The men nodded and a few muttered, “Good morning, sir.”

Dutch turned slightly and introduced me to the group. “This is our new civilian profiler, Abigail Cooper.”

Immediately there were exchanged glances and the faint buzz of mumbled commentary, none of it loud enough to reach my ears, but it was clear—these guys had heard about me and what I was supposedly bringing to the table, and if I’d hoped they’d be open-minded, it was obvious from their expressions that I’d hoped wrong.

Feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, I was saved by the woman on the floor, who got up quickly and came directly over to us. “Good morning!” she said happily, sticking out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Mrs. Katherine Copperidge, the office manager here. It’s great to finally meet you, Ms. Cooper.”

I shook her hand and attempted a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Copperidge,” I said.

Her smile widened. I could tell she saw my discomfort and was working hard to put me at ease. “Please, call me Katie.”

“Abby,” I said, feeling a little better.

“Hello, Katie,” Dutch said when she turned to him. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Agent Rivers,” she said, taking his extended hand. “Special Agent Harrison is in his office, and he’d like to meet with you briefly before addressing the squad.”

Dutch left me for Harrison’s office, and Katie took my elbow and led me to one of the desks closest to the whiteboard against the window. All I had to do was turn around to see the beautiful trees just outside. “This is your desk,” she said, pulling out the new chair for me to try. I sat down and swiveled from side to side. The chair was one of those ergonomic numbers meant to give optimum support to the back. It was actually pretty comfortable.

“This is great,” I told her. “Thanks.”

Katie placed a paper in front of me. It was a list of office supplies. “Just circle any items you’ll need from that list and I’ll have it on your desk by the end of the day.” Next she gave me a lanyard and pulled a small camera from her blazer pocket. “We’ll also need to take your photo for your civilian badge and key card. The security system for the doors is being installed today, so you’ll need to swipe in and out after tonight.”

I plastered a smile on my face as she took the picture, and then, with a pat on my shoulder, she hurried off to make my ID.

I looked again at the group of agents on the other side of the room, who were speaking softly but sneaking an occasional glance my way. Uncomfortable, I averted my own eyes and stared around at the big room. I’ll admit I had a moment of buyer’s remorse and seriously considered bolting for the door.

My old office back in Michigan had been so comfortable and cozy. And most importantly—save for Candice in the next suite—it had been all mine. This sterile, stiff, and fluorescent-lit atmosphere was really going to take some getting used to.