Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery (14 page)

Mrs. Padilla stared up hopefully at Candice. “You will?”

“I will.”

I looked down at my lap. It’s a hard thing to watch a parent trying to deny the obvious
truth that her child has been taken violently from this world. I’d seen it too much
in my career, and it never got easier.

At that moment Dutch leaned into the doorway and crooked his finger at me. I got up
and followed him into the hallway. Holding the front of his phone to his shoulder
to cover the microphone, he said, “I need you and Candice to do me a favor.”

I arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“Abs,” he said, “please?”

“What’s the favor?” No way was I committing until I heard what it was. Knowing Dutch,
he was probably looking for a way to ditch his babysitting detail.

“I need you two to go check something out while I finish the interview with Mrs. Padilla.”
(See? Told you so.)

“No.”

Dutch sighed (heavily). “This is gonna take me a while, Edgar, and Brice just got
the warrant and he’s trying to cover two crews on their way to both of Michelle’s
residences.”

“
Both
residences?”

“Michelle’s place near UT and her mom’s house. We’ll want to take a look at both to
cover all the bases,” he explained. “I need to keep the mother here and talking while
he searches the Padilla residence. The minute she hears we’ve got a search warrant
and have entered her home, she’ll clam up and we won’t get another word out of her.”

“She doesn’t know anything, Dutch,” I said, a bit irritated with him. Hadn’t the poor
woman already been through enough for one day?

“Maybe she does; maybe she doesn’t. How certain are you that the girl in the sketch
is Michelle?”

I frowned. “I’m about ninety-nine percent sure.”

“See?” he said to me. “Abs, right now we’ve got two girls under twenty-five setting
off bombs in public places. That’s way too big of a coincidence not to be linked,
which means we probably have a homegrown terrorist cell on our hands, and if we don’t
move on these leads fast, more people could be in danger. Not to mention the fact
that Homeland Security is about to yank this rug right out from under us.”

It was my turn to sigh. “What’s the favor?”

Dutch handed me a slip of paper. “I need you and Candice to go to this address and
interview this guy.”

I looked at the paper. “Jed Banes. Who’s he?”

“He’s an ex-cop from APD. He called in a lead this morning and Rodriguez took the
call. Oscar says Banes is claiming that he got a heads-up about the bombs going off
a few hours before they actually did.”

“Bombs as in plural? He knew about both of them beforehand?” Dutch
nodded. “Why the hell didn’t he call it in?” (Crap. That was a quarter.) “And who
gave him that heads-up?”

“That’s what I need you and Candice to find out,” Dutch said.

I frowned again. “It’s Rodriguez’s lead—why not send him?”

“Harrison needs him and the rest of the department at Michelle’s two residences. We
can’t spare him or anybody else right now.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Dutch. “Why don’t we just send
Candice?” I suggested.

Dutch shook his head. “Abs, I need you to see if this guy is legit or not.”

“He’s an ex-cop, right? Why wouldn’t he be legit?”

“Because Rodriguez did a little background check on him before passing the lead to
Harrison. Banes was fired a while back and narrowly avoided being brought up on corruption
charges. Word is that he was a dirty cop, and this is either an attempt to get back
into the force’s good graces or he could be involved with the bombings. I need your
radar to tell me what his agenda is.”

I wavered. I didn’t want to leave Dutch, but in my gut I also felt like this lead
needed to be vetted—pronto. “You’ll stay right here until we get back?”

Dutch held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You quit the Boy Scouts.”

Dutch winked at me. “Yeah, but not until after I learned the salute.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, cowboy, but if you ditch me while we’re out chasing this
lead, you can plan to sleep in the doghouse tonight.”

“Then I better stay here. I quit the Scouts before I learned how to pitch a tent.”

“Ha, ha, funny man,” I said woodenly as I motioned through the doorway of Mrs. Padilla’s
office for Candice to come with me.

D
utch waved at M.J. to follow him up the hill toward his car at the top of the drive.
She grabbed Gilley’s arm as she tucked in behind him. No way was she leaving him behind
to complain and get in everyone else’s way. The chaos surrounding Abby and Dutch’s
house in the wake of the discovery of Milo and Candice being found unconscious didn’t
look to M.J. like it would subside anytime soon.

“This is really bad!” Gilley said as he held tightly to M.J.’s hand.

“It is, honey, but we need to keep it together right now, okay?” M.J. said. She was
doing her best to focus all her attention on finding Abby. That bubble of panic in
her midsection wasn’t going away, and her sense of urgency only increased as the minutes
ticked by.

As they reached the top of the drive, M.J., Dutch, and Gilley all turned to face the
house down below. And that’s how they happened to catch the back doors to the ambulance
being kicked open before Candice emerged, looking haggard and wobbling fiercely as
she attempted to clamber down from the bay. Two
paramedics rushed to grab hold of her and restrain her, but Candice pulled back her
arm and punched one in the nose before kicking the other solidly in the gut. Both
men went tumbling back away from her, and Candice staggered down onto the drive looking
like she was double-dog-daring anybody else to touch her.

“Shit!” Dutch swore, and took off down the hill.

M.J. sighed and looked at Gilley. “Hold these,” she said, shoving her heels at him
before running after Dutch.

As M.J. ran, she saw that Brice was busy trying to talk to the fire engine captain,
while Gaston was pacing on his cell phone, both men as yet unaware of the chaos that
Candice was causing.

Dutch reached Candice, and she launched herself at him, catching him by the lapels
of his tuxedo.
“Where’s Abby?”
she cried, her eyes wild.

“Candice—,” Dutch began.

“Is she in there?” she demanded, pointing to the house.

Dutch shook his head. “No. At least we don’t think so.”

Candice nodded like she’d already guessed as much. “Someone took her,” she said, still
looking slightly crazed.

Dutch held her by the shoulders as much to steady her as to keep her from swinging
at anybody else, M.J. thought. “We’re working to find her,” he said calmly. “You need
to get back inside that ambulance and go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine!” Candice told him, trying to shrug out of his grip.

“No, you’re not,” Dutch told her, gently but firmly.

“Yes, I am!” she insisted. She did look better than when M.J. had pulled her onto
the lawn, but not by much.

“Candice,” Dutch growled, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Get back in the damn
ambulance!”

Candice scrunched up her face defiantly before suddenly leaning over to the side to
throw up. M.J. turned away quickly. When
the hacking had eased, she risked a quick peek and found Candice panting, but her
color was less pale and there was even more fight in her eyes. “I’m not going to any
damn hospital until we find Abby, Dutch,” she said through gritted teeth.

“She’s not going in my ride!” the paramedic who’d been punched said. For emphasis
he slammed the ambulance doors shut. “And I’ll have her brought up on assault charges!”

Candice bared her teeth at the guy and Dutch had a hard time keeping a firm grip on
her.

M.J. stepped up to the paramedic and said, “I’m really sorry about that. The gas must
still be affecting her. I think she just needs a minute to get some fresh air and
she’ll calm down.” Behind her, Candice kept on swearing and yelling. “Or not,” she
added, shrugging an apology at the paramedic, who only shook his head and headed over
to help his coworker—who was still doubled over and holding his stomach. With effort
the two managed to get into their vehicle and drive away.

“Where the hell are they going?” Dutch snapped.

M.J. turned to him. “They’d rather not take her.”

“Ha!” Candice said. “See? I’m
fine
!” With that, she leaned over again and began to retch, and poor Dutch looked like
he was seriously about to lose it.

M.J. stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Candice’s middle. “I got her,” she
said, pulling a tissue for Candice out of her purse.

Candice took it and said, “Thanks, Holliday.”

“Come on,” M.J. coaxed. “If you’re going to help us find Abby, then we need to get
somewhere where I can focus, away from all this chaos. Dutch’s car is at the top of
the drive. Can you make it?”

Candice took a few deep breaths. “Yes.”

They managed to move slowly back up to the top of the drive
and Candice leaned heavily against Dutch’s car. He looked like he wanted to argue
with her again about going to the hospital, but she held up her hand and said, “I’m
fine. Let’s talk this through.”

“Tell us what happened,” Dutch said.

Candice took a deep breath. “Cat sent us out to find Abby. The makeup girl said that
she’d ducked out on her sometime around ten thirty, but Cat didn’t realize she was
missing until about noon. She sent me and Milo to go look for her, and we started
with my condo, then our office, then the bureau. As a last resort we came here and
found her car in the driveway. The door was open and Abby’s purse was on the front
seat along with a note. We figured she was inside, so we knocked on the door, and
when she didn’t answer, we tried the knob and it was open. Milo and I got about three
feet when the gas hit us and we went down for the count. I remember falling toward
the open door, which is probably why I’m not dead. At least I got a little air, but
Milo…”

“He’s on his way to the hospital,” M.J. assured her. “He was breathing and starting
to regain consciousness when they took him away.”

At that moment one of the men in hazmat suits walked out of the house and waved to
Brice. Dutch was about to run to them, but Brice turned, obviously looking for Dutch,
and firmly shook his head. Abby wasn’t in the house, just as M.J. had suspected. Another
man in a hazmat suit came out carrying a large gas canister. M.J. didn’t know what
gas had been used, but she could tell that it had been meant to knock out anybody
who came into the house.

Dutch turned back to focus on Candice. “You mentioned finding a note in Abby’s car—what
note?”

“It was from you, and it said to meet you at the house if she could get away. It said
you had a surprise for her.”

Dutch looked like he’d just been struck. “I left that note on her windshield on Wednesday
morning. I had our new bed delivered to the house and I wanted to surprise her, but
then you guys were dealing with a lot, so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show.”

Candice was eyeing Dutch closely. “She never mentioned to me anything about a note
or meeting you for a surprise, and I was with her most of this week, Dutch. She would’ve
mentioned it to me if she’d gotten it.”

“Then how come you all found it here?” Gilley asked.

But M.J. had already guessed. “Because someone took it off her windshield and kept
it until today,” she said. “Someone who wanted to lure her here and set a trap for
anyone else that came looking for her.”

“Who?” said Gilley.

M.J. closed her eyes. A spirit was knocking against her energy with such urgency that
it was distracting her. “Dutch?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s Chase?”

She heard him catch his breath and M.J. opened her eyes to see his stunned expression.
“My cousin,” he whispered.

“Did Abby know him?”

Candice and Dutch exchanged a meaningful look. “You could say that,” he said cryptically.

“He’s telling me that he’s in debt to the two of you, and he wants to help you. He’s
pretty frantic about Abby. He says time is running out.”

“Can you ask him where she is?” Dutch said, taking a step closer to M.J. She noticed
that his hands were shaking.

M.J. closed her eyes. “He says he can see her, but he doesn’t know where—”

“Is she hurt?” Candice cut in.

“He says no. But he also says that she’s wearing something that’s…” M.J. paused. Chase
wasn’t so much speaking to her as he was impressing his thoughts on her. The communication
wasn’t English; it was more an expression of emotions, images, and feelings, so the
translation was a little tricky.

“Wearing something that what?
What?
” Dutch demanded.

M.J. realized she was moving her hand over her chest in a circle. She opened her eyes
and said, “I know this is going to sound really weird, but he says that she’s wearing
a clock on her chest, but not an ordinary clock—it’s a bad clock. A very,
very
bad clock.”