Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery (2 page)
Read Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery Online
Authors: Victoria Laurie
I also must acknowledge my wonderful team at NAL, from fabulous editorial assistant
Elizabeth Bistrow, to publicist Kayleigh Clark, to Sharon Gamboa, and my most favorite
copy editor of all time, Michele Alpern. Oh, and of course editorial director Claire
Zion. I’m so blessed to have the benefit of each and every one of your talents, and
I humbly thank you.
Katie Coppedge, my Webmaster/personal assistant/BFF. Kay-Kay, you are often the brightest
ray of sunshine in my day, and I love you sooooo much! Thank you for being such a
wonderful person and dear, dear friend.
My sister Sandy Upham, to whom this book is dedicated. You are so lovely and so amazing.
I’m crazy proud of you, and all of
my good days begin with a phone call from you. If only the rest of the world knew
how hilarious and entertaining we are together! (“Shut up—we’re awesome!”) ;)
Allow me also to mention the rest of my inner circle, who are seriously the best cheerleading
squad on the planet. Nicole Gray, Karen Ditmars, Leanne Tierney, Steve McGrory, Matt
and Mike Morrill, Hilary Laurie, Jackie and Will Barrett, Jo Agnelli, Nora, Bob, Liz,
Katie, Mike, and Nick Brosseau, Silas Hudson, Thomas Robinson, Laurie Proux, Drue
Rowean, Suzanne Parsons, Betty and Pippa Stocking, John Kwaitkowski, Matt McDougall,
Sally Woods, Anne Kimbol, McKenna Jordan, Jennifer Melkonian, Shannon Anderson, Juan
Tamayo, Rick Michael, Molly Boyle, Martha Bushko, Juliet Blackwell, Nicole Peeler,
and Sophie Littlefield.
Deepest gratitude to each of you for your generous hearts and kindred spirits.
Abby & Dutch’s Wedding Day—T-Minus 02:00:00
Abby & Dutch’s Wedding Day—T-Minus 01:40
T
he first thing I noticed after regaining consciousness was a splitting headache and
how uncomfortable I was. My head throbbed, but more than that, my body felt wrapped
in iron. With effort I tried to sit up, and so many realizations sprinted into my
brain that it made the ache in my head even worse.
The ensuing dump of adrenaline quashed much of the headache, but I was hardly relieved.
My fingers found the metal cage wrapped around my torso, and also the wires poking
out from a device centered over my heart.
I knew exactly what that device was—I’d seen the havoc it could wreak firsthand, and
I also knew I had very little time left to live. Feeling a sob bubble up from the
center of my chest, I did my best to quell it—I had to think!
But thinking proved nearly impossible. “Oh, God!” I whispered, as tears filled my
eyes. Carefully, and I do mean
carefully
, I moved my fingers along the metal, hunting for a way out. It was then that I realized
I was wearing a bundle of cloth that made movement even more cumbersome. Lifting my
chin, I looked down at myself. I was wrapped in metal and white silk.
Raising my right arm, I saw the ornate lace of the cuff and I could feel the puffy
fabric around my arms, but I could also feel that my shoulders were nearly exposed,
and as I turned my head from side to side, I could see that the wedding dress I’d
been wrapped in was about four sizes too big.
This wasn’t my wedding dress, though, so why would it fit? I knew to whom it belonged,
and also who’d dressed me in it and strapped the metal, wires, and timepiece to my
chest.
Looking around the room, I was shocked to register where I actually was. As I lay
on a large king-sized four-poster bed with soft linens, romantic lighting, and a painting
on the wall of the manor home where I was to be married, I knew this had to be the
little cottage my sister had told me about. Dutch and I would have come here after
the reception and fallen into this bed to begin our life together as man and wife,
but instead, I was strapped to a bomb that would likely go off before all the wedding
guests had arrived.
And then my breath caught again. Had the countdown already begun? How long had I been
out? I swallowed hard and summoned the courage to slowly prop myself up on my elbows,
searching out the digital numbers and hoping for time.
“Hello, Banes,” said a voice, and my gaze snapped to the other side of the room, where
a figure sat speaking into a disposable cell phone. “The clock is now ticking. You
have two hours.”
And then, as if on cue, there was a little beep from the device strapped to my chest
and as I looked down, I could see a digital display come to life. Even though it was
upside down, I could tell the countdown had begun. I had two hours to live.
My thoughts railed against the reality of it. How could this have happened to me?
And how was it that I hadn’t seen it coming?
But as I stared in shock at the digital display counting down
the final moments of my life, I realized the clues had been there all along. I’d simply
failed to put them together. I’d been focused in another direction entirely, and it’d
never occurred to me that I would end up as the target.
My thoughts darted back to when fate had turned against me—a mere two weeks earlier—to
the day I’d gotten involved in a case and I’d unwittingly altered everything.
I remembered the start of that day well. It’d been a beautiful fall morning, with
temps in the low seventies. My fiancé had brought me breakfast in bed. He’d looked
so worried as he set the tray of pancakes down next to me. “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I’d assured him, moving my legs under the covers to show him they were
functioning properly. His worry over my health had been the result of a nasty encounter
with a murderer in a case I’d solved just a few days earlier involving a missing woman.
In the process, I’d gotten pretty beat up, and I’d then taken it very easy for a week,
doing little more than resting on the couch and catching up on my sleep.
“Any pain?” Dutch asked.
“No, no real pain,” I assured him. “But I am still a little sore from the beating.”
Dutch pulled down the comforter to eye my right thigh with concern. It was covered
in purple and black bruises. “I’ll bring you up an ice pack.”
I put a hand on his arm to keep him from leaving me. “Later, cowboy. Right now I just
want to look at you.”
My fiancé, Dutch Rivers, is about the most gorgeous hunk’a man you’ve ever seen. He’s
tall, blond, and muscular, with midnight blue eyes, a firm jaw, and a beautifully
straight nose.
He’s just as handsome on the inside too. And for whatever reason, he’s crazy about
me. Which is his only fault, because I’m a handful. Just ask him, and he’ll tell you.
Heck, just ask
anyone
in my inner circle about how much of a pain in the ass I can be, and they’ll likely
ask you how much time you have.
Still, for whatever reason, the Dutch and Abby partnership has always worked, and
after three and a half years together, we were about to make it official with a walk
down the aisle. “Your physical therapist called,” Dutch said, scooting onto the bed
to help me eat the pancakes. (And by “help” I mean one bite for me, five bites for
him….)
“Ugh. I forgot I had an appointment with her today.”
“I told her you were canceling.”
I eyed him with surprise. “Why?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. I can make the appointment, sweetie.”
“Edgar,” he said, using his pet name for me, after famed psychic Edgar Cayce. “There’s
no way you can go to physical therapy with a leg that looks like that.”
You’d think by now Dutch would know better than to tell me what I could and couldn’t
do. “Oh, please,” I said, throwing the covers to the side and easing my legs gingerly
out from under them. “It looks way worse than it is. Besides, we’re getting married
at the end of the month, cowboy. There’s no way I’m giving up on the idea of walking
down that aisle without my cane.”
Several months earlier I’d been in a really bad accident, and my pelvis had been broken
in several places. My recovery had been very slow, frustrating, and painful. (But
mostly for my friends and family. For me, it’d been that times a hundred.) Still,
I was determined to at least gimp my way down the aisle.
Dutch responded to my declaration with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
I glared at him. “Challenge accepted,” I said, before carefully planting my feet and
standing up. Very slowly I took one small step, mentally crossing my fingers that
I wouldn’t fall. To my
surprise, the step didn’t hurt or feel weak; it felt sure and steady. Encouraged,
I took another step. Then another. And another. And another. Then one more for good
measure.
When I looked behind me, Dutch was sitting straight up and staring at me in shock.
“How long have you been able to walk that far without your cane?”
I glanced down at my toes gleefully. I hadn’t taken more than three steps on my own
since the accident. I’d just doubled my long-distance record. “I haven’t been able
to do more than three steps until today! Holy freakballs, honey! I can walk!” And
then my hip gave out and I fell face-first into the wing chair by the window.
Dutch was at my side in a hot second. “You okay?” he asked, picking me up into his
arms.
Embarrassed, I swiped at my hair, which had fallen over my eyes, and tried to play
it off. “I meant to do that.”
Dutch chuckled. “Sure you did.”
“No, really. I did. How else could I get you to sweep me off my feet?”
Dutch leaned forward to give me a kiss, but I stopped him because now that I’d actually
walked several steps, I wanted some reassurance. “Honey, do you think I’ll really
be able to make it down the aisle without the cane?”
“Have you given any thought to an escort?” he asked.
I frowned. I’m not close with my parents, and by that, I mean I don’t speak to them
and haven’t in years, so I’d always planned on walking down the aisle alone at my
wedding.
“Abs, I only say that because, if you’re determined to leave the cane behind, having
someone at your side to lean on would help steady you, and if you choose the right
guy, they’ll protect you from falling if you trip or one of your hips gives out.”
I eyed him with interest. “Who volunteered?”
“Milo, Brice, Dave, and—curiously—Director Gaston.”
That got me to smile. “Brice is out,” I said right away. “He’s Candice’s groomsman.
And Dave will be so nervous he’ll trip over his own two feet and take me down with
him. I couldn’t walk with Director Gaston, because walking down the aisle with your
boss’s boss would make
me
so nervous I’d trip for sure.”
“So it’s Milo?” Dutch asked hopefully.
I frowned again and shook my head. “He’s your best man. I can’t take him away from
you.”
“He’s willing to do double duty, dollface.”
“You five guys have already talked about this, huh?”
“We have.”
“Who’s your pick?”
“Milo. I trust him to take care of you.”
“You really think I should walk with someone?”
Dutch leaned in for his kiss and did his best Humphrey Bogart impression. “I do, I
do, I do, sweethot.”
In a flash I had the most horrible feeling wash over me in a strange sort of déjà
vu. The sensation was so intense that I actually gasped.
Dutch mistook that for desire and gave me a passionate kiss that normally would have
started those belly embers burnin’, but instead I stiffened and pushed at him.
He pulled away immediately. “What’s wrong?”
I gripped his shirt in my hands and stared intensely into his eyes. The intuitive
feeling rippling along my energy suggested that some terrible fate awaited my fiancé.
And by terrible, I mean deadly. “Something’s wrong.”
Dutch held very still. After almost four years together he could read me like a book.
“A vision?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly.” That terrible feeling of something really, really,
really
bad happening to him wouldn’t leave.
I continued to stare at him, trying to make sense of the psychic vibe surging between
us. I couldn’t see what would happen to him, but I knew that some new and awful danger
was lurking in the shadows somewhere. And I knew he was defenseless against it. His
fate felt so imminently deathly that it set my heart racing in a panic. “What is it?”
I whispered, trying to isolate the origins of this threat.