A Grave Prediction (Psychic Eye Mystery) Read Free Page B

that?”
    “I don’t know. . . . You like boredom? Predictability? The wrath of your wife if you ever actually do fire me?”
    “
No one
wants that last part, Cooper,” he said. “No one.”
    “True that. Anyway, I haven’t heard from her,” I said, inching forward and trying not to look suspicious enough to be pulled out of line and strip-searched.
    “Yeah, well, she’s not answering my calls,” Brice said. “Or my texts.”
    “She’s probably working a case.” Candice was a licensed PI, and she and I shared an office and often worked cases together, but I hadn’t joined her on anything since before the holidays.
    “You know more about her cases than I do,” Brice said. “Did she mention what she’s working on?”
    I barely held in a sigh. I wanted to reply that it wasn’t my turn to watch Candice, but Brice had been a little on edge about his wife’s whereabouts ever since she’d disappeared on us to run off to Vegas and do some undercover stuff for a mobster. It’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s close. “No, I don’t know what she’s working on, but I’m sure she’ll call you back soon. She just needs to wrap up whatever she’s working on and she’ll be home for dinner.”
    At that moment I felt a sinking feeling in my gut—an intuitive sign that what I’d just said wasn’t going to happen, which wasn’t especially odd as Candice sometimes worked very late, especially if she was on surveillance. “Or maybe a nightcap,” I amended. Again I got that sinking feeling. Hmmm, that was curious. “Midnight snack?” I tried. Sink. Sink. Sink. “Well, crap. That’s weird. Breakfast tomorr—?”
    “Cooper, what’re you even talking about?”
    “Nothing,” I said quickly. Candice was probably fine. She was always fine. Nothing was wrong. Just because she wouldn’t be home for dinner or by midnight was not a reason to freak out. “Listen, security is calling me forward. I gotta go.”
    I hung up on Brice and moved through the security line—managing to avoid the strip search while I was at it. (Score!) After getting some chips, a Snickers, mints, bottled water, and Excedrin for the two weeks of headaches I was bound to incur, I made my way to my assigned gate and sat down with a sigh.
    After unwrapping the Snickers and taking a satisfying bite, I dialed Candice’s number and waited for the inevitable voice mail. She picked up on the first ring. “Sundance,” she said easily. “How you doin’, kiddo?”
    I sat up a little, surprised that I’d reached her. “Brice is looking for you,” I said by way of hello.
    The honeyed sound of her laughter echoed into my ear. “I’ll bet,” she said cryptically. “I’m assuming, given the background noise, that you’re at the airport.”
    “Yep,” I said, chewing another bite of the Snickers. “This whole deal sucks.”
    “It does,” she agreed. “You doing okay?”
    “Yeah,” I said, slouching again. “Stupid politics these bureau boys play. Why don’t they all just pull out their winkies and some measuring tape and leave us the hell out of it?”
    She chuckled again. “Want some company?” she asked.
    I eyed the tarmac moodily. “Brice said I had to go alone.”
    “Oh, did he, now?”
    “Yeah. I begged him to let Dutch come with me, but he said it’d only cause problems. You know, too much testosterone from the hubby might send the fists flying.”
    “I’ll be your Huckleberry,” Candice said, smooth enough to make Val Kilmer swoon.
    My radar pinged. It suddenly occurred to me that I could hear some pretty distinct noises coming from Candice’s side of the conversation. Then the hair on the back of my neck prickled like when you get that feeling that someone’s looking at you. I sat up straight again and swiveled in my seat. Coming down the corridor was my gorgeous partner in crime, turning heads as she glided along trailing a carry-on behind her. I broke into a wide grin before getting up to race toward her