Free Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery by Victoria Laurie

in.
    “Do you have a history of high blood pressure in your family?” I suddenly asked. I
     hadn’t meant to—it’s just my radar zeroed in on him and it sort of fell out of my
     mouth.
    He swiveled large, surprised eyes at me.
“What?”
    “High blood pressure,” I repeated calmly. “It runs in your family, right? On your
     dad’s side more so than your mom’s, but there’s also heart disease on both sides of
     your family and you’ve already been told you’ve got an issue, haven’t you, Mr. Willis?”
    “
Agent
Willis,” he corrected, his wide eyes narrowing as he turned back to Dutch, pointed
     at me, and snapped, “What the hell is she talking about?”
    Dutch’s face remained hard and stoic, but I could tell Willis had just pissed him
     off royally. “Seems to me she’s talking about your ticker,
Agent
Willis. Might want to pay attention to her and get it checked out.”
    Willis’s jaw dropped and he looked dumbly from Dutch back to me.
    “You also carry all of your stress in your chest,” I told him. “That’s not a good
     place for it. Especially when you have a family history of high blood pressure and
     heart disease. Of course, it wouldn’t be nearly as concerning if you didn’t eat so
     much crap.You’ve been ignoring your doctor’s advice on that front. I think you might be addicted
     to salt, and it’s the worst thing for you. I’d lay off the potato chips, French fries,
     and deli ham if I were you, sir.”
    Agent Willis continued to stare at me openmouthed, but he added blinking to the expression.
    “Also, that promotion you want isn’t going to happen. You’ll need to brace yourself
     for the news that it’s going to someone younger and slightly less experienced. It’s
     why I really think you should try to take care of yourself. It’s gonna hit you hard.”
    With that, Agent Willis’s head moved slowly to the left and I saw him eye a guy also
     in a dark blue Windbreaker—at least ten years younger than Willis—who was busy talking
     to several other agents on Dutch’s team.
    “Yep,” I said. “He’s the guy getting promoted. If it’s any consolation, he won’t like
     the job as much as he was hoping to.”
    Willis’s attention snapped back to me and there was real anger in his eyes now.
    “But that could be because he’ll be your supervisor, and I doubt you’ll make it easy
     on him.” (Sometimes I have a hard time quitting while I’m ahead.)
    “Who
are
you?!” he demanded.
    I showed him my badge. “Abby Cooper. FBI civilian consultant.”
    Willis blinked again and then something seemed to register. “Hold on,” he said, “are
     you that fortune-teller we heard the bureau hired?”
    “I’m the professional intuitive they hired, yes,” I said, feeling a little flinty
     about being called a “fortune-teller.”
    Willis started to laugh, and it wasn’t a nice laugh, and it certainly wasn’t kind.
     “Rivers, are you puttin’ me on?” he finally asked.
    Dutch responded by offering me his hand. “Come on, Ms. Cooper. We have an interview
     to get to.”
    I gave Willis what I hoped was my best “You’re a real dickhead” expression and took
     hold of my fiancé’s hand. “Good luck with that ticker,” I told him, in my best “eff
     you” voice. The humor left him pretty quick.
    When we were out of hearing range, I asked, “Who
was
that asshole?”
    “That’s another quarter,” Dutch said, reminding me that the swear jar on our kitchen
     counter was due a few coins (or $678.75 to be exact…).
    “Yeah, yeah. But who was he?”
    “Homeland Security,” Dutch told me. “They’ve been trying to weasel in on our case
     for the past couple weeks, and after today we’ll be lucky to hold on to it.”
    “Who decides if it stays with you guys or gets moved over to them?”
    “It has to be worked out at the top, between the secretary of Homeland Security and
     the FBI director.”
    “Gaston?”
    “No, the national director. The problem