Free Deadly Forecast: A Psychic Eye Mystery by Victoria Laurie Page A

is that it’s not clear who the case should
     belong to, so we’ve been asked to join forces and work the case as a team.”
    I looked back at Willis, his hands on his hips while he glared at our departing forms.
     “It’s going well, this working together, right?”
    Dutch actually laughed. “Peachy. Harrison is close to breaking that little guy’s neck.”
     Dutch motioned to the younger man I’d pegged for the promotion.
    I read the younger guy’s energy. “He’s hungry and scared he’ll blow this opportunity.
     That’s gonna make him a major pain in your—”
    “Careful,” Dutch warned again.
    I scowled at him. The swear police never cut me any slack. (So I made sure to cut
     myself some extra when I could get away with it.) “The
point
is that I’m sensing he’s going to be a thorn in your side.”
    At that moment the man in question looked up, and like a hawk seeing two juicy mice,
     he started off in our direction. Dutch wrapped an arm around my waist and we shuffled
     to his car as quickly as we could, but the Homeland Security agent was closing in
     fast.
    “Where ya goin’?” I heard Candice ask, and I turned my head sharply. She’d come out
     of nowhere.
    “We’re headed to Rita’s house,” I told her, continuing my speedy shuffle.
    Candice quickened her pace to come up on my side. “Who’re we avoiding?”
    “That guy,” I said with a nod toward the agent.
    Candice brought her arm up and pressed a button on her key fob. Two cars away, her
     Porsche beeped. “My car’s closer,” she said.
    Dutch and I didn’t argue. We simply leaned to the left and made a beeline to her car.
     She had us in and the engine turned over before the agent really registered what was
     happening. As Candice pulled out from the curb, I saw him stop and put his hands on
     his hips. I couldn’t help it; I waved at him. Probably not a smart move, but it was
     deeply satisfying.
    We drove in silence while the navigation system gave Candice turn-by-turn directions
     from the address that Dutch had given her. I had to give my BFF props for driving
     like a reasonable person, something I suspected she was doing only because there was
     actually someone in the car who could arrest her for reckless driving.
    We arrived at Rita Watson’s house, which was already surrounded by police and a small
     mob of onlookers. “What’s going on?” I asked as we pulled over to the curb down the
     street.
    Dutch glowered in his seat. “This isn’t us,” he said. “It’s gotta be HS.”
    “But Rita didn’t have anything to do with the bombs!” I exclaimed. I could just imagine
     her poor son, having to endure this invasion of privacy after hearing about his mother’s
     death. It was awful.
    Dutch opened his car door. “It’s part of their protocol, Abs. They’ll vet anyone connected
     to the explosion in case there’s a possible connection.”
    “We have to find Rita’s son,” I said as he helped me from the backseat. I was a little
     desperate to find the young man and make sure he was okay.
    Dutch and Candice took up either side of me as we moved forward toward the small but
     charming home in an older neighborhood that’d probably seen better days. Nearby a
     dog barked incessantly, and several neighbors stood on their porches or front steps
     talking to one another or gabbing away on their phones. Most of the onlookers wore
     eager expressions, almost as if they were gleeful at the chance to witness such fallout
     from tragic circumstances.
    The whole thing made me sick to my stomach, and yet I couldn’t help looking at the
     crowd. Something was drawing me to them, in particular to one young man with curly
     black hair, pale skin, and red swollen eyes.
    Dutch flashed his badge to several people in those familiar blue jackets with “Homeland
     Security” silk-screened on the back; then he motioned me up the walk, but I hesitated.
     “Abs?” Candice asked.
    I didn’t answer her. Instead I shuffled