Doom with a View (21 page)

I smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad
someone
noticed.”

“He’s not getting my vote for Mr. Congeniality, that’s for sure.”

“Me neither.”

We drove home and I invited her in for dinner. She begged off, saying she wanted to go work the kinks out after the long day in the car by going for a run.

I hurried through the rain to the front door and walked straight into the smell of something delicious. “Hey, doll,” Dutch said from the dining room table. “I didn’t hear from you, so I started without you.”

My eyes roved to the clock on the far wall. It was after seven. “That’s cool,” I reassured him. “Is there enough left over for me?”

“Always,” he said, getting up to retrieve my plate from the kitchen.

“You know,” I said, sitting down wearily, “you’re pretty much the best boyfriend ever.”

“Pretty much?” he said, returning with my plate of roasted chicken with red potatoes and yellow squash.

“Yep. If you picked your socks up off the floor, though, I’d be willing to toss that out and just go with best.”

Dutch laughed. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. The phone rang and Dutch went to answer it. I dug into the chicken and closed my eyes dreamily as I chewed.

In the background I heard Dutch say, “Yes, sir, she’s right here.” I opened my eyes to see Dutch handing me the phone. “Harrison,” he mouthed.

I took the phone. “Hello?”

“Sorry to disturb you so soon after dropping you off, but I was hoping that you and your associate would be able to come with me to interview Leslie’s parents tomorrow?”

“Er . . . ,” I said, thinking I needed to check with Candice first. “I guess. Can I call Candice and get back to you?”

“Yes.”

I waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t, so I ended by promising to call him back shortly. I then ate two more forkfuls of chicken (hey, I was hungry!) and pressed the speed dial to Candice’s cell. I got her voice mail and knew she’d already left for her run.

I took the time waiting for her to call back to finish my dinner and help Dutch with the dishes; then we sat back at the table and had some coffee.

Candice called back then, and when I answered, she said, “What’s up?”

“Harrison wants us to go with him to interview Leslie’s parents tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” she said. “I’ve got nothing on the books.”

“Me either. I’ll send you a text with the time.”

I hung up with her and dialed Harrison back.“We’re in,” I said when he answered.

“Seven thirty,” he said perfunctorily. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” And then the line went dead.

I sighed and set the phone aside. “Trouble?” Dutch asked, watching me closely.

“I think your boss is an ass,” I said earnestly.

Dutch barked out a laugh. “You’re just picking that up? Gee, Abby, you’re usually quicker on stuff like that.”

“No, I mean it, Dutch!” I insisted, all kidding aside.

“I think the guy has some sort of social disorder or something.”

“Social disorder?”

“Yes. I mean, one minute I think Harrison might be warming up to us and the next he’s like . . . a complete jerk!”

“Welcome to the bureau, Abby,” Dutch said with a smile. “We’re not paid to be nice. We’re paid to get results.”

“You’re not like that,” I argued.

Dutch leaned forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of my chair to sit me in his lap and kiss me. “When I’m at work, I’m able to conceal my true persona,” he said.

“I see,” I replied with a giggle. “Your
persona
, is it?”

Dutch nodded earnestly. “Yep. The real charm comes out only when I’m not wearing the badge.”

“Ahhhh,” I said as he began nuzzling my neck. “It’s been a little while since I’ve seen that . . . er . . .
charm
, you know.”

Dutch pulled his face out of my neck and stared at me with bedroom eyes. “Wanna get reacquainted?”

I giggled again. “I’m game,” I told him, and he slung me over his shoulder caveman style and carried me upstairs, where we got on with the charm.

The next morning Candice and I got into Harrison’s car just as the first rays of the sun were lighting up the east. “Morning!” I said brightly. Candice shot me a quizzical look, but I ignored her. I was going to make Harrison like me if it killed me.

“Ms. Cooper,” Harrison said coolly. “Ms. Fusco.”

“Agent Harrison,” Candice replied tonelessly.

I sighed. This whole getting everyone to be one big happy family was likely to prove tougher than I thought.

I sat up front as we wound our way through traffic. I was surprised when we arrived at a small airport. Harrison pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. “We’ll be traveling by charter plane,” he said before he got out.

I followed with Candice behind him to a set of three hangars. Harrison led us to the middle one and over to a small white plane with blue piping. “Agent Harrison,” a portly man with white hair and an easy smile said warmly.

“Ed,” Harrison said. “Are we clear for takeoff?”

“I’m just running through the final checklist,” Ed said, running his hand along the underside of the wing. “Why don’t you and your guests grab a cup of coffee and I’ll come get you after I’ve gone through the rest of my list?”

Harrison nodded and began walking again without commenting to us. Candice and I followed and we made our way into a small, cozy office with several chairs and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Candice headed straight for the brew and she poured us both a cup. As she handed one to me, we both took notice that Harrison seemed to be waiting for a cup as well, but instead of pouring him one, Candice merely stepped aside, giving him access to the coffeepot. I gave her a contemptuous look, as she was doing nothing to help ease the tension in our little group, but she just gave me a smart smile.

No one, it seemed, was up for chitchat, so I made my way over to the window and watched Ed go through his checklist. And that’s when I began to get a really uncomfortable feeling.

It started as a little sinking sensation in my lower gut, but the longer I watched Ed as he moved around the plane, the more unsettled I became. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I turned and looked at Candice, wondering if I was just uneasy about the thought of going up in such a small plane. I’m generally claustrophobic, so the idea of being squished into a tight space with a tiny window while flying the turbulent air over Lake Michigan wasn’t very appealing.

“What’s up?” Candice asked, noticing my unease.

“I don’t think I want to get on that plane,” I whispered.

Candice’s attention moved to the window. “Is something wrong with the plane?” I had to give her credit for immediately trusting my radar.

I focused on her question and turned back to the view of the plane in the hangar. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I want to say no, but something’s not right.”

“What’s your intuition saying?” she pressed.

“Nothing specific,” I admitted. “I just feel really uneasy about it.”

“Uneasy as in you think the plane might crash?”

By now Harrison was listening to us and I caught the look of alarm register on his face as he glanced in our direction.

I ignored him and focused on Candice. The feeling I had was so fuzzy that I thought if she could only ask the right question, I might find the reason for my distress. “Again, I don’t think so,” I said, feeling that out. “But something doesn’t feel right to me.” Turning to Harrison, I asked, “Do you know how long Ed has been flying?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “No,” he said. “But I know it’s been many years. He’s the registered pilot with the FBI for this district and you don’t get that accreditation without logging a whole lotta flying time.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“Want to explain to me what she’s freaking out about?” I heard Harrison ask Candice.

My eyes snapped open as my temper flared. “For your information, Agent Harrison, I am
not
freaking out! I just don’t have a great feeling about going up in that plane.”

“Why not?” he asked, and I noticed that his question was asked without attitude. He was genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But something’s not right about this trip.”

Harrison’s mood turned to irritation. “I can’t cancel the trip based on a feeling, Ms. Cooper. We have an appointment to interview Leslie’s parents in three hours. If you don’t want to come, you’re welcome to stay behind and wait for my return.”

I eyed Candice, looking for her reaction. “If you want to stay behind, I’m cool with that, Abs,” she said. “And I’d be the last person who’d go up in a plane that your radar said was unsafe.”

And as she said that, my gaze switched back to the plane. When I focused my energy at it, I knew the plane was fine. But the reason for the unsettled feeling I had still eluded me. I tried to ask myself the question, if I got on the plane, would we make it to Wisconsin safely? I was relieved to feel a positive answer to that. So I knew it was okay to fly, but why I was apprehensive I still hadn’t pinpointed. Finally, I shrugged and gave in. “No, it’s fine. I think it’s just my own nerves about flying in a small plane.”

“You sure?” Candice asked, and I could tell I’d now made
her
nervous too.

I nodded with conviction. “Yes. We’re fine.”

Just then Ed opened up the office door and beamed at us. “She’s all set, and I’m ready when you are, folks.”

I set my coffee cup down and said, “Let’s go.”

An hour later I was white-knuckling it over Lake Michigan. The wind had kicked up and Ed was having a hell of time keeping the small plane level as gusts of wind pushed us high, then suddenly gave out and we dropped back low again. My stomach had lurched so many times I found it a wonder that I’d managed to hold on to the coffee I’d drunk. Beside me Candice also looked nervous, and I could tell she was really regretting following me onto the plane. She and I were squished into the two backseats and the sound of the engines right next to us drowned out all other noise. Even with headgear and microphones no one felt like talking.

I stopped looking out the window, as the dips, dives, and surges of the plane were making me motion sick enough. I didn’t actually need to see it to confirm how crazy this roller-coaster ride was. Mostly I just took very deep breaths—interrupted by the occasional gasp—and focused on remaining calm. It was really, really hard. Eventually the wind stopped jerking us around and we began our descent into Milwaukee.

With a heart full of gratitude when the plane finally touched down, I let go of the breath I’d been holding and we taxied to another hangar where Ed parked the plane.

As quickly as I could and with trembling fingers, I unbuckled my seat belt, yanked off my headset, and pretty much dived out of the plane.

I heard Ed laugh behind me as I took a few unsteady steps away. “First time in a small plane?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice. “Your first stretch in a strong turbulence is always the toughest. Going home, the wind’ll be behind us and it’ll be a lot smoother.”

I felt the blood leave my face. “We have to do that
again
?”

Ed laughed some more. He thought my reaction was hilarious. “I promise,” he assured me, placing his hand on his chest. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

My left side grew heavy and I was about to ask him where the nearest car-rental office was because there was
no way
I wanted to do
that
again, but Harrison spoke before I could. “We’ve got an agent meeting us to take us to the Coyles’. If you two will follow me, please.” And he turned and walked away.

“You okay?” Candice asked, eyeing me with concern. “You look a little pale.”

I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I managed. “Come on. We don’t want to keep Agent Delightful waiting.”

I believe Harrison heard that, as I saw that his posture stiffened slightly, but at this point I didn’t care. If Dutch had been along for that ride, he definitely would have given me a minute to collect myself before marching off. Harrison’s lack of decorum was seriously wearing on my nerves.

The corner of Candice’s mouth lifted and she took my arm and pulled me along. “Come on, Abs. Let’s get you into something with four wheels and no wings, shall we?”

About forty-five minutes later we arrived at the home of Erica and Jim Coyle. I’d learned in the car from the agent who’d been assigned to drive us to their residence, and who’d also initially been assigned to interview them, that Erica was a member of the Wisconsin state legislature and her husband was a district court judge.

Their home was surprising. It was sleek and ultramodern, architecturally rendered to make it look a bit futuristic. There were three levels to the brilliant white exterior and lots of chrome trim. A circular staircase linked the stories from the outside, and Agent Blass—the agent who’d picked us up from the airport—led the way up the stairs to the second level, where he rang the bell and we waited.

The door was opened by a woman in a brilliant orange pantsuit with matching jewelry, nails, and lipstick. The color did nothing to enhance her looks, which were decidedly plain and forgettable. “Agent Blass,” she greeted our chauffeur. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Representative Coyle,” Blass said with a stiff smile before turning to introduce the rest of us. “This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Brice Harrison, and these are his two FBI associates, Abigail Cooper and Candice Frisco.”

“Fusco,”
Candice corrected as she reached forward and shook Representative Coyle’s hand.

We entered the home and I was not surprised by the interior, which was uninspired and plain. The couple seemed to be going for a minimalist look, but they took it to an extreme that removed any sense of cool sophistication. The walls were bare and painted as brilliant a shade of white as the outside. The floors were stained concrete, the color a yucky dung brown, and the two white couches in the central living area were small and stiff. There was nothing in the environment that suggested this was a home. No knickknacks, decorations, or life was on display. It was beyond utilitarian; it was stark.