Criminally Handsome. Cassie Miles
Miguel said. “Last fall, when you told the sheriff that the missing boy was with his father in a motel in Durango, how did you do it?”
“I touched some of the boy’s clothing. My vision came from his dead grandmother. She showed me a vision of the room, a wagon wheel and the number seven.”
“You’re a medium,” Dylan said. “The FBI works with mediums. I get it.”
Miguel asked, “Were you always like this?”
“When I was ten years old, Grandma Quinn appeared to me. I was old enough to know that my grandmother was dead and to understand what that meant.”
“What did she look like?” Miguel asked.
“Just the way she looked in life. But not solid. The best comparison I can make is a hologram. Grandma Quinn wasn’t scary, she hadn’t come to frighten me. She gave me a warning. It saved my life.”
Grandma Quinn had told her there was danger, told her that Emma and her mother had to leave the house. Though ten-year-old Emma wept and pleaded, her mother wouldn’t listen.
Later that night, when her mother’s abusive boyfriend came home, Emma fled. She ran next door to the neighbor’s and hammered on the door. Remembering caused her hands to draw into fists. Sobbing, Emma had begged them to call the police.
They arrived too late. There was a fire in her mother’s bedroom. Both she and her boyfriend were killed.
“Emma,” Miguel said, “what are you thinking about?”
“A memory.” She met his gaze and saw his struggle to accept what she was saying. “A real-life memory. I’m not crazy.”
“We get it,” Dylan said loudly, demanding her attention. “You knew the missing woman. Aspen Meadows.”
“I grew up with her. After my mother died, I went to live with my aunt Rose on the rez.” She gestured to her brown hair and blue eyes. “I didn’t fit in with the other kids. Aspen used to tease me, and she resented that I was taking Aunt Rose’s attention away from her. My main goal in life was to get off the reservation. I studied hard and got a full scholarship to University of Colorado when I was sixteen.”
“You sound like my brother,” Dylan said.
“El Nerdo Supremo,” Miguel said.
“Perfect description.” She laughed on the inside. “Anyway, Aspen and I got along better as adults. I kept pushing her to go to college, and she had finally finished her studies. She was coming back to the rez to be a teacher.”
A cry from the baby monitor alerted her. “Excuse me? It’s almost time for Jack’s feeding. I need to get a bottle of formula ready.”
She hurried into the house through the back door. Still listening to the baby monitor, she went through the motions of preparing the bottle and measuring the formula. Vincent Del Gardo. A casino owner from Las Vegas.
She glanced through the kitchen window. Beyond the patio where the twin brothers sat in conversation, she saw a third person—a man with a shaved head and a white beard. A ghost.
When he looked toward her and waved, she saw his black-framed glasses. He returned to his task, digging with a spade in the area where she would soon plant her garden. The hole grew quickly. He reached inside and pulled out a handful of gold coins.
She blinked, and he was gone.
The noises from the baby monitor grew more insistent, but she rushed outside to the patio table. “Buried treasure. Does Del Gardo have something to do with treasure?”
Dylan stood. “What did you see?”
“An old man with a shaved head and white beard. Thick glasses. He dug up a handful of gold coins.”
“That description doesn’t fit Del Gardo,” Dylan said. “To the best of our knowledge, he’s not dead.”
“Maybe it wasn’t him. The man I saw didn’t seem like a crime boss. He was kindly. Like a favorite uncle.”
“Do you know his name?” Dylan asked.
“No.” If she’d known something as obvious as a name, Emma would have mentioned it. She didn’t much care for Dylan’s attitude. Though he’d been quick to accept her abilities as a medium, he seemed hostile.
“I want to show you the other VDG symbol,” he said. “After I return to headquarters to pick up that evidence, I’ll be back with my other colleagues.”
“Not tonight,” she said.
“What?” His tone was abrupt. Apparently, Dylan wasn’t accustomed to having his decisions questioned. “Why not?”
“If this symbol leads to other evidence, I need to be free to follow the trail.”
“The trail?” Dylan glanced toward his brother.
Miguel explained, “A trail of evidence that might lead to Emma’s cousin.”
“Tonight,” she said, “I need to stay with the baby. Tomorrow morning, I have someone who comes in to watch him.”
“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock,” Dylan said, turning on his heel and stalking along the flagstone path toward the front of the house. “Let’s go, Miguel.”
He rose slowly. His gaze focused on the formula bottle in her hand. “If you want, I can stay. I can help with mijo.”
Though it would be wonderful to have his help, she shook her head. “It’s better for me if you go with your brother and calm him down. I don’t want him to come back tomorrow with a dozen federal agents. I can’t let this turn into a sideshow.”
He gently took her free hand. “Dylan plows straight ahead like a powerboat and throws up a big wake. You need a more quiet approach. Like a silent canoe across the waters.”
She smiled, appreciating his imagery. A silent canoe.
It had taken five long weeks for her to get any hint about Aspen’s disappearance, and she didn’t want to jeopardize this tenuous connection with a huge fanfare and many curious eyes watching her. “I want you to come back tomorrow with your brother. Only you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, and she felt a pleasant ripple chase up her arm.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “You have my cell-phone number. Call me if you need anything.”
She watched as he sauntered along the flagstone path, and she was tempted to call him back. Miguel made her feel safe and protected. She wanted him to stay close to her.
But there wasn’t time right now to indulge in such a fantasy. She returned to the house and went directly to her bedroom where Jack’s bassinette sat beside her four-poster bed. His little face scrunched up as he let out a loud cry.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay, mijo.” Miguel’s word for the baby slipped easily through her lips. She liked the way it sounded.
As she lifted him onto her shoulder, she heard the front doorbell. Was it Miguel coming back? She rushed through the house and opened the door.
Standing on her front stoop was a very large man in a fringed leather jacket with a turquoise yoke.
Only a flimsy, unlocked screen door stood between Emma and this stranger. In spite of his colorful jacket, he was dark and dangerous. She didn’t need a psychic vision to know that she’d be crazy to invite this man into her house.
He must have noticed her hesitation because he stepped back a pace and politely removed his brown cowboy hat. The band was snakeskin with the rattles still attached. His thinning hair, streaked with