Cassie Miles - Criminally Handsome

“Pleased to meet you, Miguel.”

“Same here.”

His first impression was all good, muy bueno. As he entered her house, he studied her more closely. As a CSI, he was trained to notice details. Her silver earrings and the necklace around her long, slender neck had a distinctive Ute design. Her beige turtleneck, almost the same color as her skin, and her jeans resembled the typical outfit worn by most people in the area at this time of year. But the fabric of her turtleneck was silk. He didn’t know much about women’s clothing, but he suspected that she shopped in classy boutiques.

In her sunlit kitchen, she offered them coffee.

With a glance at Miguel, Patrick said, “We probably shouldn’t waste any time.”

“No rush,” Miguel said.

“Oh, good,” Emma said as she bounced up and down with the whimpering baby, gently stroking the fine hair on top of his head. “Because it’s time for Jack’s feeding. I just finished heating the formula.”

“I’ll take the baby.”

Miguel held out his arms. Back home, he had a growing herd of nieces and nephews. Though his family lived only a few hours’ drive away from Kenner City, his schedule didn’t leave much time for visits, and he missed them.

When she handed over the baby, dressed in footed pajamas, he wrapped the blanket snugly around the infant’s tiny legs and cradled him in the crook of his arm. “Hush, mijo. ”

The baby looked toward him. As soon as Miguel took a seat at the kitchen table, the fussing stopped. “How old is he? About three months?”

“Eleven weeks.” Her jaw literally dropped. “How did you get him to settle down?”

“He’s curious. Is that right, mijo? You’re figuring out who I am before you start making noise and complaining.”

“Let’s get him fed before that happens.”

She maneuvered in her kitchen with a graceful economy of motion. Her age, he guessed, was probably about thirty—the prime of womanhood, old enough to be done with girlish giggles and young enough to be open to new experience. The more he saw of Emma Richardson, the more he liked her.

After she handed him a bottle full of formula and placed two coffee mugs on the kitchen table, she said, “I made notes of what I remembered about my vision. I’ll go get them.”

As soon as she left the room, Patrick said, “No rush? I thought you were in a big hurry.”

He smiled down at the baby, who smacked his little lips as he sucked down formula. “You didn’t tell me she was pretty. How does a woman like that get to be in her late twenties and still unmarried?”

The sheriff sipped his coffee. Wryly, he said, “Maybe because she’s a witch, and she turns her lovers into toads.”

That was a chance Miguel might be willing to take if it meant spending more time with Emma. He settled Jack into a baby seat on the tabletop and kept the nipple plugged into his mouth. With the other hand, he lifted his coffee mug. The brew was lightly flavored with cinnamon, just the way he liked it.

Emma returned with a sheet of paper, which she placed on the table in front of her. “I’m not quite sure how to interpret everything I saw, but I believe Aspen is alive.”

Miguel’s infatuation slipped a few notches. Crazy wasn’t appealing. “Why?”

“Two reasons. I saw an aspen tree with green leaves. And the man who was chasing me in the vision said so. He said, ‘Aspen got away.’ I assume that means he failed to kill my cousin.”

“What else?” Patrick asked.

“I was next to a river. For me, water is a symbol of life. The river was to my right, to the east.” She frowned at her notes. “Directions seemed to be important, but I’m not sure why. It might have something to do with the medicine wheel.”

“The medicine wheel?”

“I’m part Ute. I was raised by my aunt Rose on the rez, and the medicine wheel is part of my culture. The east where the sun rises is associated with good things, new life. I always orient my desk toward the east so my work will go easier. West is the opposite. North is negative. South is positive.”

“This vision of yours,” Miguel said, trying hard not to be sarcastic. “Was it a road map to find your cousin?”

“I’m not sure what the directions mean. I’m hoping that if I take a look at Aspen’s car, I might get a clearer picture of where she is.”

“Like a psychic GPS system?”

Anger flashed in her blue eyes. Though Patrick had told him to be nice, Miguel couldn’t help teasing. Not when she left herself wide-open with such an irrational theory.

Her tone was curt. “You’re a forensic investigator, right?”

“Correct.”

“Here’s something specific for you to work with.” She pushed the paper toward him. “The man who was chasing me wore a leather necklace with a bear claw design. This is what it looked like.”

“A grizzly paw.” His gaze slid down the page and saw the words in quotation marks: Aspen got away. But you will die. Emma hadn’t mentioned that second part. Was that the way visions worked? Pick one thing and ignore another?

He also saw another scribbled design using the initials VDG. That was a symbol he recognized; it was important to another investigation. “What’s this?”

“I didn’t see it in my vision. When I started making notes, I just drew it.”

He adjusted Jack’s bottle. “You don’t know where it came from? You’ve never seen it before?”

“Not that I recall.”

Her smile was a treasure. So beautiful, muy bonita. And so crazy, muy loca.

He needed to inform the FBI about the VDG symbol.

On their way to the impound lot where Aspen’s car was being held, Emma rode with Miguel in her little gas-saving hybrid so they wouldn’t have to switch the baby seat in and out of the sheriff’s cruiser. Though they were in her car, she let Miguel drive so as not to further affront his authority. His sarcasm clearly told her that he didn’t much care for mediums, psychics or spirit visions. The only thing that sparked his interest was that VDG scribble.

She stole a glance at this dark, lean man with the shaggy black hair and dark green eyes—the color of a cool, deep forest. When he wasn’t making smart-alecky comments, he was attractive. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Baby Jack adored him; they’d bonded in seconds. After finishing his bottle, Jack wiggled cheerfully in Miguel’s arms and made gurgle noises that sounded like an alien language. Riding in the backseat, Jack still hadn’t stopped burbling. His was the only conversation in the car.

Emma couldn’t think of a word to say. Though she’d always been terminally shy, this long silence was ridiculous. She cleared her throat. “The snow is melting fast.”

“Yeah, it’s about time it started feeling like spring,” he said.

More silence.

“So, Miguel, are you new to Kenner City?”

“I’ve been here about a year. I was one of the first employees at the new crime lab.”

“Where are you from?”

“You tell me.” He shot her a wry glance. “You’re the psychic. You’re supposed to know these things.”

Usually, she paid no attention to those who doubted her visions or—even worse—those who treated her with great deference as if she were the Oracle of Delphi. But she wanted Miguel to accept her. Maybe because he was good with the baby. Maybe because he could help her find Aspen. And maybe…just because. “Are you challenging me?”

“Go ahead. Astound me.”

“Fine.” She studied him for a moment. His identity shouldn’t be so hard to figure out.

The sheriff had mentioned that most of the employees at the lab were from Colorado. She assumed that Miguel wasn’t newly transplanted from a big city like Denver; his cowboy boots were well-worn and looked like his habitual footwear. He didn’t have the roughened hands of a cowboy or a farmer from the San Luis Valley, but she noticed calluses on his fingertips, typical of a guitar player.