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.
She figured that he’d gone to college to study forensics. But where? Which school? She remembered that when he looked at the design on her pursuer’s necklace, he identified the marking as a grizzly claw. Not a bear, but a grizzly. And the grizzly was the school mascot for Adams State College in Alamosa.
“I’m not sure if you were born there,” she said, “but you lived in Alamosa.”
“Correct.” He arched an eyebrow. “The sheriff told you, right? Everybody thinks Patrick Martinez is the strong, silent type, but he can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“I never heard your name until I met you this morning.”
He pulled up at a stop sign, pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead and stared at her with an intensity that she found both intimidating and sexy. As his gaze scanned her face, searching for a hint that she was lying, she faced him without flinching.
He asked, “What else can you tell me?”
“You play guitar.”
He held out his right hand. “You saw the calluses.”
“You’ve got a fresh grease stain on your jeans. Maybe you ride a motorcycle.”
“A Harley,” he confirmed. “You’re using logic. Not psychic intuition.”
“Does it matter if I find the answers with logic or by a vision?” she asked earnestly. “Both are methods of observation. Different paths that lead to the same truth. You’d understand if you could be inside my head, walk a mile in my shoes.”
He glanced at her feet. “Purple sneakers with white stars? I don’t think so.”
“They match my jacket.” She ran her fingers down the zipper of the purple leather jacket she’d bought on her last trip to New York. The style was so not from the Southwest, but she loved it.
As her tone lightened to match his teasing, she realized that she was enjoying this conversation. Moments ago, she’d been tongue-tied. Now her wits were
