Chapter 7
“I’m perfectly healthy,” Laurel said for exactly the fifth time as she settled onto Huck’s sofa with her feet on the coffee table and the soft Karelian Bear Dog cuddled against her side.
“My vision is excellent, and other than bruising along my rib cage and a few cuts on my knees and hands, I’m remarkably well. ”
Huck piled two more logs on the crackling fire. “I still think we should have a doctor check you out.” He stood and turned, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together.
It remained fascinating learning about Huck.
For some reason, he became angry whenever she was harmed.
She could understand concern or even regret, but fury glimmered in his bourbon-colored eyes.
As if fate had pissed him off. Or more likely, the cretins in the black truck.
So far, the truck had not been identified nor found.
Experience told her that it might not be. Living in the Washington State mountains, she’d learned that making a vehicle disappear over a mountain edge or in a gully in the middle of nowhere often occurred.
Huck crossed around to sit next to her, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table before sliding an arm over her shoulders. “Is it too much of a coincidence that the half siblings of both you and Walter possibly have been attacked?”
She stretched her neck and tried not to wince as pain ticked down her spine.
“Statistically? Coincidences happen. Just not this cleanly.” She rubbed a knot in her shoulder, fingers itching to tap this all out into something more solid than thoughts pinging off each other like unruly particles.
“We’ve got three events. Three variables.
I’m trying to determine if they intersect or if they’re all just swirling around like chaos theory on caffeine. ”
She ticked them off. “My half sister gets shot at by a sniper. That one’s almost too easy to explain.
She left a body count, including a pastor with a congregation that probably still lights candles in his honor.
And that’s just the obvious possibility.
For all I know, she’s made enemies so deep I’d need a submersible to reach them. ”
Huck snorted. “Including us.”
“Then there’s Walter’s half brother, who’s a conspiracy expert.
Either he staged his disappearance to gain intrigue for his podcast, or he actually stumbled onto something and is truly in danger.
” She hesitated, annoyance bristling under her skin.
“But then there’s what happened to us. Someone shot at us and ran us off the road.
Walter and me. Not my half sister. Not Walter’s half brother.
So either we’re targets, or we were incidental casualties from the other two situations. That’s where it gets tangled.”
“I’m not liking any of this, but at least the FBI is investigating who tried to shoot you. For now, anyway,” Huck said.
Her mind raced, overlaying theories like transparencies, one on top of another, until everything blurred. “Are the three attacks connected? Probability says no because the situations are too different.”
Huck frowned, dragging his fingers through his hair.
“I agree. The connections are so flimsy. Your half sister’s enemies, if that’s who’s after her, wouldn’t care about Walter’s brother.
And his conspiracy theories? They’re sprawling, but not exactly shareable with a sniper good enough to hit Abigail from such a distance. ”
Laurel released her muscle and stretched her aching neck. “But then there’s us. Someone shot at us and ran us off the road. Walter and I have made enemies through the years, and the people in that black truck were aiming for one of us. Who knows. They could’ve been following us for days.”
Huck lifted her to cradle on his lap, her legs over one of his, offering warmth and comfort.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “That would make the most sense. We’re dealing with three different investigations and should attack them that way.
I’m on the courthouse shooting as a state officer, the Elk Hollow cops are on finding Tyler Griggs, who might not be actually missing, and the FBI is on the attack on two of its
agents.”
“Good summary.”
“Let’s talk specifically about the FBI case and that truck that ran you off the road.
” Huck’s voice was calm. Too calm. Laurel’s instincts pinged at the measured tone, the subtle flattening of his words.
Huck was usually easygoing with a streak of smart-ass confidence.
When he went deadpan like that, it meant something was stirring underneath.
Anger. Annoyance. Or maybe that cold sort of calculation he used when lining up a shot. She couldn’t decide which.
She tried to read his expression, but his face remained neutral. The man was good at compartmentalizing. Dangerous when he wanted to be.
“The Seattle field office sent out a crime tech to gather the casings”—she hesitated, aware that he was listening to every nuance of her voice, just as she was dissecting his—“but I doubt we’ll find anything in the system.”
His arms tightened around her. He’d pulled her onto his lap without a word, maneuvering her easily with his impressive strength.
The intimacy should’ve felt off, but it didn’t. Not after everything. His warmth seeped into her, pressing back the chill that had settled along her bones since the shooting. They had grown closer during their time away, the aftermath of loss building something new between them, raw but steady.
She appreciated Huck’s steadiness more than she could ever say. It was one of the things she respected most about him. He didn’t play games or leave her wondering where she stood. The man was a fortress of straightforwardness in a world full of double meanings and unspoken motives.
They had both mourned the loss of the baby, though Huck had been characteristically equitable about it. “Doesn’t change anything between us,” he’d said, his voice strong but quiet, as if daring her to challenge him.
She didn’t. Not out loud. But deep down, she figured it had changed things.
The pregnancy had forced them into a timeline neither of them had consciously agreed to, only to have that timeline snatched away.
Now she felt like she was stranded somewhere between what could have been and what was. Or she was overthinking it all.
Huck’s gaze stayed locked on her, his brown eyes sharp. “So, you’re telling me Wayne Norrs is in charge of the investigation into the attack on you as the head of the field office in Seattle?”
“Yes. Considering Walter and I were fired upon, it makes sense to have an outside team investigate the attack.”
The Pacific Northwest Violent Crimes Unit worked all over the region, headquartered out of Genesis Valley but often crossing jurisdiction with Seattle and other offices.
Her unit was specifically tasked with violent crimes and serial killers, but cooperation with other agencies had always been a given.
For now, anyway.
Agent Norrs definitely had taken over the investigation.
That hadn’t surprised her. His expertise was solid, his presence commanding, but he had a tendency to bulldoze anyone who got in his way.
Of course, the man’s temperament wasn’t her biggest concern.
Abigail was. If she grew bored of dating Agent Norrs, which she inevitably would, things would become tricky.
Right now, everyone seemed to get along, but alliances had a way of crumbling under pressure.
“What about the truck?” Huck’s voice rumbled against her, low and patient, though his fingers were drumming against her thigh with the restless precision of a man holding himself in check.
“They haven’t found a thing, and they probably won’t.”
“Hell.” Huck’s frustration broke through, punctuated by a rough exhale. “I suppose both you and Walter are going through old cases of yours to look for an enemy.”
“We are. There might be something relevant from one of our pasts.”
Huck’s mouth tightened. His fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping against her leg, settling there with a solid, possessive weight. “Or both,” he said.
The possibility hung between them, thickening the air.
But instead of pressing the point, Huck’s hold softened. His hand slid absently along her side, drawing warmth through the fabric of her shirt. The man’s touch was a grounding force she didn’t know she needed until it was there.
They weren’t done talking, but for now, she let herself lean into him. And Huck, true to form, let her take the moment on her terms.
“I don’t think anyone from my father’s church would fire upon me, but that’s definitely an angle we need to look at. Considering someone shot at Abigail as well . . . the connection could be the two of us,” she mused.
The words tasted sour, thick with the bitterness of too many threads tangling into a knot she couldn’t quite unravel. Theories and probabilities spun through her mind, refusing to settle.
She let out a sigh, the sound rawer than she intended. “I’m tired of thinking about it.”
Huck barked out a laugh. “Laurel Snow is tired of thinking. Now, that’s a headline.”
She grinned, rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”
He laughed again, the rich sound vibrating against her skin where his chest pressed into her back. “I’ve never heard you say ‘whatever’ like that. There’s usually a long litany of words that come in front of it. Usually something about probability ratios or statistical anomalies.”
Laurel leaned back into him, shaking her head. “I’ve been spending time with Kate’s teenage daughters. I’m picking up on modern vernacular.”
“There we go.” His voice went dry, teasing.
“A wonderful side effect of hanging around mere mortals.” He kissed her temple, sending a spark of warmth racing down her spine.
The firelight danced around them, warming her in a safety she was beginning to rely upon.
Huck’s heat was real, solid, the one constant she could actually rely on.