Chapter 17
Laurel sank into Huck’s sofa, her body angled toward the warmth of the roaring fire. They’d eaten dinner not long ago—chicken cacciatore, Huck’s latest culinary experiment. The captain had a talent in the kitchen he didn’t share with many people.
Fred Lacassagne, her cat, lay sprawled across her lap and part of the couch, his rumbling purr a constant vibration against her thigh.
She absently rubbed him behind the ears, her fingers finding the soft fur at the base of his neck where he liked it most. She hadn’t expected to bond so deeply with the little guy.
He’d been a stray she found in a decrepit old barn on her family’s property, looking half-starved and matted.
Now, he was an affectionate fixture in her life.
She hadn’t planned to keep him; that would’ve been impractical, especially with her job pulling her all over the place.
But something about his stubborn persistence to survive had hit her hard.
Usually, her mother took care of Fred when Laurel’s work kept her away for extended periods.
In Deidre’s absence, Dolores, a family friend, had been watching Fred.
Dolores had an affinity for animals, her house full of them, and she didn’t seem to mind having Fred around.
Laurel had fetched him on the way home, preferring the cat to be with her when possible.
It was good to have him here, especially now.
He gave her something normal to focus on.
Huck returned from stacking another log on the fire, settling down on the couch beside her, though he kept a respectful distance from the cat.
Fred tended to be selective about his affection, and Huck wasn’t always on the approved list. Huck stretched his legs out, propping them on the table with an ease that spoke of exhaustion.
Her phone rang, shattering the quiet moment. The caller ID showed Special Agent in Charge Norrs calling. Laurel pressed the speaker button, her gaze still on the fire as she spoke. “Hi, Agent Norrs,” she said.
“Hi, Laurel,” Agent Norrs replied, his tone clipped and all business.
“We think we found the location the sniper shot Dr. Sandoval from. It was about seven hundred yards away up in a tree blind. We’re pulling all CCTV from the area, but nothing useful has shown up yet.
I’ve got everyone keeping an eye out for that black truck, too.
I’m starting to think these situations are related. ”
“That is certainly a possibility,” Laurel responded. Had Dr. Sandoval been killed instead of her? Her stomach rolled over.
“I’ve requested all of your case files from DC and we’re putting together a team here in the Seattle office dedicated to this,” Agent Norrs continued. “When somebody shoots at one of ours, we take it seriously.”
“I appreciate that,” Laurel said, her gaze finally shifting from the fire to the window where the night pressed in. “I can help you go through those.”
“That would be great. For now, have you ever dealt with a sniper as a suspect?”
Laurel scratched Fred’s chin, her mind pivoting neatly to the question at hand.
“No.” The certainty of her answer matched the clean, organized catalog of her memory.
“None of my cases in DC or in any of the other jurisdictions where I’ve consulted have centered around a sniper.
” She mentally categorized former investigations.
“I’ve caught a few serial killers, and people who committed violent crimes involving guns, but never a sniper like this.
The level of precision and distance involved . . . it’s different.”
The fire popped, a sudden burst of sparks flaring before settling again. Huck stretched his legs farther onto the table, his fingers tapping absently against his knee.
“How about a case that this reminds you about?” Agent Norrs asked.
Laurel mentally sorted through the cases she’d worked over the years.
Her thoughts moved in straight lines, each file opening cleanly and closing just as neatly.
“I can’t even think of any ancillary suspects or witnesses who may have had sniper experience.
We don’t usually conduct deep background checks unless someone stands out for a specific reason.
Maybe military experience, but even then, we focus on what’s relevant to the crime. ”
“Is there any direction in which you can point me?”
She shifted Fred’s weight on her lap and his claws kneaded the fabric of her jeans. She didn’t deal in maybes or vague hunches. Every observation had to be grounded in something real.
“There was one case in Kentucky,” she said, filtering through the details.
“We caught a serial killer who kidnapped women, abused them for several days, and then shot them. Execution-style.” The memory came back with clinical clarity, her brain slotting each fact into place.
“His name was Henry Jones Phillips. He came from a family of four boys, and I believe two of them may have had military experience.”
“That case was about five years ago, right?” Agent Norrs asked.
“Yes. I’d zeroed in on him early. He ended up confessing and is serving a life sentence now.
” Laurel adjusted Fred again, her fingers brushing against the thick fur along his spine.
“His brothers were interviewed as part of the investigation, but only in passing. They weren’t considered suspects because they hadn’t been in contact with him for years.
From what I gathered, the family had splintered. ”
The fire crackled again, and Huck’s gaze fixed on some point beyond the dancing flames.
“The brothers weren’t close?” Agent Norrs prompted.
“Not from what I found. Sporadic contact, maybe a Christmas card here or there. That was all.” She shrugged, the movement more for herself than Norrs. “But I can’t rule it out. Just . . . none of them ever registered as a serious possibility.”
“Got it.” The click of keys on Agent Norrs’s end had stopped. Now there was only the low hum of his breathing, his focus probably every bit as exacting as hers. “I’ll need to bring you in for a formal interview soon. I know you’ve already given me everything you have, but protocol’s protocol.”
“Understood.” Laurel watched the flames lick over the logs with restless precision.
Protocol. The word made sense to her. Structure.
Organization. A clean process meant to wring out the truth.
She would go through the steps, give her statements, answer their questions, and hope the right details fell into place.
“Have you looked into Dr. Sandoval or his family?”
“Yes. He didn’t have family. No close relatives, anyway. So . . . there was no one to notify or investigate.”
Well, that was just sad. The clean detachment in Agent Norrs’s voice only sharpened the reality. Dr. Sandoval had died without anyone to mourn him. Without anyone but the government’s official notice to mark his passing.
Sometimes Laurel wondered if, without Deidre’s influence, soft and kind to a fault, she would’ve been more like that. Alone. No attachments. No one to consider her absence a true loss.
Huck’s arm slid over her shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against her hair in a touch so casual she almost dismissed it.
But there was something deliberate in the way he played with her hair, like he understood the weight of her thoughts even when she hadn’t voiced them.
She would never understand how he did that.
“All right.” Agent Norrs’s voice cut through her musings. “If anything else comes to mind, please let me know. We’re in agreement, right? That the shooter on the courthouse steps was aiming for you and hit Abigail. Then that same sniper accidentally hit Dr. Sandoval instead of you.”
“That makes the most sense,” Laurel said, a headache thrumming behind her eyes.
Was anybody close to her a target at all times now?
“We have Nester creating a computer scenario of Abigail’s shooting that we’ll look at tomorrow.
Considering there was a sniper in my vicinity twice and somebody else was shot, I think that’s a fairly easy conclusion to reach. But we’ll see what Nester discovers.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’ll head your way first thing in the morning and interview you as well.”
“Of course,” Laurel replied.
The line went quiet for a beat, just the low murmur of someone shuffling papers or maybe shifting positions.
Then another voice cut in, bright and familiar.
“Laurel, I’m so sorry to hear you almost got shot.
Again.” Abigail’s voice, smooth and overly cheerful, carried a note of something too close to amusement for Laurel’s comfort.
“Thank you, Abigail,” Laurel said. “If the shooter on the courthouse steps was aiming for me and not you, I’m sorry that you took a bullet for me.”
“Oh, I’d always take a bullet for you, dear sister.” Abigail’s response was gleeful, the kind of high-pitched delight Laurel had never really learned to decipher. “Don’t worry about it.”
Laurel shook her head, feeling the muscles in her neck tighten. “Just in case, you need to stay safe. This appears to be aimed at me, but we don’t know that for sure. You were shot, so I would keep the Genesis Valley protection detail as long as you can.”
“Oh, they’ve already waved off,” Abigail replied breezily. “The sheriff decided you were the target and I didn’t need protection. But don’t worry, my sweet Wayne Norrs is keeping me safe.”
“I’m sure he is,” Laurel replied. “I’m glad to hear that. Have a good night, Abigail.” She clicked off, placing her phone on the table. Fred shifted in her lap, his whiskers twitching as he adjusted to a more comfortable position.
“This is an odd one, Laurel Snow.” Huck’s voice was low and measured, his expression thoughtful. “I know you have no idea who would want you dead.”
She shook her head again, her gaze on the fire but her focus inward.
“Statistically, it’s somebody connected to one of the cases I’ve already worked.
That’s the most probable explanation.” Her fingers kept a steady rhythm rubbing along Fred’s back, the familiar texture of fur under her fingertips an unconscious comfort.
“But I can’t pinpoint anyone. Nothing and nobody’s coming to mind. It’s frustrating.”
Huck leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Her phone buzzed again. Laurel sighed and reached for it. The number on the screen was familiar. “Agent Snow.”
“Hi, Agent Snow. It’s Dr. Ortega at the county coroner’s office.”
“Hi, Dr. Ortega.” Laurel adjusted her grip on the phone. “It’s good to hear from you. You’re working late.”
“I’m always working late,” Dr. Ortega replied, his voice very slightly slurred, indicating exhaustion. “But I wanted to call you because . . . well, this is an odd one.”
Laurel stilled. “What is odd?”
“I just finished the autopsy on Dr. Liu. She didn’t die from the car crash.”
Laurel frowned, her fingers pausing midstroke along Fred’s back. “What was the cause of death?”
“The cause of death was from blunt force trauma due to the car crash,” Ortega clarified, his words slow and deliberate. “But I believe she was in some sort of manic episode at the same time.”
“I don’t understand. Please clarify.” Laurel’s mind parsed the words like a computer processing data, isolating relevant details and discarding anything extraneous.
“That’s the odd part,” Dr. Ortega continued, the hesitation in his voice breaking through his usual clinical professionalism. “Dr. Liu’s brain showed the same lesions, growth, and abnormalities as the ones I found on Tyler Griggs.”
Laurel’s hand stopped completely as her brain locked onto the name. Her thoughts realigned, recalculating. “Wait. What?”
“Tyler Griggs,” Dr. Ortega confirmed. “The podcaster. Walter’s brother.”
“Yes.” Laurel’s reply was immediate. “I remember the case. But . . . the same lesions?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Dr. Ortega’s voice shifted. “I’m still waiting for details from the state lab. Trying to get a clearer picture. I don’t even have the bloodwork back yet.”
Laurel leaned back, her shoulders hitting the couch cushions with more force than she intended. “How in the world was Tyler Griggs’s death related to Dr. Liu’s? I need to see those autopsy results as soon as possible.” The two lived in different worlds.
“Of course. I called you because Dr. Liu is your case,” Dr. Ortega replied. “I haven’t contacted the city police about it yet.”
“If somehow those two deaths are related, Tyler Griggs’s investigation was just transferred to the FBI.” Wait a minute. What about the other two deceased employees from Dr. Liu’s lab? Was there any connection? Larry Scott had been cremated already. What about Melissa Palmtree?
Huck’s gaze remained on her, unwavering and direct. His stillness made her hyperaware of her own agitation, her body tense beneath his steady focus. The fire’s warmth felt distant, muffled by the sudden chill of what she’d just learned.
“What in the world could Tyler Griggs have in common with Dr. Miriam Liu?” Laurel murmured, her thoughts racing. “Except for those odd lesions on the brain. Could there be some new virus out there?”
“Let’s not speculate. I’ll see if I can put a rush on the chemical analysis, bloodwork, and histology,” Dr. Ortega said. “Now, I have to go. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.” Laurel ended the call, her thumb hovering over the phone for an extra second before setting it down. She quickly rang up Nester. “Sorry if it’s too late.”
Nester laughed. “It’s just after dinnertime. I’m still in my twenties, boss. So are you, by the way.”
Sometimes she felt older. “I need you to officially get the Tyler Griggs murder transferred to the FBI. Fill out a warrant for Griggs’s computer, apartment, and car.
See if you can find a judge to sign off, and then take a couple of city officers with you to Elk Hollow to obtain the evidence. Keep the chain of evidence clear.”
Huck rolled his neck. “Nester can take Tso from my office. He’s itching to be back in the field.” Both Tso and Jordan had been shot in a previous case, but both had recovered nicely.
Laurel relayed the information. “Thanks.” She clicked off.
The quiet that followed felt too thick, the fire’s crackle suddenly intrusive. Huck’s eyes remained fixed on her. “What’s going on?”
She glanced back at him, the intensity of his gaze offering something steady to hold on to. His honey-bourbon eyes reflected the firelight, familiar and grounding. Somehow, without explanation, she found an unexpected comfort there. “The truth is, I really have no idea.”