Chapter 34
Laurel pushed through the hospital’s automatic doors as rain slid off her jacket.
The fluorescent lights were nearly blinding after the murky day outside.
Abigail sat in a plastic chair with dried blood smeared on her hands.
Wet strands of hair curled just slightly where they clung to her collarbone, and she appeared pale beneath the fluorescent lights.
Laurel reached her quickly. “How is he?”
Abigail looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not from crying.
Laurel had seen that look before. It was adrenaline tapering off a high.
“He’s in surgery. Penetrating trauma to the right hemithorax.
Entry wound just medial to the midclavicular line.
The projectile missed the heart but collapsed the lung.
They’re concerned about internal hemorrhaging and vascular involvement. ”
Laurel sat beside her. The chair squeaked, cheap vinyl protesting her presence. She liked Agent Norrs. He appeared to be a trustworthy and conscientious agent. “What happened?”
Abigail arched a brow. “Why are you here without bodyguards? There’s a shooter out there.”
“I have two on the outside door right now.” Laurel couldn’t shake them. “Now talk, please.”
Abigail took a deep breath. “Are you taking my official statement?” Her eyeliner had bled slightly beneath her eyes. Not perfect. That was new.
“Yes. Everyone else is still searching for Viv. You’ll give a formal statement later, but I want your raw account. Now.”
Abigail flicked her hand like she was batting away something unworthy of her time. “We went to pick up pizzas for the joint task force at Fish and Wildlife. Just a favor run. A truck came out of nowhere and T-boned us hard.”
Laurel cut her a look. “You have an eidetic memory. I want detail for detail.”
Abigail’s nod was sharp. “He was masked and his movements were surprisingly graceful. He fired first and followed us into the trees. His shots were aimed at center mass, and he maintained a textbook tactical stance. He seemed genuinely surprised when I grabbed Wayne’s Glock from the ground and returned fire. ”
“You sure you hit him?”
“Positive. Twice. Lower extremity—right thigh—and lateral aspect of the upper arm. He flinched both times. But he kept moving.”
Laurel nodded once, her mind already ten steps ahead of the moment. “We’ve issued BOLOs and then called clinics, hospitals, and even veterinary offices within two hours of here to provide warning. They’ll call us if he seeks help.”
Abigail leaned back, eyes calculating. “I barely slowed him down.”
Laurel resisted the urge to pat Abigail’s hand. “Yes, but he’s hurt.” She thought through the scenario. “Are you certain he aimed for Wayne and not you?”
Abigail focused on her. “Why? Because I look like you? You think maybe he got us mixed up?”
Laurel exhaled slowly, a long stream of breath through her nose. “I have no idea, but we can’t assume anything.”
Abigail arched an eyebrow. “Wayne was just telling me he had a break in your sniper investigation.”
Laurel’s spine stiffened. “What was it?”
“He didn’t say. We didn’t have time. But he was . . . confident. He said he was closing in.”
Perhaps he’d left notes in his Seattle office. Laurel would call them and find out. “Is there anything you can point to that would help me identify this attacker?”
“No.” Abigail scratched dried blood off her hand. “Do you think Wayne tipped off the sniper somehow? Accidentally?”
“Maybe,” Laurel said. “Like I said, we’ll start a broad investigation and narrow in, but since there’s a sniper out there, it’s likely the same perpetrator. We’ll pull every case Agent Norrs ever worked, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Abigail tilted her head. “Nietzsche didn’t either. ‘There are no facts, only interpretations.’ And patterns.”
Laurel shot her a look. “And in those patterns, ‘coincidences are just crimes in costume.’ Foucault.”
Abigail smirked. “Touché.” Then her head went back against the sterile hospital wall, and her eyelids shut. She was trembling.
Laurel frowned. “I should’ve brought you something warm to wear. I didn’t even think of it.”
“Why would you?” Abigail murmured. “We’re rarely on the same page. All I’ve ever wanted is to be your sister.”
Laurel doubted that. Abigail’s desires were layered, twisted, and often tactical. But maybe, beneath the machinery, there was something that approximated need. “I’m sorry that Wayne was shot. You do care for him. Don’t you?”
Abigail didn’t move. “Of course I do. We’re engaged.”
That wasn’t an answer. “Is he your reason?”
Abigail cracked open one pale blue eye. “My reason for what?”
Exactly. She wouldn’t understand. “Are you really planning to go through with it? Marry him?”
“I don’t know.” A beat. “We’re engaged.”
Laurel let that hang. “What about after your trial if you don’t go to prison?”
“I’m not going to prison, Laurel. We both know it.” Abigail’s voice had a cool certainty, like she’d already read the verdict.
“You can try for self-defense, sure. But it’s not a slam dunk. The prosecuting attorney is sharp, and you didn’t exactly have a sanctioned reason for going to that motel alone.”
“Sure I did.” Abigail folded her arms, the dried blood on her sleeves cracking slightly. “What about Joley, that poor girl Zeke said he had stashed somewhere?”
Laurel had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “The only evidence that Zeke had anything to do with that missing teenager is your word. That’s it.”
Abigail hummed softly. “Interesting.” That tone. It told Laurel that somewhere, in the folds of Abigail’s mind, wheels were turning. Not in panic. Abigail never panicked. She strategized. She designed. If corroboration didn’t exist, she’d manufacture it, bend the narrative, and make truth pliable.
“Why did you really kill your father?” Laurel asked.
“Our father.” A small smile played on Abigail’s mouth. Just a quick flash before it disappeared. “Are you asking as my sister or as an FBI agent?”
“I’m always both.”
“That’s what I figured.” Abigail turned those dual-colored eyes on Laurel. “I killed him because he came at me. It was self-defense.”
That was highly doubtful. Zeke wanted money to get out of town, and Abigail had plenty. She could’ve been his bank for decades. “What else?”
“Talk to me after the trial,” Abigail said dryly. “Double jeopardy and all that.”
So the bastard did have something on her. Laurel knew it. Whatever it was, if there had ever been real evidence, it was almost certainly dust and ash by now. “When I testify, I’ll tell the truth.”
“You weren’t there, Laurel, and have nothing to say.
Your testimony will include the fact that Zeke raped your mother and created you.
She spent her life making sure he didn’t know you existed.
Then he tried to kill you the night I killed him.
” Abigail spoke softly. “My attorney is excellent, and by the time he’s done with you, the jury will want to throw me a party.
You can’t help yourself. The truth is the truth, and you’ll give it. ”
Laurel’s stomach cramped. “I think you had an ulterior motive in killing him. I know you did.” Yet Abigail had been furious that the baby had died. Truly livid.
“Your opinion doesn’t hold the weight of evidence. Period.”
Before Laurel could answer, a doctor stepped into the waiting room. She was tall and angular with storm-gray hair and steady brown eyes.
“Abigail Caine?” The doctor looked at them both, her eyebrows raising. Yeah, their brown-red hair and heterochromatic eyes always caused interest, especially when they sat together.
“Yes,” Abigail said, rising with the grace of someone who’d been waiting for a cue.
The doctor turned her attention to her. “Agent Norrs is out of surgery. He’s stable. Conscious. Asking for you.”
“So he’s alive.” Abigail exhaled. “How is he?”
The doctor smoothed down her pink scrubs.
“Agent Norrs sustained two projectile injuries to the right thoracic region—one anterior, one lateral. Fortunately, there was no penetration to the pericardium or major vasculature. He did experience significant blood loss and a partial pneumothorax, but both wounds were managed surgically. He’s expected to recover with supportive care and time. ”
“Oh, thank God,” Abigail said, voice almost cracking. But Laurel knew the trick of that—Abigail could fake warmth so well it looked real even to herself.
Laurel stood. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay. When can I interview him?”
“Not right now,” the doctor said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Give him a few hours. He’s lucid but exhausted. He specifically asked for his fiancée to sit with him.”
Abigail hesitated. “Oh. Well, I thought I’d go help with the search for the missing teenager by taking over Wayne’s field responsibilities.”
Laurel didn’t even pretend to entertain that idea. “No. You stay with him. That’ll help him more than anything right now.” And keep her out of the way.
The last thing Laurel needed was Abigail loose in the middle of an active investigation, leaving her signature chaos just because she could.
Of course, her brain was impressive, and if she truly wanted to help, she’d be an asset.
It was unfortunate she didn’t use her high intelligence to actually do some good in the world.
Abigail put a hand on Laurel’s arm. “Are you sure? I could help.”
“I’m positive. I’ll have an agent bring you dry clothing,” Laurel added. “Let me know when he’s clear for an interview.”
Abigail stepped forward and, without warning, leaned in for a hug. Her arms were wet but her grip tight. Even after her ordeal in the forest, with blood and mud on her, she smelled like an expensive citrus perfume. Laurel patted her back once.
“You’re a good sister,” Abigail said, just loud enough for the doctor to hear.
“Thanks,” Laurel replied. She leaned back, once again wondering if there was any way to reach humanity in her. She looked at her sister’s very familiar eyes. “You probably saved his life when you returned fire at the sniper.”
Abigail winked. “I had to save my sweet Wayne, didn’t I?”
Now Agent Norrs would be in deeper than ever.
Abigail could’ve run. She might’ve been able to hide.
But she seemed like a hero now. “Were you frightened? At all?” Laurel asked.
Whatever psychopathy Abigail held, and it would take years of testing to truly determine that, it was doubtful she felt true fear.
Abigail studied her back, an unidentified light in her eyes. As if wondering what to tell her? “No.”
The truth caught Laurel off guard. For a brief and very unexpected moment.
The outside door opened and Rachel Raprenzi hustled inside with her cameraman behind her. “Dr. Caine? Do you have time for an interview? I have a source that says you shot back at an assassin today. How is the agent who went down?”
Laurel turned toward her. “You’re trespassing, Rachel. Get out.”
The cameraman kept filming, and Rachel stepped to the side to give him a better line of sight. “We’re here with Special Agent Laurel Snow and her sister, Dr. Abigail Caine, after the shooting of an FBI agent earlier today. My, don’t they look alike?”
“Out,” Laurel ordered.
Abigail lifted a hand, her eyes gleaming. “I’d be happy to give you an interview, Ms. Raprenzi. First, I need to go see for myself that my fiancé is all right.”
“Your fiancé is the FBI agent?” Rachel’s tone turned salacious.
“Yes. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.
” Abigail brushed a strand of hair away from her face, her hand shaking.
She went from assertive with Laurel to looking fragile and lost in an instant.
How did she do that? “All right, Doctor.” Abigail turned with a flourish, following the physician toward the double doors at the end of the hallway.
At the threshold, she paused and looked back.
“I hope you find the girl, Laurel. I can’t imagine what Kate is going through right now. ”
Neither could Laurel. “We’ll find her.”
Abigail disappeared around the corner with the doctor.
Rachel moved in with her microphone. “Agent Snow? While we wait for Dr. Caine to return, please give us an update on the kidnapping of Vivienne Vuittron.”
“No comment.” Laurel turned and strode back into the storm. She had to find Viv and soon. Would there be a biochemical attack? If so, where?