Chapter 36
Rain battered the roof of the Fish and Wildlife building, drowning out the sound of anything human.
Huck leaned over the table with a dozen maps spread out, water-stained and marked with routes in red and black ink.
Elevation lines, forest roads, decommissioned firebreaks—every inch mattered.
Viv was still missing, and they were almost out of reasonable guesses.
Walter Smudgeon stood across from him, pointing at a trail that cut north past Deadman’s Hollow. “That was cleared within the last three months. Old satellite feed showed it washed out. This one’s recent. Maintained. Someone’s running through it.”
Huck narrowed his eyes. “That’s privately owned land by some corporation back east. I haven’t noticed any construction, but they’re far enough out, they could’ve come from the east and not through Genesis Valley.
” The desk phone rang. Huck grabbed it, expecting a call from Norrs in the hospital. “Rivers.”
“Huck, this is Pastor John.” The voice was steady but off. “I’m here working late preparing for the Spring Worship Day tomorrow. Tim Kohnex’s dog just showed up at the church covered in mud with blood on his ear. The blood isn’t the dog’s.”
Huck straightened. “Is Tim there with him?”
“No. I went out to his place and saw no sign of him. His truck is gone, and his house is locked up with no lights showing. But the dog was soaked and shaking from cold. That man wouldn’t go anywhere without that dog.”
Huck stopped breathing. Maybe Kohnex hadn’t been full of crap earlier. “Thanks, Pastor. I’ll handle it.” He dropped the receiver and grabbed his jacket. “Kohnex is missing. His dog showed up at the church, with somebody’s blood on him.”
Walter raised an eyebrow. “You think this is related?”
“Who the hell knows. I’ll go ask Laurel exactly what he said earlier.” Huck was already out the door before Walter could ask more. He cut across the door and jogged up the FBI steps before realizing it was quiet. Too quiet.
“Laurel?” Nothing. No answer. He ran down to the conference room, which was vacant. No sign of her. She wouldn’t just leave without telling him.
Warning heated down his torso. He ran back down to his office and brought up the security feed. Skipped back. Found her. She and Abigail were walking outside to an older Caprice, Abigail’s attorney holding her close. Was that a gun?
Huck watched, jaw tight, as Laurel went with him. No hesitation. Eyes locked. Abigail’s mouth moved, but the audio was down. Didn’t matter. They both got into a trunk and allowed the man to shut it.
What the fuck?
Laurel hadn’t fought or gone for the gun. Or even tried to let anybody in Fish and Wildlife know what was going on. Why? He smacked his head. Viv. She thought she could get to Viv.
Huck turned. “I need a chopper in the air now. I don’t give a damn about the storm. We have an abduction, and it just went operational.”
Walter yanked on his coat. “What happened?”
“Vexler took Laurel. And Abigail. From inside the building.”
Walter stopped moving. “The lawyer?”
Huck didn’t slow. “Get his background. I want everything, and I want it on the way to the field.”
They ran outside and hit the vehicle, heading wildly toward the helipad.
Wind shook the windshield, but Huck kept the speed high.
The rain made it worse. Visibility was down to nothing, but they weren’t waiting for it to clear.
Panic rushed through him, and he forced himself to calm.
Laurel had just purposefully put herself in the hands of people he believed had a chemical weapon.
It was the only thing that made sense. She’d done it to find Viv.
Hopefully, they were both still alive. He had to get to them.
Walter worked fast on the tablet, tapping into files. “Henry Vexler. Officially licensed out of Washington. Attorney with high-profile clients.”
“Military?”
“None, but he has an impressive list of weapons registered to him. Nothing sniper based, but . . .”
But he’d have those off the books. “So we have a sniper who’s also a lawyer,” Huck muttered.
“Now, that’s a combo.”
“The kill of Dr. Sandoval. So he was the target?” Did that mean the sniper wasn’t after Laurel? Who was the other target? Abigail? “Why would a sniper want Abigail dead?”
“Don’t we all?” Walter asked grimly.
Good point. They reached the pad. The helicopter was already prepped, blades turning, storm be damned. The pilot gave them a nod, barely more than a glance. No questions asked.
Huck climbed in, headset on, gaze scanning the ridgeline as they lifted off.
“Head toward Genesis Valley Community Church and then east from there. We’re looking for an older Toyota Tacoma owned by Tim Kohnex, or a burgundy colored Chevy Caprice.
Also search for any type of buildings once we hit the outskirts of the county. ”
God, they had to be okay.
Laurel sat on the cold metal floor, her spine tight, every inch of her body coiled despite the stillness. She wrapped an arm around Viv’s narrow shoulders, pulling the girl close. Viv trembled once, then stilled. The girl was breathing, warm, and alive. That was enough. For now.
Vexler stood near the door with his weapon trained on them.
Abigail sat on her other side, next to Kohnex, with her legs extended and her body far too relaxed for the situation. Her eyes were half-lidded. “Well,” she murmured. “Can we fight back now?”
“Absolutely,” Laurel said.
The door opened.
Two people stepped inside. Dr. Bertra Yannish and a man with dark hair.
“That’s John Fitz,” Viv muttered. “He kidnapped me. Asshole.”
The air shifted with them, sharp with chemicals and damp wool.
“Nicely done,” Bertra purred to Vexler. She wore brown jeans, a fitted white shirt, and a brown leather jacket that looked smart against the shirt.
Her hair was tied back, and her eyes were heavily lined in black, deliberate, and cold.
She crossed the room without hesitation and leaned in to kiss Vexler, her fingers brushing his collar.
“I was a little worried about your sniper proficiency,” she murmured, lips against his.
“But your kidnapping technique? Two solid stars.”
Fitz folded his arms, face still, tone flat. “I got the girl.”
“You know I’m a federal agent,” Laurel said. “You’re staring down the death penalty.”
Vexler gave her a brief glance. “That assumes any of this ends in a courtroom.”
“Tell me about the attack. When is it?” Laurel asked.
“Saturday,” Fitz said. “I need another half an hour with the last canister tonight.”
“Make me a smaller one, too,” Bertra said. She smiled at Laurel.
Laurel’s stomach dropped.
Fitz winked at Laurel and then turned back to the door and exited quietly.
Laurel shifted, sliding her arm off Viv’s shoulder, but the girl leaned back into her.
Laurel kept her eyes on Bertra. “So what’s the plan? I take it you’ve gone rogue with this yew tree compound.”
“‘Rogue’ is a bit dramatic,” Bertra said, already moving toward the storage locker across the room. “Let’s say we’re operating outside traditional constraints.”
“You’re going to kill civilians.”
“Not many,” Vexler said. “Just enough to make the message clear.”
Laurel’s jaw locked. “There are buyers?”
“Several organizations from many countries,” Bertra said. “Saturday is just the prototype run.”
Laurel’s pulse kicked, but she didn’t show it. “What exactly does the compound do?”
“It attacks the brain,” Bertra said, her voice clinical, almost bored.
“Originally, it showed promise for treating certain forms of dementia. Neuro-regeneration, receptor reactivation, even brief moments of lucidity. But when concentrated with an enhanced binder, the compound triggers acute cortical lesions. Subcortical areas first, then it spreads. The subject becomes erratic. Manic. And then, very quickly, dead.”
Laurel didn’t move. Her muscles had gone still in a way she recognized, right before everything in her wanted to fight.
“We’ve been trying to refine it,” Bertra continued.
“Ideally, we’d be able to modulate reactions.
Induce calm. Even create obedience. Willing subjects.
But as of now . . . the death curve is the only reliable result.
” Her gaze slid over to Abigail. “You could’ve been useful in that phase.
But with your sister being FBI, I couldn’t exactly reach out, could I? ”
Abigail’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. “We started working together a year or so ago.”
Bertra shrugged. “I wasn’t told about this application until recently. Why, do you want in now?”
Abigail looked at her. “Sure.”
“I don’t believe you,” Bertra said.
“I don’t either,” Vexler muttered.
“You’re a shitty lawyer,” Abigail said, flat and unimpressed.
Vexler turned his head slowly. “I’m an excellent lawyer, and I’m really going to miss the law,” he said, like it had been a fond memory.
Abigail cocked her head. “Where are you going?”
Vexler glanced at Bertra. “Somewhere without an extradition treaty. Somewhere warm. Expensive.”
Laurel cut in. “Where’s the attack?” She already knew.
No one answered.
Laurel’s jaw clicked once before she spoke. “It’s Genesis Valley Community Church, right? They’re having some Spring Worship Day Saturday. We’re close by, and it’s a closed environment.”
Bertra smiled faintly.
“Of course,” Laurel continued. “You can’t really want to do this.”
“I’m attending the celebration,” Bertra said, glancing down at her clothes. “Though I may change my boots.”
Bile rose in Laurel’s throat. How could the woman even contemplate such a thing? “Is the compound liquid?”
“No,” Bertra said. “Aerosol.”
Laurel’s stomach dropped. That changed everything. “What’s the viability window?”
“About fifteen minutes,” Bertra said. “If the subject doesn’t inhale it, they live. If they do, that’s it.”
Laurel ran the numbers in her head. Crowd size. Airflow. Exposure time. It didn’t matter. Everyone was going to breathe it in.