Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“So that leaves the Dr. Liu and now Tyler Griggs investigations for me to work,” Laurel said, forcing herself back on track. Whatever had been found in their brains wasn’t just an anomaly. It was a pattern. One that might include the other two deaths from Oakridge. Maybe. “Walter, this afternoon, let’s go through Tyler’s most recent podcasts and see if there’s anything that ties Dr. Liu and him together.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Walter replied, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I’d also like to bring Sandra in for questioning again. See if his girlfriend has anything else to add.”
“As would I,” Laurel agreed, her gaze shifting toward the whiteboard cluttered with hastily written notes and diagrams. The patterns weren’t forming, and the disarray gnawed at her. “Maybe she remembers something she didn’t realize was important.”
Nester looked up. “She has some interesting arrests for protesting. Hates the government. Became violent several times.”
“Please call her in for an interview this afternoon,” Laurel said.
Nester nodded. “You’ve got it.”
Huck glanced at his watch, the movement quick and efficient. “I have two Zoom meetings in a few minutes. We’ve had a bear sighting up in Northridge, and I need to go set up a trap afterward. Also need to check out the yew infiltration.”
“The what?” Nester asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
“The yew,” Huck clarified. “The Pacific yew tree. It’s not endangered, but it is protected. Somebody’s been razing them like crazy. Cutting them down or damaging them beyond repair.”
Laurel frowned. “Why would they do that?”
“Not sure,” Huck admitted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But I’ll ask them when I find them.”
“People are idiots,” Nester muttered, his fingers tapping at his laptop like he was about to look up something about the trees.
Huck rose to his feet. “I’ll be back in time to escort you home, Laurel.”
“That’s fine.” Laurel stood. “Thank you, everyone.”
Agent Norrs gave a tight nod. “I’m heading out, too. There’s got to be CCTV of the sniper somewhere in town.” He grabbed his coat with a sharp motion and strode out, his steps echoing down the hallway.
Walter cleared his throat, glancing toward Laurel. “I guess you’ll conduct all your work here in this nice, safe conference room, huh?” His attempt at humor didn’t quite land, but she appreciated the effort.
“I guess so,” Laurel replied. She had to start thinking clearly.
Kate strode down the hallway and poked her head in the door. “Um, Rachel Raprenzi called and said that she’s interviewing Abigail and her attorney tomorrow night on The Killing Hour. She wants to know if you’d like to join them.”
Laurel tried to breathe evenly through her nose to calm her central nervous system. “Tell her that the FBI has no comment.”
Kate faltered. “Rachel said to make sure I told you that she’s contacting you as Abigail’s sister and not as an FBI agent.”
The measured breathing wasn’t working. “Then tell her to fuck off,” Laurel said.
Kate’s eyebrows rose and she burst out laughing at the same time as Walter. His guffaws filled the conference room.
Heat filtered into Laurel’s cheeks. “Also, no comment.”
Chapter 19
The crash was a flash of metal and noise, a scream of rubber against wet pavement. Mark had taken the corner too fast in his beautiful black truck, eyes fixed on the mirror instead of the road. His truck spun out, tires catching mud, gravel spraying like shrapnel. Now the sweet truck had bullet holes in it from that FBI agent shooting back at him.
The impact sounded like a thunderclap. Steel met oak with a violence that shuddered through his bones, snapping his head forward hard enough to split his lip against the steering wheel. His chest hit the seat belt, the force like a sledgehammer to his ribs.
Then silence.
He woke with blood in his mouth and a thunderstorm pounding inside his skull. The airbag had deployed but deflated to a useless heap of nylon and powder. The windshield was a kaleidoscope of cracks, a dark vein of blood smeared across it from his forehead.
He’d gotten away, but they had to be coming for him. Tying up loose ends. He had to run. Now.
The taste of iron thickened on his tongue. Blood dripped from his nose, slow and steady, painting his upper lip with a warmth that shouldn’t have been comforting. His hands shook as he fumbled for the seat belt release, fingers slipping off the latch twice before it finally clicked free.
He shoved the door open with his shoulder. It gave with a groan of metal, and a fresh lance of pain stabbed through his ribs. He stumbled out, his boots sinking into mud. The night was thick with rain, the air a cold bite that clung to his skin.
Something in his ankle twisted wrong as he moved, a sharp, splintering pain that nearly sent him to his knees. But he didn’t fall. Couldn’t.