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)
Abigail stepped away from him and toward Laurel, true shock on her face. “I did not see that coming.”
Laurel didn’t take her eyes off the gun. Vexler’s expression hadn’t shifted. No flash of gloating, no twitch of adrenaline. Just calm malice.
He grabbed Abigail’s arm and yanked her toward him, shoving the weapon into her rib cage. “You’d run, Abigail.” He stared at Laurel. “But you’ll follow nicely so I won’t shoot your sister.”
That fast, finally, Laurel put it all together. “You wanted Abigail dead. She has knowledge about the lab. You’re more than Bertra’s lawyer. Right?” He hadn’t told her when he was retained and she’d wrongly assumed it just happened because he was dogging her. Laurel had nothing to do with him representing Oakridge Solutions.
“Yeah. I was aiming at Abigail each time.” He shrugged. “Was a sniper years ago and I might’ve lost my touch a little bit. I’m hell in a courtroom, though.” His gaze hardened. “You, move. In front of us. And if you cause any sort of scene downstairs, I’ll shoot you both, aim inside the Fish and Wildlife office, and kill everyone.” He turned, wincing.
Abigail pushed against him. “How’s the leg, Henry?”
Red spiraled beneath his cheekbones. “Flesh wound. Same as the arm. But you will pay for shooting me, bitch.”
Abigail actually rolled her eyes. “How pedantic.”
“Where is Viv?” Laurel stepped forward, subtly shifting her weight, mapping exits, calculating angles, but the odds were not good.
“I’ll take you right to her,” Vexler said, visibly tightening his grip on Abigail. “It’s the only way you’ll even find her.”
Laurel swallowed. “Is she alive?”
“For now.” He motioned for her to move. “You first. Now.”
Laurel led the way down the hallway and then stairwell, her mind spinning. The damn lawyer was the sniper? This was her only chance to get to Viv. A buzz of activity came from the Fish and Wildlife office, but nobody looked outside as they walked past and out the main exit.
The relentless rain hit them like a wall as they stepped outside into the night. It was the kind of storm that blurred vision and erased sound.
Vexler marched them to a battered maroon Chevy Caprice, its trunk already popped like it had been waiting for them. The car screamed of neglect and anonymity, rust curling around its fenders like rot. It was a throwaway vehicle and the kind used for one-way errands.
“Get in,” he said.
Abigail hesitated. Laurel didn’t. She guided her sister to the trunk and climbed in first. The carpet instantly scratched her wrists. There was no emergency latch, and the taillights were old. Strong and sturdy.
Vexler shoved Abigail inside, and she rolled into Laurel. Then he slammed the trunk shut. Seconds later, they were bouncing out of the parking lot with rain beating against the metal.
“I can’t believe you wanted to get in this old car trunk,” Abigail muttered, rolling over onto her back, her knees up.
“I have to find Viv.” Laurel turned on her side, facing Abigail, her butt against the back of the rear seat. Darkness enveloped them. The carpet had that unmistakable odor of old glue and mildew, like someone tried to clean a spill years ago and just gave up. Beneath that, the synthetic fibers were steeped in decades of smoke, motor oil, and something vaguely organic. Maybe food, maybe blood, maybe both. It was the smell of neglect.
Laurel could practically taste it.
The car groaned over uneven asphalt, then pitched as it left the road entirely. Laurel’s spine thudded against the cold back of the rear seat. She shifted, pulling her knees in tighter to brace for the terrain ahead. Gravel sprayed up into the wheel wells—sporadic, loud. They were climbing now, the incline constant, the turns sharp. It wasn’t freeway driving. This was mountain. Rural. Off-grid.
She let her mind mark the changes: fifteen minutes of inner-city grid, six turns, then the long curve upward, a sharp right onto dirt. The pavement had been gone for five, maybe six minutes. The engine strained against the slope, old suspension creaking like bone on bone. Had they headed outside of town toward the Genesis Valley Community Church? It felt like they were driving east that way.
Beside her, Abigail breathed evenly. Of course she did.
Laurel angled her head toward her. “Tell me about the lab.”
A pause. Then a lazy, almost amused response. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Laurel resisted the urge to elbow her. “I don’t have time for this. Are you an employee?”
“Of course not. I contracted with them a year or so ago to work on the dementia project and received both a stipend and stock options. I’m quite good with biochemistry, you know.”
This was unbelievable. Abigail’s ace up her sleeve was her ties to a biomedical company? She’d known of a bioweapon in the works and had stored that just in case she needed leverage someday? Seriously? “Who in the world thinks that far ahead?”