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)
She caught it midroll and tightened her hands around it.
The wind from the helicopter blasted against her skin. Laurel didn’t know if it was rain or tears on her face. Didn’t care. Her pulse thundered in her skull. Every muscle screamed, but she stood, gripping the canister.
The helicopter circled lower. Laurel saw Huck again, leaning out, scanning the ground, rifle still in hand. His gaze met hers. No words passed between them. He gave a small nod.
She was his reason.
Chapter 38
“This might possibly be my worst nightmare,” Huck said, placing the bowl of popcorn beside the bottle of wine.
The wineglasses were already half-full, sweating a little under the soft glow of the old floor lamp. His coffee table bore the scars of time, such as rings from forgotten mugs, the ghost of a fishing lure project gone rogue, and a deep gouge that may have involved a screwdriver and a bet. Laurel didn’t say anything right away. She made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and reached for her wine. One foot tucked under her, she leaned into the cushions, shoulders relaxed, a blanket bunched at her side with an ice pack next to it.
She held bruises from her fights at the lab.
The fire crackled gently in the corner, warm enough to make the windows fog just slightly. Even the thermostat had given up trying to compete. The dog had commandeered his bed and allowed the cat to share it, which in itself was something worth writing down. They were nose to nose, both deep in the kind of nap that only came after a long day of doing nothing.
Huck sank into the couch with a sigh. He extended his legs onto the table, clinking his ankle against a coaster, and slid his arm over Laurel’s shoulder.
“As nightmares go, you’re not wrong.” Laurel took a long sip and stared at the screen. “It’s the smirk,” she said. “I want to slap the smirk right off her face.”
The podcast ran on the plasma screen, where three women sat under overly flattering lighting. Journalist Rachel Raprenzi, whose blond braid appeared tight and elegant at the same time, her eyebrows up and her face open. Prosecuting Attorney Tamera Hornhart, all jawline and controlled breath, who already looked like a politician ready for state office. And Dr. Abigail Caine, who appeared like a brave and wounded heroine in a pink dress just a little too large.
“I just cannot believe everything you went through,” Rachel said, blinking slowly, as if the weight of it might take her under.
Abigail lifted a hand, two fingers raised. “As soon as I knew what was happening, I had to act and tell the truth. I can’t believe that my lawyer, my successful and rather well-known lawyer, was working with this lab group that had created a bio-weapon and thought himself a sniper.”
“Of course not,” Huck muttered, rolling his eyes.
Laurel snorted. “Can someone please tell her this isn’t a silly movie?”
“She probably already wrote the script.”
Onscreen, Rachel zeroed down. “Abigail, it’s my understanding that the charges against you have been dropped. The charges for the murder of Zeke Caine, your father?”
“Yes,” Abigail said smoothly. “They have.”
Rachel put on her serious face. “Did you reach some sort of immunity agreement with the feds?”
“Of course not,” Abigail said. “My case wasn’t federal. I was charged by the state of Washington.”
Tamera nodded. “Yes. In looking at all the evidence that we have, and in speaking with witnesses, Dr. Caine has a clear case of self-defense. We believe very strongly that she is innocent of the murder of Zeke Caine because she was defending herself.”
Huck tucked Laurel in closer to his body. A log popped on the fire. The cat lifted its head, gave one unimpressed blink, and settled back down onto the dog’s flank.
“The feds convinced her to drop the case,” Laurel admitted. “So Abigail would tell them more about the compound. Where the other canisters were hidden in the main lab.”
“She knew?” Huck asked, voice flat.
“Yeah. She knew.” Laurel had just been filled in by the Seattle office. Agent Norrs was still in the hospital but should be released in a day or so. Laurel stared at the screen. Abigail’s face filled the frame now, calm, poised, well-practiced. “It makes you wonder what else she has up her sleeve, doesn’t it?”
Huck swallowed some of his cabernet. “This gives Tamera a higher profile, too. She’s the one who ‘cleared’ Abigail. It looks good from every angle. Right here, we have a real bipartisan redemption arc.”
“It worked out for everybody,” Laurel said. “Except for Zeke Caine. Not that he deserved to die, but he did deserve to go to prison.”
“Double jeopardy attaches,” Huck muttered. “Abigail can’t be tried for murdering Zeke again.”
“Not for the death of Zeke Caine,” Laurel agreed. “But we still have two or three other cases open against her. She’s not going to win in the end, Huck. She can’t.”