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)
His chuckle finally grounded her. Then the sound halted. “How’s Abigail?”
“No update yet,” Laurel said. “I’m waiting for the doctor to come out.” The nurse had provided only a minimal data point in that Abigail had arrived alive.
“All right. Norrs is here breathing down my neck. As soon as you get an update, call it in.”
“Okay, I will.” She ended the call. It struck her as mildly unexpected that Agent Norrs hadn’t accompanied Abigail to the hospital. But once he confirmed that Laurel would cover that front, he’d redirected his focus to locating the shooter. From one agent to another, she could respect the calculus.
A doctor emerged from the back wearing light green scrubs. He slowly pulled off his cap.
Laurel stood, along with Walter. “Doctor, hi.”
He moved forward. “Are you family?”
Laurel bit back a wince. “I’m FBI Special Agent Laurel Snow, and this is Agent Smudgeon. The gunshot victim is my sister. Rather, my half sister,” she amended.
“Dr. Bodie,” he said. He looked to be in his early thirties with light green eyes and thick black hair. “Your sister’s going to be all right and has already been moved to a room.”
Laurel blinked, processing. “That’s the entirety of your update?”
He smiled. “Yeah. She was wearing a bulletproof vest.”
She glanced at Walter, then returned her focus to the doctor. “She was wearing a ballistic vest?”
“Yes. Saved her life. Even so, the bullet nicked the vest and her arm. You can go back and see her now if you want.”
Laurel tried to get her bearings.
“Go ahead, boss. I’ll wait here,” Walter said.
Laurel hesitated and then followed the doctor through the county hospital until they reached patient room 212. She took a deep breath and walked inside.
“Why, Laurel. How nice of you to come see me,” Abigail said, her tone slurred.
Laurel moved forward to see her sister in the bed with a bandage across her upper arm.
The room was dim and too warm, the lights set low to keep things calm. Pale green walls dulled the brightness of the late-morning light trying to push through the slats of the half-closed blinds. A faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixed with something floral and artificial.
The machinery next to the bed made soft, rhythmic sounds, with a blood pressure cuff deflating every few minutes and a heart monitor pulsing steadily in the background. Abigail lay nestled under a thin blanket, one arm tucked awkwardly at her side, her IV line taped neatly into place.
“Why exactly were you wearing a ballistic vest?” Laurel lowered herself into the chair.
Abigail looked like the true wounded heroine in the hospital bed, her thick, reddish-brown hair spread across the pillow, her eyes slightly dulled by medication. “Wayne insisted upon it. Can you believe it? I thought it was the dumbest thing ever. I just put it on to appease him. To appear agreeable.”
Laurel raised a brow. “To manipulate him?”
“No, to ease his mind. The same as I’m sure you do for the Huckalicious every single day.”
“Excuse me?” Laurel said, momentarily unable to follow the thread. Perhaps she had hit her head.
Abigail smiled, catlike. “Oh, come on. You take precautions with the captain around. He always drives you. You always wear your seat belt. He makes sure you’re safely in the vehicle before he drives away. All that kind of crap.”
“That’s just the captain being the captain,” Laurel said.
“And I guess that’s just Norrs being Norrs.”
Laurel had to concede that point. “Why did Agent Norrs think you needed a vest in the first place?”
“I thought it was an absurd idea,” Abigail muttered. “I’ve received a couple of anonymous death threats I figured were purely melodramatic.”
Laurel tilted her head to the side. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, a couple of death threats. I assumed they were from some of those unhinged church loyalists.” She paused, paling. “I surmise Wayne was correct. Somebody shot me. Someone from the congregation?”
That thought held merit. Their father, Zeke, had worked as a pastor at a local community church and had quite the following. Even though he’d taken off for some time, he’d returned recently, and apparently the church had welcomed him back with open arms. Then Abigail had brutally murdered him.
“Who do you think threatened you?”
“I have no idea. Why? Are you going to be my tough little sister and go arrest them?”
Laurel exhaled slowly, her voice measured. “Technically, I don’t think it falls within my jurisdiction,” she said thoughtfully. “You were shot on county courthouse property, with no other apparent targets.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “Nobody?”
“No. And based on everything I’ve heard, there was only one shot,” Laurel said, her voice dropping. “So, I have to ask. Did you set up this situation to garner sympathy?” Surely a prospective jury would see the media reports.
Abigail blinked. Once. “You honestly think I’d allow myself to be shot?”
Yes. Without question. “I believe so, if it helps with your defense.”