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)
McCromby was silent for several beats, the line crackling with faint interference. “It might not be a bad idea,” he said finally. “You’ve been shot at several times, Snow. Maybe it’s time to step back and reassess.”
“I’m an FBI agent, Deputy Director McCromby.” Laurel would not go into hiding. “If someone shoots at me, I don’t run and hide. Otherwise, we’d all be running all the time.”
“You get shot at all the time,” Norrs burst out, throwing his arms up.
Laurel fought an inappropriate smile. Now that the adrenaline had fled her body, she was getting loopy. But he did look humorous. “I agree,” she said, her tone level. “But the only way to find out who’s doing this is to keep doing my job. Running and hiding won’t get us anywhere.”
McCromby’s sigh sounded heavy. “It’s your call, Snow. But figure out who’s gunning for you, and do it fast.”
“Yes, sir,” Laurel and Agent Norrs said in unison.
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Agent Norrs shoved back in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “It would just be easier to figure out who’s trying to kill you if I wasn’t worried about you actually ending up dead.”
Were they becoming friends? That wouldn’t end well. “I’ve been careful,” Laurel said, her voice softer now. “Nobody thought this guy would shoot from the mountain into an office. Snipers aren’t usually so careless. But this idiot has missed three times. I think we’ve been giving him too much credit.”
“Agreed.” Agent Norrs stood. “I should warn you that Rivers is pretty pissed off about the entire situation.”
Laurel frowned. “What’s the logic in that?”
“The logic?” Agent Norrs echoed, his brows drawn.
“Yes,” Laurel said. “There’s a sniper. We will find him. Getting angry doesn’t serve anything.”
Agent Norrs stared at her for a long moment, his eyes assessing. “You’re an interesting one, Snow. I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you?” Being thought of as interesting or even odd wasn’t anything new to her.
“Anytime.” Agent Norrs exhaled and adjusted his stance. “I think we should put a protective detail on you. Two agents from Seattle. Your office is too small to handle this.”
“No.” Laurel held up a hand. “I don’t want a detail. I have a job to do, and so do you. Find him.”
Agent Norrs nodded, his mouth tight. “I won’t stop until I do. I promise.”
Laurel stood, pushing back from the table and heading toward the door. As she shoved through the heavy wooden door and into the narrow hallway, the storm’s growl intensified, rumbling through the walls like a distant, restless animal.
The Fish and Wildlife lobby was dim, the old fluorescent lights buzzing faintly as they fought against the natural darkness pressing in from outside.
Huck waited in the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Abigail stood a few paces away, her posture graceful and loose, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the peeling paint and faded wildlife posters.
Both of them were silent. Too silent.
Walter and Nester had left after delivering their reports—brusque, tired exchanges with little patience for pleasantries. The entire place felt hollow, stripped of its usual bustling life by the severity of the storm and the sheer audacity of the attack.
Laurel’s gaze went first to Huck. His jaw was clenched so hard she half expected his molars to crack. His shoulders were locked under the gray shirt, muscles bunched tight, fists pressed to his biceps like it was the only thing stopping him from breaking something—or someone.
“Rivers,” Laurel said, her voice cutting through the silence.
His gaze snapped to her, eyes dark and fierce. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” She met his gaze, refusing to let the storm of his emotions throw her off-balance. “Just finished with the deputy director and Agent Norrs.”
“Good. I secured your window upstairs with a couple of boards we had in the basement. This guy is getting reckless and desperate.” Huck’s voice was low and rough, threaded with an anger he barely bothered to hide.
Good. That just meant the shooter would make a mistake. Soon.
Abigail Caine turned down the heated seat in Wayne’s truck and settled back, her body sinking into the rich leather. The warmth seeped through her coat, chasing away the chill from the storm outside. Rain pummeled the truck’s roof, and the windshield wipers slapped in frantic rhythm, struggling to clear the rain that sheeted down the glass.
Wayne drove with both hands firm on the wheel, his gaze fixed forward, his jaw clenched in that determined way she found so amusing. It was a long drive back to her high-end subdivision, and he was taking the winding roads with far more care than necessary. She supposed it was his nature to play things safe. It probably had something to do with his job. He had to be serious and cautious as if he thought the entire world was one wrong move away from crumbling beneath his feet.