The gunman jumped in the truck and sped away.
“Call 9-1-1,” Laurel ordered as the room began to spin around her. How badly had she been hit?
* * *
Huck was the first officer through the door, his gun at the ready, his gaze seeking. “Snow?” he bellowed.
“Here.” She sat on a white marble hearth in front of a wide, flaming gas fire. “I’m okay.” She held a white towel to her left shoulder, the material red from her blood. Her face was pale and her hand shaking. “The threat is gone. One shooter in the same truck that ran me off the road the other night.”
Huck paused as emergency vehicles jerked to loud stops. Rain and wind blew into the foyer, where thick glass shards still hung from the top of the window. Glass spread across the white tile, glinting in the night. His shoulders slowly relaxed and his breath evened out. When he’d received the call, he’d expected the worst.
“I have another towel.” A woman hurried out from a hallway near the fireplace, and her accent identified her as Dr. Abigail Caine.
What was Laurel doing at Dr. Caine’s home? Huck turned to look at the woman and stopped short. His mind went numb and then flared back to life. “What the hell?” he muttered.
Dr. Caine winked at him and then hurried toward Laurel with a fresh towel. “Good evening, Captain.” She appeared cheerful even after having watched her front window burst apart from automatic gunfire. “I suppose my appearance is a surprise. Let me catch you up.” She pressed the towel against the bloody one on Laurel’s upper shoulder.
Laurel grimaced and planted her hand over the newest towel.
Abigail turned to face him. “We’re sisters. Same hair, same now gloriously similar eyes, and same father. It also appears that we’re both ambidextrous, considering my talented sister shot from her left hand. We have so much in common. Isn’t that just a kick in the proverbial pants?”
Huck froze and craned his neck to look beyond the professor at Laurel.
She closed her eyes and nodded. Then she shook her head. Then she nodded again. Blood dotted her clothing.
Monty burst through the door, followed by paramedics, the sheriff, two state officers, and FBI agent Walter Smudgeon.
“The scene is secure,” Huck said quickly.
Monty skidded to a halt next to him, looked at Abigail, at Laurel, and then back at Abigail. “Holy shit.”
That about summed it up.
Abigail clapped her hands together. “We’re sisters. Isn’t that brilliant?” In her excitement, her accent intensified.
The paramedics, one of whom was Bert, strode past her to Laurel, and Huck followed them.
“How bad is it?” he asked, focusing on the most immediate issue.
Laurel shook her head. “Not bad.” Then she removed the towels.
Bert leaned forward. “Hmmm. I’m getting accustomed to fixing you up, Agent. You might need to just put me on speed dial.” He slipped on rubber gloves and probed the wound. “The bullet didn’t hit anything important and went right through, but you’re going to need stitches this time.” He gently settled a clean bandage over the wound and then taped it into place. “The ambulance is waiting to take you.”
“No.” She stood, her hand over the bandage. “I am not going in an ambulance.”
“I’ve got you,” Huck said, reaching for her good arm. “Let’s go.”
Abigail stepped gingerly through the scattered glass shards on the hard tile floor. “You saved my life, Laurel.” She smiled. “I’ll go to the hospital with you.”
Huck sent Monty a quick look.
Monty stepped forward, taking out a notebook. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to interview you and go through the events and the scene. I’m sure Captain Rivers will contact you with any updates.”
Abigail faltered. “Laurel?”
Oh, this was just too weird. Huck tightened his grip on Laurel’s arm and assisted her around the worst of the glass. He’d like to just pick her up and carry her to the car, but she was the agent in charge, and she wouldn’t like that.
“I’m fine, Abigail,” Laurel said over her shoulder, her voice low with pain.
