“Agent Lewis,” Nester answered, sounding wide awake.
She pushed the blanket away. “Nester, it’s Laurel. Where are you?”
“I’m at the office, boss. I drove here immediately from Seattle and am on duty trying to find Zeke Caine. Monty and I wanted to come see you, but Huck said it was more important that we find this bastard. How are you?”
“I’m healing,” she said. “I need you to ping Abigail’s phone right now.”
“Sure thing. Do we have a warrant?”
A warrant? “No.”
“All right,” Nester said. “Just a sec.” He was gone for several minutes before he came back. “I have her phone. She’s at the hospital.”
Laurel’s shoulders sagged. “She left the hospital a few minutes ago.”
“Her phone stayed there.”
Of course it did. She’d probably dumped it out on the ground outside. “I need somebody to follow her.”
“We don’t have anybody in that vicinity, boss.”
Frustration clawed through Laurel. “I need you to start gathering CCTV from the hospital in every direction and track her movements. She’s going to lead us right to Zeke Caine. I know it.”
“I’ll get back to you. Hang in there.” Nester ended the call.
Laurel shoved the sheet away and swung her legs over the bed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the IV and then winced as blood spurted from her arm. She pressed hard with the elastic bandage against the wound until it stopped bleeding so much. She had to get dressed.
Now.
Chapter 41
At the edge of the Genesis Valley city limits stood a dilapidated, sad-looking apartment complex. One often rented by kids just starting out, the elderly on fixed incomes, and drug abusers. Abigail parked her car in the rear of the eight-apartment complex, even though no security cameras recorded in this dark corner of the world.
Her gun in her hand, she climbed the iced-over stairs to the second landing and walked along the balcony to the far end. It was surprising the thing held her weight—the landlord should probably be shot next.
Without waiting for an invitation, she reached the last door, leaned back, and kicked her leg squarely to the left of the doorknob. The door crashed open. Nobody in this area would bother to investigate a noise. She stepped inside, gun out.
“Hello, daughter,” Zeke Caine said, his gun pointed at her.
She reached behind herself and shut the door, then leveled the gun at him, aiming for his chest. “You tried to kill Laurel,” she snapped.
Zeke smiled, looking comfortable in dark slacks and a white button-down shirt with the first couple of buttons open. He had apparently cleaned up after trying to commit murder.
“I think I did kill her,” he said congenially, his gun aimed at Abigail’s head. “Now, if you want to have a friendly conversation about this, we can. But guns down.”
“Very well,” she said, placing her gun at the back of her waist.
“Thank you.”
She looked around. “This place is disgusting.”
“I was in a bit of a rush,” he admitted, tucking his gun at the front of his waist. “How did you find me?”
“I know of all your little haunts.” A tidily made queen bed had been pushed into the far corner, while a round country-style table took up most of the kitchen, which only had two counters in an L-shape. The fridge hummed quietly, no doubt full of food. And one little couch faced an older TV on a series of boxes. “So this is where you bring your . . .”
“Dates,” he said smoothly. “I like to call them dates.”
Abigail crossed her arms. “The women you raped.”
