Chapter 12
After a night at her mom’s spent dreaming about chasing Jason Abbott through icy water and over snow-filled peaks, Laurel finished her breakfast burrito sitting in her FBI office. The Bearing family still hadn’t been located, nor had Pastor John, and she fought irritation as she glared at the rough surface in front of her. Like the conference table, her desk was an old, repurposed door. She leaned to the side and yelled down the hallway. “Kate, are you any closer to acquiring a desk for me?”
“I’m working on it,” Kate called back. “The requisition forms have been a pain, and the FBI holds on to money as long as it can. You need a drawer?”
Laurel looked at the basket holding pens and notepads near her left foot. “I require a couple of drawers. Would you put a priority on that one, please?”
“Of course. I’ll do my best.”
Laurel crumpled the burrito wrapper and tossed it into the garbage. She didn’t want to apply pressure on Kate, but she really needed a drawer. She turned to her computer and typed her notes from Jason Abbott’s two recorded jail interviews as a rustle sounded down the hall.
Huck soon filled her doorway. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning.” She gestured toward one of her two leather guest chairs. “Have a seat.”
He dropped into one, his shoulders slightly slumped. “Thanks. No luck on finding the three Bearing men, but we finally tracked down the location of Pastor John Govern.”
“Where was he?”
“Apparently the junior pastor left very early Thursday to go snowmobiling with a group from the church and should return sometime Sunday night, and we have no idea where. They just took off into the Cascades and let the wind lead them,” Huck said. “I find it irritating that Pastor Caine didn’t give us that information.”
Good point. “Perhaps he didn’t know.”
“It was a church event,” Huck said. “I have no doubt Pastor Caine knew all about it. I have half a mind to drag him into interrogation and ask him why he wants to hinder our investigation.”
That might be interesting to watch. For now, she couldn’t read Huck’s expression. “Are you all right?”
He rolled his neck. “No. Rachel Raprenzi won’t stop posting the video of me pulling over Teri Bearing, our latest victim.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“She likes to mess with me.”
Laurel winced. “I’m sorry.”
Huck dug his fingers into the side of his neck as if the muscles had knotted. “She’d love to show some sort of improper relationship between you and me.”
So the news of the pregnancy would be opportune for the reporter. “For now, we need to focus on finding Jason Abbott as well as the Bearings.” Laurel would worry about Rachel’s personal interest in them later. “I spoke with Dr. Ortega’s assistant a few minutes ago about our first victim, the one found by Iceberg River.”
Huck straightened. “Was she my mother?”
“Dr. Ortega is still working to identify bodies and determine the different causes of death from the Seattle nightclub fire. His assistant expressed uncertainty when he’d be able to send us the autopsy results.”
Huck shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the chair, flexing the muscles in his chest. “That’s okay. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realize it just doesn’t make sense that the vic is my mother. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Your instincts are often correct.”
His gaze softened. “I thought you weren’t a big believer in instincts.”
“I lack natural instincts, but I believe in yours,” she said honestly.
His smile made him look younger. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It is not,” she countered. She could think of many sweet things she had said to him.
“It was sweet. Speaking of sweetness, are you excited about our upcoming appointment with the OB-GYN?”
She had conducted copious research to find the most qualified doctor. “Yes.”
