“None, but he has an impressive list of weapons registered to him. Nothing sniper based, but . . .”
But he’d have those off the books. “So we have a sniper who’s also a lawyer,” Huck muttered.
“Now, that’s a combo.”
“The kill of Dr. Sandoval. So he was the target?” Did that mean the sniper wasn’t after Laurel? Who was the other target? Abigail? “Why would a sniper want Abigail dead?”
“Don’t we all?” Walter asked grimly.
Good point. They reached the pad. The helicopter was already prepped, blades turning, storm be damned. The pilot gave them a nod, barely more than a glance. No questions asked.
Huck climbed in, headset on, gaze scanning the ridgeline as they lifted off. “Head toward Genesis Valley Community Church and then east from there. We’re looking for an older Toyota Tacoma owned by Tim Kohnex, or a burgundy colored Chevy Caprice. Also search for any type of buildings once we hit the outskirts of the county.”
God, they had to be okay.
Laurel sat on the cold metal floor, her spine tight, every inch of her body coiled despite the stillness. She wrapped an arm around Viv’s narrow shoulders, pulling the girl close. Viv trembled once, then stilled. The girl was breathing, warm, and alive. That was enough. For now.
Vexler stood near the door with his weapon trained on them.
Abigail sat on her other side, next to Kohnex, with her legs extended and her body far too relaxed for the situation. Her eyes were half-lidded. “Well,” she murmured. “Can we fight back now?”
“Absolutely,” Laurel said.
The door opened.
Two people stepped inside. Dr. Bertra Yannish and a man with dark hair.
“That’s John Fitz,” Viv muttered. “He kidnapped me. Asshole.”
The air shifted with them, sharp with chemicals and damp wool.
“Nicely done,” Bertra purred to Vexler. She wore brown jeans, a fitted white shirt, and a brown leather jacket that looked smart against the shirt. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes were heavily lined in black, deliberate, and cold. She crossed the room without hesitation and leaned in to kiss Vexler, her fingers brushing his collar. “I was a little worried about your sniper proficiency,” she murmured, lips against his. “But your kidnapping technique? Two solid stars.”
Fitz folded his arms, face still, tone flat. “I got the girl.”
“You know I’m a federal agent,” Laurel said. “You’re staring down the death penalty.”
Vexler gave her a brief glance. “That assumes any of this ends in a courtroom.”
“Tell me about the attack. When is it?” Laurel asked.
“Saturday,” Fitz said. “I need another half an hour with the last canister tonight.”
“Make me a smaller one, too,” Bertra said. She smiled at Laurel.
Laurel’s stomach dropped.
Fitz winked at Laurel and then turned back to the door and exited quietly.
Laurel shifted, sliding her arm off Viv’s shoulder, but the girl leaned back into her.
Laurel kept her eyes on Bertra. “So what’s the plan? I take it you’ve gone rogue with this yew tree compound.”
“‘Rogue’ is a bit dramatic,” Bertra said, already moving toward the storage locker across the room. “Let’s say we’re operating outside traditional constraints.”
“You’re going to kill civilians.”
“Not many,” Vexler said. “Just enough to make the message clear.”
