He chuckled, a deep, satisfied rumble as he rolled them over again, his big body bracketed above hers. “Good, because we’re just getting started.”
Chapter 8
Morning brought a sharper wind asLaurel stepped out ofHuck’s truck and dodged through the rain toward their shared office building. The sturdy, two-story structure clung to the hillside, its facade solid. Rain dripped from the eaves, splashing onto the uneven pavement.
The middle suite on the ground floor housed Staggers Ice Creamery, its new neon sign glowing bright yellow, humming faintly in the misty air. The scent of fresh waffle cones and melted sugar seeped through the doorway every time a customer came or went, blending with the sharp bite of rain-soaked asphalt. The FBI offices took residence on the floor above the creamery.
To the right, the Washington State Fish and Wildlife offices took up both floors. The lower level buzzed with activity most days—radios crackling, heavy boots thudding against tile, the occasional bark of dogs. Metal desks, utilitarian chairs, and the constant hum of computers added to the underlying mechanical soundtrack.
Laurel’s mother had leased a section of the ground floor to the left for her tea subscription business, but the space remained stubbornly empty. Rainwater streaked the glass, smudging the cursiveCOMING SOONsign that had been there a bit too long.
Above her mother’s space sat Rachel Raprenzi’s studio, Killing Hour Studios. From the outside, the narrow windows gleamed with freshly cleaned glass. Inside, Laurel imagined a mixture of high-end recording equipment and cluttered research boards.
Laurel stepped into the shared vestibule used by the FBI and Fish and Wildlife. To her right, Huck’s office was marked by a hand-carved sign that readFISH AND GAME. The dark wood gleamed under the dim lights, grooves worn smooth from years of touch. She paused, having wondered but not asked. “Why do you have an incorrect sign above Fish and Wildlife?”
“A while back, a group of woodworkers—old, retired guys—made it for us,” Huck murmured, grinning. “We didn’t have the heart to change it. I like it. Adds charm.”
“It adds confusion,” she countered. But the quirk had grown on her, the sign’s rustic look fitting the rough-edged nature of their work. “Although, I do like it. Charm is a good thing, right?”
“Exactly.” He pressed a quick kiss to her head before opening his glass door. “Try not to get shot at today.”
“Ditto.” She moved to the scanner to the right of her door, its flat surface cold and slick beneath her fingertips. They’d finally had new security installed to better protect the office.
She swiped her ID over the plate, and the door clicked open. Inside, warmth replaced the rain’s chill. The stairwell leading up was lined with garish wallpaper of cancan girls, bright skirts twirling against deep crimson backdrops. Laurel still hadn’t replaced it, even though she’d meant to. The pattern appeared ridiculous and outdated, but it amused most of the agents and techs who walked through the door. Maybe that was enough reason to leave it alone.
As she climbed, her boots scuffed against the worn wood steps. The air grew cooler the higher she went, the scent of coffee thinning until only the faintest trace remained.
She reached the top landing where Kate Vuittron, her office manager, sat behind an old pastry glass display case repurposed as a desk. The glass still bore scratches from trays and dishes long since discarded. Beneath the polish, faint smudges remained, like ghosts of the sweets once displayed there.
Kate glanced up from her computer, her gaze searching. “Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Just fine. I have a few muscle aches and contusions, but nothing else to worry about.” Laurel rolled her shoulders, fighting off a twinge of pain. “How’s Viv doing? I haven’t had a chance to check on her friend who died.”
Kate blinked. “What friend?”
Laurel stilled. That was interesting. “I don’t know. He’s from Seattle, and I assumed she knew him from school sports.”
“Huh.” Kate cocked her head. “I guess I’d better get to the bottom of that one when I get home today. She has been attending many of the softball and baseball coed camps in Seattle, so I figured she’d made some new friends. If she found a new beau, she’s probably stressed about her current boyfriend, Ryan. Maybe. Who knows.”
Laurel chewed on her lip. She wouldn’t have kept a secret from Kate, but she hoped Viv wouldn’t be mad. Although, why hadn’t Viv told her mother about the deceased kid from Seattle? Laurel would dig down more on that, as Walter would say. Speaking of whom . . . “Is Walter in yet?”
Kate nodded, her blond hair brushing her shoulders. “Yes, and I’ve already requisitioned him a new vehicle. He’s in his office. The man is moving a little slow, like you.”
“Thank you. Is there anything I need to focus immediately upon?”
“Not at the moment.” Kate smiled, looking like her three daughters captured in the picture behind her on a small glass shelf. “But we both know that’ll change somehow.”
Laurel moved past Kate’s desk and through the door that bisected the reception area into the hub of their operations. She walked past the conference room and the restrooms, and headed straight for Nester’s lair.
The computer expert’s office was a cluttered, buzzing mess of cables and monitors. Mangled snowboards decorated the walls, some splintered, some bent, all of them salvaged from Nester’s hobby on the hills. They gave the room a reckless sort of character.
He glanced up from his monitors, his dark eyes cool and steady. His freshly shaved head gave him a harder look, and the overhead lights reflected off his smooth dark skin. He lifted a steaming cup from Staggers and took a deep gulp, the logo already faded from his grip. “Good morning. I’m glad you’re okay after the wreck.”
“Thanks. Your computers are all humming.” Laurel scanned the bank of monitors he had lined up like a fortress.
“I’ve got a few things running at once.” Nester set down his coffee, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “I know the Seattle FBI office is working the case, but I’ve been doing a deep dive on the truck that ran you and Walter off the road. I’m cross-referencing every traffic cam, drone image, even random social media posts. So far, nothing. The thing’s a ghost.”
“The ballistics report?”
