Laurel noted the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders remained tense even as he tried to project calm. Huck wasn’t one to trust easily, and the fact that someone had targeted her clearly had him on edge. She couldn’t blame him.
“We’ll keep the blinds all shut in the office,” Huck continued. “No one can see in, but that only matters when you’re inside.” He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. “The more dangerous time for you is going to or from vehicles. My place is secure,” he added. “I’ve got multiple floodlights and security cameras set up. I don’t think you should go back to your mom’s home. Not until we’ve got this under control.”
“I agree.” Laurel kept her voice steady, but her mind was already spinning through scenarios. Possible vantage points, attack vectors, methods of evasion. “You’ve done everything right so far.”
Agent Norrs grunted his agreement, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “We’ll have extra agents posted around the building for the time being. But I’ve seen what Huck’s set up at his place. You’re better off staying there.”
“In addition,” Huck said, his gaze boring into her with that familiar, stubborn intensity, “how do you feel about wearing a bulletproof vest?”
Laurel hesitated, the idea settling uneasily in her mind. Bulletproof vests were bulky, restrictive. More important, they sent a message she didn’t want to project—fear. “I don’t like the idea,” she admitted. Her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the conference table, a steady rhythm that helped her think. “They’re cumbersome and can limit movement.”
Huck’s expression tightened, his eyes narrowing as if preparing to argue. The room had gone silent, all eyes fixed on her. She understood their concern, but that didn’t change her dislike for the idea.
Walter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze darting between Laurel and Huck. The man’s fingers twitched against his coffee cup, his usual nervous energy amplified by the tension in the room. “It’s just a precaution, right?” he offered, his voice unsteady. “Doesn’t mean you’re expecting trouble. Just . . . being careful.”
Laurel considered his words, her mind filtering them through her own pragmatic lens. Precaution made sense. But strapping herself into body armor still felt like admitting she couldn’t control the situation. Huck wasn’t going to let it go. She could see that in the firm line of his jaw, the way his arms folded over his chest like he was bracing himself for a fight.
“Consider it,” Huck said, his voice low but forceful. “At least when you’re outside. No point taking risks you don’t have to.”
Laurel met his gaze, her mind already calculating probabilities and outcomes. “I’ll think about it.”
“So we just need to be careful until we figure out who wants you dead.” Huck’s voice held a gruff finality, as if the solution were as straightforward as just waiting out the storm. His shoulders remained taut, every muscle telegraphing vigilance.
Agent Norrs nodded, his expression all business, mouth set in a grim line. “We’re still going through all the applicable and relevant cases. The one with the four brothers—you know, Henry Jones Phillips? The killer’s still in prison, as is one of the brothers. Another brother went to prison on unrelated charges and died there about two years ago. The final brother died in a bar fight about a year ago.” The agent cracked his knuckles. “There are no other living relatives in that situation. At least, none that we’ve been able to locate.”
Laurel nodded, her gaze fixed on the table as if the teal hue held answers. “So I need to think of who else might want to kill me.”
“That’s right,” Norrs said. “Keep thinking through past cases.”
“I definitely am,” Laurel replied, though her focus had already splintered, her mind following two tracks at once. She forced herself to focus on the sniper and not her other investigations. “Nester?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
Nester slid his laptop across the table, his eyes bright with the eagerness of someone who loved his work. “Yeah, here you go, boss.” He tapped a few keys and a simulation bloomed to life on the screen. “If you look here”—Nester gestured at the display—“from where the sniper was positioned the day of the courthouse shooting, the bullet did go right by you and hit Abigail. Huck said he heard the bullet. So that actually makes some sense.”
“So you think he was aiming for me?” Laurel asked.
“I don’t know.” Nester shrugged one shoulder. “I can just show you the trajectory.”
On the screen, the simulation played out with meticulous precision. It showed the shooter’s position, the bullet slicing through the air, whizzing past Laurel’s shoulder and colliding with Abigail’s chest. Abigail crumpled backward, the image pausing just before she hit the ground.
It was an impressive simulation. Clean. Methodical. Exactly how Laurel liked things to be.
“So this guy isn’t as good as we thought he was?” Walter asked.
Huck nodded, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah. He thinks he’s better than he is. He missed you both times. Unfortunately, someone else was hit.”
“Unfortunately.” Laurel echoed the word under her breath, her gaze fixed on the frozen image of Abigail collapsing. The simulation made the event feel sterile, mechanical, but that didn’t change the reality of it. While Abigail survived, Dr. Sandoval had not.
Agent Norrs’s gaze shifted to Huck, his expression expectant. “I know you interviewed witnesses out at the church about who’d want to shoot Abigail, but Laurel may have enemies there as well. She wanted to put their father in prison.”
“I seriously doubt anybody at the church wants me dead because of Zeke Caine,” Laurel replied. “In that case, Abigail would’ve been the target. She’s the one who killed him.” The memory of that day was clean and crisp in her mind, the image of Abigail holding that knife dripping with blood unassailable. “I believe the most effective way to figure out who tried to kill me is to continue the focus on my past cases. Whoever’s targeting me likely has some connection to one of them.”
“What about current cases?” Agent Norrs asked, his brows drawn tight.
Laurel considered the question, her mind cataloging her recent work with her usual efficiency. “I’ve only consulted on two cases recently, both of them just through email exchanges. I can send those files to you, but it’d be surprising if a sniper tried to murder me just because of something so impersonal. There wasn’t much detail exchanged. Nothing sensitive.”
“Agreed,” Agent Norrs said, his fingers tapping lightly against the file he held. “But I don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”
Nester cocked his head with a curiosity that seemed genuine rather than idle. “Where does that expression come from, anyway?” His fingers danced over his keyboard, already searching for the answer.
