Rachel launched into her opener, her smile locked in place with the same professionalism as a news anchor covering a devastating tragedy. “As I’ve hinted at all week, we have Dr. Abigail Caine and her attorney, Henry Vexler, from Vexler and Symons.”
Vexler looked polished. Hell, the man probably cost more per hour than Huck made in a week. Black suit, green-and-silver tie perfectly chosen to complement Abigail’s dress. Staged unity. Huck’s fingers twitched. Abigail hadn’t left a single detail to chance.
“Let’s start with a little history,” Rachel said, leaning forward just enough to seem engaged. “You grew up in Genesis Valley, correct?”
“I lived in Genesis Valley until . . . maybe I was eleven.” Abigail’s voice lifted, just the slightest tremor at the end, her gaze pleading for understanding. Huck scoffed. She was laying it on thick. “Then my mother unfortunately died, and my father shipped me off to college. Overseas.”
Huck noted how her shoulders dropped slightly to show the supposed vulnerability of a young girl sent away. Manipulation. She was damn good at it, but he saw the glint in her eyes. The intelligence and careful engineering of every syllable she spoke.
“What degrees do you have, just out of curiosity?” Rachel asked, as if the question hadn’t been rehearsed and cleared by Abigail’s team.
“Oh, I have a few doctorates,” Abigail said, waving a hand like it was nothing. She’d painted her nails a demure pink. Too innocent. Too unlike her. “Computational neuroscience, social and decision neuroscience, game theory, biochemistry, and philosophy with a practical ethics emphasis.”
Huck made a low sound under his breath. Impressive, sure. But the woman’s talent wasn’t in academia. It was in manipulation.
Rachel feigned surprise like a pro. “My goodness. All you have is a Juris Doctor, right?” she tossed at the lawyer.
Vexler laughed, smooth and easy. “Yes. I’m feeling a little undereducated here.”
“The philosophy with the practical ethics emphasis is intriguing to me,” Rachel continued, homing in on what she thought was the most accessible angle. “Compared to all the . . . well, sciences.”
Abigail slid closer to her attorney, her shoulders subtly hunched as if seeking protection. Huck almost rolled his eyes. “Well, I believe we should be ethical in our approach to the world,” Abigail murmured, her voice like honey. “Surely you’ve studied ethics in your journalism pursuits.”
“Of course.” Rachel puckered her mouth in her serious look.
“That woman wouldn’t know ethics if it bit her on the ass,” Huck grumbled.
Laurel stayed quiet, gaze locked on the screen. Her version of patience. But Huck was already seeing how Abigail was twisting the narrative. She was setting up the audience, priming them to accept her victimhood.
Rachel’s voice came out smooth and soft, her tone set to “sympathetic journalist” mode. “So I know there’s only so much you can discuss, but you were arrested for murdering your father, Pastor Zeke Caine, from the Genesis Valley Community Church. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I guess there’s no question whose side she’s on,” Laurel murmured.
Huck shook his head. “There never was.” Rachel was too slick, too eager, to plaster herself on the right side of the story. Abigail had probably handpicked her for that very reason.
On screen, Abigail flushed like she’d been caught off guard, but Huck could see the calculation behind her eyes. Always working, always thinking. She glanced at her attorney, waiting for the subtle nod of approval before speaking. “Yes, unfortunately, it was a rough day.” Abigail’s voice quivered just right, her gaze lowering with practiced vulnerability. “He tried to kill my sister. In fact, he did. She was dead for a few moments, we believe.”
“That’s horrible,” Rachel cooed, her own eyes going misty in solidarity. “Why did he do that?”
Abigail shrugged, her shoulders drawn up like she was carrying the world’s sorrow. “I really don’t know. He was a terrible man, and I know he was a pastor, but . . . I believe that during my upcoming trial, quite a few women are going to come forward and tell us about him taking advantage of them. Possibly even drugging and raping them.” She glanced at her attorney, eyes wide like a child asking if they’d said something wrong. “Allegedly.”
Huck felt the low burn of anger uncoiling in his gut. Abigail was playing Rachel. “She’s full of it.”
Laurel made a noise of agreement. “I’m terrible at reading expressions, but even I can see she’s putting on a facade.”
Huck drained the rest of his wine in a single gulp, the alcohol scorching his throat in a way he welcomed.
On screen, Rachel’s eyes glowed with eagerness. “So, after the pastor hurt your sister, you went to her bedside in the hospital, correct?”
“Of course,” Abigail answered, her voice perfectly pitched to sound sincere.
Rachel faced the camera, shifting to the real meat of the story. “Just so everybody’s in the know here, Dr. Caine’s sister is local heroine FBI Special Agent in Charge Laurel Snow. She’s the woman who solved both the Snowblood Peak and Witch Creek murders. She caught two serial killers all by herself.” Rachel’s smile widened. “Well, with the help of her steady boyfriend, Fish and Wildlife officer Huck Rivers.”
Huck noted the instant change in Abigail’s eyes. She didn’t like that.
Abigail leaned forward, eyes bright and sharp like she was smelling blood in the water. “Didn’t you also date Huck Rivers?”
“There she is,” Huck muttered, reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another glass. Abigail’s claws were out.
