“And I guess that’s just Norrs being Norrs.”
Laurel had to concede that point. “Why did Agent Norrs think you needed a vest in the first place?”
“I thought it was an absurd idea,” Abigail muttered. “I’ve received a couple of anonymous death threats I figured were purely melodramatic.”
Laurel tilted her head to the side. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, a couple of death threats. I assumed they were from some of those unhinged church loyalists.” She paused, paling. “I surmise Wayne was correct. Somebody shot me. Someone from the congregation?”
That thought held merit. Their father, Zeke, had worked as a pastor at a local community church and had quite the following. Even though he’d taken off for some time, he’d returned recently, and apparently the church had welcomed him back with open arms. Then Abigail had brutally murdered him.
“Who do you think threatened you?”
“I have no idea. Why? Are you going to be my tough little sister and go arrest them?”
Laurel exhaled slowly, her voice measured. “Technically, I don’t think it falls within my jurisdiction,” she said thoughtfully. “You were shot on county courthouse property, with no other apparent targets.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “Nobody?”
“No. And based on everything I’ve heard, there was only one shot,” Laurel said, her voice dropping. “So, I have to ask. Did you set up this situation to garner sympathy?” Surely a prospective jury would see the media reports.
Abigail blinked. Once. “You honestly think I’d allow myself to beshot?”
Yes. Without question. “I believe so, if it helps with your defense.”
“I don’t need help with my defense. I did not orchestrate this fucking situation. I was shot, damn it.”
Fair enough. “Which means this was a deliberate and precise sniper. Abigail, who wants to kill you?”
Abigail stared at her for a moment, her face unreadable, though Laurel had no doubt a flurry of neural calculations fired behind those eyes.
“Like I said, I really don’t know,” Abigail replied, her voice softening and her lips almost curving into a smile. “This is a bit of a surprise.”
What was the woman planning now? Not for the first time—or even the thousandth—Laurel wished she possessed reliable instincts when it came to people. “Tell me about the threats.”
“You just said you couldn’t investigate.”
Laurel exhaled again. “Tell me about the threats anyway.”
“Fine.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “They were from an anonymous email address. Wayne’s trying to track them and hasn’t had any luck.”
So the Seattle FBI office was involved? Officially or not so much? “What exactly did the threats say?”
“I’ll forward them to you,” Abigail said. “As soon as I get my phone back. Why are you acting like you care?”
Laurel was both a witness and a trained FBI agent. “I care when people are shot on the county courthouse steps.”
“Isn’t it more than that?” Abigail asked. “I am your sister.”
“Half sister,” Laurel said evenly. “Let’s not forget, I’m trying to put you in prison for killing Zeke Caine.” She refused to refer to him as their father.
Pink dusted across Abigail’s smooth cheekbones. “He killed you, Laurel. For a few moments, anyway.”
A surprising pain clicked through Laurel. Their father had drowned her, and she had been dead for a second or two. “I’m aware of that fact. And yet I would like to know why you murdered him.”
Abigail’s eyes widened even further, which Laurel would have thought was impossible. But if anything, her sister had learned to perfectly mimic human emotions. Laurel could barely read them. “I was upset that he had tried to kill you and ended your pregnancy. I was quite looking forward to meeting that baby. So were you. He attacked me and I fought back.”
If that wasn’t nonsense, Laurel didn’t know what was. Abigail was relentlessly calculating; nothing she did lacked intent. Which meant there was a reason she killed Zeke. There had to be. “I will find out the truth.”
