“You weren’t there, Laurel, and have nothing to say. Your testimony will include the fact that Zeke raped your mother and created you. She spent her life making sure he didn’t know you existed. Then he tried to kill you the night I killed him.” Abigail spoke softly. “My attorney is excellent, and by the time he’s done with you, the jury will want to throw me a party. You can’t help yourself. The truth is the truth, and you’ll give it.”
Laurel’s stomach cramped. “I think you had an ulterior motive in killing him. I know you did.” Yet Abigail had been furious that the baby had died. Truly livid.
“Your opinion doesn’t hold the weight of evidence. Period.”
Before Laurel could answer, a doctor stepped into the waiting room. She was tall and angular with storm-gray hair and steady brown eyes.
“Abigail Caine?” The doctor looked at them both, her eyebrows raising. Yeah, their brown-red hair and heterochromatic eyes always caused interest, especially when they sat together.
“Yes,” Abigail said, rising with the grace of someone who’d been waiting for a cue.
The doctor turned her attention to her. “Agent Norrs is out of surgery. He’s stable. Conscious. Asking for you.”
“So he’s alive.” Abigail exhaled. “How is he?”
The doctor smoothed down her pink scrubs. “Agent Norrs sustained two projectile injuries to the right thoracic region—one anterior, one lateral. Fortunately, there was no penetration to the pericardium or major vasculature. He did experience significant blood loss and a partial pneumothorax, but both wounds were managed surgically. He’s expected to recover with supportive care and time.”
“Oh, thank God,” Abigail said, voice almost cracking. But Laurel knew the trick of that—Abigail could fake warmth so well it looked real even to herself.
Laurel stood. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay. When can I interview him?”
“Not right now,” the doctor said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Give him a few hours. He’s lucid but exhausted. He specifically asked for his fiancée to sit with him.”
Abigail hesitated. “Oh. Well, I thought I’d go help with the search for the missing teenager by taking over Wayne’s field responsibilities.”
Laurel didn’t even pretend to entertain that idea. “No. You stay with him. That’ll help him more than anything right now.” And keep her out of the way.
The last thing Laurel needed was Abigail loose in the middle of an active investigation, leaving her signature chaos just because she could. Of course, her brain was impressive, and if she truly wanted to help, she’d be an asset. It was unfortunate she didn’t use her high intelligence to actually do some good in the world.
Abigail put a hand on Laurel’s arm. “Are you sure? I could help.”
“I’m positive. I’ll have an agent bring you dry clothing,” Laurel added. “Let me know when he’s clear for an interview.”
Abigail stepped forward and, without warning, leaned in for a hug. Her arms were wet but her grip tight. Even after her ordeal in the forest, with blood and mud on her, she smelled like an expensive citrus perfume. Laurel patted her back once.
“You’re a good sister,” Abigail said, just loud enough for the doctor to hear.
“Thanks,” Laurel replied. She leaned back, once again wondering if there was any way to reach humanity in her. She looked at her sister’s very familiar eyes. “You probably saved his life when you returned fire at the sniper.”
Abigail winked. “I had to save my sweet Wayne, didn’t I?”
Now Agent Norrs would be in deeper than ever. Abigail could’ve run. She might’ve been able to hide. But she seemed like a hero now. “Were you frightened? At all?” Laurel asked. Whatever psychopathy Abigail held, and it would take years of testing to truly determine that, it was doubtful she felt true fear.
Abigail studied her back, an unidentified light in her eyes. As if wondering what to tell her? “No.”
The truth caught Laurel off guard. For a brief and very unexpected moment.
The outside door opened and Rachel Raprenzi hustled inside with her cameraman behind her. “Dr. Caine? Do you have time for an interview? I have a source that says you shot back at an assassin today. How is the agent who went down?”
Laurel turned toward her. “You’re trespassing, Rachel. Get out.”
The cameraman kept filming, and Rachel stepped to the side to give him a better line of sight. “We’re here with Special Agent Laurel Snow and her sister, Dr. Abigail Caine, after the shooting of an FBI agent earlier today. My, don’t they look alike?”
“Out,” Laurel ordered.
Abigail lifted a hand, her eyes gleaming. “I’d be happy to give you an interview, Ms. Raprenzi. First, I need to go see for myself that my fiancé is all right.”
“Your fiancé is the FBI agent?” Rachel’s tone turned salacious.
