You Can Scream

Book 5: Laurel Snow Thriller

by Rebecca Zanetti

Genres: Crime Fiction; Police & Law Enforcement Romance

Synopsis

Twisted family relationships, sociopaths and conspiracy theories abound in the icy Cascade Mountains of Washington State in New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti's heart-pounding series about an FBI profiler and her equally brilliant sister on the wrong side of the law. For fans of Karen Rose, Heather Gudenkauf, Allison Brennan, and Melinda Leigh.

Laurel's family was never simple—but her half-sister, Abigail, a brilliant, unpredictable psychopath, just made it lethal. Accused of murdering their father, a man she always called a monster, Abigail claims
self-defense. As the trial unfolds and long-buried family secrets explode into headlines across Washington State, Laurel's hard-won privacy is shattered. And the nightmare is just beginning.

Even as Abigail's trial consumes public attention, new dangers close in as the murder of a prominent scientist and the illegal poaching of a rare Pacific plant point to something insidious. Laurel turns to Washington Fish and Wildlife captain Huck Rivers, her partner in work and life, for help. But the deeper they dig, the more the case seems to echo the chaos unraveling Laurel's world.

With danger tightening around her, Laurel faces an impossible choice: trust Abigail in one crucial, treacherous alliance, or risk losing everything. Her career, her relationships, even her life hang in the balance. The clock is ticking—and if the threat breaks loose, nothing will be fast enough to stop it.

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Release date: December 16, 2025

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 377

Reader says this book is...: action-packed (1) dark (1) emotionally riveting (1) entertaining story (1) sex scenes (1) suspenseful (1) thought-provoking (1)

Sample

Prologue

They were coming.

Shadows.

Ghosts.

Monsters.

His lungs burned like he was inhaling glass. He felt his brain swell inside his skull, making his eyes bulge. The pain threatened to take him to his knees, but he kept going. Kept running.

Branches tore at his bare arms, slicing welts into his skin, but he barely felt the sting. The relentless rain drilled into his scalp, failing to provide any relief.

What was happening?

Think.

God, just think.

But his thoughts wouldn’t come, slipping through his mind like oil on water. Run. That was all he had left. That one command, overriding everything.

Run.

His body obeyed, feet pounding the earth in an uneven, desperate rhythm. His limbs were no longer his own. They were just separate, detached body parts propelling him forward. Warmth slid beneath his nose, thick and hot over his mouth.

Blood.

His stomach lurched. Frantically, he wiped his upper lip, fingers trembling. Red. So red. So warm. He stopped. Just for a second. Just long enough to look down at his hand.

Then silence. Not just quiet. True, absolute silence.

The forest was still moving. The trees swayed, the rain pelted the ground, and the wind surged. He could see it all, but he couldn’t hear any of it.

Nothing.

Blissful. Terrifying. His heart pounded but his body had gone quiet. His mind had gone still. His eyelids sagged, the exhaustion pulling him down like a weight.

Wait. The blood. Why was he bleeding?

He swallowed hard, jerking his gaze to the side. The world kept tilting. The trees blurred and the earth dipped. He was standing still, but the ground rolled beneath him. The nausea hit him fast, bile burning up his throat.

A spiral of heat tore through his veins, curling up from his spine and bursting into his skull. His body jerked violently, like something inside him was fighting to get out.

Flashlights sliced through the forest behind him.

They were coming.

The bobbing lights swayed and dipped, bouncing through the trees. Not dark yet, but the forest swallowed the light, the wet leaves swallowing sound. Cover. Was he covered? Did he need cover?

A sudden dagger of pain pierced his skull.

His vision blurred.

Run. 

scraping against rough bark. Blood. Monsters. Pain.

The world remained silent, eerie in its emptiness. His breath thundered in his chest, but he couldn’t hear anything. They wanted to kill him. He knew that much. But he couldn’t remember who they were.

His upper lip burned. More warmth. More blood. It dripped into his mouth, metallic and bitter, sliding down his chin.

He turned his head as he ran. Too fast. Dizziness slammed into him.

The lights were closer now. Too close.

Then impact.

The tree loomed out of nowhere, and he slammed into it, full force. The breath whooshed out of his lungs. He went down hard, knees slamming onto jagged rocks, hands catching in the snow, fingers crushing unforgiving ice.

He might’ve cried out.

Pain lashed through his legs. He forced himself to move, to get up, to keep going. His face felt like he’d shoved it into boiling water. The same water Grandpa Joe had used to power wash the deck. Grandpa Joe. He’d been a good man.

Pain enveloped him, swallowing him whole. He needed to do something. Something—what?

The lights came closer. The beams cut through the trees behind him, bouncing off slick branches.

Run.

That was it. That was the only thing left. He staggered forward, slapping away a tangle of bare bushes, grabbing onto frozen rock. He scrambled up, ice searing into his palms, his breath ragged. Rain and blood slid down his cheeks.

He coughed. More warmth. More blood. Why was his mouth bleeding? He couldn’t think anymore.

They were coming. He had to beat them. The truth should win. His foot slipped. The world tilted. He windmilled his arms, skidding across an icy rock. Even gravity fucking hated him. His heart jackhammered as he teetered on the edge, his toes curling in an attempt to grip solid ground.

He looked down.

Way down.

A road twisted along the valley floor below, following the path of a rushing river. Cars crawled along the pavement, their headlights gleaming like tiny pinpricks against the dusk.

Too high up. He had to get down. Now. He turned around.

They emerged from the trees. Dressed in black. Lights in front of them. Hunting him. Shit. They’d found him. The one in front grinned, his crooked front tooth catching in the beam of a flashlight. He lifted a gloved hand, gesturing—a silent demand.

No. They couldn’t have him. Not again.

Sound roared back in like a thunderclap. A shrieking, splitting explosion in his skull.

The man in front spoke. “Come on. Let’s go.” His voice was flat. Dead. As were his eyes.

“No.” One simple word. The only thing he had left. He smiled, held out his arms, and fell back.

The men in black bellowed.

Air rushed around him, pulling at his clothes, whipping hair into his eyes. The rain hit like bullets. A sudden flash of pain stole his breath.

Horns honked. Brakes squealed.

Then—

Nothing.

“Grandpa Joe?” he whispered.

Chapter 1

It had been exactly twenty-nine days since her half sister had brutally stabbed their father to death.

FBI Special Agent in Charge Laurel Snow sat in the back row of the courtroom, her suntan already fading after being home for three days from a much-needed vacation in Cabo. In Mexico, she’d done nothing but sit in the sun, stroll the beaches, and work through feelings with the hard-bodied Fish and Wildlife officer sitting next to her.

She wasn’t accustomed to dealing with feelings, and neither was he. But they’d done their best, assisted along with too much tequila, to handle the loss of a baby they’d never met. Huck had been kind, open, and had wanted to cement their relationship for the future.

Her practical nature liked a plan. Of course, now they were home, sitting in this courtroom, waiting for a hearing that had yet to begin. She studied him from the corner of her eye, noting that the Cabo carefree Huck was gone. His face now appeared carved from stone.

Not granite. Not slate. But diamond—the strongest stone. Though nothing about Huck Rivers sparkled. Not even his eyes right now. Now? They were a cop’s eyes. Flat. Hard. Determined.

Did her eyes look like that?

Without moving his focus from the front of the courtroom, he reached over and took her hand in his.

She jolted and then allowed herself to appreciate the warmth of his touch.

Up front, an armed bailiff, a tall blond female with a sharp cut bob, walked through the door by the judge’s bench, scanned the courtroom with light blue eyes, and then stood at post. Her uniform was so starchily pressed it could probably stand up without its wearer.

Laurel’s shoulders tensed and she forced them down and back.

While the defense table remained vacant, the prosecuting attorney currently sat at her table, reading through a file folder. She had thick black hair and appeared to be in healthy shape, but she hadn’t turned around yet. “Who’s she?”

“Her name is Tamera Hornhart, and she’s as ambitious as they come. She’s won twice by a large margin and already announced her candidacy for governor. Taking down Abigail will be good for her career,” Huck said.

Behind Laurel, the exterior door bisecting the benches opened and FBI Special Agent in Charge Wayne Norrs from the nearby Seattle office strode inside, his badge at his belt and his gun in a shoulder holster. He wore sharply tailored black slacks, a pristine white shirt, and a cobalt-colored tie. His bald head and compact, muscular frame projected an austere, almost formidable presence. He glanced at her, nodded at Huck, and walked to the front to sit in the first row, right behind the defendant’s table.

“That answers that,” Huck murmured.

trust, but utility. His endorsement confers legitimacy.”

Huck glanced down at her, the different brown and golden hues in his irises sharpening. “Meaning it looks good to have him on her side? Believing in her?”

“That’s what I said.” It was the first time Laurel had said Abigail’s name in more than two weeks. She and Huck had agreed not to speak of her half sister while they’d enjoyed their break from reality in Mexico. Although that hadn’t kept Laurel from considering Abigail’s next moves. Surely she’d plead not guilty to the murder, even though she’d been found holding the knife over the body, covered in blood.

The door opened again and the hair prickled down Laurel’s arm. She automatically turned to see Abigail walk in wearing a blue skirt suit and white shell, with taupe-colored kitten heels. Her true auburn hair was down around her shoulders, and the suit jacket sleeves fell almost to her knuckles. Not quite.

She turned her heterochromatic eyes, the same as Laurel’s, toward her. “Dear sister, it was so kind of you to come support me at my pretrial hearing.” She glanced up at Agent Norrs in the front row of the other side. “Although you’re sitting on the wrong side of the courtroom.”

A man holding a shiny black briefcase and wearing a ten-thousanddollar suit patted her arm. “Abigail? We need to go to the defense table.” He had to be at least three or four inches taller than Abigail, who stood at about five-foot-nine in the heels.

She faltered and then gave him a tremulous smile. “Of course. Thank you, Henry. Laurel, we’ll speak later.” Her chin up, she maneuvered up the aisle with the male following her as another man, this one just as tall but probably twenty years younger than Henry, hustled inside with a stack of file folders in his hands.

He glanced at Laurel and then stilled, his gaze swiveling from her to Abigail and back to her. “You must be Abigail’s sister.”

“I must be,” Laurel replied. Both she and Abigail had true reddish brown hair and one blue eye as well as one green eye, which was incredibly rare. Throw in the fact that they also had a star of green in their blue eye, a heterochromia in already-heterochromatic eyes, made them truly unique. And look-alikes, unfortunately. “You are?”

“Bud Thomas, one of the lawyers for your sister. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you?” His blond hair was mussed and his gray suit not worth ten thousand dollars. He probably worked as an associate at whatever law firm Abigail had hired. “I’d like to interview you.”

Laurel was under no obligation to speak with the defense. “Captain Rivers and I were interviewed twice by the police regarding your case.”

Thomas straightened, his eyes a deep green. “I can subpoena you for a pretrial deposition.”

“Perhaps,” Laurel said. “But you’d need permission from the judge as well as the DOJ first, and as I’m sure you know, depositions in criminal matters aren’t often ordered in Washington State.”

His brow furrowed. Showing confusion? “You don’t want to help your sister?”

“No.”

The judge walked through the doorway up front and moved behind his desk, followed by a court reporter and another woman who must be his scheduler. The judge had thick salt-and-pepper hair, sharp features, and dark brown eyes.

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Laurel stood, releasing Huck’s hand. As soon as the judge sat, so did the spectators in the courtroom. The silence was blissful. Outside the building, cameras, news vans, and gawkers all created a frenzy of noise.

The judge slammed his gavel down and then reached into a pocket and drew out thin, black-rimmed glasses to perch on his nose. He flipped open the top of a file folder, read for a moment, and then looked up. “I’m Judge Warren Delaney. This is the matter of the state of Washington versus Abigail Caine.” He read off the case number. “Who do we have here today?”

Abigail’s attorneys, flanking her, both stood. “Henry Vexler from Vexler and Symons for the defense,” said the obvious lead in his

expensive suit. His voice was smooth and thick. Warm, even.

The prosecuting attorney also stood, wearing a deep red skirt suit with white shell and black pumps. “Tamera Hornhart for the state.”

The judge nodded. “As you know, I cleared the courtroom today of press and other cases due to the lack of security, but the press will be allowed going forward.” He glanced at Abigail. “Ms. Caine? Please stand.”

“Doctor Caine,” Vexler said quietly.

The judge’s bushy eyebrows rose. “My apologies. Dr. Caine.”

Abigail stood, looking diminutive between the two taller men.

Huck leaned toward Laurel. “Why is her suit too big?” He studied Abigail up front. “And not her usual style at all?”

Laurel lifted her chin. Her half sister favored black leather and high-end red dresses usually. “She looks vulnerable. Fragile. Defenseless.” Frankly, it was a good look, and no doubt Abigail had come up with that herself. Like Laurel, she most likely ranked in the profoundly gifted IQ range and had attended college very young to earn multiple doctorates.

The judge stared at Abigail. “Dr. Caine? You are charged with murder in the second degree, for the death of Zeke Caine on April fifteenth. This is a Class A felony under RCW 9A.32.050. Do you understand the charge?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Abigail said.

“And how do you plead?” he asked.

Vexler gave her a brief nod.

“Not guilty,” she answered. “It was self-defense, Judge.”

An unnecessary addition to her plea, but now it was out there. In the judge’s mind. Laurel studied him, wondering what he saw when he looked at Abigail. The woman was beautiful and often used men. Easily.

As if in tune with that thought, Abigail partially turned and looked at Special Agent Norrs, her lips trembling. They’d been dating since December, and Norrs was truly hooked. He couldn’t see the malignant narcissist

or psychopath or whatever deviant lay beneath Abigail’s fragile looks. It would take years of meetings, tests, and studies to ever truly diagnose that woman.

Norrs leaned toward Abigail and said something, but Laurel couldn’t hear the words.

Tears filled Abigail’s eyes. She nodded and visibly steeled her shoulders, turning back around and facing the judge.

“Give me a fucking break,” Huck muttered next to Laurel.

Judge Delaney looked to the prosecution table. “Ms. Hornhart, do you wish to be heard on release conditions?”

The prosecutor flipped open a blue file folder. “Yes, Your Honor. The state moves to revoke bond that was granted to the defendant during her probable cause hearing and remand the defendant into custody. Dr. Caine actively sought out the victim, who was avoiding contact and had gone into hiding from the authorities. She initiated a confrontation that resulted in the victim’s death. She also holds substantial wealth and could relocate to another country easily. The facts of the case point to intent, not self-defense. Given the severity of the charge, we believe she poses a flight risk.”

Vexler stood tall. “With respect, Your Honor, the state is attempting to dress speculation as fact. Dr. Caine has significant and verifiable ties to Tempest County. She’s a tenured professor at Northern Washington Technical Institute, she owns multiple parcels of land through her business companies, and she has no prior criminal record. Her sister is a supervisory special agent with the FBI. She surrendered her passport and has complied with every condition of her release. There is no basis for revocation.”

Hornhart leaned forward. “This was a brutal murder with multiple stabbings. The defendant had no reason to head out to that dive motel by herself that night when the authorities were already looking for Zeke Caine. She went there to kill him.”

“Not true—” Vexler started.

Judge Delaney raised a hand before the argument could escalate further. “This court takes the charge seriously. However, the defendant’s compliance and community ties are substantial. Bail will not be revoked at this time. Dr. Caine has surrendered her passport and will continue to abide by current conditions, in

including restricting her movements to remaining within the state of Washington. Any violation will result in immediate reconsideration.”

Abigail didn’t flinch. She simply exhaled.

“Next hearing is scheduled for May thirtieth. Discovery deadlines will be set by mutual agreement, or by court order if necessary. Anything further?” the judge asked.

Hornhart shook her head. Vexler remained silent, adjusting the cuff of his shirt with surgical precision.

“Then we are adjourned.” The gavel fell, the judge stood and everyone else rose, and then he walked out, followed by the bailiff and his staff.

Laurel wanted to get out of there before Abigail could reach her, so she slid into the aisle and walked into the hallway, hurrying toward the two glass doors. Energy and movement sounded behind her as everyone exited the courtroom quickly.

“Agent Snow, wait a sec.” The prosecuting attorney hustled up, her gaze darting to where Abigail and Agent Norrs stood against the far wall, talking animatedly.

Darn it. Laurel turned as the pretty lawyer rushed up. “Hi, Ms. Hornhart. What can I do for you?”

The woman took a deep breath. “Abigail’s attorney just filed a motion for an expedited trial. I’m inclined to join the motion.”

Laurel looked toward Abigail. Her attorney had acted fast. Since he wasn’t currently with Abigail, she obviously knew it was happening. “I wonder what she’s afraid we’ll find out?”

Hornhart shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m going to put her away for good. The court has an opening the week after next.” She blushed. “I have a friend in the scheduling department. I’ll need to meet with you to go over your testimony and will have my scheduler call you later to get on our calendar.”

Laurel clicked through her plans. “That’s fine.” She’d already given an interview, but she could brush up on testimonial strategy. 

“Excellent.” Hornhart’s eyes gleamed.

“Let’s go.” Huck motioned toward the glass doors, leaning over to whisper when they were far enough away, “I can smell her ambition. While it’s working for us now, I don’t trust her.”

Laurel didn’t need to trust her. She needed the woman to do her job. She pushed open the doors with Huck at her side and then nearly fell back as the rush of reporters moved forward.

Huck instantly covered her, stepping in front of her and making a path through them. “Watch the steps,” he said quietly.

Laurel nodded, keeping an eye on the hard marble steps as she made her way down them.

“Laurel?” Abigail called out amid the rapid snapping of cameras.

Laurel kept her head down and continued descending.

Huck stiffened in front of her and she ran into his back. “What?”

An odd ping whizzed through the air. “Gun!” Huck bellowed, pivoting and taking her down to the ground. Pain clicked through her shoulder as she landed between two hard steps. Her jacket tore.

Several people screamed.

Huck instantly bounded up, his weapon in his hand. “Stay down.”

“No.” Laurel pushed to her feet, drawing her gun from the holster at her thigh. “Who’s down?” she yelled, looking around wildly.

People began picking themselves off the ground. Her gaze caught on Agent Norrs above the steps on the landing, who knelt by a prone Abigail. He lifted his hand off her, looking numbly at the blood covering his palm. His eyes widened. “She was shot. We need an ambulance. Now!” 

Chapter 2

Laurel paced back and forth in the hospital emergency waiting room, her shoulder aching and her suit jacket crumpled into a ball on a leather chair. The shooting had hit the news, and her mother had already phoned her from an island in the middle of the Caribbean. Laurel had strongly supported Deidre in taking a month on a sunny cruise with her new beau, Fish and Wildlife captain Monty Buckley, who was healing after successful cancer treatments. Having them both out of town while Abigail’s legal proceedings continued was just a blessing. Period.

The outside glass doors opened and Viv Vuittron hustled inside, her wet tennis shoes squeaking on the tile. “Laurel?”

Laurel moved toward the girl. She was the eldest of the three of the Vuittron girls, whose mom, Kate, ran the local FBI office. “Viv? Are you back from softball camp already?” Time seemed to be flying.

“Yeah. I got back last night.”

Wasn’t today a teacher’s work day? The girl should be sleeping. “What are you doing here?”

The girl pushed blond hair over her shoulder, her blue eyes wide. “I was on my way to my internship at Oakridge since there’s no school today, and I heard about the shooting. The local news named you and said you’d headed to the hospital.” She rushed Laurel into a fierce hug. “I was worried.”

Laurel returned the hug and stepped back. “I’m fine, honey. The bullet hit Abigail, and I’m waiting to hear about her.”

Viv exhaled slowly. “Okay. Good.” She looked around the vacant waiting room. “Since you’re here, I was wondering if you’d help

me?”

“Always.” Laurel focused more fully on the sixteen-year-old. “What do you need?”

Viv flushed. “My friend Larry died a week ago. The Seattle police are saying it was a suicide, but he didn’t seem like he’d do that. He was always happy.”

Laurel paused. “I didn’t hear anything about one of your friends dying.” Kate would’ve told her.

Viv stuck her hands in her light blue raincoat. “He’s not from here. He’s just a buddy who lives in Seattle named Larry Scott. I tried to talk to the Seattle detective, and she wasn’t very nice. Would you please just call her?”

Just then, FBI agent Walter Smudgeon ran inside, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He skidded to a stop and touched Laurel’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re bleeding.”

She jolted and looked down at her torn blouse. It was white with tiny yellow tulips and had softened the blue suit, or so her mother had said when she’d gifted it to Laurel. “Oh, I’m fine. That’s from hitting the ground.” She rolled her shoulder and looked carefully. It was just a scrape.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, good. Hey, Viv. What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Walter.” Viv glanced at the wall clock. “Crap. I have to get to my internship. We’re seeing what yeast does to various materials today. Thanks for helping, Laurel.” She patted Laurel’s arm and jogged out of the hospital.

Laurel watched her go. Apparently she’d be making calls to the Seattle police department later today.

“What was that about?” Walter asked.

“She lost a friend.” Laurel looked at her partner from the specialized FBI office she’d opened in the small town. Walter had been shot months ago and yet appeared better than ever. He had lost weight and today wore jeans, a green T-shirt, and an overcoat. His belt appeared new, as did his shoes. Even his hair had thickened, noticeably so, and taken on a deeper, warmer shade, several degrees removed from its prior silvering. She suspected one of those color-depositing shampoos designed to mask age with just enough plausibility to escape casual scrutiny. “You appear markedly improved,” she said.

His eyebrows rose over his brown eyes. “You’re saying I look good?” Wasn’t that exactly what she’d just said? “Yes.”

“Thanks. I’ve been making an effort at it.” He gently took her elbow and led her over to the seats. “How about we take a load off, boss?”

“Sure.” She sat.

He sat next to her and patted her hand. “I think you might be in shock.”

She looked at him, her mind spinning. “I suppose it’s possible. We were fired upon, and Huck slammed me into the marble steps with enough force to leave a mark, but I retained motor coordination, made rational decisions, and drove myself here. That doesn’t align with clinical shock.”

Walter winced. “You sure driving here was a good idea?”

“Perhaps not.”

He looked around. “Speaking of Huck, where is he?”

“The captain remained at the scene,” she said. Her vision wavered unexpectedly in an involuntary neurological response, most likely

 from fatigue or residual adrenaline. She gave her head a brief shake just as her phone buzzed. She retrieved it from her pocket with slightly uncoordinated fingers and lifted it to her ear. “Agent Snow.”

“Hey, it’s Huck. I’m checking on you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m functional,” she said.

He snorted. “That you are, Snow. However, you hit the ground pretty hard. Sorry about that. I heard the shot and just reacted.”

“I’m perfectly unharmed. Was anyone else hit?” So far there hadn’t been anybody else brought in by ambulance, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have a body or two. She’d hurried away from the scene so quickly she hadn’t taken stock. She thought most people were okay.

“Nope, just Abigail.”

Laurel ran through the scene in her head. “Did anybody see the shooter?”

“No. The shot came from a distance.”

She sat back in the chair. “You think we have a sniper?”

“I’m exploring that now. I just wanted to check on you. You sure you’re good?”

“Yes,” she repeated. “I’m fine. Walter’s here with me. You must have been the one who notified him.”

“Of course I called him. He’s your partner.” Huck added, “Well, when I’m not.”

She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like there was a slight smile in the captain’s voice. “Yes. You’re both good partners.”

His chuckle finally grounded her. Then the sound halted. “How’s Abigail?”

“No update yet,” Laurel said. “I’m waiting for the doctor to come out.” The nurse had provided only a minimal data point in that Abigail had arrived alive.

“All right. Norrs is here breathing down my neck. As soon as you get an update, call it in.”

“Okay, I will.” She ended the call. It struck her as mildly unexpected that Agent Norrs hadn’t accompanied Abigail to the hospital. 

But once he confirmed that Laurel would cover that front, he’d redirected his focus to locating the shooter. From one agent to another, she could respect the calculus.

A doctor emerged from the back wearing light green scrubs. He slowly pulled off his cap.

Laurel stood, along with Walter. “Doctor, hi.”

He moved forward. “Are you family?”

Laurel bit back a wince. “I’m FBI Special Agent Laurel Snow, and this is Agent Smudgeon. The gunshot victim is my sister. Rather, my half sister,” she amended.

“Dr. Bodie,” he said. He looked to be in his early thirties with light green eyes and thick black hair. “Your sister’s going to be all right and has already been moved to a room.”

Laurel blinked, processing. “That’s the entirety of your update?”

He smiled. “Yeah. She was wearing a bulletproof vest.”

She glanced at Walter, then returned her focus to the doctor. “She was wearing a ballistic vest?”

“Yes. Saved her life. Even so, the bullet nicked the vest and her arm. You can go back and see her now if you want.”

Laurel tried to get her bearings.

“Go ahead, boss. I’ll wait here,” Walter said.

Laurel hesitated and then followed the doctor through the county hospital until they reached patient room 212. She took a deep breath and walked inside.

“Why, Laurel. How nice of you to come see me,” Abigail said, her tone slurred.

Laurel moved forward to see her sister in the bed with a bandage across her upper arm.

The room was dim and too warm, the lights set low to keep things calm. Pale green walls dulled the brightness of the late-morning light trying to push through the slats of the half-closed blinds. A faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixed with something floral and artificial.

The machinery next to the bed made soft, rhythmic sounds, with a blood pressure cuff deflating every few minutes and a heart

monitor pulsing steadily in the background. Abigail lay nestled under a thin blanket, one arm tucked awkwardly at her side, her IV line taped neatly into place.

“Why exactly were you wearing a ballistic vest?” Laurel lowered herself into the chair.

Abigail looked like the true wounded heroine in the hospital bed, her thick, reddish-brown hair spread across the pillow, her eyes slightly dulled by medication. “Wayne insisted upon it. Can you believe it? I thought it was the dumbest thing ever. I just put it on to appease him. To appear agreeable.”

Laurel raised a brow. “To manipulate him?”

“No, to ease his mind. The same as I’m sure you do for the Huckalicious every single day.”

“Excuse me?” Laurel said, momentarily unable to follow the thread. Perhaps she had hit her head.

Abigail smiled, catlike. “Oh, come on. You take precautions with the captain around. He always drives you. You always wear your seat belt. He makes sure you’re safely in the vehicle before he drives away. All that kind of crap.”

“That’s just the captain being the captain,” Laurel said.

“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 be shot?”

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."

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.”

Abigail plucked at the blanket covering her. “Oh, little sister, when are you going to learn?”

Laurel stood. “I’ll let Agent Norrs know you’re recuperating well. Apparently, he’s quite worried. When are you going to stop manipulating him?”

“You think I’m using him?” Abigail pressed a hand to her chest. “You don’t think it’s true love?”

“We both know you’re incapable of real love. You don’t have the slightest idea what it means.” With that, Laurel shoved out of the hospital room, shaking her head.

It was possible someone in the Genesis Valley Community Church congregation wanted revenge for Zeke’s death. He’d been their spiritual leader for years, and some people didn’t care if their messiah turned out to be a monster. They’d follow him straight into the fire and call it faith. But Laurel had no idea where he’d even been the past sixteen months. He’d disappeared without warning, and when he returned, he acted like nothing had changed.

He could’ve made enemies in that time. Dozens. But the real problem, the one Laurel couldn’t ignore, was Abigail. The hobbies her sister had gotten involved in—misguided experiments, questionable medical research, people she manipulated for funding or data or who knows what—those had created their own kind of wake. One had even turned into a serial killer.

Those were just the possibilities Laurel knew about.

She pushed through the hallway doors back into the waiting room, mind still spinning. Walter sat in one of the hard vinyl chairs, hunched over his phone, the screen glowing blue across his pale face. He didn’t look up. He didn’t even blink.

“Walter.” She slowed. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled sharply, staring down at the screen, his expression carefully controlled. Too controlled.

She stepped closer, her mind already cataloging the details like a micro-tightening at the corner of his mouth, a fractional delay in his blink rate, the way his shoulders squared just a little too precisely. Not shock. Not panic. Suspicion? Calculation? Her pulse ticked up. “Walter?”

His gaze lifted. A flicker of something passed over his face. A hesitation. One she couldn’t track. “It looks like my brother’s missing,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I have to go, boss.”

Brother? What brother?  ...