Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
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.
“Abigail is keeping him close,” Laurel said, her tone almost academic, “not out of 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?”