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 Also by Rebecca Zanetti

The Dark Protector series

Fated
Claimed
Tempted
Hunted
Consumed
Provoked
Twisted
Shadowed
Tamed
Marked
Talen
Vampire’s Faith
Demon’s Mercy
Alpha’s Promise
Hero’s Haven
Guardian’s Grace
Rebel’s Karma
Immortal’s Honor
Garrett’s Destiny

The Realm Enforcers series

Wicked Ride
Wicked Edge
Wicked Burn
Wicked Kiss
Wicked Bite

The Scorpius Syndrome series

Scorpius Rising
Mercury Striking
Shadow Falling
Justice Ascending
The Deep Ops series
Hidden
Taken (e-novella)
Fallen
Shaken (e-novella)
Broken
Driven
Unforgiven

Laurel Snow Thrillers

You Can Run
 YOU CAN HIDE

REBECCA ZANETTI

ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

 Table of Contents

Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page

Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.

119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Zanetti

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,

organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

form or by any means without the prior written consent of the
Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book
depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely
models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters
featured in the book.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and
destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher
has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-1-4201-5434-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5435-1 (eBook)
This one is dedicated to the English and writing teachers I was lucky
enough to learn from through the years, and while I’ve forgotten
many names, these still stand out: Dr. Ken Waters, who taught me
to trust my instincts when it came to writing, Eileen Bieber, who
taught me to structure my writing, Mike Ruskovich, who taught me
to let my imagination run wild when writing, Ardyce Plumley, who
taught me to stop and enjoy the process of writing, and Ms. Wright,
who taught me to diagram sentences and the importance of doing
so. Thank you for sharing your love of both reading and writing.
 Acknowledgments

Thank you to Tony Zanetti for his patience, humor, and ability to
magically find lost pieces of paper throughout the house where I’ve
left ideas for a book. Thank you to Gabe Zanetti for calling at the
best times and right when I need a synonym for green, and thank
you to Karlina Zanetti for being so creative and inspiring with her
own stories;

Thank you to my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, for knowing exactly what

extra element to add to a story to make it have the magic and for
working with me to balance my schedule after arm surgery. Thank
you for just talking me through the stress and brainstorming ideas
for both my schedule and for my stories;

Thank you to my editor, Alicia Condon, for knowing exactly how to

find the right tension to balance a thriller and for being so
understanding and proactive in creating a successful schedule for my
several series as I healed after arm surgery;

Thank you to the rest of the Kensington gang: Alexandra Nicolajsen,

Steven Zacharias, Adam Zacharias, Ross Plotkin, Lynn Cully, Vida
Engstrand, Jane Nutter, Lauren Jernigan, Kimberly Richardson, and
Rebecca Cremonese;

A special thank you to Pam Joplin for the absolutely phenomenal

copy edits;

Thank you to Anissa Beatty, my assistant and social media expert

who often texts at midnight with awesome ideas and who is always
up for trying something fun and zany;
Thank you to Leanna Feazel, Madison Fairbanks, Julie Elkin, and Katy
Nielsen for your friendship, support, and all-around great times via
Zoom and the Rebels. You have no idea how much I love seeing and
talking with you online;

Thank you to Rebels Jessica Mobbs, Heather Frost, Kimberly Frost,

Madison Fairbanks, Suzi Zuber, Asmaa Nada Qayyum, Amanda
Larsen, Karen Clementi, and Karen Fisher for their assistance with
this book;

Thank you also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English,
Kathy and Herb Zanetti, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don
West, Jessica and Jonah Namson, Steve and Liz Berry, Jillian and
Benji Stein, and the entire Younker family.
 Prologue

He didn’t feel late January’s bite, even though he sank to his

knees in the thick snow. Instead, the sparking thrill of anticipation
poured through his veins with the heat of a first love. Oh, the
woman in the desolate cabin was neither his love nor his first, but
for now, she was his purpose.
For weeks, she’d been his sole focus, and now he could wait no
longer. Dreaming about her wasn’t enough. He knew how to calm
the rage inside him. Finally, he’d learned, and it was all so clear. He
had been shown the way.
Now he knew his purpose and could be whole.
Another siren’s song whispered on the frigid wind, and he’d
already left her his calling card, which meant a new project had
begun. Although he did like to have one or two projects going at a
time, it was time to end this one.
She’d cheated him out of what he needed, and she had to pay for
that. She’d completely deserted him and the life they could’ve had.
She hadn’t even said good-bye. Out in the middle of nowhere, she’d
thought she could hide from him? Avoid the roles they both needed
to play? The lover’s presents he’d planned to shower upon her had
been irrelevant to her—and she must have known he’d made plans.
He had meant nothing to her.
He’d found her hiding place, and then he’d played a little. Leaving
her an oddity here, a scary sign there. Just enough to have her
catching her breath and then convincing herself that she was
imagining things in the middle of nowhere. He was smarter than she
was, and it was time she realized that fact. Not only smarter, but
more powerful.
Life was about power, was it not? He’d learned that the hard way.
Darkness hung heavily above the mountains as another winter
storm punished the trees. Brutal snow pummeled the over-loaded
branches and assaulted the ice shielding the creek. His woman, for
right now she was his, always emerged about this time to trudge
around a series of rocks to the primitive outhouse. He had opened
the door one night and poured water on the hinges.
How she’d struggled to shut the door the following morning.
He’d watched from a vantage point across the creek, nearly
doubling over with silent laughter. When she’d given up the fight and
just used the toilet, he’d snapped pictures with his long-range lens.
His groin tightened at the memory.
It was amusing she thought she could hide from him. Oh, she was
smart enough to cower where she couldn’t be traced—unless
somebody had put a tracker on her vehicle. When she’d left her
compact to drive an enclosed side-by-side with tracks from the
deserted public boat launch, he’d been on her tail already, easily
following her trail to this hideaway.
He wasn’t a god, but to her, he might as well be.
His gaze caught on an ax beneath an eave near a covered pile of
wood.
That would do.
 Chapter One

The victim’s hands had been removed—most likely with the ax left
leaning against an ice-covered pine tree. Her wrists were bloody
stumps resting on cut logs, which the killer must’ve used to position
the flesh for his strike. Perfectly preserved, burgundy-colored flowers
littered the ground in every direction around the body, several petals
frozen solid to rocks at the edge of the ice-encrusted river. Their
stark color leeched into the white snow, creating icy pools of frozen
blood.
The victim was female and naked, her flesh frozen to a grayish-
blue hue, her facial structure shattered beyond recognition. Blood
marred the snow all around her. The techs had worked all morning
to gently uncover her and the surrounding area without causing
damage.
Laurel Snow crouched on the craggy bank of Witch Creek, a
hidden tributary of the Sauk River in northern Washington State. Icy
snow clung to her knit hat and pinged off her snow boots. “There’s
not enough blood here. The mutilations happened post-mortem,”
she murmured, looking up at FBI Agent Walter Smudgeon, who had
bent to study the ax.
He straightened. “Not much blood on the ax.” He turned, his wide
cheeks ruddy, his belly hanging over his belt. “Broken face and
stolen hands. Somebody definitely wanted to keep her from being
identified.”
Laurel scrutinized the ligature marks around the woman’s neck.
“She was strangled. We’ll know more after the autopsy.” She studied
the woman’s hair, which was black with a clear demarcation of gray
—maybe three or even four weeks’ worth. “She was due for a hair
appointment.”
“What does that mean?” Walter wheezed.
 Laurel stood. “I’m not sure.” Her phone buzzed from her pocket,
and she ignored the caller. Again.
“What’s with the flowers?” Walter asked.
“It’s interesting,” Laurel said, the wind burning the exposed skin
on her face and ears. “I think these are black dahlias.”
“Black? Those are red,” Walter said, pulling his winter coat lower
to cover his wide belly, his jowls moving as he spoke.
“They’re burgundy colored, and I believe they’re black dahlias,”
Laurel repeated, a sense of isolation cutting through her, even as
state crime scene personnel worked efficiently around her. She tilted
her head toward Captain Monty Buckley, who was photographing the
petals closer to the creek. “Did you find the personal locator
beacon?”
The victim had activated the PLB, which sent a distress call
through satellite to emergency services around midnight the night
before, but searchers had to wait until light because of the
devastating snowstorm that had only just abated. The second search
team had found the body, which had already been mostly covered
with snow and ice, except for her feet, which lay in the moving
creek, shoved carelessly beneath a jagged layer of ice.
Monty looked up, his eyes blue and his hair a silvery gray that was
turning more white from his recent cancer treatments. “Not yet.” He
surveyed the snow still gently falling to cover the earth in every
direction. “It’s a long shot that we’ll find it at all.” He grimaced at the
flowers. “What’s up with the red petals? Some symbolic thing?”
“I believe they symbolize betrayal,” Laurel said, clicking through
her memory of a book she’d read years ago. “We can conduct more
research later.”
A tall figure walked between two trees, kicking snow out of the
way and creating a trail with his size fourteen boots.
“Huck,” Laurel said, taken aback. “Where did you come from?”
“Monty called me. There’s an old forest service trail to the north,
and I drove my snowmobile along that route. I’ve cut a trail from
there. You’re going to want to see this,” Huck Rivers said, his eyes a
whiskey brown, his whiskers a day past needing a shave, and his hat
partially covering his thick black hair. His Karelian bear dog, Aeneas,
bounded behind him, tail wagging and tongue out.
Laurel blinked. She and Walter had ridden in Fish and Wildlife
UTVs from the Sauk River to the creek to reach the scene, and she
hadn’t realized Huck would be out there. It had been more than a
month since they’d worked together, since they’d seen each other,
and she’d wondered about him. Had he spent Christmas and then
most of January alone in his cabin? She’d been in DC for much of
January working on another case and had only been back in town
for a couple of days. “All right,” she said coolly, stepping carefully
over icy rocks and slippery snow to reach him. “Lead on, Captain.”
His gaze inscrutable, he turned, his broad shoulders blocking the
trail he’d created. “Follow me.”
She’d forgotten how tall he stood and walked close to him so he
could break the brutal wind. Her hands were chilled through the
rubber gloves, but she kept them outside her pockets to avoid
picking up trace evidence, although the snow continued to land and
then melt on her.
They walked for about ten minutes, around bushes, under boughs,
and over icy brush, with snow piled on either side of the makeshift
trail. Her legs ached, and the biting wind sliced to her bones,
weakening her muscles.
Huck paused and partially turned to the right. In profile, his
features were more rugged than the brutal mountains around them.
“If you look there, the victim’s footprints are still visible in the snow
because of the tree covering above them. I’ve taken pictures,
because they’re going to disappear within the hour.”
Laurel squinted to see through the thick trees at the smaller
prints, followed by much larger ones. “Are those yours?”
“No. Mine are a yard beyond those prints. I paralleled the trail as I
took pictures.” He made a hand gesture, and the black-and-white
dog sat obediently. “From the spacing of the steps, they were
running, and both broke several branches on the way.” He pointed
farther down the snowy trail. “She fell twice but got back up and
kept running.”
 Laurel could imagine the woman’s terror. “Where did she come
from?”
“This way.” He turned again.
Aeneas sat in place, one ear up as if he wanted to ask her a
question.
She couldn’t pet him and get fur on her gloves, so she smiled. “Hi,
Aeneas. Miss me?”
Did Huck’s shoulders square at that question? They’d shared one
intimate night together, and then nothing. She’d thought they might
be becoming friends, but then he’d disappeared. The dog yipped and
flipped around to follow his master.
Laurel trudged behind the two males, stepping gingerly over the
exposed root of a tree that rose high out of the deep snow. The pine
would probably fall over in the howling wind. She turned at a bend
and stopped upon spotting a dark structure that nearly disappeared
into the rock wall behind it. “Incredible.”
Huck nodded. “Yeah. It’s an old forestry cabin that was abandoned
about ten years ago, according to my office. Nobody knew anyone
was staying out here.”
Weathered wooden logs created a square-shaped cabin built
against a solid rock wall. A crumbled stack of planks showed what
had once been a porch, leaving the door two feet above the ground,
now iced over with snow. A tarp partially covered a battered old
side-by-side utility terrain vehicle beneath two mature blue spruce
trees to the right of the cabin.
“I removed part of the tarp to see what was secured under there,”
Huck explained.
Laurel looked around. Her phone buzzed again and she ignored it.
“I take it UTVs are the only way to access this area?”
“Or snowmobile, during the winter.” Huck pointed to his black
snowmobile with a Fish and Wildlife designation on the side. “I
guess somebody could hike in during summer months. I took that
old forest division trail, while you all drove along the river and then
cut east along the creek.”
A branch broke over by the tarp, the ice and wind having
triumphed over the slim wood.
 Laurel jumped as ice and pinecones rained down. “Is that how the
killer or killers reached this place? We didn’t see any tracks on our
way in.”
Huck wiped snow off his cheekbone. “The snowstorm eliminated
any possible tracks out here, so we don’t even know which way the
killer came.”
Laurel looked around and shivered. “What a lonely place to hide.”
“Hide?”
“Yes.” Laurel moved beyond him, following his trail to the front
door, which she nudged open. The cabin was one room with a blow-
up mattress covered by several blankets, a fireplace with kindling
and neatly stacked logs next to it, and a kitchen shelf holding a
battery-operated hot plate, a plate, and a cup. Cans and more cans
sat on the shelf. Noodles, soup, beans, veggies, and fruit. Even
something that said turkey on it. Along with several gallon bottles of
vodka and gin. Enough for months of self-numbing.
She walked to the unmade bed and lifted a tablet from it, scrolling
through pages of books. “How—”
“Small portable generator,” Huck said, pointing to the one window
above the kitchen shelf. “It’s right outside with gas not too far from
it. She was able to charge her tablet, heating pad, hot plate, and it
looks like a burner phone.” He gestured to a basket near the bed.
“She has enough gas out there for probably another month.”
It wasn’t even February yet. “So she’d need to traverse the forest
again in that UTV, and the conditions will probably be even worse
next month,” Laurel noted. “From what I can tell, she was more
prepared than that.”
“Maybe she didn’t know how much gas she’d need,” Huck mused.
“Beyond the gas containers is a very old and rough outhouse. Yards
away is an area of rock where she left the empty food cans, after
washing them thoroughly with either water from the river or melted
snow, from what I can tell.”
So no animals would come sniffing around.
Laurel spotted a cabinet barely visible next to the low bed. She
removed her flashlight from her pocket and inched closer, shining it
inside. “There’s something . . .” Tugging open the cabinet, she took
inventory.
Huck whistled behind her.
This close, his body heat flushed along her back, even through her
jacket.
“SIG Sauer,” Huck mused, leaning over her shoulder for a better
look. “And what looks like plenty of ammo.”
Laurel turned and looked at the door. “She didn’t get a chance to
use her gun. So he surprised her outside with his attack?”
“The footprints in the snow come from the outhouse area,” Huck
said.
Laurel tried to imagine the night and how terrified the woman
would’ve been. “So she took her PLB with her to the outhouse but
not a weapon? I don’t think so. She must’ve had another weapon.”
She leaned in to study the bullets.
Huck pursed his lips. “You’re right. We’ll search the area, and I’ll
scout the way she ran again. Chances are he surprised her and got
the gun but didn’t see the PLB before she pressed the button.”
“If she was in hiding, she would’ve used that device to call for
help as a last resort,” Laurel agreed. “We have to identify her.” She
held the tablet in her hand. “This should help.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Huck’s left eyebrow rose. “Somebody is being persistent.”
Laurel drew an evidence bag out of her other pocket and slid the
tablet into it, before handing the bag to him. “Yes.” Giving in, she
tugged her phone free, seeing Dr. Abigail Caine’s name on the
screen. “What is it, Dr. Caine?” she asked by way of answer.
“Now, Laurel, is that any way to talk to your sister?” Abigail bit
out, her slight British accent emerging to make her sound more than
a little peeved. “You returned to town a full two days ago, and you
haven’t answered my calls.”
Laurel shut her eyes and centered herself. She would not ask
about Abigail’s familiarity with her schedule. “I’m in the middle of a
case right now. We’ll have to chat another time.”
“No,” Abigail snapped. “We will speak now. I am in danger, and as
my sister, you are going to help me.”
 “Half sister,” Laurel returned, unwilling to deal with this right now.
“I will call you later, Abigail.”
“No. Somebody is harassing me, and it has to stop. I returned late
last night from a retreat to find flowers scattered all across my front
lawn this morning, some already frozen and some still breezing
along. It’s weird.”
Laurel stilled. She cut Huck a look; he was watching her carefully.
“Flowers? What variety of flowers?”
Abigail sighed. “They’re black dahlias. A substantial number of
them.”
 Chapter Two

The high-end subdivision where Abigail Caine resided was quiet in

the overcast afternoon. Angled rooftops and tall windows
predominated in the wood, brick, and stone homes as Laurel drove
past several mansions to the far cul-de-sac where Abigail lived, with
forest on one side and another vacant-looking house on the other, a
good distance away. Trees and landscaped yards made each home
private, so it was quite possible the inhabitants hadn’t seen anything
unusual happening at Abigail’s.
Laurel drove down Abigail’s icy drive, noting the many blackish-red
petals covering the portion of the yard closest to the house. Snow
and ice had crusted over them, showing they’d been there for at
least a couple of nights.
She cut off the engine of her new, rented Nissan Rogue, which
she’d picked up just yesterday. Since she wasn’t certain she’d be
staying in town, purchasing a vehicle didn’t make sense. Then she
sat as silence descended, heavier than an anxiety blanket. Unlike
many of the other homes, Abigail’s had light shining through the
flimsy curtains on the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Snow fell lazily from a darkened sky, covering Laurel’s windshield.
Cold almost instantly seeped into her SUV, and she shivered.
The front door opened.
She exited the car and shut the door, studying the iced-over
petals. There was no discernible pattern, and the snow had
obliterated any possible footprints. These flowers had been scattered
before the ones around the body found near the river. Odd.
“Laurel? Come in. There’s no pattern to the flowers or petals,”
Abigail called, her breath puffing in the cold air.
Laurel turned and made her way along the freshly plowed
driveway to the walk, meeting her half sister at the porch.
 Abigail partly blocked the way inside, her head cocked, her eyes—
one green, one blue—scrutinizing Laurel. “I swear, it’s like looking in
a mirror. Don’t you think?”
Laurel shook her head. “No. We both have reddish hair and
different-colored eyes, but our bone structure is different, as is our
skin tone.” Well, at least to somebody who’d seen the same face in
the mirror for almost three decades. To anybody else, they might
look like twins. But she wouldn’t admit that to Abigail. She couldn’t.
Abigail scoffed and pulled Laurel inside the home, where starkness
reined in opposition to the warmth blowing through the space. The
surfaces were hard concrete or stone, and all white or a light gray.
Even the pillows on the new black leather sofa were a glaring white.
Her original sofa had been barraged by bullets during the Snowblood
Peak case. “We have more than red hair in common and you know
it. Genuine red hair is found in only ten percent of the population,
and ours is auburn. A true auburn with brown and red. What
percentage has that color?”
“Minuscule,” Laurel agreed, brushing snow off her unfortunately
rare hair color. She shrugged out of her coat and let Abigail hang it
in the nearby closet before kicking off her boots on a mat near the
door. “I’m not saying we lack rare genes.” Considering they had the
exact same heterochromatic eyes, one blue, one green, and a burst
of green in the blue one, they were definitely unusual, which was a
much nicer description than what she’d been called many a time by
a cruel classmate or two.
Of course, that had been back when she was growing up and
didn’t know Abigail or even that she had a half sister. The truth had
emerged during Laurel’s first case in Genesis Valley, when she’d
been shocked to discover she had a half sister from a father she’d
never known. Her mother had always refused to give Laurel the
name of her father. Her mom had been underage and her father a
pastor at the church, and there was no consent. Her mother still had
nightmares about it. “Tell me about the flowers on your front lawn.”
Abigail gestured to the high-end leather sofa fronting a gas
fireplace. “I’ll ignite this. You must be chilly.” She hustled over and
flicked on a button, roaring the fire to life.
 Laurel sat, even though she would’ve preferred to talk at the
dining table or even the bar separating the kitchen from the great
room. This was too casual. She glanced at the rear wide floor-to-
ceiling windows, seeing the jagged, snow-covered mountains in the
distance. Those windows lacked any covering, perfectly framing the
freezing world outside. “The dahlias?” she prodded.
Abigail paused. “Could I get you anything to drink? How about
coffee with a splash of Baileys? You look positively frigid.”
“I’m fine.” Laurel gestured to the matching leather chair. “This is
official business, Abigail. I need to know everything about those
flowers and now.”
Abigail rolled her eyes and took the chair, sitting gracefully in it
with the mountains behind her. The weak light poured inside the
windows, caressing her reddish-brown hair, which she’d bluntly cut
to fall at her shoulders, just like Laurel’s. Her features were delicate
and her skin more cream than peaches, making her unique eyes
stand out even more. Today she wore black slacks and a green
sweater that probably cost as much as Laurel’s entire wardrobe. “I
returned late last night from a retreat, didn’t see the flowers, and
only noticed them when I woke up. They’ve obviously been there for
days.”
Laurel sat back and watched for any nuances in Abigail’s
expression. She had an eidetic memory and didn’t need to take
notes, but she would write down the entire conversation later. “Your
neighbor’s house looks vacant. Any chance they saw anything?”
“No.” Abigail studied Laurel as intensely as she was being studied.
“The Northertons are snowbirds. They move to Arizona in October
and don’t return until May or June. Like most people around here.”
“Are they retired?” Laurel asked.
“Yes. He worked in Silicon Valley and she owns a chain of eye
clinics across the country. They retired here three years ago because
their children, two of them, live in Genesis Valley. They see the kids
here in the summer and then have them all visit Arizona in the
winter.” Abigail picked a piece of lint off her dark pants. “How
predictable, right?”
 “That life might sound ideal to many people,” Laurel murmured.
“Why would anybody leave flowers scattered over your lawn?”
Abigail threw up her hands. She wore silver rings on both, one
with a stunning ruby in the center. “I don’t know. Black dahlias, as
I’m sure you’re aware, symbolize betrayal.”
“Who have you betrayed?”
Abigail stilled. “I’d watch my tone, were I you, sister.” Her warning
held a muted British accent left over from attending school for years
in Great Britain.
“Why is that?” Laurel asked, keeping her tone mild.
“You really do not want to hurt my feelings.” Abigail leaned
forward. “Speaking of feelings, how is our Captain Huck Rivers?”
Huck had worked on the case that revealed Abigail’s half brother,
not related to Laurel, had been a serial killer in the area, one Abigail
had killed to protect Laurel. Her brother had murdered young
blondes and thrown them off Snowblood Peak to the valley below,
and concurrent jurisdiction had worked for both agencies. “I have no
idea,” Laurel said.
Abigail smiled, flashing white teeth. “Oh, sister. We both know you
and that mouth-breathing hottie with the hard ass rolled around in
the sheets last year, as they say. Surely you’ve kept in touch.”
“Who thinks you betrayed them, Abigail? This isn’t a joke—you
might be in danger.”
Abigail stared at her, brilliance shining in her eyes. “You have
ignored all of my calls and texts since my brother’s funeral, which
you were kind enough to attend before the holidays. I’m rather
astounded you’re taking this seriously. That you don’t think I threw
flowers and petals all over my lawn to gain attention from you. Why
is that, Laurel?”
“I can’t discuss that with you. Now, either you cooperate with me,
or I will send somebody else to take your statement.” Laurel pushed
her damp hair off her shoulder.
Abigail’s chin lowered a fraction. “Fine. I haven’t betrayed
anybody. In addition, I checked the cameras and have downloaded
the applicable video for you. He walked down my driveway, which
explains how he gained entrance beyond the gate to the subdivision.
He couldn’t have driven. It was a dark night with plenty of snowfall,
and it’s impossible to see his features, probably because he’s
wearing a damn mask. The figure looks like a man, though.” She
reached into her pants pocket and drew out a USB. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Laurel accepted the drive. “Have there been any
other signs that somebody wants to frighten you? Any letters, calls,
strange occurrences?”
“No. Nothing, and you know I’d remember if there were,” Abigail
said. “Why are you taking this so seriously?”
Laurel twisted the thumb drive in her hand. She didn’t even have
a description of the dead woman in the woods because her face had
been destroyed. There was also no way Abigail could’ve known
about the victim, because the body had just been discovered this
morning. Plus, the flowers on her lawn had been left before the
victim had been killed. “You may be in danger. I can’t tell you
anything more than that right now, but you need to be careful, and
you need to start compiling a list of anybody who’d want to hurt
you. Anybody who might feel betrayed by you, or anybody who has
been too present in your life, too interested in you.”
Abigail blinked. “I work at a university in a field mostly inhabited
by men. I’m intelligent and beautiful while seemingly aloof, when
actually I’m just bored by most people. They don’t know that. The
list would be too long to be useful.”
There was a lot of truth in that statement. “I can put you in an
FBI safe house if you want,” Laurel said, needing to distance herself
from this woman. “If not, I can ask the local police force to keep an
eye on your house, but I doubt they have the manpower to put
protection on you full time.”
“What has happened?” Abigail asked.
“I can’t discuss it yet,” Laurel said. “What’s it to be?”
Abigail shook her head. “How about you stay here?”
“No.”
Abigail sighed, her eyes widening and her jaw slackening. “But I
need help. You’re trained. I’m scared.”
“No, you’re not,” Laurel murmured.
 Abigail lost the fake vulnerable look. “No, I’m not. But most people
would be, and you have a duty to protect me. Not only because of
your job but because I protected you once. Against my own brother,
no less.”
Yes, Abigail had killed her brother to protect Laurel. While Laurel
appreciated being alive, her sister seemed to have a secondary
motive for every action. “I’ve offered you protection. Say the word,
and I’ll secure you at a safe house in Seattle.” It would only be a
couple hours away, so Laurel could still reach her if necessary.
“So I’m in certain danger,” Abigail mused. “Interesting. You’ve
seen this before. Women stalked or women killed?”
Laurel stood. “Safe house?”
“No.”
Laurel wasn’t surprised. “Very well. I’ll ask the locals to keep an
eye on the subdivision. Please contact me when you have that list,
and make sure you engage your alarm system at all times, even
when you’re at home.” She paused. “Why were you on a week’s
retreat? Didn’t you have classes to teach at the university?” Abigail
taught several science classes at the premiere institution.
“Yes, but I took this week off.” Abigail also stood. “My vacation
was scheduled, and I had my students working on either labs or
papers all week.”
“Where did you go?”
Abigail lifted one eyebrow. “You know where I went. I invited
you.”
“Oh.” Laurel would have to look back through the texts from her
sister. She hadn’t opened many of them. She padded in her thick
socks to the door and slipped her feet into her snow boots.
“I find your lack of interest in our sisterhood rather insulting.”
Abigail fetched Laurel’s coat from the closet and held it open. Her
tone held a hint of warning.
Laurel had no choice but to slip her arms into the sleeves and
allow Abigail to assist her. “I have no desire to insult you.” She
turned toward her sister and zipped up her thick parka.
“You just don’t want me involved in your down-home Hallmark
movie of a life?” Real emotion flashed in her eyes this time.
 Laurel sighed. “My life isn’t perfect, and I don’t know you. What
we share isn’t good.”
Abigail grimaced. “Our asshole of a father who’s been missing for
years? You’ve never even met him. You only know he’s a reprobate
because of what you’ve been told by me and probably by your
mother. We don’t share him. Only I knew him, and I’ll take that
burden for us both. We’re our own people, Laurel, but I am your
sister.”
Laurel reached in her pocket for her phone, a lump in her stomach
that made her want to gag. “I can’t prove it, but I know you tried to
cover your brother’s crimes before you realized we were half sisters.
I’m an FBI agent, Abigail.” She opened the outside door and stepped
into the protection provided by the eaves before turning to face her
sister.
Abigail was several inches taller, even in her bare feet. “I did not
help him. If I did anything that assisted Robert with his heinous
murders, then I’m very sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Laurel murmured.
Abigail’s nostrils flared. “No, I’m not. But since I didn’t do anything
to help my brother, you must let this go. Besides, what would you do
to protect your mother? Your Zen-loving, peaceful, flighty mother?”
“Good-bye, Abigail.” Laurel turned and walked carefully down the
walkway, pausing to snap several photographs of the lawn and
mostly buried flowers before returning to her vehicle. Once inside,
she dialed Captain Monty Buckley’s number.
“Buckley,” he answered over the sound of a printer grinding in the
background.
“Hi, Captain,” Laurel said, watching Abigail watch her from the
open doorway. “Did you get jurisdiction settled?” They’d reached an
agreement easily at the scene by the river, but it still had to be
approved.
“Yeah,” Monty said. “FBI has primary because the body was found
on federal land, but we’ll correspond and assist since Fish and
Wildlife knows the area the best. We’re coordinating now with the
locals to tie them in.”
 “Good.” In Washington State, Fish and Wildlife were fully
commissioned officers. “I have a second crime scene I need
processed, as well as an entire subdivision to canvass. Please have
the state process and the locals canvass.” She started her engine,
her gaze still caught by her sister’s. “Let’s also see if we can get Dr.
Ortega to conduct the autopsy and hopefully identify the victim. He
did a good job last time.”
“You’ve got it. Also, you should know, I’m having Huck take the
lead on this for Fish and Wildlife. I have radiation treatments every
day and might not be up to par.”
Laurel paused. She’d learned weeks ago that Monty had prostate
cancer. “I hope you feel better. If I can do anything, let me know.”
“Just catch this psycho before he kills anybody else,” Monty said
grimly. “Unless you think this was a one-time thing and the guy was
just after this poor woman?”
Laurel tore her gaze free to look at the frozen black dahlias
beneath the ice. “No. This is just the beginning.”
 Chapter Three

Shaking off the odd interaction with Abigail, Laurel arrived at her
office and slid into a parking spot, impacting the curb with her front
tires. Sighing, she backed up so she wouldn’t block any part of the
sidewalk. A large sign, partially covered with snow, read STAGGERS
ICE CREAMERY across the front of the entire building. The ice cream
shop took up the center of the first floor with the FBI office above it.
Fish and Wildlife encompassed the two floors to the right, and a
beauty school took residence to the left.
She jumped out of the Nissan and made her way to open a thick
wooden door, which led to a small vestibule. To her right, a sign
above the door to the Fish and Wildlife office said PARK AND WILDLIFE.
It was handmade and rough, and she’d never asked about the
mistake. Obviously sentimentality trumped fact.
Shrugging off snow, she stomped her boots across the rubber mat
to clear the ice before pulling open a door that revealed stairs to the
second floor. She climbed the steps, no longer noticing the wallpaper
featuring half-naked dancers on the walls. At the top, she pushed
her damp hair away from her face as she was greeted by her
assistant from behind a glass pastry display case, angled against the
far right corner of the landing area.
“Howdy,” Kate Vuittron said, shuffling piles of papers into place on
the glass.
“Hi. I thought you were acquiring a new desk.” Laurel noted that
Kate had placed file folders inside the case. They’d most likely smell
like cinnamon cones for the next month.
Kate shrugged. “Since we might be temporary, no desk for me.”
She smiled, her unlined skin and shoulder-length, sandy-blond hair
making her look much younger than her early forties. “The only
furniture we’ve been able to secure so far is that awesome FBI-
confiscated conference table and chairs from a government auction
in Seattle. That stuff looks like it belongs in a high-end magazine
conference room. Like People or Cosmopolitan. Right?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Laurel moved beyond Kate to the open
doorway in the middle of the wall.
Kate cleared her throat. “Is there a chance this office will become
permanent? I thought after the Snowblood killer case that you were
going to head up a new unit based out of Genesis Valley.”
Laurel breathed out. Kate had a right to know the plans, such as
they were. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was successful in helping to
wrap up the DC firewood murders after the holidays, and now
George is having second thoughts about stationing me in the Pacific
Northwest.”
“George?”
“Yes. Sorry. Deputy Director George McCromby. He’s a mentor to
me.” The firewood killer had been bludgeoning elderly men with
pieces of split wood, and she’d successfully analyzed his behavior at
the crime scene to lead to a suspect and then arrest. She could most
likely sway her boss’s decision, but she was uncertain about
returning home permanently.
“Just let me know when you do, okay? If I need to look for a new
job, I’d like to get on it.” Kate reached for a pen.
That was more than fair. “For now, while I’m here, we have a new
case, and I’d like to schedule a meeting about it in an hour or so.
Where is Walter?”
“He went to grab us all a late lunch and should be back any
minute.” Kate typed efficiently on a laptop. “What kind of case?”
“Murder, probably ritualistic.” Laurel paused. “Would you please
invite Captain Rivers? We’re going to coordinate with Fish and
Wildlife on this one.”
Kate reached for an older-looking office phone. “Of course.” She
kept her voice professional. “It’ll be nice to work with Captain Sexy
again. Why is a grumpy man with a chiseled jaw so appealing?”
That was one mystery Laurel didn’t have any interest in solving.
“Thanks, Kate.” She strode down the center hall, flanked by offices,
a conference room, and a computer room, to reach her office at the
rear. The entire floor was quiet. If the unit became permanent,
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