Why did he feel as if he’d just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar? “Hi.”

Rachel was already extending a hand. “Special Agent Snow, I recognize you from that interview you gave during the Snowblood case. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Rachel Raprenzi from The Killing Hour. It’s a new podcast that streams through Everett channels.”

Laurel shook hands and then stepped back. For her night out, she’d changed into black slacks and a green sweater that made the green in her one eye nearly glow.

Her mother hovered at her side, even though she was several inches taller than her petite daughter. “Hi, Officer.”

“Hi, Ms. Snow,” Huck said. Would the woman ever like him? Was it just him or all men? After what she’d been through, he couldn’t blame her if it was the entire male species.

Rachel set her napkin on the table. “Besides catching up—you know we used to be engaged—we were just discussing the Witch Creek Killer. I mean, the flowers left around the body. The roses?”

Huck’s breath sucked in.

Laurel was too smart to take the bait. “I don’t discuss ongoing cases, Ms. Raprenzi.” She dismissed them both and grasped her mother’s arm. “Enjoy your dinner.” They moved quickly away.

Rachel’s smile was sharp. “You are so sleeping with her.”

“We just work together, Rachel. Don’t create something out of nothing.” But even as he said the words, he wanted to go apologize to Laurel. He should’ve stayed home tonight with his dog.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

At exactly noon on Sunday, Laurel waited inside the silent barn, the chill creeping up from the packed-dirt floor, through her boots, and into her bones. The wind whistled outside at a higher note than usual, and the temperature had dropped again. A vehicle rumbled loudly and came to a stop, and she hustled to open the door. Outside, a Chevy truck built in the nineties, faded red and white, was parked near her SUV.

A man jumped out and leaned back in, pulling out a dirty-blond-haired woman in a blue parka whom he hoisted up on his back. He was grinning as he did so and then caught Laurel’s eye and strode through the snowy trail to reach her. Tommy Bearing and Davie Tate leaped out of the back seat, both carrying backpacks and wearing gloves and hats.

“Hi. I’m Jason Abbott, and my backpack is called Haylee Johnson.” He reached out a gloved hand and shook. He stood about six feet tall and had thick brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a close-cut beard. “She’s from Arizona and hasn’t figured out how to dress for the weather here yet.”