Already Gone (Laura Frost FBI)

She was filling up Nate’s mug, her own already waiting for her on top of the machine, when one of the sheriff’s deputies came and stood by her, waiting with an empty cup in his own hand.

“How’s it going?” he asked, obviously trying too hard to be casual. He was young. Laura guessed he’d never dealt with an FBI agent before.

“Would be going a lot better if this stuff was stronger,” she said, giving him a bland smile over her shoulder.

He chuckled. “You can say that again. Oh, if you push this button over here, it’ll give you an extra shot.”

He reached out and pushed it for her. He didn’t even touch her. He didn’t need to. Because now they were intertwined, the lines of their fates running together for just one moment. And when Laura took the cup from under the machine with a grateful nod, she felt the stab of pain in the center of her forehead.

It took her by surprise—a vision coming out of nowhere. What was happening now? Was this officer in danger?

There was nothing for it. She grabbed hold of the other cup and turned away from the deputy, so that at least he wouldn’t be able to see her face when the stab of p—

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Laura was in a bullpen, looking over the desks of the assembled men and women of the sheriff’s department. Some of them were talking, others sitting behind computers and staring at the screens. A couple were on the phone. One was just slowly eating an oatmeal and raisin cookie.

Laura looked around, saw the deputy she had been speaking to coming back into the room. He had a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked a little cocky, a swagger in his step. Like he’d just met his first FBI agent and was feeling like a real cop.

“Hey, man.” He nodded to one of the others in the room as he passed by, walking like he thought he was cool. He was very young, Laura thought. He put his coffee to his mouth and sipped at it as he walked.

By one of the desks, a round-shaped woman was half-sitting on a low filing cabinet, her back right up against a potted plant that was rocking precariously. She must have felt it beginning to give, because she lunged for it suddenly, shooting to her feet and grabbing hold of the pot.

She jumped right into the deputy and knocked his arm. The coffee flew into the air, drenching down the front of his uniform. It splattered onto case files on the nearby desk, and Laura heard someone yelling, “Hey—”

Laura blinked, unable to prevent a gentle sway as the pain of the vision receded slightly. At least she had already taken the painkiller. Maybe it would take care of this headache as well as the earlier one, whenever it finally kicked in.

Relief flooded over her, some of the tension easing out of her shoulder. Not a death. Just a spilled coffee.

She hesitated, hearing the sound of the coffee machine whirring to life behind her. The deputy was right there. She could delay things. Speak to him. Say something. Then he wouldn’t be walking past the lady right as she stood up. He wouldn’t spill the coffee.

Laura sighed and started walking back to the office. It wasn’t her job to save the whole world. All her life she’d warned people when she knew she shouldn’t. Tried to give them advice, which often got thrown back in her face. Given them hints of what to avoid, which only got her accused of setting them up or knowing that they were being set up. A few times, it had been her warning that had directly led to the person being in the wrong place at the wrong time, because they were trying to see if she was right.

And then there were the ones where something even worse had happened. You stopped a waitress in a diner from getting coffee on her apron, and maybe it was a six-year-old child walking by when the hot water fell instead.

Laura didn’t like taking those kinds of risks. Not when there wasn’t already a life at stake. You tried to fix everything little thing around you, and you’d end up with an even bigger headache—and who knew if any of it would actually help?

Behind her, she heard the deputy shout, followed by a general uproar as the coffee splattered over everything in sight. She didn’t turn around.

“I’ve got it,” Nate said, as she reentered the room, already on his feet. He was reaching for his jacket. “Both phones were purchased at the same store, right here in Albany.”

Laura took one hurried mo

uthful of her useless coffee and set it on the desk, grabbing her own jacket and shrugging it on. At last—a lead. Maybe this would give them the name of the killer.

Maybe this would allow them to stop him before he killed again.

“I’ve got this,” Laura said. “Why don’t you stay behind?” Surely it was safer for Nate here, inside the precinct, than out there in the world.

“No way,” Nate said, putting his jacket on and reaching for his phone. “I’ve been all cooped up in here. I need to get some action. Let’s make some progress.”

So much for that. There wasn’t anything else she could say that wouldn’t come across as suspicious; she was already pushing it.

“All right. Let’s go,” Laura said, striding out of the room before Nate had the chance to.

***

“This is it,” Laura said, leaning forward in her seat as she pulled the car into the parking lot. “Can you see anyone?”