Page 71 of The Deadly Shallows

“Thanks,” Em said. “The parameters help.”

Em was their resident tracker. Well, she and Logan combined.

“I’ll give Leavenworth a call, speak with Scott Mirch. See what he has to say,” Noah said, jotting down some quick notes. “I’ll also reach out to the original CGIS agent on Scott Mirch’s case.”

“I can pull the papers and news footage from the time,” Emmy offered.

“That would be helpful,” Noah said.

“And I can dig a little deeper into the three instructors and the crime. See how it was pulled off. See if I concur with Jack’s assessment that it was more than a one-man job,” Logan said. “And I can pay a visit to Marigold Talbot, get her take on the investigation of her husband’s possible role.”

“It’s a great idea,” Noah said. “Just be sensitive to the situation. She just lost her husband.”

“You really think there could be some tie between Scott’s theft and the mass shooting?” Brooke asked Noah as they walked back to her room.

Case board had wrapped up nearly an hour ago, but everyone had stayed to eat, chat, and then clean up the room. Tomorrow he and Brooke would be discharged, and things could move on in a more normal fashion. Though after all that had happened, he doubted normalcy would return to their lives anytime soon.

“My gut says there’s something there,” he said as she hopped back on the bed and pulled off her slippers.

“You follow that a lot, don’t you?”

“My gut? I guess what I’m really talking about is a gift I believe God gave me, an instinct for solving crimes.”

“This one is certainly branching out in a lot of different paths,” she said as she settled back in her bed. Noah fluffed her pillows and straightened out her blanket before taking the recliner beside her.

“That’s for sure,” he said. “It’s anything but straightforward. We’ve got a theft from the lab apparently synchronized with the shootings, and three men implicated in a long-ago crime they either didn’t commit or didn’t serve time for, who very well may have been targeted in the shooting.”

Every event was a new thread in a spider’s vastly expanding web, and he couldn’t help but believe someone sat at the center of it.

“All right, Agent Rowley.” Brooke’s nurse, Amanda, entered the room. “Time for our end-of-shift rounds. I need to take a look at Miss Brooke, and Nurse Pamela is impatiently awaiting you next door.”

“Yikes. I best hurry,” he said, shuffling for the door. “See you in a bit.” He smiled at Brooke and gave her a quick wink.

“You’re trouble, you know that, right?” Amanda called as Noah rounded the corner and within a matter of steps entered his room to find Nurse Pamela as described—impatiently waiting.

“All right, mister. Sit up in the bed and slide up those flannel pants. I need to check your wound and freshen your bandages.”

He’d argue but knew full well Nurse Pamela would win out.

Brooke was still chuckling about Amanda’s comment a handful of minutes after Noah had hightailed it to his room. Case board had been hard but good. It was good being around everyone. Good being part of something.

The connection to Scott Mirch had been a surprise. She hadn’t thought about him in years. It was odd, she supposed, about the three instructors being killed as they were—in a room off the back hall. It was like the shooters were after them specifically, and the comments Mrs. Talbot heard only served to back up that theory.

“Did you know they moved that boy to the ward this evening?” Amanda asked, removing the stethoscope from Brooke’s back and easing her into a comfortable position.

“Connor Andrews?” Brooke looked over her shoulder at Amanda putting everything she’d used to check Brooke’s vitals back in the rolling cart.

Amanda nodded. “He started coming to in the ICU and his vitals stabilized, so they moved him down here. Nurse Pamela got him settled in before seeing to that man of yours.”

Brooke’s cheeks flushed. “No, Noah and I aren’t—”

Amanda cut her off with a knowing hand to the hip and arched brows. “Don’t bother arguing, honey. We all know better. Now you rest up.”

“So he’s awake?” she asked before Amanda could roll her cart fully out of the room.

“Noah?” Amanda frowned.

“No, Connor Andrews.”