See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  Bree rested her elbows on the desk and rubbed her temples. “I need to clone myself.” She looked up, and her expression softened. “I really wanted to go to dinner with you.”

  His gaze locked on hers. The green in her eyes intensified, and a flash of heat passed between them.

  Suddenly warm, Matt unzipped his jacket. “We can reschedule when this is all over.”

  “I’d like that.” She almost smiled, then looked down at her cluttered desk. Her expression sobered. “What I really need is ten more deputies and an experienced investigator or two.”

  “But?”

  “Guess what happened to the sheriff’s department budget after Sheriff King didn’t replace lost staff and multiple budget cycles passed? The allowance for their salaries disappeared. Poof. Now, the county board of supervisors is convinced the sheriff’s department doesn’t need those deputies or an investigator. At this time, I’m down a dozen deputies, but I only have the funds to replace the five who quit during the last fiscal year. Those salaries are in the existing budget. If I want to expand to hire additional personnel, I have to make the request for the next budget cycle, but the county budget supervisor says don’t bother. All increases will be denied. The county is operating in a deficit. I have to hire five deputies before the budget cycle ends or I’ll likely lose those funds too.”

  “That sucks,” he said.

  “It surely does.”

  “The former sheriff saved time by only investigating the crimes he thought were important, and he didn’t mind arresting people and pressuring them to confess instead of conducting a full investigation.”

  “Whether they were guilty or not?”

  “I don’t believe he looked at it that way. He saw himself as infallible.” Matt had seen the old sheriff abusing his power—and Matt had been demoted from investigator to K-9 patrol, then shot in the line of duty when the sheriff sent him in the wrong door. Coincidence? Matt thought about Deputy Jim Rogers leaving the squad room the second Matt entered. He’d always wondered if Jim had been in on the old sheriff’s plan. He acted weird every time Matt saw him. “Sheriff King bullied his way through budget meetings. If he didn’t get his way, he’d stop patrols through county officials’ neighborhoods, and response times in those areas would slow. If the board of supervisors wanted to be served by the sheriff’s office, they did what King said.”

  Bree shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve no desire to play dirty. No matter how good your intentions or how careful you try to be, the dirt eventually rubs off on you.” Bree dropped her hand to the only clear space on her leather desk pad. “I won’t work that way.”

  Matt had seen her interview witnesses and suspects. She was very good at getting people to talk to her—at getting what she wanted from them. She’d never allow her ego to take over. She’d find a way to work within the system.

  “I am unable to hire a full-time investigator.” Her eyes brightened. “But I found a workaround—actually, Marge found the loophole, because she knows everything.”

  Matt raised a brow.

  “Sheriff King liked to hire consultants.”

  “He liked to channel money to his buddies,” Matt corrected.

  “The point is, there’s money in the budget for that, and I want to hire you.”

  Shocked, Matt froze. Had he misheard her? “You want to hire me?”

  “Yes. If I don’t use the fund allocated for consultants, I’ll lose that too.” She raised one hand in a stop gesture. “This wouldn’t be a full-time gig. I’d bring you in when we had a big case. You’d still have time to work with your K-9s.” She frowned at him. “You don’t seem excited.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know how I feel. I assumed that part of my life was over.” Matt’s feelings were definitely mixed on several levels.

  For the first two years after he’d been shot, he’d done everything possible to regain the dexterity in his right hand. But the nerve damage was permanent. It had taken a long time for him to come to terms with never working in law enforcement again. If this arrangement with Bree didn’t work out, would he have to go through that all over again? But he’d loved being an investigator, and her offer sounded like a legitimate way for him to get back into the game.

  Matt lifted his bum hand, flexed his fingers, and felt the familiar pull of scar tissue. He could shoot at very close range with his off hand, but his marksmanship with a handgun would never be what it once was. Therefore, he could never be a real law enforcement officer again. His aim was too unreliable.

  Her gaze flickered to his raised hand. “I’ve seen you shoot left-handed. You’re damned good with a long gun, and your pistol accuracy is better than you believe. I think you could qualify to carry.” By federal law, former law enforcement officers who met certain criteria could carry a handgun if they passed a qualification test.

  “Qualifying isn’t the issue. Shooting at the range is different from using your weapon in a high-stress, dynamic situation.” Frustrated, he held up his left hand. “The gun has to feel natural in my hand. It doesn’t.”

  “I get it. You’d be a civilian. You wouldn’t be required to carry.” She sat back. His lack of a quick yes seemed to take her by surprise. “I appreciate you informally helping me this morning, but it would be better if you had credentials.”

  “That would help,” he admitted.

  Her chair swiveled a quarter turn. She studied him for a few seconds. The intensity of her gaze was like radiating heat on his face. “Is everything all right with you? Are you suffering any aftereffects from the shooting in January?”

  Two months before, he’d helped her stop an active shooter. It had been the first time he’d been under fire since his own shooting. He’d had some nightmares, but he’d seen his old counselor a few times. He was working through his issues.

  “No. That’s not it,” Matt said.

  “Justin?” she guessed.

  “No. He’s still in rehab.” Matt’s best friend, the one who had been married to Bree’s sister, was fighting depression and drug addiction.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Bree’s eyes misted. “Erin’s murder left marks on everyone who loved her.”

  Understatement of the decade. The emotional damage from a murder radiated from the victim into ever-enlarging circles of relatives and friends, like concentric rings of water expanding from a single raindrop. Justin had been depressed and battling substance abuse before his estranged wife had been murdered. Her death had devastated him. Afterward, his downward spiral had accelerated into a nosedive.

  “It did.” Matt sighed.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said. “But you have enough on your plate, and there’s nothing to be done while he’s still an inpatient.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think any of your deputies would have an issue working with me?”

  “You mean Jim Rogers?” Bree asked. No bullshitting with her. She got right to the point.

  Matt nodded.

  “I don’t know.” She went quiet for a few seconds. “I’ve only been in the job a few weeks. I haven’t gotten to know any of the men very well yet, except Todd.”

  Matt read between the lines. She didn’t trust her men.

  “Problems?”

  “Most of the deputies are ready for the department to be rebuilt.”

  “But some are resistant to change?” he asked. The old-school guard would hold on to the past with their fingernails.

  “If they are, they’ll have to adjust. But it’s unfair for me to ask you to work here.”

  Matt had helped Bree when she was investigating on her own. Her new investigations came with all the baggage of the Randolph County Sheriff’s Department. Matt didn’t owe any favors to the sheriff’s department, and he’d already promised Eli’s grandmother he’d find her grandson.

  Deputy Jim Rogers had fired the shots that ended Matt’s career and could have cost him his life. Even worse, Rogers had shot Brody. Matt didn’t wan
t to think that Rogers had been in on the plan with the old sheriff. But nothing about Rogers’s current behavior was giving Matt any warm or fuzzy feelings. How could he work with a man he couldn’t trust?

  Then again, how could he not?

  Saying no would leave Bree to work with the very untrustworthy person who almost killed Matt, without Matt to watch her back.

  If any other sheriff had asked him to return to the department, his answer would have been a resounding no. But this wasn’t any sheriff. This was Bree.

  The hell with it, and the hell with Rogers too. If he had an issue with Matt, he should step up and say so like a man. Damned if Matt would let Bree down because of him.

  Matt also shouldn’t let one incident affect the rest of his life. He stood. “Look, I promised Mrs. Whitney I’d look for Eli, so I’ll have to juggle cases. I gave her my word. I can’t back out of that. But other than that concession, I’m in. Sign me up.”

  “Great. Marge has the paperwork.” Bree smiled. It was an expression he didn’t see very often on her face, and it made him stupidly happy that he was the one who’d put it there.

  Maybe he could find out if the shooting had been accidental or intentional. Maybe this would be the way to finally make peace with his past.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bree gripped the steering wheel hard. She was relieved to have Matt on the case, but she wished she could have him full-time today. She respected his insistence on keeping his word to an elderly woman. She couldn’t fault him for having integrity. It was one of the reasons she wanted him on her side.

  How would Rogers respond? Having Matt on the team would most certainly shake things up. She considered Rogers’s odd and insubordinate behavior. Maybe a shake-up was exactly what was needed.

  She turned into the parking lot of Walmart. She didn’t think she’d ever been this tired in her entire life, not even when she’d been working a case for forty-eight hours straight. This was an exhaustion that ran deep into her soul, one that was born of two months of stress and lack of sleep, of grief and hopelessness and floundering through raising two orphans while never knowing if she was doing the right thing.

  It was after six. She should have been home by now, eating dinner with the kids. But here she was at Walmart.

  “Why are we stopping?” Alyssa asked from the back seat of the SUV.

  “The lab hasn’t finished processing your backpack. You need clothes.”

  “You’re going to buy me clothes?” Surprise lifted Alyssa’s voice.

  “It seems like the least I can do. You could have run from the scene this morning, but you didn’t. You stuck by your friend. As long as you cooperate with my investigation, I’ll do the same for you.”

  Alyssa’s forehead wrinkled, and she said, “OK,” in a hesitant voice, as if it had been a while since someone had been honest with her. If her story was legitimate, even her “friend” Harper had stolen her money and keys before getting shot. Her father might have been the last person to treat her well, and he’d been dead for a year.

  Bree climbed out of the SUV and let Alyssa out of the back. Inside the store, she let her pick out two pairs of jeans, sweatpants, two sweatshirts, underwear, socks, and a pair of pajamas.

  “The motel will have basic toiletries. Do you need anything else?”

  “A hairbrush,” Alyssa said.

  Bree led her toward the front of the store. “Grab a toothbrush and toothpaste. If you need feminine products, get those too.” She pushed the cart while the girl tossed essentials into the basket.

  “I need deodorant and a razor.” Looking almost excited, Alyssa abandoned the cart and darted down the aisle. She rounded the corner and disappeared. Bree grabbed the cart and followed her. Before she could catch up, a scream ripped through the store, followed by the sound of objects clattering to the floor.

  “Sheriff!” Alyssa shouted.

  “Alyssa!” Ditching the cart, Bree raced around the corner. She collided with Alyssa. Bree fell backward and crashed into a display. Pain zinged through her shoulder, and deodorants slid across the floor like marbles. She rolled to her hands and knees. Heart sprinting, she scrambled to her feet.

  A few feet away, Alyssa was sprawled on top of a broken cardboard display of razors. Shaving products were piled around her. The girl’s face was white in the fluorescent lighting.

  “What happened?” Bree looked up and down the aisle. She saw no one.

  “I saw him.” Alyssa panted.

  “Who?” Bree helped the girl to her feet.

  “Him.” Alyssa’s eyes went wide. “The man who shot Harper.”

  Bree ran to the end of the aisle and looked down the main corridor that led to the cash registers. The only people she saw were an elderly couple and a young mom pushing a stroller. No man.

  Bree hustled the girl out of the aisle and headed for the front of the store. While they hurried, she used her cell phone to summon a deputy. She wanted to check the exits and parking lot, but she couldn’t chase the man and protect Alyssa.

  She found the manager, and they went to the security office. Inside, she stood in front of the bank of monitors, showed her badge, and explained the situation.

  “Show me the exits and parking lot.” Bree watched the screens. “Alyssa, do you see him?”

  Alyssa scanned the monitors. “No.”

  “Go back five minutes,” Bree said.

  The security officer tapped on the keyboard and played the video.

  “There he is.” Alyssa pointed to the last monitor. “The man in the baseball cap.”

  A man in jeans and a black coat crossed the parking lot. He wore a baseball cap with the brim pulled low. The collar of his jacket was turned up, his shoulders hunched, and his head was bowed.

  “Damn. Can’t see his face at all.” Bree leaned closer. “We’ll get his license plate when he gets into his car.”

  But he walked out of the parking lot, turned the corner, and disappeared down the side street.

  Bree turned to the security officer. “Can you track his movements through the store? He has to show his face at some point.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The officer turned to his computer. A minute later, he pointed to a monitor. “He entered the store here, lapped the main aisles once, then stopped in the health-and-beauty area.”

  Bree watched the man walk into the aisle with Alyssa. She screamed, and he turned around and hurried away. He kept his face tilted downward, and the baseball cap brim shielded his face from camera view.

  “Stop there.” Bree squinted at the screen. The man rushed away from the personal products section of the store. “I can see the lower part of his face there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The security officer clicked away on his keyboard.

  “Can you rewind this?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  The video replayed on the screen.

  “Where are we at this moment?” Bree gestured to the monitor as the man approached the deodorant aisle.

  “Here.” The security officer pulled up another feed on a different monitor. “In the next aisle.”

  Bree straightened. The man’s head turned as he passed each aisle. Had he been looking for a product?

  Or Alyssa?

  On the screen, Alyssa spotted the man and startled. She jumped backward, spun around, and ran straight into Bree. They both went sprawling into displays, while the man hurried away.

  Why did he run? Because Alyssa had yelled, Sheriff ?

  Bree was wearing her uniform shirt—and her gun. Had he been following them? Why?

  Throughout their encounter, he kept the rim of his ballcap over his face. The head position seemed unnatural. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

  Alyssa could have been mistaken. She could be hypersensitive after witnessing violence. This man could be just an ordinary citizen, spooked by a screaming girl.

  But how many Walmart shoppers don’t park in the lot?

  “Wait.” Bree pointed to the
second monitor. There was a mark on the back of his hand. “Is that a tattoo?” She squinted at the image. “Can you enlarge that?”

  The security officer zoomed in on the back of the man’s hand. The mark’s edges were irregular. “I don’t think it’s a tattoo.”

  The dark patch was roughly shaped like the state of Texas.

  “It’s a scar or a birthmark.” Bree leaned in. “Could you copy all the videos with that man in them, the clip of this encounter”—Bree pointed to a screen—“and the parking-lot films for thirty minutes before and after?”

  One of Bree’s deputies arrived. She assigned him to wait for the videos while Bree and Alyssa retrieved the shopping cart. After paying at the register, Bree drove Alyssa to the Evergreen Motel. It was dark when she parked and called for another deputy.

  “Wait here.” Bree locked Alyssa in the back of the vehicle while she checked her into a second-floor room. Then Bree drove around to park in a spot facing the room. Deputy Rogers pulled up next to her SUV. She stepped out of her vehicle and approached his window.

  “Did you get some sleep?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rogers’s eyes were still shadowed, but he’d been off duty for twelve hours. He wasn’t her first choice, but she would rotate the deputies on security detail throughout the night to keep their attention sharp. Solo surveillance was boring. It was too easy to lose focus or fall asleep.

  “A suspicious man was following Alyssa in the Walmart. I need you to stay sharp.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His jaw tightened, and his face flushed.

  “I also need to know you’re going to treat her with respect.”

  He blinked, his gaze darting away. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was out of line.”

  Was he being sincere? He wouldn’t look at her.

  “OK, then.” Bree scanned the empty parking lot. “She’s in the first room on the second floor. There are enough vacancies that the manager agreed not to assign the room next to hers. I’ll have another deputy switch with you in a couple of hours.”