Matt bit back a retort. You are not fine!
He couldn’t hear Adam’s response.
“I’ll call you back a little later,” Bree said. “Just tell the kids I’m going to be home later than I thought. I’ll explain everything in the morning.” She lowered the phone to her lap.
“You could have told him the truth,” Matt suggested.
“I don’t want him to worry, and I didn’t lie.”
“You omitted.” In this case, Matt didn’t see much difference. But he didn’t point that out. Tonight, Bree had leaned on him. Maybe someday she’d learn she could lean on other people as well.
She was silent as he drove the rest of the way to the hospital. He left his vehicle at the curb and helped Bree inside. A nurse hurried over.
“The sheriff has been shot,” Matt said in a quiet voice.
The nurse hustled them through a set of double doors. She opened the last curtain in a row of triage bays. “This is the most private spot we have.”
“Thank you.” Bree sat on the gurney and leaned back, handing Matt her phone.
The nurse lifted the bandage, frowned at the wound, then lowered the bandage back into place. “I’ll grab a doctor, the paperwork, and something for the pain.”
She returned a minute later with a youngish doctor. The nurse took scissors and began to cut Bree’s shirt.
“I’ll be in the hallway.” Matt turned away.
“Wait.” Bree unclipped her duty belt and handed it to him. “Take my backup piece too.”
Matt tugged up her pant leg and removed her ankle holster. Then he went outside, locked the guns in the vault in his SUV, and parked the vehicle in the lot. As he walked across the asphalt toward the ER entrance, Bree’s phone rang. Dana’s name appeared on the screen.
Matt answered the call. “It’s Matt.”
“Is she really OK?”
“Yes. We’re at the ER. A doctor is checking her out now.”
Dana’s sigh of relief was audible. “I just saw her answering questions on the news. The reporter came back on saying he couldn’t believe the sheriff had talked to him so calmly when apparently she’d been shot.”
“To be cliché, it’s just a flesh wound.”
“You can’t bullshit me. I’ve actually seen bullet wounds.”
“Sorry. I know that.” Matt winced. He should have been honest. Instead, he’d minimized the situation the same way Bree had. “It’s a straight furrow through her left triceps. Messy, but not terribly deep. She walked into the ER on her own two feet, and I expect she’ll walk out again later tonight.”
“That’s better.”
“I thought you were on a date.” Matt stopped on the concrete outside the sliding doors.
“Not a date. A disaster. Guy did nothing but talk about himself for an hour straight. I’m on my way home now. Does Adam know?”
“Yep. Bree called him.”
“OK.” Dana sounded partially mollified. “She should have called me too.”
“I know. I’ll tell her.”
“Please do. Call me if anything changes or if she needs anything.”
“Will do.” Matt ended the call and went inside. He walked into the ER hallway just as the doctor emerged from behind Bree’s curtain.
“You can go back in,” the doctor said.
Matt pulled the curtain aside. Bree was curled on her right side, her back to him. She wore a tank top. Her bloody uniform shirt sat in a plastic bag at the foot of the bed. The nurse had started an IV and, from the blurry look in Bree’s eyes, given her pain meds.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” She sounded sleepy.
“We’re giving her something for the pain and nausea,” the nurse said. “The doctor is coming back with a local anesthetic. Then he’ll clean and stitch the wound.” She pushed a plastic chair next to the bed, then walked out.
Bree’s breathing had evened out, and the muscles of her face had softened. But it was the tattoo on the back of her shoulder that held Matt’s attention. He’d seen the one on her ankle and thought it nicely done, but this . . .
This was something else.
It was a stunning piece. Delicate dark green vines draped over her shoulder. A dragonfly in flight, larger than Matt’s splayed hand, perched on her shoulder blade, its wings fully spread. Its body of brilliant blue and pale green was almost iridescent in the overhead light. He had to look closely to see the huge scar he knew the tattoo covered. The artist had cleverly incorporated the raised scar tissue into the tattoo as texture. But if Matt looked closely, he could see the ugliness under the beauty. The scar had stretched as she’d grown, but he could still see its outline. It didn’t take much to imagine a large dog with its jaws clamped around a child’s shoulder. The dog would have shaken its head, trying to break the child’s neck—Bree’s neck—like Greta shook a stuffed toy. He could almost hear the terrified screams. She’d been five years old.
How had she survived?
The doctor returned, and the nurse directed Matt to the hallway again. As he left, he glanced back at Bree, curled up like a child. The dragonfly seemed to stare back at him. From a distance, the creature’s posture challenged him to dare its ability to overcome—to transform an ugly experience into a work of art.
Bree had told him the story, but seeing the scar brought a fresh wave of anger and empathy rolling through him. A burst of respect followed. It was no wonder she was terrified of dogs. Who wouldn’t be after a vicious, nearly fatal attack? Her true courage shone in her determination to overcome her fear. In short, she had survived because she didn’t know how to quit. She kept going, no matter the stakes, in every situation. He’d seen her plow headfirst into situations that would freeze most in their tracks. She was smart and skilled—but she’d also been lucky.
At some point, her sheer bullheadedness might get her killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After the doctor had finished cleaning, stitching, and bandaging her wound, Bree’s arm was blissfully numb. As much as she resisted the use of drugs, she was also appreciating their existence. She heard the squeak of the nurse’s shoes as she moved around the cubicle.
“You rest,” the nurse said. “I’ll be right back.” She left the room.
Bree closed her eyes. Her body felt heavy. She heard footsteps in the doorway but assumed it was either the nurse or Matt. She didn’t open her eyes.
“Bree.”
Her brother’s voice startled her. She opened her eyes and rolled to her back. Dizziness from the sudden movement and the drugs rolled through her.
Her brother stood in the doorway, his hazel eyes grim and devastated.
“Adam.” She didn’t know what else to say.
He rushed forward, then stopped abruptly at the side of her bed. “I want to hug you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m OK, Adam. Just a little woozy from the meds. It was just a few stitches.” Bree shifted over a few inches and patted the gurney next to her. She lifted her good arm. “Hug away.”
He perched on the edge of the gurney and wrapped his arms around her. As she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, she was transported back to a cold January night when she’d huddled under the porch with baby Adam in her arms and their four-year-old sister, Erin, at her side. Bree could feel the cold dirt under her bare feet. Feel the baby shaking in the freezing night. She remembered holding her breath and hoping the hiding spot she’d picked was the right one. At the age of eight, she’d known that if she’d chosen wrong or if she couldn’t keep the baby quiet, their father would find them—and he’d kill them all.
Hot tears rushed from her eyes. She tried to stop but ended up hiccuping, her body jerking in embarrassing shudders.
Adam rubbed her uninjured arm. “It’s OK.”
Tonight, her world felt backward. Adam was the strong one.
She didn’t know how much time went by until the torrent passed and she caught her breath. She lifted her head and swiped
under her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Adam released her and brushed a hair off her face.
“I don’t even know.” Bree sighed. She needed to stop apologizing for being human, but it was a hard habit to break. “Why are you here? I told you on the phone I was OK.”
Anger flashed in Adam’s eyes. It was not an emotion he often exhibited. “I watched your interview at the crime scene. Then a few minutes later, the reporter said you’d been shot.”
“Ugh.” Bree barely remembered the exchange with Nick West. At the time, she’d been concentrating on not throwing up. “Did I sound like an idiot?”
“You looked and sounded like a badass, as usual.” He frowned. “I understand the persona you need to portray to the public, but you should have told me the truth. All of it. You have to stop trying to protect me from everything. I’ve been a functioning adult for a long time.”
“I know, but it’s hard for me. You’ll always be my little brother.”
“I’m six inches taller than you.”
“And you’ve turned into a good man.” She touched his hand. “I’m proud of you.”
“I know before Erin died, I let my art consume me. I didn’t connect with her or the kids—or you—as much as I should have. I will always have those regrets.”
“I’m just as guilty—”
“Let me finish.” A sigh rolled through him. “But since Erin died, and you asked me to help with the kids, I’ve tried really hard to do better. At first it was a struggle, but now that I realize what was missing from my life, it’s not hard at all. So, stop apologizing every time you need me to help with something. Stop feeling like you have to do it all yourself. You want us to have a real relationship, but it can’t be one-sided, with you doing all the supporting. You can lean on me now. That’s how this family thing is supposed to work, I think.”
“You’re right.” Emotions welled up in Bree’s throat. From sorrow to gratitude, they hit her faster than she could fully process them. Treating Adam like a child was arrogant on her part, as if she were the only person who could be strong or make a good decision. If she wanted respect and love and trust from him, then she had to give the same back. “I’ll do better, and if I slip, promise to call me out on it. Don’t let me be a bossy bitch.”
“You’re never a bitch, but I promise to call you out on the bossy.” Adam nodded. “You must be exhausted. When can you get out of here?”
The nurse walked back in. “I have your discharge papers. The local should last a few hours. Expect the wound to hurt more tomorrow.” She set a plastic bag of paperwork in front of Bree. “Prescriptions for antibiotics and pain meds are in the bag, along with wound care instructions. You need to keep it still for a few days. Is there any chance you’re going to sit on the couch and watch TV for the next week?”
“No,” Matt said from the doorway. “She won’t.”
“Didn’t think so.” The nurse pulled a sling out of its plastic wrapper. “Please wear this. You do not want to rip out those stitches.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bree was ready to go. She slid to her feet slowly, testing her balance. Adam took off his zippered hoodie and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“She needs two prescriptions filled.” Adam slid them out of the plastic bag.
“I’ll take care of those.” Matt took the papers. “There’s a twenty-four-hour pharmacy in Scarlet Falls.”
“I can wait until morning,” Bree said.
Matt shook his head. “But there’s no reason for you to do that. I’ll drop off the meds later. Take care of her, Adam.”
“I will.” Adam took her elbow and held it all the way to his truck. He put her in the passenger seat. Bree fell asleep on the way home and jolted when Adam touched her arm. “We’re home,” he said.
Adam helped her into the house and up the stairs. Dana took over getting Bree out of her uniform and into pajama bottoms and a clean tank top. Then Bree stretched out, and Dana elevated her bandaged arm on a pillow.
“Do you want me to lock the animals out of the bedroom?” Dana asked.
“No. Who knows what that cat will do if he doesn’t get his way?”
Dana laughed. “OK. You asked for it.” She opened the bedroom door. Ladybug jumped onto the bed and curled up next to Bree’s legs. Vader took his usual place on the second pillow.
Despite her exhaustion, Bree fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamed of something unseen chasing her. No matter how fast she ran, it stayed right on her heels. She woke breathless in her dim room. Pain throbbed through her arm. Her mouth was dry, and her head felt as heavy as a bowling ball.
Dana had fallen asleep in a chair next to the bed. She sat upright and blinked bleary eyes. “I’ll get you some water and a pain pill.” She left the room without waiting for Bree’s response.
“Aunt Bree?” Kayla stood in the doorway. “I heard you cry. Did you have a bad dream?”
“I did.” Bree struggled to sit up. She touched her face. Her cheeks were wet.
Kayla walked closer. “You’re hurt.”
Bree’s heart thumped. “Just a little, like when you fell roller-skating a few weeks ago.”
“I can make you feel better.” Kayla turned and ran out of the room. She came back a minute later with the Harry Potter book they’d been reading. The mattress tipped and rolled as she scrambled into the bed, each movement sending fresh bursts of pain through Bree’s arm.
Dana came back in. “Oh, baby. You probably don’t want to disturb—”
“She’s fine,” Bree said. She took the pill and washed it down with water. Then she settled back onto her pillows.
Kayla knelt to turn on the bedside light. The cat reluctantly shared his pillow as the little girl leaned back and began to read. Bree closed her eyes. She heard Dana easing back into her chair. Bree focused on the child’s voice, as if it could keep her demons at bay until daylight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Morning was still dark as Cady led her dogs down the street. She untangled the four leashes in her hand. Her Great Dane mix, Harley, walked obediently at her side. Ahead, a neighbor walked her Australian shepherd. As the pair approached on the opposite side of the street, Cady’s two pitties wagged their tails, eager to play. Taz, the Chihuahua, lunged and barked at the end of his leash. Sighing, Cady scooped him into her arms. He continued to growl.
“Sorry.” She waved to her neighbor.
The neighbor laughed and waved back. “He’s a fierce little bugger.”
“You have no idea.”
Taz trembled, not with fear but with the desire to chase away the Aussie. At six pounds after a full meal, Taz was the self-appointed pack leader and the only dog Cady had ever owned who refused to be trained. Luckily, he was small and fragile, with teeth the size of Tic Tacs and legs as skinny as pencils. But he was convinced he was a mastiff.
Ten minutes later, she returned her dogs to the house and gated them in the kitchen and family room. Taz’s house training was not reliable, and the pit bulls were both young. They chewed on everything. Fed and walked, the dogs stretched out for a nap, and Cady headed to her brother’s house to feed the rescues. Alone in the car, she fought the well of sadness in her chest.
Damn Greg.
Seeing him had brought back too many memories. Since then, she’d slept poorly and lost her appetite. She rubbed a tired eye.
Keep busy.
She left her neighborhood. A few miles later, she turned onto the rural highway that led toward her brother’s place. She glanced in her rearview mirror. A set of headlights turned onto the road behind her. She rarely saw much traffic this early in the morning. She stopped at an intersection. The car behind her fell back. She looked both ways and turned right. A minute later, headlights shone in her rearview mirror again. She made another turn. The car didn’t get any closer, but those headlights stayed in her wake.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted.
Was someone following her?
She pictu
red Greg’s angry face at the pet supply store. Had he decided to torment her again? It was exactly what he’d done the last time he wanted to punish her. Part of her wanted to stop the car and confront him.
Don’t be stupid.
She was well trained in martial arts, but what if Greg had a weapon? As she taught in her classes, physical self-defense was a last resort and not a substitute for common sense.
She pressed her gas pedal to the floor. Her van leaped forward, and the car fell back again. Ten minutes later, she turned into Matt’s driveway and parked next to her brother’s truck. She twisted in her seat and watched the road through the rear window. The vehicle drove past without slowing. She couldn’t read the license plate, and it was too dark to see the make and model, but it appeared to be a dark-colored SUV, like the one Greg had been driving.
The entrance to the interstate was farther up the highway. Had it been a coincidence that the car had been behind her the whole way here?
Or had it been Greg?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Matt’s phone rang as he was feeding his dogs their breakfast. It was barely seven o’clock. He read Bree’s name on the screen and sighed as he answered the call. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep?”
“Probably.” She sounded tired. “What time are we interviewing Mrs. Beckett?”
“Eleven o’clock.” He gave up. Bree was going to do whatever she wanted. There was no stopping her.
“OK. I already spoke with Todd. The warrants are in. I want you to go to the Beckett residence with him and the forensic techs this morning.”
Wait. Was she delegating? Normally she liked to run point on key elements of an investigation.
“I’d planned on it,” he said.
“Todd’s investigative skills have come a long way in the last few months, but I’d still like you on board.”
But Matt had assumed Bree would want to come along, even if she had to drag her sorry, injured self. “How did he get the warrants so fast?”
“He submitted everything electronically last night, and the judge came in early this morning. I’ll meet you at the station before eleven.”
Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert) Page 16
