See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “But it’s more complicated than that,” Matt said. “To echo your statement to me earlier, you care because that’s who you are.”

  “Maybe,” Bree said. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe this case. “The burglary case belongs to the Scarlet Falls PD. It’s out of my hands, which is probably for the best.” Bree was too emotionally involved. She’d seen Luke’s grief in Alyssa’s loss of her father. From the very beginning, Bree had drawn personal parallels. “I don’t feel as if I was completely objective.”

  “Stella seems to be a good cop. I don’t see her railroading Alyssa with charges she didn’t earn.”

  “No,” Bree said.

  “But you’d feel better if she had a good attorney looking out for her.”

  Bree snorted. “Not something that’s ever happened to me before.”

  “Sometimes you have to do what’s right, not what’s expected.”

  “Know any good defense attorneys?” Bree asked.

  “Ironically, the best in the area is Stella’s sister, Morgan Dane.”

  “That is ironic,” Bree said. “But Alyssa has no money. She can’t afford the best.”

  “Morgan Dane has a reputation for taking pro bono cases. I know her husband. I’ll see if I can get to Morgan in a roundabout way.”

  “That would be best. A sheriff’s department employee can’t interfere with a different department’s case.”

  “Of course not,” Matt said. “Now can I drive you to the ER to get your face stitched?”

  Bree touched her cheek. Her fingers came away red. Blood was dripping down her face. “I guess. I’d like to keep tabs on Christian and Rogers anyway. Todd can handle things here.”

  But she spent a half hour issuing instructions before she climbed into the passenger seat of her SUV. Normally, she liked to drive. Yes, she had control issues. But tonight, she was content to hand over the keys to Matt.

  An hour later, Bree sat on a gurney in the triage area of the ER, diagnosed with mild hypothermia. She felt like she’d never be warm again. The cold pack on her cheek wasn’t helping. She was chilled from the inside out. Adrenaline letdown had left her shaky, with a steady low-level anxiety that made her slightly ill. Under the heated blanket, her foot tapped on the gurney.

  The curtain was whisked aside. Bree startled as a nurse came into her cubicle to take her vital signs.

  “How do you feel?” the nurse asked.

  “I’m fine,” Bree said. “Where’s the doctor?”

  “He’ll be along soon, Sheriff.” The nurse sighed.

  Bree might have asked the same question a dozen times. She would have gone looking for him herself—if she had pants. But there was no way she was putting on her cold, wet uniform.

  “Do you have an update on Christian Crone?” Bree asked.

  “No, ma’am. HIPAA regulations.” The nurse left.

  “Of course.”

  “Knock knock,” Matt called from the other side of the curtain.

  “Come in,” Bree said.

  Matt came into the room. He set a duffel bag on the end of the gurney. He’d driven to the station to pick up a dry uniform for her. “How’s the face?”

  “Doesn’t hurt too much.” Bree looked for signs of trauma in his eyes. Two months ago, she’d killed a man. The fact that he’d deserved it hadn’t made it easier. Matt would suffer for what Joe had made him do as well.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I will be,” he said. “Eventually.”

  Ironically, that he didn’t deny the difficulty was reassuring.

  “Did you call Dana?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thankfully, the kids slept through all the breaking news reports, and I should be home in time for breakfast.” Bree grabbed the bag and pushed him on the other side of the curtain to change into the dry uniform. She tugged on wool socks. Her boots were under the plastic chair in the corner. She shoved her feet into them, then put the plastic bag of wet clothes in the duffel bag and tossed her body armor on top. After securing her duty belt and weapon around her waist, she opened the curtain.

  “You still need your face stitched.” Matt stepped closer. “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know.” But Bree felt like she had to keep moving, as if stopping would allow her nerves to catch up with her.

  Matt pulled the curtain closed again and wrapped his arms around her.

  “What are you doing?” Bree stiffened.

  “Just give me a damned minute. We’re alone.”

  Bree leaned into him. At first, the embrace felt like indulgence. But some of the tension eased from her muscles, and the physical contact shifted into something Bree couldn’t quite identify. Something she had never experienced. He smoothed out her pulse and soothed her nerves. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of smoke, lake water, and sweat that clung to him. They could have died tonight, but they hadn’t. Their physical contact was affirmation of their survival, though that wasn’t all this hug was about.

  But she was too tired to analyze it. For now, she was just going to experience it. Whatever it was, she felt ten times better when he released her a minute later.

  He stepped back. “Thank you.”

  “I feel like I should say that back.” The post-adrenaline anxiety spinning through Bree’s gut had calmed.

  Footsteps approached in the hallway. Matt opened the curtain, and Bree spotted the doctor heading in her direction.

  “I called a plastic surgeon in to stitch your face,” he said, inspecting the wound.

  “How long will that take?” Bree asked.

  He checked the time on a wall clock. “He’ll be here in an hour.”

  “OK.” Call her superficial, but Bree didn’t want a big scar on her face. Plus, she wasn’t leaving the hospital until Rogers was out of danger. “I’ll be back. I need to check on my deputy down the hall. He’s going into surgery.”

  The doctor checked her chart. “Your body temperature is still low.”

  “I’ll get some hot coffee,” she promised.

  The doctor nodded. “See that you do.”

  “Thank you.” Bree stopped at the other end of the same ER hallway, where Christian was being treated for near-drowning and hypothermia. Outside a curtained-off cubicle, a middle-aged couple huddled on plastic chairs in the hallway.

  “Sheriff!” The woman reached for Bree with both hands, enfolding her into an embrace. “I’m Christian’s mother.”

  Bree missed her first name.

  Christian’s father was next with a bear hug. “We don’t know how to thank you.”

  Bree returned his fierce hug, then held him at arm’s length. “You’re welcome. Just take care of him.”

  His mother wiped tears from her cheeks. “We will. Don’t worry.”

  “He’s going to be all right?” Bree asked.

  “They’re keeping him for a day or so in case he has complications, but he’s awake and alert,” she said. “We’re grateful.”

  “Good luck,” Bree said. “We will eventually need a statement from Christian, but we can wait until he’s feeling up to it.”

  His parents hugged her again before they let her walk away.

  Bree scanned the hall and saw Deputy Oscar standing next to a glass-walled room in the trauma area. Through the glass, she could see Rogers lying in the bed. IV lines ran into both arms, and a heart monitor beeped in a steady rhythm. Bree hurried toward the room.

  Matt put his back to the wall next to Oscar. “I’ll wait out here.”

  Bree stepped up next to the bed.

  Rogers’s eyes opened. They were bloodshot, and his skin was the color of a corpse.

  “How’s the leg?” she asked.

  “Clean wound.” Rogers frowned. “But I’ll probably be out of work for a few months.”

  “I’m not worried about your physical recovery.” Bree had heard a report from the doctor when she’d first arrived in the ER.

  Rogers’s face reddened. “I’m sorry fo
r what happened.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

  “I do.” His voice rose.

  “OK.”

  “I froze. I panicked. If Matt hadn’t been there, I could have gotten you killed.” Rogers turned his face away from her.

  Bree pulled a plastic chair to the side of the bed, so she was eye level with him. “Did you see the dog charge me at Joe Marcus’s house?”

  He frowned. “I was in my car. I saw the dog, but I didn’t see what happened with it.”

  “I froze because I’m afraid of dogs.”

  Rogers’s head turned back to her. She’d surprised him with the admission.

  She continued. “I was mauled as a child. I’m trying to overcome it, but I haven’t been successful. Matt had to step in and take control of the situation.”

  Rogers met her gaze.

  “Clearly, I have a major issue I need to work on,” Bree said. “How long have you been struggling?”

  He studied the folded sheet at his waist. “Since the shooting.”

  “Which shooting?” she asked.

  He hadn’t been part of the active shooter Bree and Matt had handled back in January.

  “When I shot Matt Flynn and Brody.” Rogers raised a hand and covered his eyes.

  “That was over three years ago.”

  Rogers lowered his hand and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, his expression looked bleak. “I was able to mostly suppress it until January, when I saw Matt again.”

  “And it’s been building since then?” Bree had seen his stress level rising just over the three weeks since she’d been appointed.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I know. I let it go. I thought . . .” He breathed. “I thought I should just get over it, that admitting I couldn’t handle it was weak. It sounds stupid now.”

  “Not at all. I let my trauma fester for thirty years, so I understand. Do you want help?” Bree didn’t assume, nor did she tell him he wouldn’t go back on duty until he’d been cleared by a psychiatrist.

  His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it.”

  “You’ll get help, and we’ll see how it goes.” She pointed to his leg, encased in bandages under the sheet. “You’re going to have some time.”

  “I guess I will.” He sighed, the sound long and full of pain. “I need to talk to Matt.”

  “You’ll be out of surgery in a couple of hours,” Bree said.

  “No.” Rogers grabbed her arm. “I need to talk to him now. I have something I need to say, in case . . .”

  “Rogers—Jim.” Bree squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be OK.”

  “Please.”

  “OK. I’ll get him. Can you keep the dog thing to yourself? I’d rather that not be general knowledge.”

  Rogers took a finger and drew a cross over his heart. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Thank you.” Bree ducked out of the room and called for Matt.

  He peered through the doorway.

  Bree said, “Rogers wants to talk to you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Apprehensive, Matt walked into Rogers’s room. Rogers looked rough, all tubes and wires and pasty skin.

  “You stay too, Sheriff. Please.” Rogers licked his chapped lips. His voice was hoarse. He was heading into surgery, so no water.

  Matt approached the side of the bed. “This can wait until tomorrow. You look like hell.”

  Rogers responded with a small shake of his head. “Just in case. I want you to know. It wasn’t intentional. Me shooting you and Brody. It was dark, and the sheriff told me you were in the other side of the building. I thought you were one of the drug dealers.”

  Matt opened his mouth to respond.

  “Let me get this out before I run out of air.” Rogers held up a weak hand. “I won’t presume to know the sheriff’s intentions. I can only speak to mine, and I am sorry. You’ll never know how much.”

  “Thanks for that.” Matt touched his shoulder. “I think I do.”

  Rogers closed his eyes. His body relaxed, as if he’d just rid himself of a great weight.

  “I’ll be back later to check on you,” Bree said.

  Matt and Bree returned to the hallway. His step felt lighter, as if he’d made the confession instead of Rogers.

  “You believe him?” Bree asked. “I know you had concerns that the sheriff targeted you.”

  “Yeah. I believe him.” Matt and Rogers had both suffered at the hands of the old sheriff. Maybe Matt could put his past behind him now. He hoped Rogers could do the same.

  “Me too.”

  They walked back to the ER triage area. The plastic surgeon used five tiny stitches to close the gap in Bree’s cheek and covered the cut with a small bandage. Then she and Matt found the surgical waiting room and drank coffee until Rogers came out of surgery. Once she was satisfied her deputy was recovering, Bree was ready to go home.

  It was four in the morning before they headed for the exit. The glare of camera lights greeted her at the emergency room glass door.

  “Do you want to sneak out a different exit?” Matt asked.

  “No. This is part of the job.” She pushed through the doors.

  Matt stepped aside and let her do her thing. She gave a brief statement about her deputy’s condition, the condition of the rescued victim, and the unfortunate death of the suspect. She did it without grandstanding and credited her deputies and the Scarlet Falls PD. But the exhaustion in her eyes and the bandage on her cheek spoke of her involvement.

  She looked badass.

  When a reporter asked her a question, she raised a hand. “You’ll have to wait for questions until I’ve had time to consult with investigators.” She excused herself. The crowd of reporters parted as she walked toward her vehicle.

  He climbed into the passenger seat, and Bree drove to the station, dropping him off at his SUV.

  He reached for the door handle. “Good night.”

  “More like good morning.” Bree reached over and took his hand in hers. “Thank you for having my back.”

  Matt squeezed her fingers. “You’re welcome.”

  She held on for a few seconds. The connection formed by their joined hands was deeper than any Matt could remember.

  “Get some sleep.” She let go.

  He missed the physical contact immediately. “Are you heading home?”

  Bree glanced at the dashboard clock. “I’ll write up some notes first. I have some time before the kids wake up. I want to get some of the details down while they’re still fresh in my mind. I’ll need a statement from you as well, but I can wait until you’ve slept.”

  “I’ll see you later, then.” Matt had something to do first as well, while he still had an hour of darkness.

  He drove his Suburban out to Grey Lake and parked a half mile from Joe Marcus’s house. Then he climbed out, filled his pockets with Brody’s kibble and an extra leash, and walked into the woods. He followed a game trail parallel to the lake until he reached the back of Earl Harper’s property. Several law enforcement vehicles and a forensic unit were parked at Joe Marcus’s house next door. The dog had no doubt barked all night. Hopefully, Earl was ignoring him by now.

  But the big dog didn’t bark as Matt crept through the trees. Instead, Rufus whined.

  “Shhh.” Matt tossed a handful of kibble toward him.

  Rufus paced the length of his chain a few times, then he lowered his head and approached the kibble. Hungry, he inhaled it.

  Matt tossed him another handful and moved a few steps closer. “Remember me, buddy? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Rufus continued to eat as Matt stepped up to him and rubbed his ears. The dog’s collar was loose. Matt slid it off and dropped it in the mud. Then he threaded his leash through its own handle and slipped the loop over the dog’s head. He hand-fed him the dog kibble and led him away. Matt backtracked to his SUV and put the dog in the back seat. As he drove away, he r
eached over the seat and scratched the dog’s head. Then he dialed his sister’s number, talking to the dog while the phone rang. “Your life just changed, my friend.”

  It was nearly six in the morning when Matt turned into his own driveway. His sister was in the kennel, feeding her rescues. She whipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “I saw the news. You’re all right?”

  “Yes.”

  She hugged him, then looked down at Rufus. “Is that the dog?”

  “Yes. He’s going to have some trust issues.”

  “Where did you get him?”

  “Just call him a rural stray,” Matt said. “But it would be best if you could send him to a foster out of town and maybe keep his picture off the internet.”

  Cady raised a brow.

  Matt patted her shoulder. “Tell you what. You don’t ask where he came from, and I won’t ask where you send him. Trust me on this.”

  “OK.” Cady finished feeding the dogs, then took Rufus’s leash. He sniffed her hand and leaned in for a scratch. “Does he have a name?”

  “No. Rural stray, remember?”

  Rufus was going to have a new life. He deserved a new name.

  Cady rolled her eyes. “If he has a microchip . . .”

  “He won’t.” Matt pictured the muddy yard he’d been chained in. “I doubt he’s ever been to a vet.”

  Matt watched Cady load the dog into a crate in the back of her minivan.

  She closed the rear hatch. “I didn’t feed Brody or Greta yet.”

  “I’ll take care of them.” Matt was still too wired to sleep.

  “Are you completely besotted with Greta? Is our gorgeous black shepherd going to be a foster fail?” Cady’s voice was hopeful. “There aren’t many people who can handle a young dog like her.”

  Matt shook his head. “I have an idea. Let me think on it awhile before we talk, OK?”

  “OK.” Cady kissed him on the cheek. “Get some sleep. You look terrible.”

  “I love you too.” Matt went into the house, expecting Greta to be wild when he let her out of her crate. But she greeted him in the kitchen. The crate was open. Matt stroked his beard. She’d figured out how to open the metal door. Wonderful.

  Life was going to get interesting. Brody looked less than thrilled.