Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert)

by Melinda Leigh

  “Get him an ice pack,” Bree ordered. Oscar hustled out of the room.

  He returned with the ice and a stack of paper towels, which he handed to Shawn. Shawn mopped his face and held the ice to his nose. His eyes were rapidly swelling. Matt expected him to be defeated, but a strange glee lit his eyes. The expression on his blood-streaked face was chilling.

  Baton in hand, Bree glowered at the two suspects, then her deputies. No one moved.

  Donovan gave Oscar an equally withering look, then switched his grim stare to Bree. “My brother needs to go to the hospital. You’ll be lucky if we don’t sue you.”

  Bree met his challenge. “And Shawn will be lucky if I don’t add additional charges to his growing list.”

  But legally, the odds were in Shawn’s favor, even if he’d started the altercation. He’d been injured while in police custody, and his brother had the financial resources to pursue an agenda.

  A deputy walked in the back door. Bree collapsed her baton and used it to point at the newcomer, then at Shawn. “Take this man to the ER. Make sure he is appropriately restrained at all times. Do not give him an inch. Make sure to tell the ER docs that he has a history with narcotics.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The deputy handcuffed Shawn and marched him out the back door. Donovan hurried out of the station, presumably to meet his brother at the ER.

  Bree called out to the shackled man. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “No. I’m not a pussy!” he shouted back.

  Bree turned to Matt. “You’re not even out of breath.”

  Matt stretched his neck. “I’m durable. I get a solid beating every week in Nolan’s MMA class. My brother has been using me as a practice dummy since I was born.”

  His brother was a retired professional mixed martial arts fighter and owned an MMA gym nearby.

  They both nodded. Collins looked sheepish. Oscar remained stone-faced.

  Bree pointed at Collins and Oscar. “Both of you, in my office. Matt, I’d like you to come as well.”

  Collins walked gingerly. Oscar didn’t even have the brains to look embarrassed. He followed Bree, his posture still rigid, his chin lifted as if he were in the right, even though he’d failed to properly restrain or maintain control of his detainee.

  This is not going to go well.

  They trooped into the small office. Matt leaned against the wall. Bree sat in her chair. Oscar stood facing the desk, back ramrod straight, arms crossed over his chest. Collins sank into a guest chair. She rubbed her ribs, which Matt thought probably hurt more than she was admitting.

  Bree pointed at Collins. “What happened?”

  “I was fingerprinting my perp when Oscar brought that little asshole by.” She jerked a thumb at Oscar. “The asshole called my perp a pussy. My perp then exploded.”

  Bree exhaled and turned her gaze to Oscar. “Why was Shawn not handcuffed?”

  Oscar tried to shrug, but he was too tense, and the gesture looked like a muscle spasm. “I just hadn’t gotten to it.”

  Bree frowned as she considered her deputy. Then she straightened her uniform shirt. “Don’t let it happen again.” She spoke to Matt. “Do you think Nolan would run some classes and practice sessions for my deputies?”

  “I do.” Matt nodded.

  “OK, then.” Bree fixed Collins and Oscar with consecutive death stares. “Let’s make that happen. I understand that we’ve been short-handed and scrambling for shift coverage. Now that we have five new deputies, we need to make time for training. Defense skills are perishable. We all need regular practice.” She breathed, clearly trying to be calm and proactive when down deep, she was probably pissed off in twenty different ways.

  Both deputies nodded in relief.

  Bree pointed at Collins. “Transfer your perp to the jail. Let them book him and hold him overnight. He’s liable to pull an Incredible Hulk on our ancient holding cell.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Collins fixed her bun and hurried out of the office.

  “Oscar, back to work,” Bree commanded.

  Matt waited until both deputies were gone and the door was closed. “You could have given them both written reprimands.”

  “They fucked up.” Bree nodded. “But the truth is, we need more than one holding cell, we need more damned space, and I was being honest when I said we all needed more training and practice. It’s my responsibility to make sure my deputies have and maintain the skills they need to do their jobs.” She let out a tight breath. “But we did learn a few more things about Shawn.”

  “We did,” Matt agreed.

  “First of all, he’s more aggressive and capable of greater violence than I would have predicted.” Bree rubbed her elbow. “But I can’t decide if he’s a great actor or truly impulsive. Did he insult that man thinking he could get away with it here?”

  “No.” Matt considered Shawn’s expression after the fight. “He wanted that fight. The big guy reacted exactly the way Shawn intended.”

  Bree frowned. “Why? Why would he want to get the hell beaten out of him?”

  “By going to the ER, he avoided spending a night in jail.”

  Bree sat back.

  Matt continued. “He looked pleased with himself.”

  “If you’re right, then that’s disturbingly manipulative. He was willing to take a hell of a beating to get what he wanted,” Bree said. “Let’s hope we get some answers about our victims tomorrow.”

  “Bones take time to analyze, and skeletal remains are not usually so easy to identify.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky, but let’s get a search warrant for his residence. Get another to search his phone. I want his financials too.” She looked at her phone. “I’m going home. Put a rush on those warrants. I want to search Shawn’s place tomorrow, before he gets home and disposes of any evidence. At this time, the charges against him aren’t severe enough for the judge to deny him bail, not with his brother’s expensive lawyer in his corner. Shawn will be out on bail by the afternoon. I really don’t want a potential murderer running loose.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Early Friday morning, Bree leaned over Cowboy’s withers. The warm wind whipped her face. Under her, the horse galloped across the meadow. Exhilaration flooded her as the paint’s hooves flew over the ground. Cowboy pulled at the reins, and she let him have his head. At the far end of the meadow, she eased him down to a lope, then a jog. He pranced a little, still excited from the run. Sweat gleamed on his coat. Bree lifted her T-shirt away from her chest.

  “Easy, boy.” She patted the horse’s sleek neck. “I promise we’ll go for a longer run when this heat wave breaks.”

  She slowed him to a walk as they approached the hill. In the distance, sunrise glowed on the horizon. They crested the hill next to the huge old oak tree. Bree stopped beneath its branches and turned her horse around to view the meadow she’d just galloped through. Yellow wildflowers dotted a sea of tall grass. It was in this place that she and the kids had scattered her sister’s ashes. Whenever she went riding with the kids, they stopped here. But there were times when Bree liked a quiet moment alone with her sister’s memory. Doing that while sitting atop the horse she’d inherited from Erin seemed appropriate.

  Was Erin watching over them now? Bree liked to think so.

  Peace settled over her. Sometimes, the sheer wholesomeness of her new normal astounded Bree. Her entire former life had revolved around her job. She’d lived in an apartment with a cranky tomcat as her only company. She’d rarely dated and had seen no reason to include other people in her personal life. She’d seen her siblings once a year and talked to them on the phone occasionally. Thoughts of reconnecting with her family had always been considered under the heading of someday.

  Then Erin had died, leaving Bree no time to renew her relationship with her sister. That opportunity was gone, like Erin’s ashes in the wind. Bree could not let the same happen with the kids or Adam. She had rearranged her priorities—and her entire life—to put her family first.


  She allowed herself a few minutes to watch the sunrise. Then she gathered her reins and touched Cowboy’s side with her heels. Calm now, he walked on a loose rein and was cool by the time they reached the barn. She untacked him and brushed the sweat from his back before returning him to his stall. She would have fed the horses, but Luke insisted that was his job. On her way out of the barn, she scratched Kayla’s short and sturdy horse, Pumpkin, under his blond forelock. Luke’s bay gelding, Riot, snorted and bobbed his head until she patted his nose as well.

  She crossed the back lawn, jogged up the back-porch steps, and entered the house. The kitchen was cool and smelled of coffee. Bree’s best friend and former homicide detective partner, Dana Romano, was pouring coffee into a mug. After her retirement from the Philly PD back in January, Dana had moved to Grey’s Hollow to help raise Bree’s niece and nephew.

  Bree bent down and removed one of her still-snug new riding boots. Ladybug came sliding across the floor. Her big, wet nose hit Bree in the face, and the dog’s shoulder took her out at the knees. Bree crashed sideways, her hip hitting the floor with a burst of pain.

  The dog stood over her, then lowered her shoulders to the floor and wagged her tailless butt, as if she wanted to play. Someone had docked the rescue dog’s tail long before Bree had adopted her.

  Laughing, Bree sat up and tugged off her remaining boot. “Ladybug, you are a silly girl.”

  Bree rubbed her hip, then scratched under the dog’s collar. Ladybug cocked her head and leaned in.

  It still amazed Bree that she wasn’t terrified of the pudgy rescue. She’d been annoyed when Matt had tricked her into adopting the dog, but he’d been right. Ladybug was the least intimidating canine she’d ever encountered. Bree had formed a relationship with the mutt she never would have thought possible.

  With a final pat for the dog, Bree stood. At six thirty, sunlight flooded the kitchen. Bree’s black cat, Vader, sat on the sideboard staring at the scene as if he wanted to roll his eyes.

  “Ladybug, breakfast!” Dana called.

  The dog bolted. Her loyalty went only so far. Dana filled a stainless-steel bowl and set it on the floor. The dog ate her food in less than a minute. The cat looked away, clearly disgusted.

  Dana sipped her coffee. It was barely dawn, and she was fully put together, right down to bright raspberry lipstick that matched her toenail polish. Her short, gray-and-blonde hair was artfully tousled. Bree had scraped her own hair into a ponytail.

  “Good ride?” Dana asked.

  “Yes. Feels good to get outside before work. Besides, riding is the best for clearing my head. If I’m not one hundred percent focused, I could fall on my face.” Bree wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d been riding a few mornings a week, alternating with running and yoga.

  “Grab a shower. I’ll make you a cappuccino.” Dana turned toward her fancy coffee maker.

  Bree showered and dressed in her uniform. She blasted her hair with the dryer for a few minutes and pinned it up still damp. As she went downstairs, an incredible aroma hit her nostrils. She entered the kitchen just as Dana pulled a baking pan from the oven.

  Bree sniffed the air. “Are those scones?”

  “Blueberry.” Dana gestured toward a cooling rack on the counter that already held a dozen pastries. “Your cappuccino is ready.”

  Bree reached for a scone. It was still warm in her hand. She set it on a napkin and broke off a chunk. It melted in her mouth. She sipped the cappuccino.

  “You should sit while you eat.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Bree teased as she slid onto a stool at the counter. As much as she’d like to be at the scene first thing, she would take the time to have breakfast with the kids. She had no idea what the rest of the day would entail. Being home for a family dinner was always her goal, but never guaranteed.

  Dana rolled her eyes. “Someone has to teach you self-care. Prepare for my evening lecture about not swimming for an hour after you eat.”

  They often joked about their relationship, but the fact was, Bree had never experienced any mothering. Her mother had died when Bree was eight. The cousin who had raised her had been lacking in maternal instincts. Ironically, it turned out that twice-divorced-no-kids Dana had mad mom skills, which she’d turned loose on Bree and the kids over the past six months.

  Footsteps thundered on the stairs.

  Dana smiled. “Luke’s up.”

  Bree’s sixteen-year-old nephew hurtled through the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt with a supermarket logo on the chest. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Bree and Dana said in unison.

  “I have an early shift. I’ll muck stalls after work, OK?” He grabbed a scone on his way to the back door.

  “Sure,” Bree said.

  He ate his pastry as he shoved his feet into rubber boots at the back door. He wiped his mouth with his bare forearm and went out the back door to feed the horses.

  Bree looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall, where the kids’ activities were posted. Luke started work this morning at eight. An unexpected burst of pride surged in Bree. Luke woke early to feed the horses, even on his summer break. And he was balancing a part-time job at the local grocery store with playing on a travel baseball team. He’d taken his mother’s death hard. Spring had been rough on all of them, but he seemed to be happier since school let out for the summer.

  Like it or not, they were settling into their new normal.

  Eight-year-old Kayla skipped into the kitchen. Not a morning person, she usually liked to have breakfast in her pajamas, but she was dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt with a pony bedazzled on the front.

  “You’re up early,” Bree said.

  Kayla climbed onto a stool, her face serious. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  Bree put a scone on a napkin and set it on her niece’s placemat. “Excited for Sunday?” Kayla had entered Pumpkin in the local 4-H horse show at the county fair.

  Kayla nodded. Dana went to the fridge and poured a glass of milk. She set it in front of the child.

  “I’m lucky.” Kayla broke off a huge chunk of scone. “Maya Steiner’s pony is so bad. Last year, he bucked her off in the middle of the ring. No one could catch him. Pumpkin would never do that.”

  Pumpkin the Haflinger was an angel. He was also too lazy. Bree sent a prayer of thanks to her sister for passing on a fancy mount and picking a safe and sensible horse for Kayla.

  Kayla shoved the pastry into her mouth and mumbled around it. “But he’s really dirty. Will you help me give him a bath tomorrow?”

  “I will.” Bree ignored her talking with her mouth full. Like Luke, Kayla finally seemed to be taking an interest in activities. Bree would not do anything to dull the shine of the upcoming 4-H show. The little girl washed down her scone with milk. “He does like to roll in the mud like a pig.”

  The pasture hadn’t dried out since the last big rain.

  Kayla burst into giggles. Milk shot from her nose. Her eyes opened in surprise.

  Laughing, Bree handed her a napkin. “Next time, swallow before you talk,” she said in a light tone.

  Kayla grinned. “We have to give Cowboy a bath too. He can’t lead the parade all dirty.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can we braid his mane too?” Kayla asked. “Mommy used to do it every year for the parade, but he never got to be in the front before.”

  Bree pictured Cowboy’s long mane. “I’ve never done it, but we can try.”

  “Yay! He needs ribbons.” Kayla finished her breakfast, then ran to the back door and stuffed her feet into her purple boots. “I’m gonna clean my saddle and bridle today. I’ll do yours too.”

  “Stay outside, so I can see you, OK?” Dana called to her.

  “OK,” Kayla yelled over her shoulder as she raced out the back door.

  “All ready to lead that parade?” Dana asked with a grin.

  “I guess.” Bree had been roped into leading the opening parade and giving out the Bes
t of Show awards at the end of the day.

  Dana snickered. “You’ll live. It’s made Kayla really happy, and it’s good for the voters to see you as an active member of the community.”

  “I know,” Bree grumbled. She didn’t love politicking, but she would do anything to make Kayla happy. “She’s really coming out of her shell.” Grief had sapped her niece’s energy for most of the winter and spring. But her smile had returned with summer.

  “Her whole personality has changed,” Dana agreed with a smile.

  The kitchen went quiet. Bree finished her own scone and drank the rest of her cappuccino. Through the window, she watched Luke carry his sister’s saddle out of the barn and set it over the fence. Kayla dragged out a small bucket of water and the saddle soap.

  “Digging out the remains today?” Dana asked.

  Her tone was casual, but Bree felt her keen focus. “Yes.”

  “Is Matt working the case?” Dana asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you usually go out on Saturday nights?”

  “We do, and we might this week, as long as the case doesn’t get in the way.”

  “Don’t let it. You need to spend some romantic time with Thor.” With two kids in the house, she and Dana had begun talking in code, but the waggle of Dana’s eyebrows made her meaning clear. She pointed at Bree with her spatula. “Time when you’re not talking about a homicide.”

  Bree snorted. “We are not discussing my romantic life.”

  Dana let her reading glasses drop to the end of her nose. She deadpanned over the frames. “Obviously, there isn’t anything to discuss.”

  “How do you know?” Bree’s cheeks heated.

  It was Dana’s turn to snort. “There’s no way that man would leave you this . . . tense.”

  Bree sighed. “What about you? When’s your next date?”

  Dana turned off the oven. “I’m having dinner with the pharmacist next week.”

  “Oooooh. Is this a second date?”

  “It is, but don’t get too excited. We only had coffee on the first one. All a second date means is that he’s reasonably normal and gainfully employed.”