“Let’s get Kayla home.” Bree collected her niece. “Considering the circumstances, I’ll ask the mayor to cover for me at the closing ceremony. I want to get Kayla out of here.” She pursed her lips, thoughtful. “Something else just occurred to me. At first, I thought the paintball incident was a prank, but now I’m not so sure.”
“The note specifically referred to hurting you.” Matt picked up Brody’s leash, but the big dog was already on Kayla’s heels. He and the dog escorted them to Bree’s SUV before returning to their own vehicle. Then Matt followed them back to the farm.
Dana greeted them in the driveway. She hugged Kayla hard. She was wearing her sidearm and Matt noticed the bulge of an additional weapon at her ankle.
“Can we have macaroni and cheese for dinner?” Kayla asked.
“We can have anything you want.” Dana took her hand and led her toward the house. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at Bree and Matt. “I didn’t let Luke drive to work. I dropped him off. He’ll need a pickup when his shift is over at ten.”
“Was he OK with that?” Bree asked.
“He wasn’t happy,” Dana said.
A black F-150 pulled into the driveway and parked next to Bree’s SUV. Nolan Flynn stepped out. He wore jeans and a gray T-shirt. He was still fighter lean. His head was shaved, and two full sleeves of tats decorated his arms. He wore a shoulder holster as if he were comfortable in it. He did not look like someone anyone would want to mess with.
He slapped Matt on the shoulder and gave Bree a quick hug. “You go do what you have to do. Dana and I can handle business here.”
Gratitude filled Matt. “Thank you, brother.”
“No need to thank me.” Nolan smiled. “We take care of family, right?”
They went inside. Bree went upstairs to exchange her dress uniform for her preferred working attire: tactical cargoes and a uniform shirt. Matt could tell by the fit of her shirt that she wore her body armor underneath. Kayla went into the family room to watch TV. Ladybug curled on the couch next to her. Brody stretched out on the floor in front of her. Vader walked along the back of the sofa and perched just over Kayla’s shoulder. Animals just knew when they were needed.
“Can Brody stay with me, Matt?” Kayla rested her feet on the big dog’s shoulders. Her hazel eyes were wide and serious. The day’s events had traumatized her, but she was trying to be brave.
“Of course he can.” Matt met his dog’s gaze. Brody didn’t need a command. He’d lay down his life for that little girl without hesitation—and so would everyone else in that house. “Nolan’s going to hang out with you too.”
She nodded. “I like Nolan.”
Matt dropped to the seat next to her. “Brody, Nolan, and Dana will keep you safe. You can trust them.”
“I know.” But her voice was heartbreakingly soft.
Matt gave her a one-armed hug. Before January, he’d barely known her, but today he felt like she was his own. How did people carve their way into one’s heart so fast?
Matt and Bree waited until Dana had given Nolan a tour of the property and a rundown of the alarm system before Bree said goodbye to her niece. “Are you OK with me leaving?”
“You have to go,” Kayla said. “You need to catch the bad man.”
“I love you.” Bree kissed her on the head.
“I love you too.” Kayla wrapped her arms around Bree’s neck and gave her a hard squeeze.
Watching them, Matt felt his heart break.
Bree’s eyes were misty and fierce when she turned away, and Matt appreciated the strength she was summoning in leaving the house—in trusting others to keep her kids safe when she’d probably rather barricade them all inside and light a moat filled with tar all around the property.
In a hoarse voice, she said, “Let’s go.”
They left through the kitchen door. They heard the deadbolt slide home as they walked down the back-porch steps. Matt stopped at his Suburban for his Kevlar vest. He donned it over his polo shirt. By silent, mutual agreement, he and Bree were taking no chances.
Bree had her phone in her hand and a worried frown on her face. “I’d like to swing by Adam’s place first. I called him twice and texted him. He isn’t responding.”
“That’s not unusual,” Matt said.
Bree’s brother often disconnected from the world when he was working. His art had the potential to consume him.
“I know. But considering what happened to Kayla, I need to make sure he’s safe.”
A car pulled into Bree’s driveway. Matt went on alert, and Bree’s hand settled on her weapon. The car door opened, and Deputy Laurie Collins stepped out. She wore jeans and a black T-shirt, but she carried her sidearm.
Bree stopped short. “Collins? Is something wrong?”
“No, ma’am,” Collins said. “The other deputies and I agreed that one of us will be here at all times until this perp is caught.”
Confusion creased the corners of Bree’s eyes. “There’s no money for overtime in the budget.”
“No matter, ma’am.” Collins turned back to her vehicle. “We have your back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I can’t believe my deputies are guarding my house off duty.” Bree adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. Her deputies’ support still overwhelmed her as she turned down the quiet country road where her brother lived.
“I’m not surprised at all. You’re a good sheriff. You’ve earned your deputies’ respect.”
Except for one or two exceptions, Bree’s department was starting to come together. They were beginning to feel cohesive in a way that only developed from working together and relying on each other in dangerous situations.
Ten minutes later, Bree knocked on her brother’s door. Adam lived in a converted barn. Nothing but meadow surrounded it. In the winter, it was forlorn and lonely. But on a bright summer day, wildflowers bloomed in a sea of color.
He had no neighbors within sight—or earshot. He didn’t answer, and anxiety ticked up her heart rate. His beat-up Ford Bronco sat outside, so she knew he was home. She knocked again, harder, but heard no movement inside. “He tunes everything out when he’s working.”
Nothing.
With no shade, the summer sun beat on her relentlessly. The screech of a hawk carried across the fields, and sweat dripped under Bree’s body armor.
Matt pounded his fist on the door.
She held her breath. The door opened, and a bleary-eyed Adam stood in the doorway. He was still dressed in the same clothes, but with additional paint spatter. She wasn’t prepared for the surge of relief at seeing him. She exhaled hard, the tension leaving her body with a rush of air.
Adam rubbed an eye. “Is something wrong?”
“Can we come in?” Bree asked.
“Yeah, of course.” He stepped back. “I finished the painting and crashed pretty hard.”
Adam’s house was essentially one giant room, with the space divided by function and furniture. A partial wall separated his studio from the sleeping and living spaces. Pizza boxes, empty seltzer cans, and discarded clothes covered almost every surface. He didn’t apologize for the mess. He didn’t care. When he finished his painting, he’d sleep, eat, and clean for a week or two, then start all over again.
Bree walked to the studio area. A picture window flooded a huge canvas with light. Bree drew back. Adam had been born into a family filled with grief, anger, and abuse. Like Bree, he’d carried that burden into adulthood. Darkness always filled his work, and this piece was no different. Dark reds, bold blues, and stormy grays dominated the canvas. Bree saw sadness and anger and lack of control in the turbulent brushstrokes. But in one corner, a shaft of light blue with just the slightest hint of pale-yellow shadow pierced the darkness. The darker colors surged toward it but were held at bay. Despite being a minute portion of the overall work, the small sliver of brightness drew and held the eye. It was a spark of hope at the edge of overwhelming despair.
She scanned the overal
l painting again, and that tiny ribbon of light pulled her in.
Hope won.
She heard Matt draw in a sharp breath and realized he was standing next to her. Bree had been so transfixed by the painting, she hadn’t noticed that he’d followed her.
She looked for her brother and spotted him leaning on the far wall. “Adam, this is . . . amazing. I don’t even have words for it.”
“Is it?” His gaze was critical as he examined his own work. “I don’t know. It felt a little different.”
And that was the whole point.
“Adam, it’s incredible,” Matt said without taking his eyes off the painting.
“It’s my second favorite painting of yours.” Bree smiled. The painting he’d done of their sister hung on her living room wall.
Adam squinted at his painting. “Maybe it’s not done.”
“Do not change a thing. It’s stunning.” Bree pinned him with a look.
“OK. You win. I promise.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “But I know you didn’t come here to see this.” He gestured toward his art.
“No.” Bree hated to break the moment, but Adam needed to know. “I’ll start by saying that Kayla is fine.” She told him what had happened at the fair after he’d left.
His face went pale. “Who’s with her now?”
“Dana and my brother,” Matt said.
“But I would feel better if you were there too,” Bree added. “Kayla is upset. She needs you.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll stay with the kids.” Adam brushed a hand through his unruly hair.
With one last glance at the painting, Bree followed him out of the studio area. Her brother grabbed a duffel bag from under the bed, then stuffed some clothes into it. He disappeared into the bathroom, emerging in a minute with a small travel case. He shoved it into the duffel bag. “I’ll head over there now.”
He slung the straps over his shoulder.
“Text me when you get there.” Bree hugged him.
“I will.” He walked out of the house and climbed into his ancient vehicle. “You worry too much.”
“It’s my superpower.” Bree would not breathe easy until she knew he was safe, but she had to trust him to take care of himself. He wasn’t the baby she’d protected all those years ago. He was a grown man.
She and Matt climbed back into her vehicle and headed for the main road. Stopping at a traffic light, Bree tapped her fingertips on the steering wheel. “After Curtis, we visit Bradley Parson.”
“We spooked someone with our investigation.”
“Big time.” Bree drove to Curtis’s address and parked on the street. Trees blocked the view of the house. “We’re here. I don’t want him to see us and run.”
They exited the vehicle and walked to the driveway. Digger greeted them with a flurry of barking, then ran in a circle around them before letting Matt give her a few pats.
“His truck isn’t here,” Bree said.
They went to the front door and flanked it. Matt knocked on the wood. The sound of shuffling feet approached the door. A curtain moved aside, and Mrs. Evans peered out.
She opened the door. “What do you want?”
“We have some follow-up questions for Curtis,” Bree said. “Do you know where he is?”
From her distrustful expression, Mrs. Evans clearly didn’t buy the casual tone. “He went to work.”
“On a Sunday?” Matt asked.
“They work when they have jobs,” Mrs. Evans said. “My Curtis works hard. He hasn’t done anything wrong. You can call his cell, and he’ll answer you when he has time. He has rights. We don’t even have to talk to you at all.” She tried to shut the door, but Bree’s boot was blocking it. “Move it or lose it, Sheriff. You’re trespassing.”
Bree had to give her credit—and respect. She was so old and frail. She had the bones of a sparrow. Yet she was ready to brawl for her son. Now that Bree had the kids, she understood the term mama bear. She wanted to find the man who’d scared Kayla, and she wasn’t proud of the violent thoughts popping into her head.
Bree pulled her foot free and stepped off the cinder block. Mrs. Evans firmly closed the door.
“It’s five o’clock. The company should be finishing up for the day.” Matt pulled his phone from his pocket. “Let’s swing by the landscaping company’s office.” He plugged the address into the GPS. They got into the vehicle, and Bree followed the directions. A Cut Above’s official address was in an old industrial complex. The company rented a row of garages. When Bree pulled the SUV into the parking lot, employees were cleaning up and stowing equipment for the day.
Matt stopped next to a guy oiling a hedge trimmer. “Where’s your boss?”
The guy pointed to one of the garages. Matt and Bree walked to the open overhead door. The air inside smelled like oil and gasoline. Curtis wasn’t in sight. A blond man in his midfifties was stretched out on the ground, looking under a riding mower. He saw them and got to his feet. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Curtis.” Bree introduced Matt. “Can I ask your name?”
“I’m Anders Nilsen, Curtis’s business partner.” He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and wiped his hands. A worker brought a Weedwacker into the garage and stored it on a rack. Anders frowned. “Let’s go into the office.”
He led the way into a dirty room with a concrete floor, a few filing cabinets, and a dented metal desk from the ’70s. The only chair was behind the desk. Anders didn’t sit, nor did he invite Matt or Bree to make themselves comfortable. He merely turned, folded his arms over his chest, and waited. From his posture, Bree expected him to be uncooperative.
She squared off with him, but she kept her voice casual. “Where’s Curtis?”
Instead of answering, Anders cocked his head. “What’s this about?”
Bree gave him a sad smile. “Curtis’s brother.”
Relief relaxed Anders’s posture. “Did you find Frank?”
“Yes,” Bree said.
“Is he dead?” Anders asked.
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Ah, shit.” Anders lowered his chin and shook his head. “I know they say closure helps, but it would have been better for his mom to go to her grave still hoping Frank was alive. Hope is hope, and dead is final, you know? How’d he die?”
“Frank was murdered,” Matt said. “We’re trying to solve his case.”
“Murdered?” Anders whistled. “I guess it’s not a huge surprise. Frank was rough.”
“How well did you know him?” Matt asked.
Anders perched on the edge of the desk, as if the story might take a while. “Me and Curtis have been friends since high school. Frank was older. We looked up to him. Thought he was a badass, which is how me and Curtis ended up in jail.”
Bree’s eyebrow crept up. “How was that Frank’s fault?”
“It was indirect. Frank had disreputable friends and wads of cash. Me and Curtis were young and dumb. We thought they were cool, so we experimented with the theory that crime pays.” He sighed. “It didn’t, at least not for us. Sadly, I guess it didn’t pay for Frank in the end either.”
“Do you know where we can find Curtis?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know where he is. He called me this morning and said he had something he had to do today and couldn’t come in. Curtis only takes off if he has to take his mom to the doctor. She’s dying.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Yesterday,” Anders said. “He was late because she had some problem with her medication. I assumed today’s callout was for her too. Our current job is big, a complete redesign. The weather for the last couple of weeks has set us behind schedule. We’re working seven days a week to catch up. He knows this, so I assume whatever he needed to do was important. I can’t blame him for taking care of his mom. She doesn’t have much time left.”
“Hold on a minute.” Bree left the garage to retrieve the photograph of the four men. She showed it to Anders. “Can
you identify these men?”
“There’s Curtis and Frank.” Anders tapped their faces. “I forget this guy’s name.” His brows dipped into a V as he pointed to Bree’s father. “But this other guy was his cousin.”
Bree touched her father’s picture. “This is Jake Taggert.”
“Jake.” Anders snapped his fingers. “Yeah. That was his name. This guy was . . .” He circled his hand in the air. “I think his name began with an H. Hank, Henry.”
Harley. A memory hit Bree with no warning, like a bucket of cold water or a slap across the face. She pictured her father and his cousin out back, drinking beer and throwing horseshoes. It was a slice of time, a minute of her past she hadn’t known she could remember. What else had she forgotten? Probably a lot. She’d spent most of her life actively suppressing her past, but this memory popped up and bobbed like a decomposing body.
“This man’s name was Harley,” she said.
“That’s it.” Anders pumped a fist.
Matt pointed to Harley’s image. “Are you sure he was Jake’s cousin?”
Anders nodded. “I remember thinking it was strange because Frank and Curtis were brothers, and these other two guys were cousins, like they were from two crime families.” He lifted a hand. “I know it’s weird, but I was just a dumb kid back then. I was impressed by the stupidest things. I was poor, and they had cash. That’s all I wanted. It sucks to watch your mom bust her ass to make the rent and feed you. It sucks to be hungry literally all the time. I remember my mom using food stamps a few times she was out of work, the dirty looks people gave her, and her trying to hold her head up.”
“I’m sorry your family experienced that,” Bree said.
He dropped his chin. “Thanks.”
“Was Harley’s last name Taggert?” Bree lowered the photo. Her childhood memories didn’t include last names, just faces and snippets of action too brief to understand.
“I think so.” Anders shrugged. “It’s been a really long time.”
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 17