“And you don’t think your personal relationship affects your ability to work together?” The bald reporter’s tone suggested he did.
“No.” Bree’s tone left no room for argument. “Next?”
“Was the crime sexual?” a woman called out.
“There was no evidence of sexual assault.” Bree looked for another question.
Nick West raised his hand again. “Should people be worried?”
Bree leaned closer to her microphone. “At this time, we have no reason to believe there’s any threat to the community. That said, I will always recommend people lock their doors and pay attention to their personal safety.”
Bree ended the conference. News crews separated to give their last sound bites. Bree and Matt retreated to her office.
Todd ducked in. “Juarez reported that Monica isn’t home. Should he wait for her?”
“No. She could be anywhere. We’ll track her down at the film studio in the morning. I’ve had enough. I’m going home.” Bree shoved papers into her briefcase. She glanced up at Matt. “We can review more reports after dinner.”
“Oh, joy.” Matt slid into his jacket. “Do you mind if I stop for Brody?”
“He’s always welcome,” Bree said, sorting through more paperwork. “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
Matt left the station, stopped for his dog, and drove out to the farm. Brody’s tail wagged as Matt turned into the driveway. Bree was just parking her SUV when he pulled up alongside her, got out of his Suburban, then helped Brody out of the back seat. After the older dog injured his shoulder, the vet forbade him from jumping in and out of the high vehicle.
Lights blazed in the barn. Snow drifted through a quiet sky. Bree walked next to Matt, while Brody trotted ahead.
Halfway across the backyard, Matt stopped to sniff the woodsmoke-scented air. “It’s peaceful out here.”
“It is.” Bree reached for his hand.
He intertwined his fingers with hers. The more time he spent at Bree’s farm, the less he enjoyed his own place. When he’d bought it, the ten acres had felt serene. He’d needed the space to come to terms with his injuries and the end of his career. Frankly, he hadn’t been fit company much of the time that first year. But now that he had Bree and her family in his life, all the empty land felt, well, empty.
He pulled her closer for a kiss before they walked hand in hand to the barn.
The Standardbred was tied in the aisle. The kids were grooming him, and the horse looked considerably cleaner than when they’d brought him home earlier.
The Percheron stretched his head over the half door. He nickered and bobbed his nose. Matt walked closer and gave his forehead a rub. While looking around the animal’s giant head, he saw a bandage circling the horse’s back leg. But the big beast looked happy.
Dana sat on a bale of hay in the aisle, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “I saved you some chicken piccata.”
Matt patted his stomach. He’d eaten her piccata in the past. “Did you make linguine?”
“Of course, from scratch,” Dana huffed, as if to suggest otherwise would be an affront. “Now that you’re here to supervise, I’ll go warm up the leftovers.” She rose and brushed hay from her jeans. “Not that I was all that useful out here. My presence was mostly supportive and supervisory, if the supervisor can know less than those she is in charge of.”
“That’s often the case.” Matt laughed.
“So true.” Dana headed out of the barn. She was a bodyguard as much as a nanny. Whenever Bree was working a big case, Dana grew more protective over the kids.
Luke looked up from brushing the horse’s foreleg. “It’s too cold to give him a bath, so we’re trying to clean off some of the dried mud.”
Kayla worked a rubber curry in circles on the Standardbred’s shoulder. A small cloud of dust billowed. “He needs to be pretty when he meets Uncle Adam.”
“Was Uncle Adam pleased at the news?” Bree asked.
“He didn’t call,” Kayla said, disappointment heavy in her voice.
Bree froze for a second. Matt could see the tension in her posture. Her eyes met his. She shook her head. “I’m going to call him again.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Luke stood. “You know how he gets when he’s painting.”
“I do.” Bree smiled and ducked out of the barn. With a final pat to the Percheron’s nose, Matt went outside. Bree was ten feet away, her back to him, her phone pressed to her ear. “Adam, are you there?” She paused, then said, “Please call me.” Lowering the phone, she typed a text with her thumbs. “I’m officially worried. Lately, Adam has made an effort to call me back pretty quickly. If he’s buried in his painting, he’ll at least send me a quick text telling me so.”
“He might have forgotten to charge his phone,” Luke said from the doorway.
“That’s possible.” Bree nodded, but her expression told Matt the explanation didn’t sit well.
“Let’s eat. If he hasn’t called back by the time we’re done, then we’ll drive over to his place,” he suggested.
Bree glanced at her phone, then nodded. “I don’t like this at all. It’s not like him.”
She’d lived through more tragedy than most people could comprehend, but Matt knew that everyone had limits.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
An hour later, Bree parked in front of Adam’s place, a converted barn in the middle of a wide-open meadow. Mentally, she crossed her fingers.
Please be home.
“His truck is here.” Matt pointed to the ancient Bronco held together with body putty and prayer, one more thing Adam could easily replace if he desired.
Her brother was very successful. He’d supported their sister and the kids for years. He’d set up trust funds for the kids. Bree didn’t need to worry about paying for their educations.
He could afford to live in a much nicer home, but he chose to stay in this one. It met all his needs—light and isolation being the most important of those. His paintings had been hot on the art scene for a number of years, but his last work had been . . . She struggled to describe the raw emotions he’d captured on his canvas—a glimmer of hope amid violence and despair.
More than hope. His painting had made a promise: whatever darkness you’d experienced . . . something brighter was on the horizon.
Bree wasn’t the artsy type. She lived in a world ruled by evidence, science, and fact. But that painting had drawn her in like no other. All Adam’s work called to her with their rawness of emotion. Darkness was in her soul. She’d been born with it, something she’d always worried about. But while his previous paintings had called to the bleakness inside her, the last one had banished it like sunlight drove out vampires.
It was brilliant.
The art world clearly agreed with Bree. A collector had snapped up the painting immediately and loaned it and a few of Adam’s other works to a museum for an exhibition.
She and Matt stepped out of the vehicle. Clouds obscured the moon, casting the meadow in darkness broken only by the lights glowing in Adam’s windows. Bree had lived in Philadelphia from the age of eight until this past January. It was never really dark in the city. Light pollution brightened everything. But night in the countryside could be stark and unrelenting.