“I’m feeling incredibly lucky.” Matt tugged Bree closer.
She perched a hip on the edge of the gurney. “Me too.”
“I wish I could go home with you.”
“Same, but let’s not take any chances.”
“Definitely not. For once, I’m fine with staying there. That was not an experience I want to repeat. It was damned freaky.” He rubbed her hand with his thumb. “What are you doing now?”
Her smile was exhausted. “I should go to the station. I have reports to write, and a statement to give the state police detective.” She touched her empty holster. “He already collected my weapon.”
The state detective would run ballistics tests on her handgun and then return it.
She swiped at her hair. “But I’m not doing any of those things. I’m going home. Adam is there. The work can wait.”
“You’re learning.”
“Imagine that.” She kissed him again, longer and sweeter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Bree woke to Ladybug’s hot breath wafting onto her face. The dog’s nose was approximately a half inch from Bree’s. Next to her, Vader uncurled his body—he’d stuck close all night—gave the dog a disdainful glare, moved a few feet away, and curled up again.
She rubbed the dog’s ears. “How’s Adam?” she asked Ladybug.
The dog jumped off the bed and waited for Bree.
“OK. I’m getting up.” She glanced at the clock. It was after ten o’clock, but then she hadn’t gone to bed until five a.m. She stepped out of bed and limped into the hallway. Ladybug raced down the stairs, slipped on the hardwood, and nearly slid into the opposite wall.
Adam’s voice carried up the steps. “Easy, girl!”
Bree exhaled at the sound of her brother’s voice. She was exhausted, and her knee had swelled a little overnight. She hadn’t put ice on it when she’d gotten home. She’d checked on Adam, who’d been asleep on the couch, taken a quick shower, and collapsed into bed face-first.
Walking gingerly, she went downstairs and entered the kitchen. Adam sat at the table, eating a plate of pancakes. Dana faced the stove. She waved a spatula at Bree. “Did you get some sleep?”
“I did.” Bree limped to the table.
Dana flipped a flapjack and pointed at Bree. “Sit.”
Bree did as she was told. She scanned her brother. “How are you?”
“Nothing but a few bumps and bruises.” Adam squeezed her hand. “I’m fine, thanks to you. You saved my life.”
Physically, he was all right. But Bree knew the night would take an emotional toll. “You should talk to someone about what happened.”
He cocked his head. “I’ll think about it.”
“It can sneak up on you.”
“I believe you,” he said. “I promise to see someone if I need to, if you promise the same.”
“OK,” Bree agreed.
Dana brought a mug of cappuccino dusted with cocoa powder. Bree leaned back in the chair and drank deeply. Usually, she took her time, inhaling the aroma, savoring the taste. Today, she downed the first cup like a frat boy with a beer bong.
Dana took the cup. “I’ll refill that.” A minute later, she set a plate of pancakes in front of Bree, then brought her a second cappuccino.
“Thank you. This will definitely get me moving.”
“You should stay off that leg,” Dana warned.
Bree added maple syrup to her pancakes. Today, she needed all the sugar and caffeine she could get. “I’ll do my best.”
Dana brought her an ice pack. Bree propped her foot on a chair and set the ice on her knee while she worked on her breakfast.
“Have you been out to the barn?” Bree asked.
Adam shook his head. “I’m not allowed. Kayla gave me strict orders to wait for her.” He grinned. “She is not good at keeping a secret.”
Bree smiled. “But you’ll act surprised?”
“Of course.” Adam crossed a finger over his heart. “Do you know when my house will be accessible?”
Bree shook her head. “I’m meeting with the state police detectives today. I’ll find out.”
“Thanks.” Adam set down his fork. “The guy—Blake? He died?”
“Yes,” Bree answered.
“You shot him?” Adam pushed his plate away. The sleeve of his sweatshirt rode up, exposing ligature marks around his wrists.
Anger bubbled up inside Bree at what Rhys had done to her brother. She’d tried to save Rhys’s life, but his death wasn’t going to keep her up at night. The violence inflicted upon Adam might, though. “Yes, but that’s not what killed him.”
“What did?”
“Karma.” Sometimes, Bree loved that bitch.
An hour later, Bree limped into the station.
Marge met her at her office door with a cup of coffee. “The investigator from BCI—Phillip Ash—is here. As you instructed, I put him in the conference room.”
The New York State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation conducted its own investigations but also assisted local and county law enforcement with major cases. Bree could not investigate her own shooting of Rhys, and with Adam as one of the kidnapping victims, she needed to recuse herself from the case.
“Thanks, Marge.” Bree had worked with Ash on a previous case. Their relationship had started off rocky. He’d been an ass. In his defense, he’d thought she was corrupt at the time. Since then, they’d come to an agreement of sorts.
Bree carried her coffee into the conference room. Ash sat at the table, reviewing case reports. He’d made himself comfortable. His suit jacket hung over the back of a chair, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms. Beefy and bald, he reminded her of Popeye.
He stood as she entered. “Sheriff.”
She nodded and shook his hand.
He frowned at her leg. “Are you injured?”
“Nothing serious.” She eased into a chair. “Where do we stand?”
“Reports are still coming in, but there haven’t been any bombshells. The most information came from Rhys Blake’s computer. He outlined everything. He was obsessed with Farah Rock and her rejection of him. He stalked and killed Spencer LaForge and Julius Northcott because they dated her. He planned their deaths in great detail. Your brother’s kidnapping was less structured. It seems he was unraveling at that point.”
“Is there anything in his past that indicated this could happen?” Bree wondered what had set him off.
Ash nodded. “I spoke with his brother this morning. He said women never liked Rhys, and that had always been a sore spot.”
Bree pictured Rhys. “He was average looking, but there wasn’t any obvious reason for females to reject him.”
“Maybe they could sense he was a potential psychopath,” Ash suggested, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“It’s possible,” Bree acknowledged. Survival instincts were stronger than most people suspected.
“Our profiler believes Farah’s rejection flipped a switch in his brain. Not only did Farah reject him, but she talked about her subsequent dates, rubbing them in his face, until he wanted to kill them and her. He started with detailed plans. But once he started killing, he went off the rails and became impulsive, adding the snake, leaving the note for you, going after your brother. None of that was in his original plan.” He paused. “His perceptions and reality became farther and farther apart.”