“OK.” Marge sounded doubtful as she turned and opened the door.
“Sheriff Taggert! You can’t avoid me!” Madeline shouted from outside the door.
“Christ on a cracker,” Marge muttered under her breath. “She must have snuck past the desk.”
Matt braced himself. It felt cowardly, but he’d been hoping to slink away before Bree confronted Jager. Angry politicians made him ragey. Their emotions always seemed insincere and manufactured for a specific response.
Calculated.
Jager brushed past Marge, who cocked an irritated brow.
“It’s all right, Marge,” Bree said.
Marge bowed out, and Matt was a little jealous.
Standing in the doorway, the county supervisor was too everything. Like a Hollywood star with unrealistic expectations of fighting her age, her hair was too red, her face too plastic, her heels too high. Right now, her anger was just as over the top. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. The sheriff is supposed to be available during business hours.”
“It’s been a busy morning,” Bree said.
Jager propped one hand on a hip and glared. “Well, I need to speak with you.”
“OK.” Bree gestured toward a chair.
At Bree’s immediate agreement, the defiance seemed to leave Jager, like air leaking from a raft. She closed the door and crossed to the table.
“Did we have an appointment?” Bree asked.
Jager pulled out a chair. “No, but—”
“Of course I’ll always try to be available to the county supervisors, but we’ve been working a double-murder investigation.” Bree motioned, Vanna White–like, to the crime scene photos spread out on the table.
Thinking Bree would want to keep the images under wraps, Matt started gathering the photos. Bree stopped him with a look and an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
Matt rose. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“You’re part of this,” Jager snapped.
Matt bit back a retort, but it wasn’t easy. Instead, he said, “I’m Matt Flynn.” He held out a hand. “Have we met?”
She glanced at his hand as if it were covered in manure. “I know who you are.”
“OK, then.” Matt lowered his hand and sat back down with a shrug.
Bree waited for the county supervisor to sit before taking her own seat. She faced her across the table.
Jager leaned on her forearms. Her gaze dropped to the table and the crime scene photos. Her eyes widened, and she recoiled. Matt noted she was staring at a particularly bloody photo of Oscar’s dead body, still tied to the chair. Bree’s crow’s-feet deepened slightly, and Matt realized she’d wanted the photos to put Jager off guard.
Disconcerted, Jager blinked a few times, then visibly regrouped. “Sheriff, corruption won’t be tolerated.”
“What corruption?” Bree asked.
“All of it.” Jager waved a loose hand between Bree and Matt. Bree lifted an eyebrow and waited. Matt sat back, crossed his arms, and watched. On one hand, he felt bad for insisting on taking their relationship into the public arena and bringing this kind of scrutiny to Bree’s door. He’d made her job harder, her world messier. On the other hand, Bree could handle herself. In that respect, he sensed the next exchange would be popcorn-worthy.
“You’re going to need to be more specific.” Bree folded her hands on the table and held Jager’s gaze with an unflinching stare.
“We’ll start with the pornography.” Jager huffed.
Matt couldn’t hold back. “Which is fake.”
Jager shot him a dirty look. “And your relationship”—she wagged a finger between him and Bree—“is completely inappropriate.”
Bree tilted her head. “How so?”
“What do you mean, how so?” Jager stammered. “Is it true that you’re sleeping with Investigator Flynn?”
“The nature of our relationship is none of your business,” Bree said.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jager thumped on the table with one fist. “He works for you. He’s literally sleeping with his boss.”
Matt raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. “And I’m right here.”
Jager spared him a brief irritated glance, then returned her focus to Bree.
“Actually, Mr. Flynn is an independent civilian consultant,” Bree corrected. “He is not an employee of the county.”
“Tomato, tom-ah-to. The county pays him. It’s the same thing.” Jager shook her red bangs off her face.