Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert) Read online

  The attorney opened his briefcase and removed a single piece of paper. “This is a signed statement from Miss Chloe Miller. Noah Beckett was at her apartment. They were together when Paul Beckett was shot. Noah couldn’t have killed his father.”

  They’d moved fast.

  “Noah confessed.” Bree might have been responding to the lawyer, but her gaze never left Angela’s eyes.

  “I spoke with him a few minutes ago,” the attorney said. “He will be withdrawing that confession.”

  “Have you shot Paul’s gun in the past?” Bree asked Angela.

  She opened her mouth, but the attorney held up a hand.

  “Mrs. Beckett will be exercising her constitutional right to remain silent,” he said. “If you want to bring her back to the station, you’ll have to arrest her. If you had any evidence, you would already have done so.” With one hand under Angela’s elbow, he stood, pulling her up with him. “I expect Noah to be released immediately.”

  “We’ll see,” Bree said.

  “We all know he didn’t do it, Sheriff.” The attorney sounded bored. “You’ll have no evidence except his confession, which is invalid.”

  “Then why did he give it?” Bree asked. She had a good poker face, but Matt could see frustration in the lines fanning from her eyes.

  “I didn’t ask.” The attorney didn’t blink. “Because it doesn’t matter. He’s innocent. He has an alibi, which I’m sure can be confirmed by electronic means. We’re all wasting time here.”

  Bree and Angela stared at each other for three awkward breaths.

  Then Bree said, “He’ll be released within the hour.”

  “Thank you for being reasonable. Good day.” The attorney steered his client out the door.

  Bree turned off the camera. Her body was rigid. When she started for the door, it was with jerky strides instead of her usual graceful motions. Matt wouldn’t have been surprised if she kicked the trash can. But she didn’t, of course.

  She swept one hand over the top of her head. “I didn’t expect him to get to Chloe that fast.”

  “He’s no novice.”

  “No,” Bree agreed. “He didn’t let Angela say one word.”

  “What now?”

  “We let Noah go. Then we go home for dinner.” She stopped in the conference room for the murder book. She tucked the Beckett Construction financials inside. “Maybe we’ll find another motivation for killing Paul.”

  Bree checked in with Marge and Todd before leaving through the back door.

  “Do you want me to drive?” Matt asked.

  Bree sighed. “Please.”

  He drove the SUV to her house. She was quiet on the short ride. When Matt turned into her driveway, he glanced over. Her head lolled back on the headrest. Early-evening sunshine hit her face, highlighting the shadows under her closed eyes.

  He shifted the vehicle into park. She lifted her head and blinked hard a few times, as if she’d dozed off. She winced as she climbed out of the vehicle.

  Matt fell into step beside her. “Before we get started, have you taken anything for that? I’ve been shot. I know what it feels like.”

  “Ibuprofen. I’m saving the strong stuff for bedtime.” She held her arm stiffly at her side.

  “Have you changed the bandage?”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t it time?”

  “I guess.” Bree folded her good arm across her injured one. “Are you offering to do it?”

  “Yes.”

  They stopped and stared at each other for a couple of breaths.

  “Fine.” Bree started toward the door again. “But you’ll have to come upstairs. I don’t want the kids to see it.”

  They went into the kitchen. Ladybug trotted over to greet them, the stump of her docked tail spinning in a crazy circle. Dana was bent over a cutting board, slicing prosciutto. The dog circled back to sit at her feet and drool. Matt sniffed the air like a hungry dog—the kitchen smelled like Dana had been baking. A square pan sat on a cooling rack in the center of the island. Bree’s black cat, Vader, judged her work from the counter across the room.

  “You’re early.” Dana’s sharp gaze swept over Bree.

  Bree rubbed the cat’s head. “I’m going to take a shower and change.”

  “Do you need help with the bandage?” Dana glanced at Matt with worried eyes.

  “No.” Bree adjusted her sling. “Matt will do it.”

  “I’ve done it before,” he said.

  Dana nodded. Vader leaped from the counter to the island. Raising his nose, he sniffed in the direction of the meat. Dana narrowed her eyes at him. “Back off, mister.”

  Vader was not impressed. Matt scooped him off the counter and set him on the floor. The cat gave him an annoyed look. He jumped back to his original perch and began washing all the places on his body that Matt had touched.

  “Where are the kids?” Bree asked.

  Dana pointed her knife toward the window that overlooked the barn and pasture beyond. “Feeding the horses.”

  “We’ll be down soon,” Bree said.

  Matt followed her to the second floor. He stopped in the doorway to her bedroom, surprised. “This is different from the rest of the house.”

  “I’ve kept my sister’s things everywhere else. I didn’t want to change the kids’ environment. They’ve had enough upheaval. This house should still feel like their home. This furniture came from my apartment in Philly. I needed one room that felt like my space.”

  The design wasn’t exactly modern, just clean-lined and sleek compared to the farmhouse look in the rest of the house.

  “Close the door. I don’t want the kids walking in.” She slipped off the sling and flicked open the top button of her uniform shirt.

  Matt knew since the hospital that she wore a tank top under her uniform shirt, but seeing the buttons open one by one was still damned sexy, even under the current circumstances. He couldn’t help it. He was just a man.

  “I’ll wash the wound in the shower.” She tossed her shirt into a nearby hamper. “But I’ll need help rebandaging it.”

  “Need help removing the bandage?”

  “Sure.” She flexed her nicely muscled arm as if it was stiff. Then she ducked into a closet, grabbed fresh clothes, and walked into the bathroom.

  Matt followed. A totally different kind of hunger stirred. Focus. He washed his hands, carefully removed the old bandage, and examined the stitched wound. “It doesn’t look red. I don’t see any sign of infection, but I’m sure it hurts like hell.”

  Bree craned her neck over her shoulder to see the back of the wound in the mirror. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

  “This tattoo is amazing,” Matt touched the dragonfly on the back of her shoulder. Under the artwork, he could feel the raised flesh of the old scar. He turned her to face him. Her gaze was on his face, but he was studying her tattoo and scars. He traced a vine—and scar—that snaked over her shoulder. It passed dangerously close to her neck and continued for several inches. As the son of a doctor, his knowledge of anatomy was above average. His fingertip brushed her collarbone. Just below it, a flower was centered over a round, puckered dot, likely where a canine tooth had sunk into her flesh. So close to the artery that ran through the armpit and into the arm.

  So close to killing her.

  “You were lucky.” His voice was hoarse. “I know it probably didn’t seem like that at the time.”

  “Oh, I know.” She frowned. “The ER doctor said if the bite had been a half inch to the side, I would have bled out in under a minute.”

  “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry the doctor told you that. It must have been terrifying.”

  Bree smiled. “He didn’t mean to. He was angry at my mother. Her story about the attack was inconsistent. He could tell she was lying. She wasn’t very good at it.”

  “Then why didn’t she tell the truth? Why not try and get away from your father?”

  The tattoo shifted as she shrugged. “Because she kn
ew he’d kill us all if she left him.” A small shudder passed through her. “I’m going to have a new scar, and it’s going to be ugly. Maybe I’ll have the vines extended farther down my arm.”

  “You don’t need to cover anything.” He tugged her closer, until her body pressed against his. “Your scars are part of you. You’re a survivor.”

  “I’d still prefer not to have them.”

  Matt pressed his lips to hers. He closed his eyes and let the kiss spin out. When he lifted his head and looked down at her, her eyes were still closed. They fluttered open, and she smiled. They’d kissed before, but somehow this felt more intimate. It wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

  She could have died last night. The realization hit him like a blast of Freon, and he went cold straight to his soul. Falling in love with her—he couldn’t even pretend that wasn’t what was happening—meant gambling his heart on a woman who would always take risks. Could he accept that? He kissed her again, letting it spin out as he held her closer. Her body fit against his in a way that he could only describe as right.

  He answered his own question with a resounding yes. He was all in. She was worth risking everything.

  Dana’s voice sounded from downstairs, disrupting the moment. “Dinner in fifteen minutes.”

  Bree broke the embrace and reached into the shower to turn on the spray.

  Matt didn’t trust his voice. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “I’ll wait in the bedroom.” The words sounded husky, almost harsh.

  He backed out and closed the door behind him. As he listened to the water run, he pictured her . . .

  Nope. Don’t go there.

  Their relationship was progressing toward a physical one, but he would not rush a single step, and this was not the time. Still, it was a nice thought. Very nice.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Todd.

  “What’s up?” Matt answered.

  “We have the license plate number for the vehicle of the man who accepted the envelope from Paul Beckett last night.” Todd’s voice sounded tight.

  “Who is it?”

  “The building inspector.”

  “Does the inspector have any previous allegations for accepting bribes?”

  “Not that I know of,” Todd said. “What now?”

  “I’ll talk to the sheriff.” But Matt was sure she’d want to launch a quiet investigation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cady wiped sweat from her forehead. “Awesome workout! Thanks for coming, ladies!”

  Her kickboxing class filed out the front door. Her brother, Nolan, stepped onto the mat in his full white Brazilian jujitsu Gi. “Great class, Cady.”

  He ducked, weaved, and snagged her by the waist, lifting her off her feet as if she were tiny, which she was definitely not.

  “Nolan, put me down,” Cady said. With two older brothers, she’d learned to sound bored when they teased her.

  He set her on her feet. “You’re no fun anymore.”

  Cady rolled her eyes. “You need to grow up.” She poked him in the chest.

  “Never.” He grinned. Despite his bald head and full sleeves of tats, when he smiled, she could still see him as a twelve-year-old. Equally badass-looking men filed in, and Nolan started them on warm-up drills. He stretched his arms over his head and winced, quickly covering the pained look on his face. A career as a professional MMA fighter had left him physically broken. The human body could take only so much abuse before it rebelled. He was only forty, but his body had high mileage.

  Cady moved closer. “You take it easy tonight. Make them do all the work.”

  He waved and moved off to teach class.

  But she knew he wouldn’t. At least he’d given up fighting.

  She collected her gear and pulled on a zip-up hoodie over her tank top and leggings. Then she headed for her car. She’d stop home, shower, and feed her own dogs, then head to the kennel to feed the rescues. At Matt’s request, she’d hired Justin to clean the kennels and hang out with the dogs, but she wasn’t ready to trust him with more responsibility yet. He hadn’t been out of rehab long enough for her to know if sobriety had stuck. He had a bad record with drug dependency and relapse. Plus, his wife’s death had left him fragile. She’d known him since childhood, and it saddened her to know what opioids had done to him.

  But as bad as she felt for him, she would take no chances with the dogs in her care. The rescues were Cady’s responsibility. She would check every single night to make sure they were settled with full bellies, clean water, and warm beds. Those dogs had suffered too much for her to allow them to be anything but comfortable.

  As she crossed the parking lot, she zipped her hoodie against a chilly evening breeze. Her workout clothes were soaked. As usual, her kickboxing class had kicked her own ass. She drove home and parked in the driveway. She could hear her dogs barking. One great big woof sounded, then some barking from the pit bulls. Above it all was the high-pitched yapping of little Taz going ballistic. He was always reactive, but today he sounded particularly angry.

  Juggling her purse, duffel bag, and phone, Cady hurried from her minivan. She didn’t need more complaints from the neighbors. As she went up the walkway, she shifted her bag straps over her shoulder and dug into her purse for her house key. “I’m coming,” she called through the living room window, but the dogs continued to bark. The pitties cranked up the volume. Even Harley got involved. She found her keys and separated her house key from the rest.

  A shadow fell over her. Before she could turn around, pain exploded through her head. Her vision dimmed, and she felt her legs fold like an ironing board. She dropped her phone, and it bounced under a bush. When her knees hit the concrete, she barely felt the impact. On her hands and knees, she gagged a few times. Each time she retched, the pain in her head ratcheted up a notch. The agony was all encompassing. She curled into a ball on the pavement. Something warm and wet trickled into her eyes. Then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Bree stood under the spray, rinsing her hair and trying to clear her head. The encounter with Matt had short-circuited her brain. If she hadn’t been recently shot . . .

  But she had.

  She turned to let the warm water rush over the wound. It burned. Gritting her teeth, she washed it tentatively, surprisingly squeamish about the stitches. She turned off the water and stepped onto the bathmat. One-handed drying proved challenging. When she was mostly dry, she stepped into jeans and a fresh bra and tank top. She opened the door, her bra still open in the back. Matt was leaning against the wall in the bedroom.

  He moved back into the bathroom to inspect the wound again. “This actually looks pretty good.”

  “If you say so.” She rubbed a towel over her hair.

  When she’d finished, Matt took it from her and hung it over the shower door.

  “Would you mind hooking this?” She spun and pointed at the hook of her bra.

  “This feels wrong.” But he did it. Then he opened the bag containing the bandages and discharge instructions from the hospital.

  “The hospital supplied me with everything I need. Being sheriff has its perks.” She gritted her teeth as he read the instructions and dressed the wound.

  He rolled gauze around her arm and taped it in place. “How’s that feel?”

  “Better.” She flexed her arm and winced.

  “Liar,” he said.

  “I’ll take ibuprofen with dinner.” She rolled her wrist and moved her fingers. Her muscles were stiff, and everything hurt from her shoulder to her elbow.

  “You have antibiotics?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I’ll take those with dinner too.”

  “You’re supposed to keep your arm still for a few more days.” He handed her the sling, and she put it on.

  She reached for her hair dryer.

  “Let me help.” Matt took it and aimed it at her head. He ran his fingers over her scalp, fluffing her hair at the
roots.

  Bree let him. She was tired and aching, and it felt nice to have someone take care of her, even if it was only for a few minutes.

  When it was mostly dry, she said, “That’s good enough.”

  Matt shut off the dryer and ran a brush through her hair. “The man who met Paul was the building inspector.”

  “Paul was probably bribing him.” She wasn’t surprised. Paul had no respect for the law.

  “We can’t prove it.”

  “Yet,” Bree said. “Let’s go eat, then we’ll brainstorm.”

  They went downstairs. Dana was just putting out dinner when they entered the kitchen. Bree’s arm throbbed. Despite what she’d told Matt, the washing and rebandaging had hurt, and the pain was beginning to wear her down. She started on her pasta, knowing the food would help. Kayla, excited to have company, chattered. Luke and Matt talked about baseball.

  “Any more dates on the horizon?” Bree asked Dana.

  Dana took a small sip of her red wine. “Maybe. I’ve messaged back and forth with another man. We’ll see how it goes. I’m in no rush.”

  Bree shook her head. “I can’t wrap my head around dating apps.”

  “It’s actually kind of fun.” Dana grinned. “You should see some of the profile pics. I want to message half the men over fifty and tell them to ask their daughter to take their picture.”

  “Bad?” Bree forked a piece of prosciutto into her mouth. The bacon-y taste melted in her mouth. Bacon really did make everything better. The more she ate, the better she felt.

  “You have no idea.” Dana passed a basket of garlic bread.

  Twenty minutes later, Bree carried her almost empty plate to the sink.

  Dana followed her.

  Bree turned to her best—only—friend. “Are you OK here?”

  “I’m fine, why?” Dana set her own plate in the sink. “Because I’m using a dating app?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  Dana turned to face her. “I love being here with the kids. I never had a family of my own. But I admit I’m a little lonely, and maybe a little bored.”

  “I appreciate all you do for me and my family, but I don’t want you to be unhappy here.”

  “The way I feel has nothing to do with my geographical location.” Dana paused. “I just retired five months ago. It’s a major life change. I’d need to make decisions about the rest of my life regardless of where I live. Two divorces have left me a little jaded, and I didn’t expect to want to date. But I see you and Matt . . .” She sighed. “And I see something worth putting up with some bullshit for. So, I’ll try this app and see what happens.”