CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
C HAPTER T WENTY -N INE
Bree rolled over the next morning straight into a giant wet dog nose. Ladybug stared directly into her eyes, the dog’s square face about an inch from Bree’s. “Good morning.”
The dog’s tail stub wagged hard.
“Any chance you could bring me a double shot of espresso?” Bree asked her.
Ladybug pawed at the blanket with strong feet.
“OK, OK. I’m getting up. Geez.” She tossed back the blanket and swung her feet off the edge of the mattress.
With her job done, the dog leaped from the bed. Bree heard her heavy steps going as she descended the steps as gracefully as a buffalo.
Tempted, Bree glanced back at her pillow, but the sounds of people moving about the kitchen downstairs stopped her. She’d missed dinner and bedtime the night before. She would have breakfast with the kids if she had to crawl down the steps. Matt’s side of the bed was empty, and from the sound of water running, he was in the shower.
They hadn’t gotten home until after midnight, and she’d slept fitfully. She stretched a kink in her back and stood, her spine cracking. Feeling old and stiff, she shuffled to the bathroom. Matt opened the sliding glass door and leaned out. “Want to join me?”
She eyed the lack of steam. “That water is cold, right?”
“Yes. It’s bracing and good for inflammation.”
She shuddered at the thought. “Then no. To be more specific, no way in hell.”
But he reached out, snagged her with a wet arm around her waist, and dragged her in. The cold water sluiced over her body and soaked her pajamas. Shock raised goose bumps everywhere.
Laughing, she shivered, and her teeth chattered. “I’m going to get so even. Let me go.”
“Nope.” He pulled her close and blocked the spray. Reaching behind him, he adjusted the faucet. A minute later, the water warmed.
Bree melted into him. “I don’t know how or why you tolerate cold showers.” She turned, splaying her hands on his impressive chest. “I heard the kids downstairs.”
He kissed her. “Nope. That’s Dana. The kids aren’t awake yet.”
“They’ll be up any minute.” But she raised her arms as he pulled her sopping tank top over her head and dropped it in the corner of the shower.
He lifted his mouth from the curve of her neck and stared down at her. “Unless we have to get to work—”
Bree cut him off with a finger on his lips. “No. No work talk. We need—and deserve—a normal morning to ourselves.” If there was one thing she’d learned since moving back to Grey’s Hollow, it was that they needed more to their lives than crime. “But I do want to have breakfast with the kids.”
“As much as I prefer to linger, I can work fast when it’s required.” Matt trailed a kiss down her jaw to her collarbone.
Bree laughed. “Not too fast, I hope.”
“Don’t worry. I’m thorough.”
And he was.
Twenty minutes later, Bree dried herself on the bath mat. Matt stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. “I hope that was better than espresso.”
She waggled a hand from side to side. His face fell.
Bree couldn’t keep a straight face. She laughed out loud and snapped the towel at him. “That’s what you get for dragging me into a cold shower.”
He grinned and kissed her again. “Go get your precious coffee.”
“I will.” She sauntered into the bedroom, dressed in her uniform, and jogged downstairs.
She took a cappuccino out onto the back porch. She sat and watched the horses graze for ten minutes. The door opened and Kayla came out, carrying a glass of milk. She took the seat next to Bree.
“I missed you last night,” Bree said. “What did you have for dinner?”
“We made pizza. I got to stretch my own dough.”
“Sounds great.” Bree sipped. “Do you have plans for the day?”
Kayla nodded. “Shannon is having a pool party.”
“Fun.” Bree didn’t have to ask about safety. She knew Shannon’s mom would watch them like the Secret Service on the president. “Last hurrah before school starts.”
“I can’t wait for school!” Kayla drank her milk and wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand. “I love it.”
“How are we even related?” Bree teased, satisfied that Kayla, despite the trauma and grief she’d already experienced, was a happy child. By leaving her career in Philadelphia, Bree had allowed Kayla and Luke to retain their own home, their school, their friends. She’d given them the gift of stability. And she received far more in return than she could ever quantify.
Kayla grinned. “I’m hungry.”
They went inside, where Luke and Matt were already chowing down on Dana’s french toast. They took their time eating, listening to Kayla’s happy chatter.
After eating a ridiculous amount of food, Luke pushed back his plate. “Can I borrow Cowboy tomorrow? I want to take a friend on a trail ride.”
“A friend?” Bree asked. “Can she ride?”
Luke blushed. “Her name is Maya, and I don’t know.”
“Is Maaaaa-ya your girlfriend?” Kayla asked in a teasing, singsong voice.
Luke rolled his eyes. “She’s a friend.”
But his red cheeks suggested he’d like her to be more than that. “You can borrow Cowboy, but if she hasn’t ridden before and she’s small enough, Pumpkin might be a better option, if it’s OK with Kayla.”
Kayla’s sturdy little Haflinger should be sainted.
“She’s very small. Is that OK with you?” Luke asked his sister.
“Sure. Pumpkin likes girls.” Kayla bobbed her head. “And he’s a very good boy.”
“Plan to go early,” Bree said. “Before it gets too hot, but I don’t have to tell you any of this. You know horses better than I do.” And because it was required now that she was a parent, she added, “Be careful.”
“Thanks.” Unbelievably, he forked yet another slice of french toast onto his plate. He’d become an eating and growing machine. She was grateful for shorts so she didn’t need to buy him pants every eight weeks.
Thirty minutes later, Bree drove to the station in a much better mood. “I feel like a new person. It’s amazing what an hour or two of normal will do.”
“Truly.” Matt stepped out of the vehicle. They entered through the back door. Matt veered toward the conference room while Bree headed straight for her office. She set her stainless-steel thermos full of cappuccino on the desk and booted up her computer.
Marge appeared in the doorway. “You look like you’re in a good mood.”
“Breakfast with the kids.”
“Well, hold on to that feeling.” Foreboding filled Marge’s voice.
“Please don’t burst my bubble, Marge.”
Marge sighed. “Jager is here.”
“Already?” Bree kept her tone even, but inside she was whining. Her positive mood deflated like a released balloon. It was too early to deal with politics. “There should be a rule prohibiting early-morning visits from bureaucrats.”
“Sorry.” Marge nodded toward Bree’s travel mug. “Do you need more coffee?”
Bree lifted her cappuccino. “No. I’m good. Dana put extra shots in this. Bring her in.”
“Your poor heart.” Marge shook her head and walked away.
Bree took a bracing sip as Jager strode in. Her face was expressionless, as usual, but Bree detected the vague signs of concern bracketing Jager’s mouth. Today’s suit was an eye-popping fuchsia that not many people could have pulled off. Jager managed the color with flair.
She closed the door behind her, never a good sign. “We need to talk.” She planted herself in one of the chairs facing Bree’s desk.
“What happened?”
“Two things.” She held up a perfectly manicured finger. Her polish matched her suit. “One, Pamela Sawyer and her attorney held their own press conference late last night.”
Bree sagged back into her chair. She couldn’t suppress the ugh that slipped from her lips.
“Exactly,” Jager said. “They doubled down on all that BS about you keeping her daughter away from her. Is it true that Claire is staying with one of your deputies?”
“How the hell did they get that information?”
Jager shrugged off the question, as if it didn’t matter. “What were you thinking?”
“Claire likes my deputy, who lives with her mother, who is retired NYPD. It seemed like a good solution since we suspect Claire could be in danger.”
“Stop calling her Claire. Her name is Blaire, and she has a family that wants her back.”
Bree pushed her mug away, the coffee souring in her gut. “Claire isn’t ready. She was in tears. Was Pam sober for the press con? Because she sure as hell wasn’t when she came to meet her daughter.”
Jager cocked her head. If frowning were possible, she probably would have. “Hard to say. Sober enough. I mean, she looked like hell, but in this instance, that worked for her in generating sympathy. Her attorney did most of the talking. Sawyer mostly cried and looked sad.”
“I don’t understand why she would do this to Claire. Why not give the kid a day or two?”
The look Jager gave Bree was full of my sweet summer child vibes. “ You wouldn’t understand. You aren’t a political animal. You don’t have an alternate agenda. You have empathy and standards and ethics.” She rolled a hand as if those things were superfluous.
Is Jager trying to be helpful? She understood politics and alternative agendas. That was for sure. Bree rocked forward, her chair squeaking. “And you think Pam Sawyer has an agenda?”
Jager’s eyes narrowed. “Definitely.”
“What do you think she wants?”
“What does everyone want?” Jager stated in a matter-of-fact voice. “Money.”
“Her daughter returned after being missing for twelve years. That doesn’t happen very often. She could have a book deal tomorrow.”
“Did she strike you as a memoir writer?”
“It’s her story. She doesn’t have to write it. She could do interviews and podcasts. The ways to monetize the situation are endless, though most people would want to focus on getting to know their long-lost child, at least for the immediate future.”
Jager’s half smile was indulgent. “You’re kind of amazing. After all the shitty things you must have seen people do in your career, after your own personal tragedies, you’re still an optimist. You still think most people are good at heart.”
A memory floated into Bree’s mind. The worn farmhouse kitchen of her childhood. Bree sat at the table, copying spelling words. Her mother handed her a wooden spoon dripping with batter. The taste of vanilla and sugar flooded Bree’s mouth. Masculine laughter sounded so real; it almost made her turn her head to look for the source. Her father walked into view. He wrapped his arms around his wife and nuzzled the back of her neck.
The image burst like a bubble from a child’s wand. Bree nearly gasped at the flood of emotions. She covered her reaction with a cough. Where did that come from?
Jager shifted forward, resting her clasped hands on the edge of Bree’s desk. “How many horrible acts do parents commit against their children?”
Still reeling from the memory, Bree didn’t respond. She hoped the question had been rhetorical because her throat was locked tight.
Jager continued. “People hurt the ones they love every day.”
Was she referring to acts Bree had witnessed in law enforcement? Or her parents’ violent history? Her father had been obsessed with the wife he viewed as his possession. He’d been determined to keep her forever, even if that meant he had to take her to the grave with him. His love had been as real as his rage.
“People sell their kids for drugs,” Jager said. “Kids are molested and murdered by their own parents. Using your kid’s disappearance to make a few bucks seems tame in comparison.” She paused, her attention riveted on Bree. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Bree’s answer felt hoarse. To clear her throat, she sipped her now-tasteless cappuccino. “How do you think Pam will try to use the situation to make money?”
“Maybe she’ll sue the county. Maybe she’ll sue you personally, though that would probably be extra. Pam’s a hot mess, but her attorney looked sharp. He’ll know the big bucks come from the government.”
“What would she sue us for?”
Jager threw up her hands. “Who knows? If she has enough public support, she’ll get a settlement. Right or wrong won’t matter. The county will only assess which is cheaper, paying her off or going to court.”
Bree rubbed her forehead.
“I know politics give you a headache,” Jager said, her voice ringing with sympathy that sounded genuine. “I also know you and I don’t see eye to eye on many issues. But politics is my jam, as the kids say. This is one time you should probably take my advice.”
Bree’s hand dropped to her lap. “Which is?”
“You have a couple of options. One, hold another press conference. Say how upset Claire is, et cetera. Fight fire with fire, to be cliché.” Jager unclasped her fingers and tapped one on the desk. “Or you can hand the kid over and say she needed a little space to process the shock. People will buy that. You’ll look good.”
“It’s not up to me. This is a decision for Claire, social services, and a judge.”
“That’s not how it appears.”
“And that’s all that’s important.”
Jager tossed up a palm. “Now, issue number two.”
There’s more? Fuck.
“The Wards’ attorney has also been busy. They’re filing a harassment suit against you and the county.”
“Harassment? Liam is a murder suspect. I’m not convinced that Simon Osborne is guilty.”
“Osborne confessed.” Jager enunciated the words clearly. “You don’t understand optics, do you? You’re investigating Liam for the murders of Josh and Shelly Mason while you simultaneously already have a suspect in custody for those murders.”
The good news? Bree didn’t need any more caffeine. Her blood was pumping with anger.
“Simon hasn’t been charged with murder. He’s in custody because he attacked—and bit—Matt.”
Jager lifted a whatever shoulder. “I know you’re mad. If I were in your shoes, I would be too. But don’t be mad at me. I’m just the messenger here. It’s hard for you to believe, but I’m trying to help you.” Her tone softened. “I know I haven’t always had your back. When the governor appointed you, I didn’t think you were a good choice for sheriff. You didn’t—and still don’t—have a sufficiently cold heart for politics. But I’ve come to learn that you are one hell of a cop. You’re smart. You’re ballsy as all hell. You’re a certifiable badass—which is marketable, by the way. But most importantly, you put the community first. You risk your life to keep people safe.” The corner of Jager’s mouth tipped upward. “And by doing those things, you’ve become very popular. The public has taken note of your heroic qualities. Who would have thought taking the high road could pay off.”
Bree was truly speechless for several seconds. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. But will you take my advice?”
“I make no promises. It’s a lot to process.”
“Of course you would never make a promise you weren’t certain you could keep.” Jager breathed. “I’ll sum it up. One, get Claire back to her family. Two, lay off on Liam Ward until you know if Osborne is guilty.”
“I’ll take your suggestions under advisement.”
Jager grinned. “Now that was an excellent political response.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Please keep me in the loop. I mean it. I can help you interpret this politics/optics nonsense you abhor.”
“I appreciate the offer.” Bree remained neutral. While Jager had been softening toward her lately, their relationship didn’t exactly feel like teamwork. More like frenemies? But she did have to admit that Jager excelled in the political arena.
“I am available if you need more advice.” Jager left Bree’s office.
Bree stared at the empty doorway, feeling like she’d just survived a natural disaster, something sudden and unpredictable, like a tornado.
Marge appeared. “I didn’t see any steam coming out of her ears. What happened?”
“Some bad things, but Jager was ...” Bree was still uncertain. “Helpful?”
“That’s ...” Marge paused, clearly searching for the right word. “Disconcerting. Will you take her advice?”
“I don’t know yet. I have some work to do.” Bree went to the conference room. Matt paced in front of the murder board. Todd was typing reports.
Todd looked up from his laptop. “I have good news and bad news.”
“I could use some good news. Start there.” Bree dropped into a chair.
“The search warrant for Simon’s place came through.”
“And the bad news?”
“The one for Liam’s was denied.” Todd frowned.
“I was afraid that would happen.” Bree summed up her conversation with Jager.
Matt pivoted. “It’s understandable. The logic is sound from a legal perspective.”
Bree agreed. “Simon has backed us into a corner. We have no choice but to focus on him, but I was hoping to also keep pursuing Liam as a suspect. I guess we’re following Jager’s advice on this one. We determine the validity of Simon’s confession and work from there. Let’s start with his mother.”