Chapter Six Bree
Chapter Six
Bree
Well, this is awkward as hell. I sat next to Sherry, who had made sure my place was set as far away from Brad as possible. My mind still raced with what had happened on the front porch. I didn’t say a word as she dumped a heaping pile of tuna casserole onto my plate like a prison cook. Ew.
“Bradley loves my cooking,” she said, filling the painful silence, and I moved the pile around and hoped she wouldn’t notice I wasn’t hungry. I took a tiny taste and felt my organs shrivel to dehydrated hockey pucks. “So”—her elbows landed on the table—“Bree, when did you get back in town?”
Brad spoke first. “A few days ago. She was asked to work with us on this new case. So remove your claws.” He shoved his chair back and took his plate in his hand.
“I need salt.” Salt? The whole casserole is salty, with a questionable topping of tuna.
I smirked when Brad tossed more than half of his serving into the compost bin, then covered it up with some carrot peelings.
Wait! Is there carrot in this thing? I call bullshit on that.
“Oh, how lucky for the department to have you so ready to return.” She gave me a forced smile.
I cleared my throat, as my tolerance for this woman was nonexistent. “Yes, they are very lucky. I’m very good at my job.”
“I heard from Kennedy that you work with runaway kids. That’s actually really cool.”
I stared at her for a moment and questioned her kindness. Sherry was never kind to me. “Thank you, I do love my job.”
“And you primarily work in New York City?”
“Yes.”
“Must be hard coming back here.” At my look she rephrased. “I mean, you know, going from such a busy, beautiful city to quiet little Sheffield.”
I rolled my eyes internally. That was the Sherry I remembered. It was classic—she would say something, then try to cover it up with innocence. “Well, it’s home.”
Something crossed her face, and I knew what was coming. I braced for the impact.
“Gosh, Bree, I’m trying to recall when I saw you last.”
“Barn dance at Lucky’s, the same night Brad proposed to you.” I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of saying it. That night had also been the tipping point when I knew Sheffield wasn’t for me anymore. It had been the night I left.
“Was that it?” She tossed back her shoulder-length hair. “That night was such a blur, yet I remember it like yesterday.” Her fake smile wavered when Brad plunked back down. “I swore it was way before that.”
Oh, there it is. Like all the locals she just wanted to bring up what I wanted to forget. I only wish I could.
“Enough,” Brad cut in. “Time for you to leave, Sherry. Bree and I have a case to work on.”
“Oh.” Sherry’s face dropped. “I wanted to discuss Ginger’s schedule,” she pushed. I saw the pup’s ears perk up at her name, and she came over to sit at Brad’s feet. Sherry reached out to awkwardly pat her, but the dog inched closer to Brad.
“There’s no need for discussion.” He reached down and gave Ginger’s head a scratch. “Her schedule remains the same. Look, Sherry, Cap is breathing down our necks with this case. We have two bodies and no real witnesses or leads. Every second counts.” Brad tossed his napkin onto the table and stood.
“Bradley, I’m not even finished.” She laughed and glanced at me for help like we were good friends. I pulled in my chin and gave her a wry look. Brad didn’t bite, and she slowly rose. “Maybe I could help. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that.”
“No.” He walked her to the door.
“Why, because she’s here?” she whispered loudly enough for me to hear.
“Yes.”
I took the opportunity to slide the mess off my plate into the compost bin. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her fold her arms. “Bradley—”
“Good night, Sherry.” He stepped back and watched her leave.
I started to wash the dishes for something to do. I pretended not to notice the dishwasher. If I hadn’t done something, I’d have left. Then again, maybe I should have left. I’d let myself slip with Brad on the porch. So stupid, Bree. Old desires were hard to fight.
“I’m sorry about that.” He stood next to me and looked out the window. “She has a key because of Ginger, but I’m starting to regret that decision.”
“It’s fine.” I rinsed the plate and placed it on the drying rack. “I really think I should be the one leaving, though. This might be a mistake.”
“I disagree.” He lowered his head with a sigh, then stood straighter. “Look, Bree, about outside.”
I stopped him. “Let’s not. You’ve got lots on your plate, and Lord knows I do too. Let’s not complicate life any more than it already is.”
When he didn’t respond, I glanced up and found him watching me.
His dark eyes held on to mine, and I resisted the urge to run my hands through his hair and push my lips to his.
My eyes slipped from his and lowered to his mouth, which begged me to taste it.
I could feel the heat in my chest spread up my neck and lighten my head.
A phone rang and broke the moment. I stepped back and dried my hands on the dish towel when I realized it was mine. The caller ID read Dale, so I sent it to voicemail.
“I’ll order us a pizza,” he suggested. “I’m starving. Then we can look at the case.”
“Good idea.” A text message made my phone screen light up.
Dale: I gave you some space, but no communication is ridiculous Bree. I just want to see if you’re okay.
We started to pull out all the paperwork and spread it across the living room table. Once the pizza arrived, I grabbed some napkins. Brad popped us each a beer and got to work.
“Thanks to Smith”—Brad pulled out a stapled clump of papers—“we have a list of everyone who was at the club on both nights the girls were killed. Seems we have an overlap of twelve people. Doesn’t include staff—they’re over here.” He pointed at a separate stack.
“I can start there.” I took the papers from him, snagged a second slice of pizza, and started to familiarize myself with the names and faces.
I appreciated Adam’s careful notes on each person.
He’d done a good job pulling their ages, their professions, and if they had a record or not.
I also appreciated that he pulled both males and females, as there was zero room to assume at that point.
I checked each person’s social media pages to get to know them better.
One guy was creepy as hell and had a serious hand fetish.
I got excited for a few minutes, but a time stamp on a few of the videos didn’t work, and when I dug even deeper, I found a few of his buddies had posted him at the same time as the murders—and the timing was correct because one of his friends’ smartwatch displayed the date and time. So he must have left early.
Brad stood up and stretched his back. “I’d never wish ill on our victims, but I do wish they could have at least scratched the killer so we’d have some DNA.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of questions.” I pulled off my heels, kicked my feet up, and sank farther into his unbelievably comfy couch.
“Does he kill for sport? For a sick thrill? Does he do it and just watch them die slowly from a distance? Did he plan on doing more to them, but people got in the way?”
Brad rubbed his head, then undid his shirt midway down his chest. His smooth skin caught the light above him, and I felt a stab of heat. I hated that he was built like an athlete. Why couldn’t carbs find him? Why wasn’t he at least bald?
“I think he just likes the idea of killing someone in public, seeing if he can get away with it. He’s smart and obviously knows how to keep under the radar.
If he wanted to play with his victims, he’d use the woods or somewhere private, then dispose of them somewhere like the lake or, hell, the river. ”
I sat up as his words brought back that day at the river. “Got anything stronger?” I wiggled my beer bottle at him.
“Yeah.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of scotch. “Will this work?”
“Sure.” I poured myself just enough to line the bottom of the glass and tossed it back. I couldn’t afford a hangover, but I needed a little help being in my own skin right now.
“Can I ask you something?” Brad broke through my thoughts, and I nodded, not wanting to do personal.
“For someone who was a badass through school and again through Quantico, why do you seem so scared?” All the doors slammed shut in my head, and the sound of the dead bolts being locked echoed through my brain.
“Is it because of what we saw that day?”
“I have my reasons.” I waved a hand and moved over to the whiteboard we’d been using to track people’s whereabouts. I pushed back a memory from the day in the Quantico parking lot, but I couldn’t fight it off, and it flooded my head.
I’d been halfway through my training for the FBI.
Eventually I wanted to become a profiler.
I wanted to learn everything I could about what made people the way they were.
I knew the Barbed Wire Killer had shaped me into who I was, so why not turn it around?
It was fascinating, and my scores were high, and my instructors were so impressed, I’d been offered a job when I was finished training.
I was going to be sent to Paris to work at the US embassy.
I was so excited, I called my dad and told him the great news. My life was about to change for good.