Page 54 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Sunday afternoon, Bree was in her office buried under reports. The law didn’t stop for weekends. She spoke with Morgan Dane, letting her know that Troy was cleared of all charges. She was setting down her phone when Madeline Jager walked into her office in a snug navy suit.

Should have closed the door.

Not that a closed door would have stopped Jager.

“Nice work.” Jager crossed her arms. “You caught the killer and saved Claudia Ferguson.”

Bree leaned back and touched the bridge of her nose. The swelling was down, but she knew the bruises had gone full eggplant. Her face looked like bruise-colored camo, like someone had tie-dyed her skin with purple paint. “I wish I’d caught her before she killed Janet Hargrave.”

“You once told me that you can’t stop a crime before it happens.” Jager perched a hip on the edge of Bree’s desk.

“It’s true, but I still don’t like it.” But Bree hadn’t even had Elaine Gibson on her suspect list. Harrison’s mother had never been on the radar at all. Who expected a senior citizen to commit a violent, bloody murder?

“You expect yourself to be perfect,” Jager said.

Bree looked away. “When I’m not, people die.”

“Look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side? Two women are dead.”

“You’re getting a new K-9.” Jager didn’t even look peeved. “You outmaneuvered me on that one. You’re learning. Kudos.”

“It’s not a game.”

Jager shrugged. She totally thought it was. Her eyes lit with triumph. “But now you have to admit that my tip line worked. Go on. Admit it.”

“Fine,” Bree said. “It worked. But that was a once-in-a-million shot.”

“Still worked.” Jager grinned.

Bree clenched her teeth. Of all the narcissistic ...

Jager examined a fingernail. “People might say I helped solve the case.”

“People” being yourself.

Jager stood and straightened her skirt. “I like that we’re partners now instead of adversaries. We’re a good team.”

Bree had no words other than please no .

Jager sauntered toward the door. “I’ll make a politician out of you yet.”

Bree sincerely hoped not.

Her phone rang. Marge. “I know it’s a Sunday, but I thought you’d want this information ASAP.

I found the woman in the drawing. Her name is Phyllis Sanders.

She was a social worker for Randolph County for twenty-five years.

She’s retired now, but she says she remembers your mom and you’re welcome to stop by her house.

” Marge read off an address in Grey’s Hollow.

Bree’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t speak for a moment. She’d wanted this information, yet having it felt almost overwhelming. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Thanks, Marge. I couldn’t have found her without you.” Bree reached for her jacket.

“I know.” Marge ended the call.

Now that Bree had the information, she had to follow up immediately. She’d waited too long. Her stomach roiled with nerves as she drove to a little ranch-style home on a neat lot. Phyllis Sanders opened her door and gave Bree a smile.

Bree started to introduce herself, but Phyllis cut her off. “I know who you are. I’ve been following your career. Your mom would have been so proud of you.”

Bree felt tears pressuring her eyes. She blinked them away.

Phyllis took her by the arm and led her into a cheery yellow kitchen. “I’ll make you some tea. Then we’ll talk.”

Bree dropped into a farmhouse chair.

Tea was served, and Phyllis faced her over the steaming mugs.

“You drink, and I’ll tell you everything.

I met with your mother at least six or seven times.

She wanted to leave. She knew she was in danger.

But she also knew leaving would be risky.

Men like your father don’t let their women go. They feel like they own them.”

Bree knew this. Statistically, victims of domestic violence were at the greatest risk when they left.

They instinctively knew it, which was why they were afraid to go.

Every memory of her parents’ marriage—all the violence—spoke to her mother’s fear and the very real danger running away would bring.

“She was making plans, though, and I was helping her. I was looking for a spot in a shelter for all of you. There weren’t enough shelters.

There still aren’t.” Phyllis paused and sighed heavily.

“I don’t know if he found out or not, because he killed her before I could find a place.

I’m so sorry. I wish I could have done more. ”

A quick flash of that night played in Bree’s mind. The very last time she’d seen her mother. The gun. The rage in her father’s eyes. Her mother pinned against the wall, distracting him, her eyes pleading for Bree to take her younger siblings and run.

She’d sacrificed herself so her children could live.

Because she’d loved them.

Bree couldn’t process all the information over a sip of tea.

It was a lot to take in. Did her father find out that her mother was planning to leave?

Was that why he killed her? Maybe he would have killed her anyway.

Maybe his escalating violence had triggered her mother’s attempt to leave him.

She would never have all the answers, and she would have to accept that.

Bree’s voice was rough when she finally spoke. “None of what you told me is a surprise, but it’s good to know she was trying. I know she loved him, though, as hard as that is to believe.”

Phyllis raised a hand. “You don’t have to tell me anything.

I’ve seen it all. Your mother isn’t the only woman I lost.” She reached across the table and took Bree’s hands.

“She loved you more, though. All she wanted was to protect her children. She just didn’t know how.

She was terrified for you three, not for herself. ”

Unable to speak, Bree simply nodded.

Phyllis squeezed Bree’s hands. “I’ll say it again. She would be so proud of you.”

Exhaustion felt like a weighted vest when Bree stood, thanked Phyllis, and left.

She sent Adam a text that she needed to talk to him—he deserved to know.

Then she drove home in a mental fog, changed into jeans and boots, and went to the barn.

She was too wired to nap. Some time with Cowboy would be her therapy.

The rain had stopped early in the morning, and Cowboy was covered in mud when she brought him in from the pasture. After closing the door against the chilly wind, she snapped him onto the cross ties. “Did you find every mud puddle on the farm?”

He butted her with his head, and she fed him a carrot.

The barn door slid open, and Adam stepped in. “Got your text.”

Bree leaned on Cowboy’s rump. Over her horse’s back, she told her brother everything Phyllis had said.

Adam nodded solemnly. “Not a huge shock, right? But still, this kind of feels like a closure of sorts.”

“It does.” Bree had come home to Grey’s Hollow reluctantly.

She hadn’t wanted to revisit her past. Yet, in doing so, she felt .

.. healed. Had she worked through the worst of her pain, or would there be more?

There always seemed to be more, but she was tired of living in the past. She needed to focus on moving forward.

Her mother’s murder would always be a part of her. But the burden felt lighter now.

“Then what I have to say seems appropriate.” Adam patted Cowboy’s back. Dust billowed. “My last two paintings did pretty well.”

“Pretty well?” Bree snorted.

Adam laughed. “Yeah. I used to not value money. But it sure is nice to be able to help people. The kids and the farm are taken care of. I’ve put aside some for you too.

” He held up a hand. “I know you don’t want it, but you’re not going to want to put your life on the line forever.

I want you to be able to quit whenever you choose without money being an issue. ”

“Thank you,” Bree said. “That’s a comfort to me.” Because he was right. She wouldn’t chase criminals forever. Sure, Matt had money, but it was a relief to know she was independent.

“I’ve even spent a little on some fun things.

” Adam had bought a nice car and built himself a real house instead of living in his converted barn studio.

“So, now that those needs have been met, I have another plan. I don’t remember Mom.

I was just a baby when she died. But I want to make her proud.

What would you say to opening the Mary Taggert Women’s Shelter? ”

Joy flooded Bree. She had no answer except to walk around her horse and throw her arms around her brother. “I think that’s the best legacy you could give her.”

“I figured I can’t help her, but I can help other women like her.”

“You might even save some lives.” Bree hugged him harder.

“Yeah.” Adam cleared his throat. “You give back every day in your job. I want to do something too.”

“She would be proud of us,” Bree said.

“I hope so.” Adam leaned back. His eyes shone with moisture. “I’m also going to take Zucco on a nice vacation—somewhere warm—as soon as she can spare the time.”

“I’ll approve her vacation days.” Releasing him, Bree wiped a happy tear from her cheek. “She’s more than earned it, and you deserve some happiness. I know sometimes it’s hard to remember that. She suffered. We suffered. But that’s all in the past. We can’t change it, and we deserve to be happy.”

Later, when she and Matt lay in bed, their legs intertwined—not with each other but around two dogs and a cat with an attitude—she didn’t want to talk about the case. She told him about the shelter. “I didn’t want to come home almost two years ago.”

“I know.”

“But I’m glad I did. My whole life is something I never imagined.”

He reached over Ladybug, took Bree’s hand, and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“The baby is still good?” she asked.

“The baby is perfect.”

“Do you ever think about having one of your own?”

“You mean one of our own,” Matt corrected. “Because I would not want a child with anyone else.”

“One of our own then.”

“I do, but I’m a happy man right now. I don’t need a child to complete me, and I feel like Kayla and Luke are mine anyway.” Matt shrugged. “You?”

“I don’t feel the overriding need for a baby—especially not a ten-pound one. That’s just not right.”

Matt laughed. “Cady is almost six feet tall, so ...”

Still . . . Ouch.

“I want to make sure I’m not keeping you from something you need,” Bree said.

Matt stroked her arm. “I’m not in a rush to make any irreversible decisions, and holding little MG makes me realize how permanent that would be. My sister and Todd made a person .”

“What would you say to an almost-as-permanent decision?” Bree rolled over. The dogs protested with groans. Vader hissed and bolted to the nightstand, where he cleaned his paw and looked offended.

“Like what?”

We deserve to be happy.

So, why was she putting off something that would make her life even better?

“Marry me?” Bree asked. The question felt like an impulse, but it wasn’t.

“Tonight?”

Bree laughed. “I’d rather wait until I don’t look like I lost a prizefight.”

“I will marry you any day, anytime. Do you want to elope?”

“I think your parents will want to be there, don’t you?” And Bree suddenly knew she wanted both their families around them. Friends too. Their joy was something to be celebrated. With her past—and his—they’d earned their happiness.

“I do.” He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her. “We can keep it small, though. If you don’t want to do the work, I’m sure my parents would host it at their house.”

“Maybe. Here at the farm would be nice too.” Bree would feel closer to her sister here at home. “I’ve wanted to marry you for a while.”

“I know.”

“Ha ha.” Bree rolled her eyes. “But now I feel ready to marry you. Like I’ve finally put some things to rest mentally so I can move forward unencumbered, or at least, less encumbered.” She shook her head. “It’s not coming out right.”

Matt shifted, leaning forward to kiss her. “I understand.”

Brody sighed and jumped off the bed. Ladybug didn’t budge, but she did give them an I’m sleeping side-eye.

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” Bree asked, laughing. “I don’t have a ring.”

“Kneeling isn’t necessary. I’ve seen the bruises on your legs. I don’t need a ring either.” Matt kissed her again, one hand sliding to her hip. “All I need is you.”

His fingers squeezed gently, and she felt the need for him: heart, soul, and body.

I deserve to be happy.

And she was. She really was.

She cupped the side of his face. “Back atcha, big guy.”