Chapter 24 BREE

Chapter 24

brEE

It was almost dark when Bree opened the rear cargo area of her SUV, grabbed Mercy's bag, and realized that she now thought of the agent by her first name. Being shot at together—and Mercy confiding in Bree about the senator's daughter—had put them on different terms.

"I can get that," Mercy protested as she eased out of the SUV like a ninety-year-old.

Bree ignored her outstretched hand. "You just get yourself to the door."

Mercy walked gingerly across the grass.

"Let me go in and contain the dog. We have two. Brody is a former K-9. His manners are impeccable. But Ladybug is less ... I hate to say she isn't smart, but she isn't. She is, however, aggressively friendly."

Mercy waited on the porch while Bree opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Ladybug slammed into her legs. Behind her, Brody seemed to sigh. Bree set down Mercy's bag.

"OK, girl. Chill." Bree grabbed the dog's collar, asked her to sit, and opened the door for Mercy. "It's safe."

Mercy walked into the kitchen. Brody greeted her gently. Mercy stroked his head. "He's a beauty."

"He's a very good boy." Bree pulled Ladybug toward the door. "I'm going to take the dogs outside for a few minutes. Why don't you get settled? Top of the stairs, first bedroom on the left."

"Thanks." Mercy picked up her bag, clearly trying to cover the pain of lifting it.

Bree called Brody and released Ladybug on the back porch. Both dogs trotted onto the grass to do their business. She headed for the barn. Adam had once again handled feeding time. Bree went from stall to stall, checking each animal for cuts or lameness. Horses had a unique ability to injure themselves doing absolutely nothing. Everyone seemed fine, and Bree turned them out into the pasture for the night.

She returned to the house to find Mercy in the kitchen with her black cat, Vader. "The cat seems nice."

"He likes women. Men, not so much," Bree said. "You're probably hungry since you lost your enchiladas."

"I am." Mercy patted her stomach. "The Mexican seemed like a good idea at the time, but maybe something a little milder would be better now."

Bree opened the freezer. "You're in luck. My unofficial live-in nanny, Dana, likes to cook, and knows I won't. She left meals in the freezer."

"Where is the family?" Mercy asked. "I saw a little girl's room."

"My niece, Kayla, is nine. Luke is seventeen. They went to the beach with Dana's extended family. It's a good time for them to escape the heat here." Bree pulled a glass baking dish from the freezer and read the label. "Chicken piccata?"

"Homemade?"

"Dana would be offended to be asked that." Bree put the dish in the microwave. "Oh. I found a loaf of her french bread." She turned on the oven, then went to the pantry and scanned Dana's stash of red wine. "I'm not a big drinker, but tonight might call for a small glass."

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"I don't know much about wine. You want to pick a bottle?" Bree put the bread on the baking sheet.

"Glad to." Mercy emerged from the pantry and held up a bottle. "Pinot noir."

"OK." Bree pulled the cork and filled two glasses.

Ten minutes later, the piccata was hot and the bread crisp. Bree piled the food on plates and brought them to the table.

Mercy tasted the chicken. "This is amazing."

"Wait until you try the bread."

They cleared their plates in minutes.

"That's almost embarrassing." Bree piled the dishes in the sink. "Let's take the wine outside. I think some fresh air would help clear my head. It's been a day." She grabbed an ice pack for Mercy.

The dogs followed them onto the back porch, lying down with deep sighs and the thunk of bones. Bree settled back in her chair. The wine was mellow.

"What kind of horse is that?" Mercy pointed to Beast grazing just beyond the gate.

"Matt's Percheron. He was an Amish workhorse. He's a big one but very gentle. Loves the kids and all human attention like a giant puppy. They're all rescues, from the kill pen."

Mercy sat down slowly, placing the ice behind her and leaning on it. "This is nice. How long have you lived here?"

"Since my sister died about a year and a half ago."

"I'm sorry."

Bree sipped. The pain still bloomed fresh whenever she thought about Erin's death, but with time, it was becoming more of a blunt ache and less of a sharp stab. "She was murdered, which made things even harder on the kids."

"I've been raising my niece since my brother was killed."

"That's not something I'm thrilled that we have in common," Bree said.

"No."

"I used to work homicide in Philadelphia." Bree waved a hand toward the pasture, where the dark shapes of the horses moved. "This is a whole new life for me. Sometimes I feel guilty for being happy here."

"I get that." Mercy inhaled. "I miss the country. I even miss the smells of a farm."

Bree snorted. "I was raised here until I was eight. I adjusted to city life, but manure still smells like home to me."

Mercy laughed, winced, and then quieted. "I hate to bring up work, but do we have a plan for tomorrow?"

"Finding out who shot you would be awesome. I'm assuming it's our killer."

"Seems the most likely possibility," Mercy agreed.

"Are we also agreed we're dealing with a serial killer?" Bree asked. "We'll have to answer to the press tomorrow."

Mercy stared out over the dark pasture and drank more wine. "I don't see how we can deny it any longer. We have two dead women, one kidnapped teen, and a potential fourth victim, so I'd say yes. We have a serial killer here."

"It's up to us to stop him."

"And find Paige," Mercy added.

"You know she's here."

Nodding, Mercy flattened a hand at the base of her throat. "I can feel it."

Bree felt it in her bones too. "Then we need to find her."

Before he kills her.