Home > See Her Die(4)

See Her Die(4)
Author: Melinda Leigh

“And your friend’s name?” Bree asked.

“Harper. Harper Scott.”

Rogers yanked her toward the door. She resisted Rogers’s attempt to move her. He pulled harder. The toe of her boot caught on a raised floorboard, and she stumbled and pitched forward. With no hands to block her fall, she hit the floor face-first.

Bree glanced at Rogers. He was breathing hard. His face was flushed, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. Adrenaline overload? Could he not handle the stress? He was an avid hunter, but deer didn’t shoot back at you. The girl was unarmed, handcuffed, and clearly no longer a threat, but he didn’t seem to register that information. Was something wrong with him? He seemed off. Bree had worked with him for only a few weeks. She didn’t have enough personal experience with him to make a judgment on his behavior.

Bree motioned Rogers to back off, then helped the girl to her feet. “Where did the shooting happen?”

The girl led them back into the main room. Red-and-blue strobe lights pulsed through the window.

“Out there.” Alyssa turned to the rear window and inclined her head toward the view. “On the ice. Behind the cabin next door. A scream woke me up. I couldn’t find Harper. I went outside to look for her. That’s when I saw him shoot her. She fell.” The girl’s words flowed over one another. “And she didn’t get up. He saw me, and I ran.”

“How many times did he fire his weapon?” Bree asked.

“Twice,” Alyssa said with no hesitation.

“Describe him,” Bree said.

Alyssa closed her eyes, as if trying to picture him in her mind. “Tall, dark pants, boots, dark coat. He was wearing a hat.”

“Could you see the color of his hair or eyes?”

The girl shook her head. “The hat covered his hair, and it was too dark to see his eyes.”

Two deputies came through the front door; one of them was Bree’s second-in-command, Chief Deputy Todd Harvey.

Bree handed the girl over to the second deputy. “Put her in your vehicle and watch her.”

She signaled to Rogers. “Let’s check out the lake.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rogers’s words were clipped.

Bree scanned the snow. Somewhere in the forest, a victim was bleeding.

And a shooter was on the loose.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

“Let’s go, Greta.” Matt Flynn waved a hand, directing the pure-black German shepherd toward the next obstacle on the homemade agility course. The approaching dawn brightened the horizon. Snow flew from under the dog’s feet.

Greta pricked her ears and sprinted for the plastic tunnel. Her body was lean and sleek as she zoomed across the snow. She raced through, emerging out the other side at top speed and looking to Matt for his next command.

He headed for the next obstacle, a crate pushed in front of a four-feet-tall section of wooden fence. Matt motioned for Greta to go over it. The dog leaped onto the crate and scaled the fence in one smooth motion. Matt called her back, and she repeated the jump from the other side. He dangled her tug toy, and she latched on to it.

“Good girl!” Matt swung her around in a circle. She held on. The dog landed, tail wagging, loving every minute of their game. Extreme tug was her favorite at the moment.

“I can’t believe her transformation,” a familiar voice called.

Matt turned toward the voice.

His sister, Cady, stood at the edge of the yard, her hands propped on her hips. The spotlight mounted on the back of Matt’s house shone on her strawberry-blonde ponytail. “I’m amazed with what you’ve done with her. She was rejected by two families.”

Cady operated a dog rescue organization. As a former K-9 handler with the sheriff’s department, Matt was specially equipped to deal with her more challenging rescues, including Greta.

“People buy puppies because they’re cute without any knowledge of the breed characteristics. Herding dogs are bred to work. They get bored easily.” Matt commanded the dog to release the toy. When she dropped it, he stuffed it into the leg pocket of his cargo pants. “She is super smart.”

Probably smarter than the people who returned her.

“Do you think she’ll calm down?” Cady asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. She’s a year old and still high maintenance.” Matt looked down at the dog. Greta stood at attention, her huge black ears still pricked forward, her focus entirely fixed on Matt. She was ready for the next game. “I wouldn’t call her excitable. Driven is a better word. I’m not sure it’s a trait she’ll outgrow.”

A few seconds of unnatural silence passed. Matt’s instincts went on alert. His sister was never quiet.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Cady said.

“The last time you said that, you took over my kennel.” Matt and his K-9 partner, Brody, had been caught in the cross fire between the sheriff’s department and a drug dealer. Injuries had ended both of their careers. With his settlement from the county, Matt had bought the property and built a kennel to train K-9s. He’d intended to import dogs from Germany, but Cady had “temporarily” filled the kennel with overflows from her dog rescue. Three years later, the kennel was still full of homeless dogs, and Matt hadn’t made any progress getting his business started.

Cady turned both palms up in a sorry-not-sorry gesture.

Matt snapped the leash onto Greta’s collar. “What do you need?”

She gestured toward the kennel. Matt recognized the older woman standing next to Cady’s minivan. In her seventies, with a head of fluffy white curls and a hearing aid, Mrs. Whitney fostered senior dogs for Cady’s rescue. Since most of the animals Mrs. Whitney took in were unadoptable due to age and illness, Cady referred to her house as a small-dog hospice. Usually, she was energetic for her age. Today, her posture was stiff, and she was clenching her hands together.

“What’s wrong with Mrs. Whitney?” he asked.

“She reported her grandson missing.”

“Eli?” Matt had never met him, but Mrs. Whitney talked about him all the time, and there were about a thousand pictures of the university student in her house.

“Yes.” Cady’s brow furrowed. “She’s really worried. Could you find out what’s happening with the case? She can’t hear well, and she gets confused.”

“I don’t work for the sheriff’s department anymore.”

Cady pursed her lips. “But you must still have friends in the department.”

Friends?

Matt suppressed a snort. “You do remember I was shot by friendly fire.”

Officially, the incident had been labeled an accident, but Matt’s relationship with the sheriff’s department was strained.

“But you’re close to the new sheriff,” Cady suggested.

“I haven’t seen her since she became sheriff.”

Matt and Bree were supposed to have dinner a few weeks ago, but she’d canceled. He hoped she was just busy.

Cady’s eyes begged. “Please, just listen to Mrs. Whitney.”

Matt sighed. “You know I will.”

They walked over to Mrs. Whitney.

The wind kicked up across the yard, and Mrs. Whitney shivered. “Thank you so much for helping.”

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