Cross Her Heart (Bree Taggert #1)(24)

Bree eased down the steps as Luke slipped into the master bedroom. She paused on the bottom step, then peered around the wall into the living room. Her gaze probed every dark corner of the room, but she saw nothing.

Old houses settle, right?

After checking the coat closet, she started down the short hall toward the kitchen. At the entrance, she paused, putting her back to the wall and glancing around it, careful to minimize her appearance as a target. A dark figure stood at the kitchen island. Using a small penlight, he was looking through the contents of a drawer.

The room was dark, but to Bree, the size and shape looked male. Was it Justin? She couldn’t tell.

He froze. Then his head whipped around. Bree had made no sound, but he must have sensed her presence. He wore a ski mask, but Bree felt his gaze on her.

Bree’s gun was already pointed at his center mass. She remained partially concealed behind the wall. “Freeze.”

Instead of obeying, he bolted for the door. Damn it. Bree couldn’t shoot him in the back. She didn’t see a weapon in his hand, and a man running away could not be considered a threat. She sprinted after him, but her socks slid on the floor. She wasted a few precious seconds trying to gain traction. When she reached the back door, he was already halfway across the yard. Bree shoved her feet into a pair of boots and ran out into the yard just as he disappeared into the barn.

She sprinted across the crusty snow, the boots sliding as she stopped at the barn door. She glanced around the barn doorframe. The aisle was dark, but a huge shape rushed her.

She sprang backward as a horse galloped out. Its shoulder brushed hers and knocked her on her butt. The remaining two animals were right behind the first.

Bree sprang to her feet. Wind blew through her cable-knit sweater, but underneath, her skin was damp with adrenaline sweat. Leading with her weapon, she slipped into the barn. The aisle was empty. The back door gaped open. Had he left, or was he hiding?

Looking up, she scanned the loft but couldn’t see most of it. There was only one way up, a ladder nailed to the wall. To climb it, she’d have to put her gun away.

Not happening.

But she listened for sounds overhead as she crept down the aisle.

Straw rustled.

Bree’s belly cramped.

She moved to the first stall, putting her shoulder to the wall. She spun, sweeping her aim from corner to corner. From a narrow window set high in the wall, moonlight streamed across the bedding.

Clear.

Bree eyed the third stall door on the opposite side of the aisle. Sweat dripped down her back, chilled her skin, and lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. She eased across the wide dirt corridor, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

Squeak.

A small, light-colored shape darted out from under the stall door, right across the toe of her boot. Bree jumped backward, purely on reflex, her heart protesting with a skipped beat as she identified a rat bigger than her tomcat. The rat scurried down the aisle. Its long, skinny tail disappeared into the feed room.

Bree shuddered, then turned back to her search.

What spooked the rat?

She crept toward the third stall door. The moon had risen on the other side of the barn. The stall on this side was darker. Pressing her shoulder to the wall, she prepared to sweep around the doorframe. Something scraped above. Bree looked up. Bits of hay and dust rained down on her, followed by a whole bale. She turned and blocked her face and head with her arms as it crashed down on her upper back. The impact knocked her to the ground. She landed on her hands and knees, the wind whooshing out of her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man jump down into the aisle and run toward the rear door. Shaking hay out of her face, she scrambled to her feet and raced after him. Lungs aching, she rushed out of the barn.

Where is he?

She spotted his dark form on the snowy landscape as he used a tree stump and a fence post to scramble over the barbed-wire fence. Bree set after him. Fueled by the knowledge that this could be the man who’d killed her sister, Bree stretched her strides and began to gain on him.

As she neared the pasture fence, he was only thirty feet in front of her. She leaped onto the tree stump. Her rubber boot slipped on a patch of ice. Her momentum carried her forward, and she landed on the barbed wire. A sharp sting lanced her ankle. The old post broke, and wire snapped, coiling at the sudden lack of tension. Bree got a knee under her body and pushed forward. But the loose wire had tangled around her legs. Kicking and pulling only tightened its hold. Barbs gripped her jeans and dug into her skin, but Bree barely registered the pain.

Caught, she watched the man who might have killed her sister escape into the trees.

She rolled to her back and stared at the sky for a long minute. She could no longer hold back her grief, frustration, and fear. Sobs racked her body, and tears overflowed her eyes. She’d lost her parents and the cousin who’d raised her. But Erin’s death was different. Bree was supposed to protect her little sister.

Emotions gripped her heart as tightly and as painfully as the barbed wire wrapped around her ankles. Grey’s Hollow had caught her in its grip, and it would never let her go. She heaved in a deep, painful breath that felt as if the air were scraping in and out of her lungs, leaving her raw and vulnerable and hollow. A slideshow of her sister’s face, from babyhood to last August, raced through Bree’s mind, each image leaving a mark, like the tracks of fingernails in flesh.

The cold seeped through her sweater, and she began to shiver. The breakdown lasted only a minute or two. Her sobs slowed, and she caught her breath.