Her Second Death (Bree Taggert #0.5) (11)

“Why not call the police?”

“And what would you do?” Kelly snarled. “Have me file a restraining order? That’s worth nothing. He would still kill me.” She snorted. “I did the only thing I could to protect myself and my daughter. I killed him first.”

“Did Lena see you shoot James?” Bree shifted sideways, trying to turn her body so Kelly wouldn’t see her draw her gun.

Kelly looked horrified. “Of course not! I’m not a monster. James brought Lena back so he could go buy drugs. Lena was already asleep. I put her to bed, then I followed him.”

“You left her alone?” Bree asked.

Kelly sniffed indignantly. “She was sleeping, and I didn’t have a choice. James would have killed me, but I had no proof and no other way to protect myself.”

“Where did you get the gun?” Bree asked.

“I’ve had it for years, for protection. This is the first time I’ve needed it.” Kelly shook the pistol in her hand. “Put your hands up!”

Bree assumed the classic surrender pose. “Did Lena know about James’s threats?”

Kelly exhaled. “Lena doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“But she does.” Marty stood at the end of the hall. They hadn’t heard him come inside. “Just because she don’t talk don’t mean she don’t understand.”

Bree knew that children comprehended much more than adults realized. Maybe Lena had seen her mother argue with her father. They’d yelled loudly enough to be heard through the walls of the rowhome. Maybe she’d heard the threats they’d uttered—maybe she’d been scared and she’d run away.

Bree empathized all too well. “Where is Lena?”

“I don’t know!” Kelly spit. “When I got back, she was gone.”

Nausea rolled through Bree’s stomach. “You didn’t call the police when you first noticed Lena was gone.”

“And tell them she ran off while I was shooting her father?” Kelly barked out a grating, incredulous laugh.

“You shot James.” Marty’s voice went flat.

“He said he was gonna kill me!” Kelly shouted. “I looked all over for her. I don’t know where she went.” Her mood abruptly shifted from wild anger to despair. “Do you know how hard it is to raise an autistic child?” Kelly waved the gun at the child’s room. “She don’t talk, but she can scream until your eardrums bleed.” Kelly put her other hand to her temple, as if she could hear the screams in her head.

“Put down the gun, Kelly,” Bree said in a firm voice.

“Fuck you.” Kelly sneered.

“Are you going to kill me? What about my partner and Marty?” Bree asked. “You can’t get away. Everyone knows what you did.”

“Where is your partner?” Kelly looked around frantically.

“She’s right here.” Romano said from the doorway. She held her own service weapon, and it was pointed at Kelly. “Put the gun down, Kelly.”

Instead, Kelly spun, whipping the gun around toward Romano.

Bree lunged forward and knocked her arm upward. The gun went off. The bullet struck the ceiling. Bits of plaster rained down. And then Bree had Kelly’s arms behind her back. She snapped on the cuffs. “Kelly Tyson, you are under arrest for the murder of James Tyson.”

Once Kelly was restrained, Bree turned to Romano. “We need a K-9 team over here. If Lena ran away last night, the dog should be able to track her.”

More units arrived. Bree secured Kelly in the back of a patrol car. The K-9 arrived within twenty minutes. The dog led them across the tiny square of cement behind the Tyson’s rowhome, to the gate that led into Mrs. Lawrence’s patio space. A board under Mrs. Lawrence’s back steps was broken.

The K-9 approached the steps and began to bark. Bree moved ahead, putting aside her fear of the big dog to crouch next to the steps. She shone her flashlight into the darkness. A wide-eyed little girl crouched, shivering in the shadows. Bree recognized the trauma in Lena’s eyes. The little girl had seen her parents fight, possibly overheard their shouted threats. Her response had been to run and hide.

Bree knew all this because she’d lived it.

Some children were afraid of the dark, while others sought it out, hoping it could protect them.

Thankfully, Lena had had the sense to put on boots and a coat. Bree’s vision dimmed. She was transported back more than twenty years. She saw darkness, felt the shaking bodies of her siblings as they huddled together under the porch. The cold penetrated their thin pajamas. A gunshot went off. Bree flinched.

“Taggert?” Romano’s concerned voice broke the flashback.

Bree shook it off. “I’m OK.”

Romano gave her a disbelieving stare. “Whatever.”

Bree turned back to the small hole under the neighbor’s back stoop. The little girl hadn’t moved. Bree reached out. “Hey, Lena. I’m Bree. You’re going to be OK.”

Marty ran out of Kelly’s house. “Lena!”

The little girl scurried out of her hiding place and into her grandfather’s arms.

Bree breathed and rocked back on her heels. If she tried to stand up, she’d probably fall flat on her face.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Romano asked.