Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert #4)(3)

Adam nudged her with an elbow. “Are you sure you’re OK with going inside?”

“Yes.” Her answer was automatic, not honest, and the lie burned like acid in her chest.

She would never be OK with what had happened in that house, but she had managed to mostly put it behind her.

Now, every instinct in her body told her not to cross the threshold. The memories on the other side were the monsters under her bed.

Adam closed his eyes for a few seconds. His face scrunched in concentration. “This place feels familiar, but I can’t remember anything specific. I can’t even picture her face.”

“I’m sorry.” The atmosphere felt familiar to Bree as well. Dread pooled in her belly. “You were just a baby when she died. I wouldn’t expect you to remember her.”

He turned to her. The yearning in his hazel eyes brought unshed tears to hers. As hard as Adam was trying to recall their childhood, Bree was working just as hard to forget it.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

No. Bree eyed the front porch. “Is it safe?”

“The structure is surprisingly solid.”

“You’ve been inside?” she asked.

He looked away and shrugged. “A couple of times. I fixed some stuff.”

Guilt weighted Bree’s shoulders. She should have come here when he’d first asked months ago. He shouldn’t have had to face this place alone. Though he stood a full head taller than her, he was still her little brother.

It was her job to protect him. Bree had failed their sister, Erin, and she had died. Bree could not repeat the mistake with Adam.

Her mouth went dry. She didn’t want to replay anything about the first eight years of her life, the years she’d lived in this place with her family—or the violent night that had ended that period. Once she entered, she would no longer be able to repress her memories. No more excuses. Since their sister had been murdered back in January, Bree had left her job as a homicide detective in Philadelphia, moved to Grey’s Hollow, and taken charge of her eight-year-old niece and sixteen-year-old nephew. Back in her hometown, she’d done her best to distance herself from her childhood tragedy. She’d never even considered visiting this house until Adam had asked. But her brother had stepped up to help with the kids. He’d done everything she’d asked of him, and he’d made only this one request in return.

“Let’s do this.” She stepped over the property line. Skirting a puddle, she strode toward the house.

Long-legged, Adam moved ahead. Thunderstorms had pummeled the area the previous week, and low-lying areas had flooded. Her brother’s strides were eager, while Bree’s feet dragged in the sole-sucking mud. Once, the driveway had been gravel, but the small stones had long since been ground into the earth.

Adam jogged up the stairs to the porch. Bree didn’t allow herself to pause until she stood beside him.

The porch boards didn’t sag under their weight. Some of the planks had been recently replaced. He moved toward the front door. Bree noticed the door, hinges, and lock were new. The doorframe had been repaired. How many times had Adam been here? Discomfort curled into a ball in her chest. She’d let him face the horror of their past alone. She’d let him down. She wouldn’t do that again, no matter what it cost her.

Something creaked. The hairs on the back of Bree’s neck bristled. “Did you hear that?”

Adam shrugged. “Probably the wind. It’s an old house.”

His reasoning was plausible, but Bree’s instincts weren’t happy.

He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Bree touched his shoulder. “I’ll go first.” She moved in front of her brother. Her hand went to the service weapon on her hip.

She took a deep breath and went inside.

The living room was empty. Behind her, Adam shuffled a sneaker. The throw rug had rotted away to a few shreds of fabric. Dirt and leaves gathered along the walls. But Bree no longer saw the abandoned house as it stood today. She was transported back to the very last night she’d been under this roof.

Adam said something, but his voice was muted by the imagined sound of her parents fighting and the smack of her father striking her mother.

“Bree?” Adam jostled her arm.

She shook herself. “Sorry.”

His gaze turned hesitant as he engaged in some internal debate. Bree said a quick prayer that he’d change his mind and haul her out of there, but she suspected it didn’t matter. The damage was done. She was remembering.

Everything.

His jaw went rigid. “Which room was mine?”

Bree turned to walk down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She passed the room she’d shared with Erin and stopped in the doorway of the smallest, the nursery, now empty. “This one.”

Adam followed her into the room. She ran a finger over the grimy wall and uncovered a patch of faded baby-blue paint. “She was excited to be having a boy. I remember watching her paint over the pink.” She pointed to a scuff on the wall. “Your crib was there.”

Adam pivoted, scanning the room, his face creased with concentration. “I don’t remember anything.”

For the best.

Bree turned on her heel and went back into the hall. She halted in another doorway. “This was their room.”

“Is this where he killed her?” Adam asked from behind her.