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.
Bree didn’t lie and say fine. Being a partner required some actual honesty. So, she said, “I will be. Just give me a minute.”
Romano nodded. “You did OK, Taggert.”
Bree stood, refusing to let her emotions make her weak. “Call me Bree. If we’re going to get guns and knives drawn on us together, I think we should be on a first-name basis.”
She watched Marty scoop Lena up and carry her toward the house.
Romano said, “Then I guess you need to call me Dana. That was the weirdest case ever.”
“We found the kid.” Bree brushed the wrinkles from her slacks.
“That we did.” Romano gestured toward the house. “Let’s clean this mess up, partner, before we get called out again.”
Before there was another death.