A Matter of Trust(68)

“So, you’re not looking for a good story?” He added a confusing smile to the end of his words.

Which made her bold. “Of course I am. But, actually, I was hoping I could interview you.” She ignored the pain in her side and stood up. “I heard you were the one who started PEAK Rescue, and I thought maybe you could tell me about what led—”

“Nope.” His smile had vanished.

And suddenly, the room went very quiet. She glanced around, saw Sierra standing in the kitchen, making another pot of coffee. Sierra glanced at Ian with a pained expression.

Out of the corner of Brette’s eye, she saw Ty stand up, start to move toward her.

“I’d be happy to talk about the achievements of the team, but the disappearance of my niece is still an open case. I don’t want to discuss it.”

Oh. She winced as the pain in her side convulsed.

Ian’s tone changed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just—I ate something yesterday that doesn’t seem to want to get out of my system.”

“Probably the pizza from the Griz,” Ty said now, miraculously beside her. He had her by the arm and led her over to the sofa.

She thought she heard a groan from someone, and then Jess crouched in front of her. “You look a little flushed. Can I take your temperature, maybe get a blood pressure?”

Brette nodded.

Ty handed her a pillow and helped her lie down, put her feet on the sofa. Then he crouched next to her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She shook her head, and Jess returned with a medical bag. She sheathed a thermometer, and Brette stuck it under her tongue while Jess took her blood pressure.

“It’s a little low,” she said, then removed the thermometer. “And you have a low-grade fever.”

“It’s just food poisoning,” she said.

But Jess stood up, shaking her head. “I don’t like it.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Jess took a breath, then pursed her lips, as if thinking. She stood there, her arms folded over her chest, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and suddenly Brette had another flash of memory.

Jess, or someone who resembled her, standing in front of reporters, her face tight, almost angry as she fielded questions.

In another moment, the image blinked away, and it left Brette staring up at Jess, grasping for it.

Jess Tagg had been someone famous. Someone even influential. Or notorious?

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ty said quietly and reached for a chair.

Brette closed her eyes, thinking. Where . . . she knew . . .

Court steps. A throng of press.

She pressed harder, searching—

“Are you sure I can’t get you something? Acetaminophen? Ibuprofen?”

She opened her eyes to see Ty standing over her, his brow furrowed. Sweet. “No, I’m fine. I just need to rest and—”

That was it. “I need to rest and get away . . .”

She could nearly hear her, in echo, part of a sound bite the news played over and over after the sentencing of Damien B. Taggert.

One of the biggest swindlers in history.

A man whose Ponzi scheme had bilked thousands of investors out of billions.

The words had been spoken by his daughter, Selene Taggert.

No. She stared at Ty, then at Jess. “Selene Jessica Taggert,” she said quietly, just under her breath.

She’d found the missing piece to the mystery of the Taggert Investment scandal, the heiress who’d vanished the day her father was sentenced to 150 years in prison.

The woman who’d turned him in and testified against him—or so the rumors went. Because no one had ever landed her side of the story.

Yet. Brette drew in a breath, looked at sweet, kind Ty. “Yeah. Could you get my phone? It’s on the counter in the kitchen.”

He nodded, his frown deepening, and got up.

Poor man. He probably had no idea.

Right?

And that’s when her stomach decided it had had enough. Bile rose in her throat even as she pushed herself to a sitting position. The pain moved from her stomach, down to her right side, as if a fist had punched in, grabbed ahold of her intestines, and squeezed. She cried out, grabbed her side, doubling over.

“Brette!” She heard Ty’s voice even as she hit the floor, landing hard on her hands and knees.

Suddenly a trash can appeared in front of her and she lost her meager breakfast in it. Sweat pooled on her forehead as the emptying of her stomach turned her weak.

Then Ty was there, crouched beside her, holding a wet washcloth. She pressed it over her face and leaned back against the sofa.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her body shaking.

Jess had crouched beside her, was snapping on gloves. “I’m just going to palpate your stomach, okay?”