Free Fight Dirty by CJ Lyons

slash Caren with the blade nestled in the sleeve of her jacket. How could a mother betray her own daughter that way?
    And the father, h e’d just let it happen. Kept his distance, as if he was above it all.
    She had the sudden thought that the Greenes weren’t all that different from her own father.
    Maybe for BreeAnna, escaping ReNew, returning home to these two, wasn’t much of an escape. Could that explain why sh e’d killed herself?
    “And you weren’t there to pick her up, either? Never visited her, sent her any photos?” Andre asked Greene.
    “No.” Greene didn’t even seem flustered by the questions. “I was on the road, but I wanted both my girls home. After talking it over with Caren, we decided it was better for BreeAnna to live at home while she got the help she needed. So Caren went to get her, and when I got off my plane, there they were, both my girls, safe and sound.”
    Right. A real Hallmark moment. Then why was his daughter dead less than ten hours later?
    “Like I said,” Greene continued. “No one at ReNew has ever seen me. The only thing they know about me is my credit rating. So instead of wasting time and money hiring an actor, I say we do this. Tomorrow. I’m tired of waiting for answers.”
    He glared at each of them in turn, the CEO demanding his boar d’s approval.
    “At least let us look around BreeAnn a’s room, first,” Jenna broke the silence. “Make sure we’re not overlooking any other avenue of investigation.”
    Andre stepped forward, offering Caren his hand. “Mrs. Greene, is there someplace we could talk? Your impressions about what you saw at ReNew and how they operate would be most helpful.”
    Caren simpered and stood, smoothing her dress. Morgan felt Robert stiffen, watched his lips tighten as Andre led Caren out. He didn’t like the idea of Caren talking without him there to monitor her, but Andre had given him no chance to make an excuse.
    The Greenes were hiding something—but then why push forward with the investigation at all? The police were satisfied; BreeAnn a’s death was a closed case to everyone except her parents.
    What were they so desperate to find? It definitely wasn’t the truth.

CHAPTER 11
    M organ wondered what rich-girl rebel decor would look like. She found Bre e’s rooms on the top floor of the mansion. Bree had an entire wing to herself on one side of the open space above the foyer, while the other wing consisted of two tastefully appointed guest suites.
    On Bre e’s side of the floor, the first room at the top of the stairs was a music room with wide windows, hardwood floors, and a baby grand piano taking up most of the space. One wall held a large whiteboard covered with musical notations, pages of sheet music with scribbled notes attached by magnets.
    Interesting. Why didn’t her parents mention that Bree was a musician? Must have been half-decent to have her very own grand piano to practice on. There was also an expensive computerized keyboard and recording equipment, microphones, and headsets.
    Other than the music, the walls were bare. No photos, no inspirational posters, not even any shelves with CDs or more sheet music. No place to sit, either, other than at the piano or keyboard.
    Was this a place to learn music? Or to be force-fed it?
    She left the music room and found a small kitchenette next door opening into another room that appeared to be where Bree did her schoolwork. An antique desk sprawled across one wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side filled with volumes that appeared to have never been opened. Classics and actual paper encyclopedias and reference books. As if someone had mail-ordered a kit labeled “Student destined for Harvard.”
    There was a leather sofa along the opposite wall and on the coffee table actual water marks, indicating this was where Bree actually worked. Nothing to indicate what she was like—at least not until Morgan got down on her hands and knees and peered beneath the