Brett didn’t know what shocked her more—the ease Coen displayed about dealing with a serial killer or the image of him being domestic. She couldn’t fathom either one.
“Here.” Coen set the cup of tea in front of the stool he’d been sitting on earlier. He motioned for her to take it. She wasn’t about to argue. “Please. Sit down.”
“Now there’s the Deputy Fl—” Brett had been about to refer to him the way she’d thought of him all week, but that was completely incorrect. She’d also tried to lighten the mood, but all she did was remind herself that he’d misled her this entire time. “What does SSI stand for? Are you an agent of some sort?”
“SSI stands for Safeguard Securities and Investigations.” Coen lifted the spatula that she’d been using for the icing. He scooped up some creamy frosting with its bendable rubber end. “I’m technically an agent working for the federal government, but we really don’t use those kinds of titles. Townes Calvert personally selected a special group of former military special operators to round out his team. I happened to be one of them, along with four other men who I highly respect. SSI is based out of Florida.”
“Who is this guy, Danny?” Brett recalled the phone call he’d taken earlier this afternoon, right before Louise’s visit. “Someone from SSI?”
“Danny is my brother.” Coen’s reply had been short and sweet. It was apparent he didn’t want to talk about his troublesome sibling. For some reason, his response made her even more curious than before. “Sometimes our personal life doesn’t stop just because we’re on the job.”
Now there was the Coen Flynn she’d met up at the campground.
“There is something I would like to know.” He had smeared the icing on one of the cupcakes, twisting his wrist to try and make a swirl on top. She cringed at his technique, but she purposefully took a sip of her tea so that she didn’t say anything that would be considered a rebuke. “Were you aware that Martin Eyles and Heidi Connolly were having an affair?”
“No, not at all,” Brett replied honestly, setting her cup back down on the granite after seeing the darkened liquid come close to spilling over the edge. Her hands were still trembling, despite the fact that she’d found some measure of composure. “Heidi never said a word to me, but our friendship wasn’t as close as she was with the others. Truthfully, I’m closer to Chad than the rest of the group.”
“You went to high school with him and then attended college together.” Coen picked up another cupcake as if he hadn’t just let it slip that he most likely had memorized her background. Just how much did he know about her? Was he still gathering information? She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she did her best not to reach out to take the cupcake out of his hand. “You’re close with Louise, though. Did she ever mention Martin and Heidi being together before yesterday?”
“No, she didn’t.” Brett thought back to last weekend, when some odd remarks made by Martin now made sense, given the context of what she knew now. At least the sheriff was making an arrest, and Martin wasn’t someone she needed to worry about…unlike Shepherd Moss. “Look, you basically know everything I do. I wasn’t even in the wedding party. Heidi was the maid of honor, and I was just a guest. But you’re now standing in front of me doing hideous things to my cupcakes while telling me that a serial killer is who I should truly be worried about instead of the fact that my group of friends all had secrets that led to one of them being murdered.”
“Hideous?” Coen held out the cupcake and examined his work of art as if she hadn’t almost had a complete meltdown and gone insane. His lip curled at the corner in pride. “That’s a damned fine-looking cupcake, if I do say so myself.”
Brett laughed, which was totally his intention. She rested her hands over her face, taking a moment to herself to assimilate everything that had taken place this week. It was a good thing she’d asked for the week off. Her class didn’t need to see her rattled like this.
“You don’t think Shepherd Moss is coming here anymore.” Brett said the statement aloud just to hear him verbally agree once more. She didn’t want to end up like Heidi, and she certainly didn’t want to go through the torture Shailyn had endured during those two days he’d held her captive. “And someone is going to be across the street until he’s captured or the case is closed, right?”
A resounding bang on the side of the house came out of nowhere, preventing Coen from answering. Brett was on her feet before he even dropped the cupcake back on the counter.
This was it. Moss had come for her to try and lure Shailyn out of hiding, but that wouldn’t happen. Did Shailyn even remember her? Would her death be in vain?
“Go to the bathroom and stay in the tub,” Coen ordered briskly as he walked around the island, holding out his hand. She didn’t hesitate to take his offer. Her mind was chaotic with thoughts until he guided her to the small hallway that separated the kitchen and living room. It was then that the severity of their situation became clear. He’d drawn his weapon from its holster. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”
*
Brettany had no idea she was in over her head. It was kind of fun to watch, in a sadistic sort of way.
Did that make him insane?
No.
It was human nature to enjoy the suffering of others.
CHAPTER SIX
‡
Coen waited patiently for Brettany to close the bathroom door behind her before he continued to cautiously walk through her living room. All the lights were on in the house, so it would make it difficult to look out the sheer curtains and into the darkness. The bright blue lights on her Christmas tree alone would make that almost impossible.
He was able to turn off two of the lamps positioned on each end of the couch in an attempt to minimize being backlit directly. There was nothing he could do about the fact that he was an open target, but that wasn’t his main concern.
Moss wasn’t one to announce his presence in such an openly defiant method. He was able to gain the upper hand through outwitting his prey. He was not one for barging in on his target without knowing an armed opponent was on the premises who was well versed in close combat and would most certainly hold an advantage in said situation.
Chances were that a branch had blown loose from the large cottonwood tree and had smacked into the side of the house. Maybe the additional weight of the snow and ice had caused part of the tree to break off. Either way, he wasn’t taking any chances with Brettany’s safety.
Coen quickly and efficiently slipped his feet inside his boots before very carefully opening the front door. He grimaced as the bitter cold wind greeted him upon stepping outside. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket, for that would have taken up way too much time and put him at a tactical disadvantage.
The rate at which the snow was falling had picked up with a vengeance, and the flakes were no longer graceful in their lazy descent. The strong gusts were blowing the snow in what basically simulated one of those snow globes. He’d seen and experienced a hell of a lot worse in Norway, so he did his best to ignore the harsh elements as he carefully surveyed the area through what visibility he had in front of him.
What the hell?
Coen squinted against the ceaseless flakes as he tried to make out what had caught his interest.
There—off to the left and toward one of the older boxelder trees that bracketed the larger cottonwood in Brettany’s front yard.
The snow had taken on a reddish tint from where the blinking hazard lights of a vehicle had been initiated in what appeared to be a slide-off accident. Coen stepped off the porch and cautiously made his way toward the heap of metal that had made impact with the large, older tree. The faint dinging sound of an open door became even louder as he walked closer to the wreckage.
Where the hell was the driver?
Coen did a full three-sixty to clear the immediate area before he reached in the open door and pulled out the keys. The street lamp gave little in way of light considering the heavy snow, but it was eno
ugh to discern that the driver was definitely no longer inside the car.
He looked down to try and make out if there were tracks that would indicate which direction the driver had taken, but the shadow of the car made that all but impossible. He took a step toward the street in an effort to pick up the trail. Sure enough, tracks led to the road where the footprints continued west until the trajectory faded into the blowing squalls. Whoever had run off the road hadn’t wanted to wait around for the tow truck.
Why didn’t the driver ring the doorbell and ask for help or at least explain what had happened before leaving the property?
None of how this was unwinding was sitting too well with Coen.
Had the driver been drunk or injured? It didn’t appear that the airbags had been deployed. Maybe the driver didn’t want to hang around to answer embarrassing questions about having alcohol on his or her breath. It was also too hard to see if there was any blood on the interior of the seats. The impact didn’t seem to be enough to have caused too much damage.
A quick glance at Brettany’s front door told him it was still secure, nor were there any tracks leading to either side of the house. He swung his glance back toward the tree, looking for a branch or whatever had broken loose and hit the side of her house. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make anything out in the darkness. He’d have to go back inside and retrieve a flashlight if he wanted to see any damage that may have been done upon impact.
Coen palmed the keys and then closed the door, noting the make and model of the vehicle, as well as the license plate. It was a black Chevy Impala with Colorado plates. No one he knew of who was associated with Brettany drove that type of vehicle, nor did he recall any of her neighbors on the street owning one. He would check the glove compartment once he returned from getting the necessary items he needed from the house.
“Brettany?” Coen didn’t bother to take off his boots, though he didn’t cross the line where the entry tile and the hardwood floor of the living room met in a seamless transition. “Come on out! Someone wrecked into one of your trees out front.”
“What?” Brettany asked before she rounded the corner. She was hastily making her way across the room and putting on her boots before he could stop her. “Please tell me it wasn’t Mr. Landry down the street. He promised me he’d be back before the storm hit. Do we need to call 911?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Coen asked, shaking his head before he even finished the last word. Two minutes ago, she was scared shitless that a serial killer had come to kill her in cold blood. “I didn’t mean for you to come outside. I only meant the coast was clear. I need a flashlight so that I can check to see how bad the damage is to your house. A downed limb could have damaged the roof. I’m assuming a large branch fell, but the storm is too heavy for me to make it out from the lights out front. Turn on any outside floodlights you have so that I can evaluate the damage, if there is any.”
“I’m not worried about the house, Coen.” Brettany shot him a look of disapproval. She grabbed her jacket and was hastily shoving her arms in the sleeves as she turned toward the door. “We might need to get Mr. Landry an ambulance.”
“Brettany, it’s not Landry. As a matter of fact, the driver left on foot heading west.” Coen grabbed the hood of her coat to prevent her from reaching the doorknob, causing her upper body to bend as she took another step forward. “Would you stop, please? There’s no need for you to go outside in this weather. I need you to get me a flashlight and turn on your outside lights.”
Brettany batted his hand away from her hood with a frown before turning to face him.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Brettany spun around anyway, holding her hands up to the window so that she could see outside. “Whose car is it?”
“I don’t know,” Coen replied as he lifted his jacket off the coat rack. “It’s not someone from the neighborhood. If you could grab me that flashlight, I’ll take a look around and also check the glove compartment to see who it belongs to. Maybe we can find a number and call to make sure the driver made it home safe on foot.”
Coen breathed a little easier when she pulled away from the door. She passed him, only to stop at the entryway table. She then opened one of the two drawers, magically producing an old mag-light type flashlight. He took it from her and ensured that it was in working order, narrowing the focus to midrange. He’d been about to thank her when she had to go and set his teeth on edge. She’d produced a second mag-light and her intentions were obvious.
“Just out of curiosity, does your class listen to instructions as well as you do?” Coen was now standing between her and the door. He didn’t have any plans to move while she had it in her head that she was joining him outside. “Or do they just do as they please, just like their teacher?”
Brettany had already pulled the hood of her jacket over her curls, causing her green eyes to appear brighter as she stared at him in confusion. They finally cleared with understanding, but it was easy for him to see that a storm was brewing—and he wasn’t talking about the one outside.
“You know, I’ve had a really tough week. I don’t need to be ridiculed by you, Mr. Flynn.” Brettany set one hand on her waist and used the flashlight to point in his direction in order to stress every word she said. “A friend of mine was murdered, another one is to blame, and then you arrive on my doorstep to tell me you’ve been watching me for—”
Brettany waved her flashlight at Coen, trying to prompt a response.
“Around a month,” Coen played along, sympathetic to what she’d been through this past week. “And your point?”
“A month?” His timetable had apparently thrown her off balance, because she pushed back her hood with the flashlight and stared at him in disbelief. “A month? You’ve only been across the street for a week, as far as I knew.”
“I was camping in your backyard, just inside the edge of the woods, for about three weeks prior to that,” Coen admitted, not feeling guilty in the least. It had been his job to keep her safe, and he’d accomplished that. He’d even had eyes on her up at the campground the entire time, though that hadn’t helped Heidi Connolly. “Brettany, all I’m trying to say is that I’d rather you stay inside while I check the house for damage. There is no need for you to expose yourself. I’ll grab some papers out of the glove compartment for you to try and reach the driver, just to reassure yourself that they are inside somewhere safe, sound, dry, and warm.”
“Fine.” Brettany set the flashlight down on the entry table with a thud. “But only if you start calling me Brett. Only my parents use my full name. I’m beginning to think you are channeling my father.”
“Not going to happen on either count.” Coen flashed a smile, although he’d waited to disagree with her until after she’d removed her jacket and hung it up on one of the empty hooks. “I knew a Brett back in high school. He tried to steal a kiss from my girl under the bleachers during a football game that I happened to be playing at the time.”
“You’re just full of stories of woe, aren’t you?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Coen coerced, relaxing somewhat now that Brettany was taking off her boots. “You finish frosting those cupcakes so that I can eat a few, and I’ll tell you some tales of my time in the service that will have you laughing the rest of the night—guaranteed.”
Coen didn’t wait for Brettany’s answer, not wanting to give her time to change her mind about staying behind. Regardless that he’d cleared the area of any threats, it was still better to keep her inside during a massive snowstorm that had only just begun. At least two feet of snow was predicted, but that wasn’t Coen’s concern at the moment. He turned the flashlight on and scanned the beam across the front yard before zeroing in on the vehicle.
Why would an otherwise normal driver leave the scene of a crash, abandoning his or her car while leaving the door open with the keys inside?
Something wasn’t adding up, and his first priority had to be ensuring Brettany’s safety.
/>
CHAPTER SEVEN
‡
“I’m telling you, Martin doesn’t know anything.” Louise sounded as if she were about to have a nervous breakdown, and Brett couldn’t blame her. “He just got off the phone with Chad. Can you believe they were talking about emergency generators? Chad had to keep up the ruse that everything is fine. He didn’t want to be the one to spill the beans. Brett, this is a total disaster. What if Martin figures out I told the police about their affair?”
Brett pulled back the curtain on her living room window. She couldn’t see anything out there in the dark. The street light appeared to be nothing more than a blur from the amount of snow being blown around, so it was basically useless for her to try and locate Coen. He’d been outside for well over fifteen minutes. What was he doing out there that would take this long? He was going to freeze out there in the storm. He did mention that he was from Florida.
“You said yourself that Martin doesn’t know you’re aware that he and Heidi were together,” Brett pointed out, trying her best to reassure Louise that she was safe while worrying about Coen. Both were easier said than done considering this week had been filled with nothing but secrets and lies. “You really should have told the police all of this last weekend. It would be done by now if you had.”
She didn’t mean for that last statement to come out the way it sounded, but all of this could have been avoided had Louise simply told the police the truth from the beginning. Brett was always telling her class that honesty always won out in the grand scheme of things.
“You say that in hindsight, but even you were skeptical that Martin could do such a thing so completely horrific. He was our friend, just like everyone else who was up at the campground. How could he do something so evil?” It was easy to hear that Louise was on the verge of tears. “Listen, you live across the street from that deputy sheriff. Can’t you go over there and ask when they plan on arresting Martin? I tried to call the sheriff, but the police department are only taking calls if it’s an emergency due to the storm. No one will tell me anything.”
Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five) Page 6
