“Fine.” Brettany practically sighed the word in acceptance. He could still hear her skepticism, but he didn’t doubt that the roads had already been shut down to all but emergency vehicles. Either that, or they would be soon. “I’ll walk with you.”
Coen didn’t mind the company, but he made sure to keep the conversation light. He’d seen what happened to his other teammates when they’d let their guards down, and now there were two women who had likely become targets in this game of cat and mouse with Eyles. He recalled Calvert saying something to the effect that Sawyer and Camryn were more than just acquaintances now, but the man had to have been pulling his leg.
Together, they went from room to room. Brettany owned a quaint two-bedroom home littered with antiques. She’d gone for a conventional design scheme, which wasn’t surprising considering her personality and traditional ways. He did notice that the mischief he’d caught a glimpse of earlier was sprinkled around the house, be it in a painting or a personal photograph—like the one that was hanging with other family pictures on the wall descending the stairs.
“Skydiving? Really?” Coen couldn’t resist the question, having a hard time believing that she would even contemplate something so daring. They were standing eye level with the photo in the middle of the stairwell even though he was one step down. “Let me guess. You chickened out when it was time to get in the plane.”
“I’ll have you know that was only my first jump. I’ve already done my solo,” Brettany said with a genuine smile. He was glad to see that some of her worry about Martin Eyles had dissipated. Nothing was going to happen on his watch, and he’d make certain that Eyles was either in custody or dead before this part of the assignment came to an end. “The relationship that got me there didn’t end too well, but at least I had fun and found something I like to do.”
Coen didn’t know why he was surprised at the mention she’d been involved with someone when she’d tried out skydiving, and he had to remind himself that her personal life wasn’t any of his business. He took one more look at the picture. It was easy to make out the excitement in her green eyes, and it caused him to wonder if she wasn’t a daredevil underneath those schoolteacher clothes she wore.
Granted, she was currently wearing a white sweater that fitted to her upper body and a pair of jeans that hugged her just right. He certainly didn’t remember his third or fourth grade teacher looking like her. Maybe if he had, he would have paid more attention and gotten better grades.
The lights flickered right before they were descended into darkness. He automatically reached back until he was able to rest a hand on Brettany’s thigh in order to prevent her from taking another step. The last thing they needed was for one of them to tumble down the stairs and get hurt. He patiently listened for the generator to kick on alongside the house.
“Is now the time I tell you that some of the breakers blew in an electrical storm a few months ago? I don’t know if the generator is going to work.”
Coen would have closed his eyes in disbelief, but it wasn’t needed. The darkness continued until the low hum of the generator finally kicked in…most likely providing electricity only to the areas that hadn’t been affected by the blown circuits.
“Brettany, why wouldn’t you have gotten that fixed before winter set in?” Coen asked, admittedly shocked that someone like Brettany could let something slide of such significance. “You, of all people, know how severe your winter storms can be in the month of December.”
“I’m a schoolteacher, Coen. I’m not made of money.” Brettany softly set her hand over his shoulder, reminding him that they were still in the middle of the stairs. The heat from her hand soaked through the soft material of his shirt, giving him a rather intense reminder that her finances weren’t any of his business. Well, her safety was his concern. He needed to remember to keep to the right of that line. “The quote I received was a little out of my budget. Besides, I usually head to my parents’ house during real bad weather.”
“Why didn’t you go over there tonight?” Coen asked, thinking her decision to visit her mother and father would have prevented quite a few mistakes today. He thought about the five-mile distance, but disregarded the possibility of getting her there safely. “Wait. You don’t have an ATV stashed somewhere in the garage that I missed, do you?”
“Wow.” Brettany followed closely behind him as he took one step at a time until they reached the landing. “I didn’t realize you wanted to get rid of me so badly. Isn’t it part of your job to keep me safe?”
“There’s probably no safer place than your parents’ house.” Coen shifted so that her hand dropped away from his shoulder. It didn’t take him long to locate the flashlight he’d set on the entryway table. He pressed the button until the beam landed near her feet, highlighting the fact that she’d set her hands on her hips. Her irritation with him was better than seeing her in fear. “Look, I understand about budgets. Trust me.”
Coen couldn’t complain about his salary. He made a damned good living, and SSI provided him with a lot of additional benefits and some perks as well. No one needed to know he was basically supporting his younger brother while he got his feet back underneath him after having made some very seriously bad choices. It was easy to see even with a lone beam that she wanted to question him further, but that topic was off limits.
“Let’s get that fire started, shall we?” Coen directed the flashlight over to the fireplace, grateful she’d thought ahead and stacked the wood alongside the mantel in a cast iron log carrier. It was enough to get them through half the night, at least. “Would you hand me the—”
His cell phone rang, though it wasn’t unexpected.
“Flynn.”
“What the hell do you mean that Eyles crashed into Brettany’s yard?”
“You read my text correctly.” Coen would have handed off the flashlight to Brettany had she not taken over and started to stack the split firewood onto the heavy metal grate inside the hearth. She was certainly independent. “Either he somehow knows about the arrest warrant or that is one hell of a coincidence.”
“I’d say the former, but I’ve been wrong about a lot of things this evening.” Sheriff Whitney was obviously outside somewhere from the way the wind was blowing against his phone. He was most likely at the scene of an accident caused by a couple idiots who thought they could outwit Mother Nature. “I sent two deputies to make the arrest, but Eyles wasn’t at his residence. I’ll head your way when I’m done here, but these weather conditions aren’t conducive to an area sweep of the neighborhood. There is the fact that he can’t hole up too many places in this weather. He’d need somewhere warm and dry.”
“I understand.” There wasn’t anything that could done about the weather, but that didn’t mean Coen had to like that their hands were tied. “I’ll see to it that Ms. Lambert is safe pending a search for the suspect.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll have a deputy swing by Louise Wynn’s apartment on his way over to your side of town just to make sure she has someone capable of looking out for her nearby,” Sheriff Whitney said before issuing a warning that was not needed. The first thing the Marines had taught Coen in boot camp was to be ready for anything. “Eyles might not be in Moss’ league, but he still murdered a woman in cold blood. Watch your back, Flynn. He might just surprise you.”
CHAPTER NINE
‡
Brett sipped the English Breakfast tea Coen had gone out of his way to make after they’d built the blazing fire in front of them. He’d placed the kettle at the base of the coals, bringing it to a boil in a novel way she’d never seen before. It tasted just as good, if not better, than the previous one he’d made her in the kitchen. The stove in her kitchen was currently in working order since it was plugged into an operating outlet running off the generator, but it was nice to be in front of a warm fire. She wasn’t so convinced he’d made the hot beverage for her sake, so much as it gave him something to do while they waited for the fire to take off.
> One of the logs shifted, causing a slew of red ash to puff into the air and up the flue.
Coen’s arm was resting on one knee while he knelt on the other, allowing him to tap his fingers against the rough material of his jeans as he stoked the flames using the poker. It was easy to see that he an introspective man, but the silence had stretched beyond the comfortable five minutes.
Yes, she found the picture of this man kneeling before her hearth captivating.
“Do you always fidget?”
Her question didn’t even warrant a look, though she caught sight of his smile.
“No, but it does help me think.” Coen’s gaze shifted over to his cell phone, which had been relatively quiet these last couple of hours. She wished the sheriff would call to say that Martin had been apprehended, but in all reality, that wouldn’t happen anytime soon with this storm. “How’s the tea?”
“It’s delicious.” Brett pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Coen set the poker back into its stand and then joined her on the floor, where they both used the couch as a backrest. The temperature of the house had already dropped by several degrees. “I never would have thought to boil water in my fireplace.”
“You learn all sorts of interesting survival skills in the service.”
“What branch were you in?” Brett took the opening he just gave her, wanting to know more about the man who’d been watching over her for the past month. The thought that she hadn’t known she’d been under surveillance should have given her pause, yet just being in his presence made her feel safe. “Wait. Let me guess. Coast Guard?”
“No,” Coen laughed, shaking his head in disagreement. She wasn’t sure what was so funny about her question. “It was the Marines or nothing for me.”
“Why?”
“Because the Marines are always at the pointy end of the spear.” Coen sighed as if he missed the days when he’d served his country. She had trouble wrapping her mind around that, considering it went against human nature to put oneself in harm’s way. “We’re the first in and the last out. Our Corps is more of a commitment. It draws you in like a cause more than a service. Shared hardship builds character and teamwork. We’re the best our nation has to offer. If we didn’t accomplish the mission, then it wasn’t going to get done.”
“And your brother? Did he serve?”
The flames changed color as they danced to the rhythm of the crackling logs. The silence hanging in the air had her looking his way. The whiskers on his jaw didn’t prevent her from seeing his displeasure at her question. She thought they’d gotten past the eggshell routine, but apparently she was wrong when it came to talking about his personal life.
“You’re making me wish I did have a snowmobile parked in my garage,” Brett fessed up, taking another sip of her tea. She turned her focus back to the fire. It was more enjoyable than pulling his teeth. One minute he was making jokes about her cupcakes, and the next was as if he was holding up a sign that said No Trespassing. “I really don’t prefer walking on eggshells.”
“I’m sorry,” Coen muttered as he stretched out his leg. “I’m just not used to idle chitchat.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Brett received the reaction she’d been hoping for when he chuckled, once again having broken the tension between them.
“Let me ask you a question without you blowing a gasket,” Brett tossed out there, needing to continue talking so that she didn’t ruminate over the fact that Martin could be standing outside of her house right now formulating a plan to kill her. She couldn’t fathom why he would come here after the fact, seeing as the police were already aware of his affair with Heidi. Could he want revenge for Louise and her calling the sheriff to spill the beans? She forced herself to stay on topic so that she didn’t drive herself insane with what-ifs. “Just how much do you know about me? You said you’ve been watching over me for a month. What exactly does that mean?”
“It means that a teammate of mine, Brody Novak, put together some dossiers of women who could be potential targets.” The tension in Coen’s shoulders at the mention of his work brothers dissipated, telling Brett that he would talk as long as she stayed out of the family zone. She could handle that. “I know your basic information, such as height and—”
“Don’t you dare say weight,” Brett warned with a finger pointed his way. “Keep going.”
“You’re a schoolteacher, a caring neighbor, a loyal friend, and a loving daughter. You lived in Florida until the age of twelve years old, when your father moved to Colorado for his job out here. You have Sunday dinner with them every week unless something unusual happens, though you do have breakfast with your mom every Wednesday without fail.”
“You know, this is kind of disturbing,” Brett fessed up, stopping Coen from listing off any more details that would freak her out. She shifted so that she was turned slightly enough to look at his profile without spilling her tea. “Is your agency watching a lot of other women?”
“We were, but my team assembled back to headquarters after…well, let’s just say some evidence came our way that had us rethinking our approach.”
“Do you like it in Florida?”
Brett didn’t think for a second he would share elements of this case with her, so it was best to steer clear of anything related to Shepherd Moss. She believed Coen when he said she didn’t have to worry. Besides, fretting about Martin was keeping her busy enough as it was.
“I do.” Coen rubbed his hands together for effect, showing her that he still had his sense of humor. “It’s a hell of a lot warmer than Colorado any time of the year.”
“I know you prefer orange juice over coffee and sunshine over snow,” Brett pointed out in victory. “We’re making progress. You know this is also called small talk, right?”
“You’re just like a teammate of mine—Sawyer.” Coen was shaking his head in exasperation, but at least he’d said that with some affection. “I can’t be on a stakeout without him knowing the color of my briefs and why I chose that particular shade.”
“Briefs over boxers,” Brett noted, garnering another laugh. “That’s good to know.”
“Why?” Coen asked as he finally faced her, the intensity of his dark gaze stealing her breath away. “Have you never been with a man who didn’t wear Sears brand plain white boxers?”
He was teasing her. Brett knew that, but it didn’t stop the tea inside her cup from swirling around the rim. He was either having a little bit of fun at her expense, or it was his way of steering the conversation away from him in a rather risqué way. She’d taken him by surprise early this afternoon when she hadn’t backed down, but that wasn’t her nature, in all honesty. She tended to give more ground than she held.
Sure, she had dated her fair share of men, but no one had interested her enough to go past the third date mark. It wasn’t that she had hang-ups or was scared of physical intimacy. Quite the contrary, but people—men especially—put a certain label on her just because she was a grade school teacher rather than a college professor, and the odd fact that she liked to bake in her spare time for her class and friends. Since when had that become a strike in the game of dating? The ability to cook should be a good thing, right?
“You’re going to overplay your hand one of these times,” Brett said softly in reference to his flirting, “and I’m going to call your bet. What will you do then, ace? Will you fold your cards and go home?”
Coen’s dark gaze searched hers, most likely trying to gauge just how far he could take his game.
“Let me guess,” Brett whispered, achieving the sultry tone she was going for from his reaction. She wasn’t going to take his playful toying with her too far, but there was something inside of her that wanted him to know she could handle anything he dished out. “You always get to choose when and where, but there must never be breakfast in bed afterward. It’s too bad, because I’m sure it would be downright delicious.”
Once again, Coen was saved from answering her when his cell
phone rang. It was becoming a habit for him to be saved by the bell. He finally answered, and it was obvious that the sheriff had called him with an update.
“That’s great news, Sheriff. I’ll let her know.” Coen held up a hand when she asked what had happened. “We appreciate the call.”
“What?” Brett asked again, carefully setting her teacup down on the coffee table they’d pushed out of the way. “What’s the news?”
“Martin Eyles was found a mile from here at Jimmy Cataglia’s Bar, trying to find someplace dry to hole up for the duration of the storm. You can call Louise and tell her that the two of you no longer need to worry about Eyles. He’s been taken into custody, Brettany.”
*
He’d had to leave his position for someplace warm. The weather had gotten too severe for him to wait for Coen Flynn to leave Brettany’s residence.
Had she remembered something from that night?
Did she share her oversight with Flynn?
He didn’t like that he hadn’t finished what he’d started, but his time would come.
He could be patient.
Her time would come.
CHAPTER TEN
‡
Coen stared down at Brettany’s flushed face, taking in the way her cheekbones naturally highlighted her features. Her head was in his lap, due to the fact that she’d drifted off to sleep as they were watching the fire sometime in the middle of the night. It had been nothing more than instinct for her to move closer to his body heat, and he hadn’t had the heart to hold her at bay. The longer the night went on, the more time it gave her to curl into his lap. She’d certainly be surprised when she awakened.
Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five) Page 8
